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Location: The Suck, California

Me. Stars. Effers.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Star Effed By... Sheryl Crow


Sometimes you eff stars. Sometimes stars eff you.

In this ongoing feature, I will relay unsavory encounters I've had with stars and other sundry celestial beings. Many of these left me scarred and depressed. I thought you'd find them amusing.

For the inaugural entry (heh, I said "entry") we will be reviewing my encounter with Sheryl Crow. I call it:

"SHERYL HATES PEOPLE WITH DOWNS SYNDROME"

Before I begin, it's only fair to let Sheryl have a chance to defend herself. She issued the following public statement:

"Hit it!
This ain't no disco
It ain't no country club either
This is LA!"

Hmmm, well she does have a point there. Still, you should hear my side of the story.

The year was 1994. I was a doe-eyed innocent - my dreams, as yet, un-shattered. I scored a weekend gig working as a "Talent Escort" for a star-studded benefit concert. No, not that kind of escort. I didn't have to spread, lick or take "it" for anybody.

My job was to be the liason between the show organizers and the A-list performers. And oh my, what an A-list it was: Salt 'n' Pepa, Ru Paul, Lil' Richard, LL Cool J, Carrot Top! Only the best and the brightest.

Ok, it wasn't all bad. We also had Elton John, Tom Hanks, Bonnie Raitt, Warren Beatty, George Michael, Don Henley and more.

Oh yeah... and Sheryl Effing Crow.

All of us escorts were each assigned to a specific celebrity. Mine was Garth Brooks. Now I've got nothing bad to say about Garth - a nicer man does not exist. My job was to stand outside his dressing room and be at his beck and call, but since Garth is so low maintenance, I never had to do anything. So I ended up just standing there, bored out of my mind for TEN hours. The only source of entertainment came from watching the dressing room across the way, as it belonged to none other than Eagles great Don Henley.

Standing across from Don's door, I bore witness as countless hussies came a knockin' - tarted up, smelling yummy, and seeking some QT with the DH. But of the multitude of little birdies that pecked on his door, there was only one that gained admittance to the Eagle's Nest: a Crow.

Now, I don't know what what they did in there all day, but I did hear SNIFFING. Lots and lots of sniffing. Maybe they were crying. Maybe they both had colds. Or maybe there was a lot of dust in that dressing room...like, some sort of white dust that could be collected onto a mirror and separated into little neat lines with a credit card.

Every time the door would open, I glanced in. I was bored to tears and a chance to see what was going on between two celebrities was all too enticing. But every time I looked in, my eyes were met with the steely glare of Sheryl Crow. Her smile would melt as she saw me, and she'd give me this look that seemed to ask, "What are you looking at assface?"

CUT TO: After the show. Garth had finished performing - beautifully I might add - and given me a bear hug in front of all the other jealous escorts, before disappearing into a limousine headed for the airport. A few minutes later, the Talent Coordinator chimed in over my walkie, "Fabe, we need you as a floater. Are you available? Over."

"Yes. Where do you want me? Over."

"We can't find Sheryl Crow's escort. Go let her know that her limo is five minutes away. Over."

"Roger that," I snapped efficiently. The Garth Brooks experience left me feeling high and mighty. I now fancied myself a kind of soldier to the stars as I marched on over to Sheryl's dressing room.

I knocked. There was no reply. I knocked again. Still no reply. I waited about thirty seconds - just in case she was pinching a loaf or something. Discretion is my middle name. I pondered the origins of the name on the shiny placard before me: "Sheryl Crow." Doesn't sound Jewish.

Then I knocked again, only this time really loud. I immediately heard an angry female voice issue the following reply:

"Come IN already, what the FUCK?!"

I opened the door to find Sheryl and fifteen of her closest friends SNIFFING and grinning at me like hyenas. "Didn't you hear me? I said 'come in' like ten fucking times! What are you, reTARded?" The hyenas laughed maniacally. Remember Jabba the Hut's little muppet sidekick in 'Return of the Jedi'? They sounded like him, only times fifteen.

"Uh...I just wanted to, uh..."

She cut me off, started imitating me as though I had Downs Syndrome, "Duh...I juth..dum...uhh, I juth..."

My face flushed red. Am I being punked by Sheryl Crow? She then did that fake sign language thing with her hands and over enunciated, "What...do...you...WANT?"

I blurted out, "Your limo's five minutes away."

She looked at me as though I had just farted. "So, is that it?"

I nodded. She turned away disgusted, waved a dismissive hand. "Fine. Run along now."

I wanted to say something. I couldn't let her get away with that. I was usually great at witty retorts - they always came easily. But not this time. My mind was still reeling at the fact that Sheryl Crow had just wiped her ass with me. All I could do was slam the door shut. And as I did, peals of uproarious LAUGHTER erupted from inside her dressing room. The hyenas were tearing me to pieces. Mortified, I scurried over to Salt 'n' Pepa's dressing room to console myself, thinking it was empty.

But it wasn't. There I was, suddenly face to face with Pepa, gathering her make-up. Before I could excuse myself, she looked up at me, flicked her long red braids and asked in a genuinely concerned fashion, "You doin alright, baby?" Ahhh Pepa. You always know what to say, mama.

