Yeah, LA has offered me a “stable job” in a “rough economic climate” and given me the opportunity to make a few “friends” I can “shoot the sh*t with” and count on “when times get hard.” But that’s the small stuff. What about the fact that The New Mickey Mouse Club‘s Ryan Gosling is practically a neighbor? You know, somewhere in the city? The triple-threat talent, soft-spoken feminist and movie star who I must interact with at least once in my lifetime in order to validate my existence as a human being?
There’s no doubt about it – I live a glamorous life, one where I spend Friday nights eating oversized Halloween-themed cupcakes whilst sitting in silence on the phone with my 40-year-old ex-boyfriend who’s nodding off. But no matter – watching Drive reminded me I’m still not immune to Ryan Gosling’s powers. Like every girl in a developed country, I truly believe that if Ryan would just give me a chance, and mostly if he just knew I existed, he would see we were meant to be. And would want to touch my elbows with his baby-soft hands.
He’s not totes beyond reach of my greedy slime hands. I know the general vicinity in which he lives, although it’s probable that, as a minion, I’m not allowed within 300 feet of his actual residence. We were once members of the same gym, so my feet have touched the same dance floor his delicate toogies pawed during the ballet classes people reported he took there. For all intents and purposes, we’ve played footsie.
We even drove past each other once. Alas, we were traveling in opposing directions (story of our life together) and despite the incredible U-ie I hung and my subsequent rock-solid belief that my vehicular chase in honor of our true love justified me driving like a banshee out of hell who was transporting a dying child to the hospital, I lost him in the LA traffic.
I can no longer be content with this status quo, especially if he’s thinking about putting a ring on it.
Ergo: I, Jen, promise to myself and the world that I will make some sacrifices to meet Mr. Ryan Gosling in LA within the next 11 months. I will ignore the smell I imagine wafts out of Thai Town in an effort to hit up Jitlada – a restaurant he apparently frequents. I will go to his own restaurant in Beverly Hills, despite my lack of appropriate outerwear and spare cash. I will force myself to make the drive to my old gym to take a ballet class – this could change depending on insecurity levels – and I will google Mr. Gosling’s whereabouts, if not daily, then every time I remember to do so and am near a wi-fi enabled device – with the plan to react accordingly.
*puts on driving gloves* GO TIME