More Reality TV Dumbness...

Only this time, it's about that lunatic, Charlie Sheen.

When we were in NYC I was hell-bent on walking through Central Park. I had never done it before and I always pictured myself frolicking down the paths around the lake gazing up at beautiful skyscrapers. Too bad it was totally freezing and I'm 30 years old. Not a whole lot of frolicking going on, unless its in my head. Luckily Rod decided to humor me and agreed to walk along the side of the Park en route to the Shake Shack celebratory dinner we decided to have since Rod had found out he passed his last administrator exam WOOT!.
The incident happened like this:

We come out the subway and are greeted by an enormous crowd gathered around Trump Towers. Black SUVs, police officers, cameras, you get the idea. We thought for sure it was The Donald, so we decided to hang out for a few minutes to see if anyone came out. There was this southern lady standing next to us with a super telephoto lens, fanny pack, and talking all serious on the phone about the whereabouts of this "important person." Definitely paparazzi, right? Wrong. And right when I was getting a little embarrassed about incessant picture taking. At least my camera was a little point and shoot and not some 40 inch camera.

We decided we would watch her because she was pretty excited and seemed to be "in the know." All of a sudden she goes, "Oh my Gawd! There is one of the Goddesses!!!"

We were like, "Wait a minute...The Donald doesn't have Goddesses."
"The Donald?! pssht. Charlie Sheen is staying at Trump Towers and is doing his show tonight and he's already late to get to Radio City Music Hall."
"Ohh, Charlie Sheen..."
Now that is one crazy sighting. So, like a pack of weirdos, we decided--like any respectable human, we would stick around long enough to see Charlie Sheen brave the restless crowd. There were definitely a few guys who looked like they wanted to kick the crap out of old Charlie.

This guy wasn't one of them...although I thought he looked very appropriately like a paparazzo.
Then the southern lady told us she was just a tourist, but that she was getting all her info from the paparazzi guy standing close by. (Who was very forthcoming with the info of the Head Warlocks' whereabouts.)

And that, my friends, is where the Sheen story ends. You see, 5 minutes turned into a good 30 and I got cold. REALLY cold. And that Jimeny Cricket in my brain was screaming, "WHY ARE YOU WASTING ONE MORE SECOND OF YOUR TIME DOING THIS." But mostly, I was cold.

So that was the story about how we ALMOST saw Charlie Sheen. And apparently New York felt the same way about his show that night.
We did, however, enjoy gorging on Shake Shack. nom nom nom. So unbelievably, amazingly good in the moment, SO gross the rest of the night.