Twittering Twat (Part 1)

I consider myself to be a go-getter, the eager learner-type, the type that'll get out there armed with her business cards, network the hell out of a room and go for coffee with higher-upper types to pick their brains and learn how to get ahead in life.

Such was the case of Bradley Scott, billionaire oil, gas and a slew of other industries magnate . I'd watched his award-winning, business-oriented TV show for a year now, read about him in the big business magazines and major daily newspapers and even the celeb gossip blogs that touted him as being one of the "sexiest men on television", and being the tech-savvy broad that I am, began following him on Twitter. And normally, when you follow celebrities on Twitter and you tweet them, you don't actually expect them to tweet you back, but to my surprise, we ended up tweeting back and forth a few times.

ME: Love watching your show, am a huge fan! So glad to know you're on Twitter!
Brad: Thanks for the follow...and you...wow
ME: When are you in town? Would love to go for coffee and pick you brain on biz stuff

To an even bigger surpise, Bradley Scott actually said he'd be up for coffee but could only do so during a short stopover at my city's airport. He told me to email him and gave me his email on his Twitter feed. Anyway, I'll skip over the mundane details, but a few emails later, I agreed to pick him up from the airport (which I thought was weird 'cuz this guy could afford a limo with his pocket change) and go somewhere to connect. Yes, 'connect' is apparently the new biz lingo for 'meeting up'.

"Shit, I need to borrow my mom's BMW. Stat." I told Papi (my hubby) right after I broke the news about my meeting. There was no way in hell I was going to roll up in a piece of shit car to pickup a billionaire.

"Yeah, that's a good idea, you wouldn't want to make a bad impression!" Papi said. He knows all about making good first impressions, especially with someone like Bradley Scott, who drives crazy top of the line BMWs and owns an NHL hockey team. He also knows that our beat up ugly Toyota sedan is no place for anyone to sit in except for us and Rambo, our dog. And my makeshift shoe bin that doubles as a garbage can.

Saturday arrived, and I rolled up to the airport, nervous as heck, wondering why I even bothered to do this. Oh right, I remembered, I want to learn more about business stuff. I even armed myself with questions just in case I got a little star struck and blanked out. I tend to blank out a lot when I'm nervous. Or drunk.

I waited for a nerve wracking five minutes, texting my girlfriends about how nervous I was and going over the questions I had planned to ask. Both Lauren and Adelle have done this tons of times, meeting with business associates for breakfast, lunch, drinks, etc. They're so good at this networking thing, meeting strangers and asking the right questions.

"Don't worry, you'll do fine. This is a huge opportunity to learn as much as you can and make a good connection!" Lauren praised. She herself, managed to network her way to a top management position with the government. If she can do this, so can I, I reassured myself.

Finally, a figure emerged from the airport, a tall-ish 6'0" Bradley Scott, in the flesh, dressed in a crisp denim shirt, untucked with the first two buttons unbuttoned, revealing a smooth, leathery tanned chest, loose fitting jeans hanging slightly over his vintage cowboy boots. His curly, salt and peppered hair blowing in the wind as he walked with his leather carry-on in tow, Ray Bans firmly and mysteriously placed over his eyes and three days worth of scruff on his face. The theme song from Top Gun may as well have been playing in the background.

Holy fuckmenow, I thought. I bit my lip and scuttled out of the car as best I could, trying to keep myself composed, smoothing my down any crinkles in my gauchos and pulling my shirt straight. I was nervous as hell and all I could do was wished I hadn't gotten out of the car...

{Continued in Part 2}