Just then, the Talent Coordinator chimed in over the walkie: "Fabe. Please tell Sheryl Crow her limo has now arrived."

I hesitated a moment before replying, "Sorry I... I can't. Get someone else to do it. Uh...over."

Pepa smiled and as she walked past me she uttered the kindest words I've ever heard:

"That's right... FUCK Sheryl Crow."

9 Comments:

Blogger ocg said...

I have never liked that woman... and now I have a reason... NOBODY's is a meanie to my Fabe and gets away with it.

Effin bitch.

;-)

4:59 PM  
Blogger Paul said...

I just burned her new CD in the microwave! THANK YOU FABE!

6:39 PM  
Blogger Rina said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

10:20 AM  
Blogger Rina said...

Ditto, ditto. Damn, I remember when you worked as celeb escort at that
award show, Fabe. All I heard was how nice Garth Brooks was, etc. Didn't hear about effin Crow... Heh. Well, you had discretion and integerity even then :-) Glad some of your fascinating stories and extremely well written observations are coming out of the closet now, F.

This is thought provoking. Stars--pardon me, celestial beings!--behaving so very badly is disgustingly fasciating, isn't it. Interesting, in Crow's case both her image and her vocal "chops" seem to have improved dramatically in the ten years or so since that incident. Perhaps she got over her problem with that little white dust? Nah... Speaking from experience, (as an observer, ahem..) that dust does not turn you into "Snobby effing Instabitch". That was already there...Maybe ol' Don turned her down?

Oh, fuck you Sheryl Crow. Nobody should fancy themselves superior to
others, you should be so ashamed of yourself, dumbass. No manners. So embarrassingly "nouveau riche"... And yes--sigh--how STUPID. What were you thinking? Are you in fact, a big rude dumbass after all?

But Sheryl, you were younger then--at your prime, remember?--and perhaps didn't yet realize how it works: In this biz, you never know when a once "lowly escort" will be a hot filmmaker--whose films you'll be desperate to be in... Ah, the innocent foibles of an effing diva.

Well written piece, it must be acknowledged. And though one laughed and shook the head in disbelief at this real slice of life tidbit from a talented wordsmith, the knowledge that our treasured "celestial beings" behave like slimy little devils leaves one with the creepy feeling of having been duped and mindfucked by the spin-doctors. Her star shall never burn brightly for me again... Karma works in mysterious and humorous ways.

I'll share something I made up years ago, when the overplay of one of her effing songs had me ready to rip the stereo out of my car and hurl it off the Bay Bridge: (I took lyric--adjustment liberties)

Every day there's a WHINING CROW...

Well Fabe, at least there was Garth to remind us that manners and human decency are not dead in LaLa Land...

12:10 PM  
Blogger Melissa said...

What do you expect from the kind of woman that would take up with Lance Armstrong?

8:20 PM  
Blogger Erin O'Brien said...

I always expected Crow was a darling's darling. Ever since she stole the song title from my brother's book and refused to give him credit, she's left a sour taste in my mouth.

The important thing to remember is that she eats, sleeps and defecates like the rest of us. Better yet, thanks to your esteemed host's entry, now we really know her true colors.

2:07 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

RIP
Star Effer
2005-2005

3:55 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I understand that all the environmentalists are down on Sheryl Crow because they say she's a hypocrite, who is doing nothing to save the environment, because she admits to using one square of toilet paper to wipe herself!

Now if she were really serious about saving the trees, she would use no toilet paper at all.

Well, I'm doing my part to save the trees. You see, I'm so massively obese now that I can't reach around to wipe my fat ass anyway. I'm about 5 ft 6 in and I weigh 385 pounds, and I measure 70 inches around my butt and hips, and my butt spreads out to about 82 inches around when I'm sitting down, so you get the picture. So, I use some other method to clean myself.

But now these environmentalists can do their part for those of us who still wish to have clean butts. The Government can simply appoint them as Official Ass Lickers, and they will be well paid for the position.

Of course, some of us can't afford to have personal Ass Lickers, so another viable alternative would be to save the trees by wiping our butts with spotted owls. In my case, I'll need to use a spotted owl tied to a long stick. Not only does that help to save the trees, but it also helps to conserver water as well.

Also, Sheryl Crow should pay a heavy fine for using that one square of toilet paper, because she's really not doing her part to save the forests, so as punishment, she should pay a 10 thousand dollar fine, and do Community Service as an Ass Licker without pay for 6 months, and be put on probation for about a year.

Now, does that sound like a good idea?

8:47 PM  
Blogger Aspiring to something more said...

Twilight Zone moment - I looked up others that had as Occuption: Observer of the Human Condition, like me, and there you were! And we both have blogs about Crow ... cue the Zone music please! Your blog, in a word; hilarious! Keep it coming - laughs for me are always too few and far between. My middle name is sarcasm and I'm definitely throwing it down in my blog now - inspired as I am by you and your blog masterpieces.
As Fezzik so beautifully put it: "You've been mostly dead all day" - so go easy man!

3:18 AM  

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