Bieber Fever

Dear Scott,

Happy Saturday! Today, Cait, Darren and I woke up "early" (11 a.m.), threw on our tankinis and hopped into the car, not to miss the peak hours of sunshine. We spent the entire day at Santa Monica beach, in our newly purchased beach chairs, chatting, laughing and watching the world go by. One of the things I love most about California is the amount of time people spend outdoors, the warm weather creates a happy, carefree atmosphere. People were rollerblading, bike riding, surfing, sailing, playing volleyball and soccer, all with chihuahuas in-hand. We decided to leave the beach around 4 p.m., just in time for happy hour. As we strolled along Santa Monica Boulevard looking for a beachside restaurant to park ourselves, we stumbled upon the hotel that Aunt Janet and Uncle Jim stayed at during their visit to Los Angeles a couple of years ago. Although Cait and Darren insisted that the pool was strictly for hotel guests only, a little voice kept ringing in my ear saying.."well behaved women rarely make history..." so I lead them through the fancy entrance of the hotel, all the while winking at the bellhops, and strolled right up to the rooftop pool, which has, by far, the most beautiful view of the Santa Monica sunset. And watch the sunset is exactly what we did, with mojitos in hand, of course.

We left the hotel upon sunset and stopped by a grocery store on the way home to pick up dinner. As I turned the corner of the dairy isle, I was nearly knocked over by this spray-tanned, tattooed, macho man pushing a hot pink stroller. When I looked down at the stroller expecting to oodle an infant who bared a strong resemblance to Snooki, a fluffy white pomeranian stared back at me. I don't think I have ever been more disturbed.

On a more serious note, I have come down with something...

Thursday night, I was dragged to the midnight showing of Justin Bieber's Never Say Never movie, Darren had ordered the tickets a week in advance. Cait and I had spent the day hiking to the top of the Griffith Observatory, the absolute most beautiful view of Los Angeles and its surrounding cities, so I was in no spirit to wreak havoc on Los Angeles and was content with spending my night at the movie theater. After Darren and Cait had insisted that Justin Bieber was the hottest commodity since N'S(t)YNC, I agreed to go see the movie. We arrived at the theater in downtown LA THREE HOURS before the movie time, anticipating a crowd of shrieking teeny boppers, so, to kill time, we wandered around The Grove. Around 11p.m., after playing hide and seek in Barnes and Noble for nearly two hours, we strolled over to the theater and pre-gamed for the "most anticipated film of the year" by purchasing a tub of buttered popcorn and a big gulp of coca cola. I felt like I was 16 again. We sat in the theater for nearly an hour until the lights finally dimmed and the previews started to roll. All of a sudden, no more than one minute into the previews, some middle aged man ran into the center of the theater and started yelling. I figured it was some Californian, middle-aged, drug addict, so I rolled my eyes and continued to stuff my face with the vat of popcorn we had purchased. All of a sudden, a little punk of a child ran into the theater and started jumping up and down. I don't know what it was, but a fever, the Bieber fever, came over me like a tsunami and I jumped out of my seat and started shrieking. Justin Bieber himself was standing in the center of a theater of over 100 people and for some reason, my first reaction was to scream, at the top of my lungs, which is exactly what I did. I truly don't know what came over me. I was the only one in the theater who was a) over the age of 15 and b) coherent enough to know what was going on and the fever took me over. The rest of the theater stared in utter disbelief as I leapt from my seat and proceeded to climb, no, dive over the seats to reach Justin. The entire situation is a blur but I vaguely remember diving (slo-mo) through popcorn, gummy bears and junior mints, which flew up in the air like confetti. When I finally reached the railing, which separated me and the modern day "king of pop," I blessed myself and took the leap, landing at the, children's size 14, purple paten leather sneaker of Justin Bieber. The theater fell silent. The only thing heard was the echo of my hysterics, of both laughter and tears, into the floor of the theater, as I attempted to regain my poise. I laid on the floor of the theater for a solid 30 seconds, now being trampled by a stampede of 13-year olds who hugged, kissed and posed for pictures with the walking ken barbie doll, formally known as Justin Bieber. I finally managed to pick my bleeding and bruised 23 year-old self up from the floor, just in time to hear the raspy pre-pubetic voice announce, "Hey guys I just stopped by to say thanks for coming, I love you all." And then I stood there completely dumbfounded and watched as Justin Bieber flipped his dirty blonde coiffure to the side of his porcelain complexion, batted his dark eyelashes, flashed his hundred million dollar grin and then carelessly skipped out of the theater, leaving nothing but a trail of glitter.

Scott Vincent, I kid you not, Bieber fever has left me, literally and figuratively, disabled, distressed and dehabilitated, laugh about it, I can hear you now.

I love you more than the whole universe!

Until we meet again,

Liney