Well, I’d best tiptoe around this one.
Don’t tell my wife, but I’ve always wanted to give Valerie Bertinelli…. Rowrf! You know, stuff <ahem>.
I know, I know, I’m a pitiful old man. But an awful lot of guys in my high school would have gleefully removed parts of their anatomies to meet Valeri B. while One Day at a Time was airing. (1975-84…though honestly nobody much was watching it after MacKenzie Phillips self-destructed).
And (as you may or may not know) Eddie Van Halen arrived first, and shut out all of the dreams of my teenage buddies. For a decade, the bastard.
Good thing he’s a guitar legend, or else we’d all hate him for it. I mean, how could anyone hope to compete with a Rock Star, really?
So essentially, Valerie was my first, biggest crush. I mean, these days I purr at Liv Tyler and Kate Upton and other, similar modern also-rans. But Valerie was my first real heartthrob.
(Annie purrs at that Aragorn guy and Liam Neeson, it’s not only a guy-chauvanist-pig only thing.)
So I don’t know, what would I give Valerie (besides the obvious)? What gift would be appropriate without instantly alerting every Stalker Task Force in California?
Maybe I’ll send her a copy of my book. Assuming I ever have one of those?
Just bring it round my place Valerie, I’ll even sign it for you.
^ Don’t do it. Run.
I’ll sign anything you want, Valerie. Really! Anything!
Guess I blew it on the ‘Anonymously’ part, right? Dammit!
ParkInkSpot 