You're the one that I want...oooh, oooh, oooh (honey!)

"Olivia, over here!” “To the left please, Olivia!”

These were the sounds that echoed around the red carpet as me, my tiny cannon (who I now refer to as “Smokey” as it literally smokes when the flash goes off), and my flip tried to fight our way through the labyrinth of cameras and reporters all sandwiched in The Raleigh to stake out Olivia Newton John. Grease's leading lady was there hosting a Cure Breast Cancer Event (she herself, a survivor) -- and I was there in the hopes to, what else, flip her!

Now, don’t get me wrong, I still have trouble convincing myself I am somewhat a legit reporter / writer now (whatever that means), because more often than not it sure as hell doesn’t feel like I am. There are many reasons for this, which we have numerous more entries to get into. But this night marked the first time in which it hit me I am not the only one who has this mindset.

It all started at check-in, which went something like this:

Me: Hi, wow what a crowd you guys ha-- [red flag one: I now notice most journos don’t engage in small chit-chat with the list girls]
List Girl: name and outlet?
Me: Oh, Liz Newman…NBC Miami
List Girl: [looking around, puzzled] Where is your camera crew?
Me [fumbling to open my purse to display my flip, camera, tape recorder and pen & paper]: You’re looking at it.

[dead silence, followed by my nervous laughter]

Even though I was serious, I was just attempting to lighten the mood - which by the look of the list girl's face, and the fact I was then conveniently left off the list - didn't appear to be a success. Like I said, on one end I get it - I always think that I probably look more like a crazed fan than a writer / reporter. And another key thing that I’ve discovered often raises this red flag: I dress cute (or in my eyes, just appropriate) to these events. You may think that sounds normal, but almost NO other journo covering the event (unless on camera) does this. They are always in jeans, sweats, they don’t care – they are simply there to do their job (behind the lens) and dip. In fact, I am starting to think the sloppier you dress, the higher up you are. Meaning if the saying "dress for the job you want" is true, I am never going to get anywhere in this business.

Luckily, I used to do PR in Miami, and after some calls to my old crew (who thankfully rep The Raleigh now), finally made it onto the red carpet where I bull shitted with some of my new red carpet pals (you meet some great characters while you wait – more on that later, too) and shot some pics of John Secada, socialites, Bee Gee Barry Gibb (who gave me the stink eye for some reason), and of course, ONJ. But, I still hadn’t gotten what what I came for: a few words from Miss Olivia herself.

I was almost ready to give up after getting the “no interviews” hand from the PR peeps. But know this readers (whoever you are), this is the key to being a good nightlife writer: you will get the story...no matter what. So, what do I do next? Well, naturally - I convince my new BFF red carpet friend to literally run with me after Olivia. Yes, run -- sprint like a pack of wolves, so much so even the paparazzi followed our lead. I can hear it now: "follow those girls with the Axe flip and cardboard microphone...they clearly have no shame."

And we really didn't...but it paid off.

To our surprise, we got Olivia to stop and talk to us– right before she crosses the threshold (aka the guarded cabana). I almost froze because I certainly wasn’t expecting her to even turn around, but as soon as she did, I immediately think: I am I going to ask her the inevitable and heated question?

As you read with Kim K, this is a problem I constantly run into in my reporter role – one that quite honestly I need to just get over because news is news. But, even though blunt, I don’t particularly like making people feel uncomfortable – or bothering them in general. Who does? Because, c’mon -- I know what I wanted to ask her, and what the readers wanted to know. A little background: this was merely days after her ex-boyfriend - who everyone thought had died in offshore waters - had magically reappeared, raising the speculation that the whole thing was a scam for life insurance. So, naturally I find it hard to essentially ask, "So hey Olivia, enough about Grease, and of course this fantastic breast cancer benefit you're hosting – your ex-fiancé showed up out of nowhere -- after mourning him all these years, he isn’t fish food like you thought -- what’s up with that, huh?"

Nope, I couldn't do it – I was now officially 0 for 2. Instead I asked her about her upcoming spot on Glee – which by the way, I literally cut off my new BFF reporter friend (who is chatting with her about the touching breast cancer element) to ask. I panicked to get something in, and I just blurted it out. Seriously, check out the video – that’s me blurting.



Certainly wasn’t very Sandra Dee of me, but I know Rizzo would be have been proud.