A Night at the Wax Museum

Recently, I was invited to crash a rooftop party at the wax museum. Though I don't normally "do" Hollywood, it was fun to snack, mingle, booze, and dance amongst all my favorite (life-size replicas of) stars!

Here's the thing, though: I am TOO DUMB to handle a wax museum. When you go to a wax museum, you should expect to see fake famous people, right? My mind couldn't quite grasp this concept, however, leading to three moments of stupidity:

1. There were some minor celebrities in attendance since this event followed a film premiere, but 100 yards away, I saw a man sitting and posing with a never-ending line of people for photos. "There must be a real big celebrity here!" I said to my friends, who in turn pointed out it was just a figure of Ryan Seacrest. To my credit, wax-Ryan Seacrest did not look much like real-Ryan Seacrest.

2. A woman with her back turned to me had stopped smack in the middle of a walkway. I tried to get around her, but still managed to bump into her, so I turned to her and apologized with an "Excuse me." At this point, I realized she was just a wax-Shakira. I felt like an idiot, though Shakira seemed pretty indifferent.

3. I waited a while for a guy who was in position to take a photograph of wax-George Clooney so I wouldn't pass through his shot. It was taking him forever to take the damn thing, however, so I finally just made a long loop around him, only then to discover that the photographer was also wax. He wasn't famous, just a wax paparazzi to enhance the celebrity mood. Throughout the night, I passed by him twice more, each time hesitating so as not to ruin his shot before remembering that he wasn't real.

Ah, but there's a plus side to being stupid: a lot of fun can be had at a wax museum when you're simpleminded. I danced with Beyonce - this occurring shortly before I met the REAL Beyonce (impersonator).

Then I decided I wanted photographic evidence of how I was responsible for corrupting Britney Spears. After feeding her some beer, an inebriated old man came up and told me to not be shy and give Britney a proper feel. In my head, I was thinking about what a creep he was, but he was so insistent that, in order to humor him, I finally touched one boob as he touched the other. I must admit, considering that they were artificial, they're probably close to what the real Britney's boobs feel like. He then instructed me not to reach underneath her dress, however, because "she's still a lady."

Now that the man had empowered me - to be a perv - I went over and patted the esteemed chests of power couple Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. From that vantage, I spotted wax-Jennifer Aniston in the opposite corner with her arms crossed and staring bitterly at the duo. Madame Tussauds clearly has a funny sense of humor, but damn, Jen can't catch a break. Whereas I've never cared previously, I found myself feeling legitimately sorry for Jennifer Aniston. It's settled: the wax museum was turning me into an imbecile. Maybe I'll return again one day when I'm wiser.