Diary of a Fangirl: Quentin Tarantino

I think it’s possible the “Jackie Brown” made me fall in love with Quentin Tarantino initially, but to be perfectly honest, I love all of his work (and I say that even though I have yet to see “Pulp Fiction” from beginning to end uninterrupted and uncut…such a bad fan).  I love his directing, and I love his writing.  He has truly inspired me as a writer, and just as a creative in general.

A few years ago, he came out with a film by the name of “Inglorious Basterds,” and they just happened to have a premier for it at the River East 21 theatre in Downtown Chicago…

Needless to say, I went with my pal Lindsay, a true fashionista (like srsly, omg, I can’t believe I wore that to meet Fucking Tarantino).
I [sadly] learned too late that I could have bought tickets for a paltry $50, and watched the film with Quentin and enjoyed a Q&A with him.  But I was determined to be there anyway, to see the man in person, and maybe breathe his air for a second, and if I was lucky, get his autograph or something.
He made it in about an hour after we arrived, and we stood on the sidelines, roped off away from him and other folks who I did not recognize (celebs I guess?  Not that they mattered, cause they weren’t lead cast or ya know, TARANTINO), and it was impossible for me to touch him or get him to sign anything.

That simply wouldn’t do.

So, I moved down the line toward the escalator, which was the direction he was headed in to enter the theatre, and was also the section for people who actually had tickets and paparazzi.  In other words, a place I had no business to be in.  But you know what?  It worked out.  I stood there, shouted his name as he went past, and he paused and looked at me, waiting for me to speak words, and I froze, not thinking I had time to ask for his autograph, and instead…

Jill: “Can I shake your hand?”

Quentin: (smiles) “You sure can, sweetheart.”

Jill: (shakes his hand; beams; heart expands)

I didn’t get an autograph, but a guy from the Chicago Tribune got a picture of it, which was in the paper.

Also?  His hand was so awesomely soft and large and strong…I could feel “the force” of kick ass writing in that hand.

Oh Quentin, I just met you, and this is crazy! But I don’t care–just let me have your babies!  Ha ha, that stupid song’s been stuck in my head for a couple of weeks…

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