Oh my God, oh my God! I, like, totally met Ryan Cabrera the other night! Totally!

Y’know? Ryan Cabrera? He, like, used to date Ashlee Simpson. Y’know, on the Ashlee Simpson show? Ryan Cabrera? Simpson? Cabrera? Y’know?

He was so cute! I wonder how long it takes him to do his hair? Y’know? Cabrera? I know!

He was totally with Kimberly Stewart, too! She’s, like, a freaky mix between Paris Hilton and Rod Stewart! Oh my God! Totally! I don’t get it either! I didn’t think you could look worse than Rod Stewart! I know!

Cabrera? Simpson? I know!

Whew. Sorry about that. The 14-year-old girl in me always comes out whenever I think about Ryan Cabrera.

I actually did meet Cabrera the other night. He came to a show at the 400 bar with his band and their entire entourage of hangers-on’s. Girls that were hot either ten years or eight million vodka cranberry’s ago. But they still had the scene, man. They were still partying with 21-year-old pop icons. They were still snorting blow in the bathroom and giving blowjobs in the van out front, man. They were still hip.

I shouldn’t say that. It’s cruel. It’s unjustified. I neither saw them snorting blow or giving blowjobs in the van out front. I just made some relatively safe assumptions. I did see them cling to the bandmates of Ryan Cabrera for dear life. I saw them draw lines in the dirt over who got the lead guitar. Lines over who got the pianist. The drummer. The bassist.

I’ve got the bassist!

You bitch! You always get the bassist! I better not end up with the guy that just plays the tambourine again!

The highlight of the night, for me, was the first of the entourage to appear (the entire group had made arrangements to be put on the guest list, which I kept and simply states “The Ryan Cabrera Band”). A pair of thirty-something’s that walked in and told me “we’re with Ryan Cabrera’s drummer”. I didn’t know how to express to them clearly that where they were was not an enviable position. From the way they introduced themselves, it felt like I was supposed to announce to the whole bar “these two are with Ryan Cabrera’s drummer!” and the entire bar would turn it’s collective head and go “ooooooh”.

I mean, the guy doesn’t even appear to have a name outside of his association with Ryan Cabrera.

That’s like me telling people I’m dating Wynona Judd. It’s not that I’m dating a celebrity, it’s just readily apparent that I can’t get Ashley Judd. Getting the Silver or Bronze isn’t getting second or third place, man, it’s just losing.

Now, I’m fine with being a loser. It’s something I’ve had some time to get used to. It’s not like anyone’s taking home the Gold when they win a date with Jeremy Bishop. But I also don’t suffer from pretensions of grandeur. I know where I stand, and I’m cool with that. I meet who I meet, I date who I date, I snort blow with who I snort blow with.

But, once again, perhaps I’m making presumptions about people I really know nothing about. Maybe they are with who they wanted to be with. Maybe Ryan Cabrera is Silver or Bronze to them, where as Ryan Cabrera’s drummer is the Gold. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong.

But then why the hell are they introducing themselves, and him by proxy, with the name “Ryan Cabrera’s drummer”?

Y’know? Cabrera? Y’know? Oh my God! I do know!