Autograph Hound's Blah Blah Blog

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Karen Allen Dallas Fan Days 2014

Often I really have nothing to say to someone. Outside of exchanging a few pleasantries I just wing it.  I have no research to go on. I react or say something off the top of the head and move on. Sometimes it organically becomes a great meeting. Sometimes it’s a dud.

However, there are times I could use a few warm up swings.  Getting some time in the batting cage would be good. Stretching and preparing before the big game would be good; especially when I get a chance to meet Karen Allen.

This was THE Karen Allen of Indiana Jones fame; THE Karen Allen of Starman fame; THE Karen Allen who I’ve had a crush on for decades; THE Karen Allen the wife was tired of hearing about 2 months ago.

No one was in line for Karen. I rushed to the front with a huge silly grin on my face. She said hello. I’m not sure but I think I blushed. I said hello back. I asked for an autograph. She asked me what I would like signed. I picked a photo.

While everything was ‘good’, it was NOT going in a way worthy of the experience. I knew it was going to end too soon. Too soon!  This was embarrassing. This was going to be a premature autograph. I can’t have that with Karen Allen! I needed to do something to stop this. I needed to slow it down.  I need change the game plan before I just walk away with no anecdote to record. The count was now 0 and 1.

I paused. Mentally I stepped out of the batter’s box. I took a deep breath. Yeah, okay, it wasn’t a deep breath; it was a big love sick sigh. I looked her in the eyes. I said: I just need to absorb this for minute. I can’t believe I’m seeing you in person. I love your freckles. She just smiled. 

Yes, I’m really back on track now with that comment. Was that ever a swing and a miss?  I was miles behind that fastball. It wasn’t even a long foul ball. Ugh. I love your freckles? Really?  Let’s just say I’m pervy stalker. The count was 0 and 2. I haven’t even made contact.

I pause again…sans love sick sigh.  She asked if I want it personalized.  I said no. She signed. She handed me the photo. I thanked her. I told her how happy I was to finally meet her. She smiled sweetly back. It was over. This ended with a foul tip third strike into the catcher’s mitt. How inglorious.

I turned and left. I walked away and stared at her photo thinking that I could have game planned better.


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