Dear Chuck Lorre,

Is that you? I looked for you under Google Images and that’s what I found.  That and a picture of Frankenstein.  I went with this one.

Mr. Lorre. Mr. Chuck Lorre.  Mr. writer and executive producer of The Big Bang Theory, Two and a Half Men, Dharma and Greg, Cybill, Grace Under Fire and… and… AND ROSEANNE (for two years as a writer, co-ex producer/supervising producer.)  I wiki’d you!  Wiki’d wiki’d wack!

I don’t think the way to impress you is to list your creative accomplishments. I’m not dazzling you, am I Mr. Lorre? See, this is why you’re the great show creator and I have an internet show for moms on YouTube.

I’m writing to you because I think I love you.  And not in that creepy fan want to stalk you and lick the rim of the glass you just drank from kinda love.  No. I think I love you so much I want to BE you.

I assume a lot of housewives prance around their room late at night and pretend they’re someone glamorous like Angelina Jolie.  Not that I’ve ever seen her prance or anything.  But I do. Prance, that is. Sometimes around my room.  Sometimes around the grocery store.  And when I do prance around my room at night, I pretend I’m you.  Not that I’m implying you prance around or anything. I’m not saying you’re prancy.  I’m not somehow indicating you are anything less than your ruggedly masculine executive producer self. You stud.

Um. Actually, when I read your vanity card at the end of every episode, not only do I wish I could be you,  I wish I could write like you.  I wish my blog entries were as funny as your vanity cards.  You’d be such a kick ass blogger.  You know, if you weren’t being paid millions to create hit television shows or anything.

See, this is the part of the letter when I ask my favorite famous person to appear on my internet show. Here’s what I’m thinking. Since you probably don’t want to wax poetic for ten minutes about diapers, wipes, or breast feeding, how about you just sit and do your creative thang while I watch?  There you go.  There’s a show. I’ll come watch you be Mr. Creative Guy Chuck Lorre and I won’t say a thing.  I’ll just sit.  Watch you work. Hope that maybe some of it rubs off on me. Again, not in that creepy stalker want to rub up against your favorite celebrity kind of way. I’ll just sit and watch you be your creative genius self.  I won’t even demand a thing.  Well, maybe a Diet Dr Pepper. I like those.

I would send this to you, but you don’t have an address.  I mean, you don’t have a PUBLISHED address.  I know you have an address.  The writer’s strike didn’t last THAT long.  I’m not implying that you’re homeless. You have an address.  Probably with an ocean view. You’re a successful man!  Not homeless. Or smelly!

Sheldon from Big Bang Theory is the best character on TV right now.  Maybe even the best television character EVAH.  Not that the other characters you created weren’t fantastic.  They are all wonderful.  You are wonderful.  Oh what the hell!  Now that we’re best buds, I can be totally honest with you.  I  no longer think I love you, I really do love you, Chuck Lorre!

This went well.  I expect I’ll be hearing from you any day now.

Your biggest fan,

Jaden from Jaden Dot Com

Call me!

Dear Chuck Lorre,

The first time I wrote an online letter to you, I did a great job keeping my cool and not making an ass of myself. Was that just the smoothest, coolest fan letter you’ve evah received?  Can you imagine what I’d say if by some wild chance we actually met in person?  See, that sounds awesome in theory.  Me, a Missouri housewife with dreams of one day being a lifestyle cable show creator, meeting her idol, the ultimate show creator/power house TV producer covered in funny goodness that is Chuck Lorre. Meet your idol, get inspired, and try not to frighten him in the process.

So, a few months ago I signed up for a seminar for wanna be television producers.  When I registered, the special guest producer of the seminar was yet to be announced.  I said to my husband, “Wouldn’t it be wild if Chuck Lorre was the special guest?”  And he said, “Dream on, Sugar Britches!”

Wait wait wait.  I can’t lie to you, Mr. Lorre.  He didn’t really say that. That was me, taking creative license with my kick ass Chuck Lorre story. I doubt my husband has ever used the word britches, much less with sugar in the same sentence.  He told me to dream on, and I did, with visions of Chuck Lorre fairies dancing in my head.

SO THEN a few weeks later I got an email from the seminar’s organizers.  I guess dreams really do come true for sugar britches like me. It appears the gods of television lost a bet and you are the unknowing victim who must settle up. Get your lawyer on the phone and get a restraining order on stand by, my television idol.

You’re the special guest.

When I read that email, I started dancin and whoopin and hollarin around the room.  Come to Missouri, leave your g’s at home.  The babies started whoopin and hollarin with me as we ran circles around the dining room.  I was shouting, “CHUCK LORRE!  CHUCK LORRE!  I GET TO MEET CHUCK LORRE!” until the four year old stopped me and asked, “Who’s Chunk Lordy?”

So Mr. Lordy,  when the cling-ons of the seminar are crowded around, desperately trying to press scripts for Two and a Half Men into your hands, “Charlie falls for a woman who’s actually from outer space!  Isn’t that great?” and you’re thinking whatever they paid you to lead the seminar wasn’t enough, I’ll be standing off to the side, sweating through my just my size granny panties and waiting ever so patiently to do this:

I want to stand next to you and make this face while someone takes a picture.

That, my favorite producer and show creator of all time, will be worth the price of admission, flight, hotel, gas surcharges, and luggage fees. I will print the picture and hang it above my computer as a reminder to never give up the dream.  The funny guy won. It gives me hope.

Oh, and If we do actually meet, I promise I won’t hug you and stroke your hair while softly singing You Are My Sunshine.

Your future seminar attendee,

Jaden

PS If the whole successful career in television thing doesn’t work out, you can have Chunk Lordy as your porn name.

Dear Chuck Lorre,

Hey Hot Stuff.  I can call you that now cuz we’re like THIS cuz we talked for ten minutes after you spoke at the LA TV Festival. By Hollywood relationship standards, we’re practically married.

I followed your advice from that beautiful ten minutes we shared.  Which sounds like we had a quickie in the bathroom.  We didn’t.  At least not in real life.  We might have made out in my head. I might have been picturing that the entire time you were giving me advice on how to get a TV deal. The advice worked. Thanks, I’m now bald and have an ulcer.  Welcome to television!

I had forgotten my camera that day and this lady sitting next to me said, “Here, I’ll take your picture with Mr. Lorre and email it to you!”  It was a good picture, too.  I looked hot.  You looked tired.  The important thing is what I looked hot. And now the world will never know because that lady never emailed me the picture. Which is another fine example of how relationships work in Hollywood.

So last night I had my very first Chuck Lorre dream.   I’m an enter -a -dream- with- the -action- already- in- progress kinda gal, ala Sam Beckett in Quantum Leap, who is not a gal, but Scott Bakula is from St. Louis.

The dream began with me discovering you were driving us somewhere in the mountains. We pulled alongside a river and I made a lame joke about being with Chuck Lorre in a van down by the river.  You snapped, “We’re in a Mercedes!”  Then you informed me your diaper was dirty and demanded to be changed.  I asked if it was too late to develop a career crush on Rob Reiner.

I exited the car and a fuzzy blonde monkey pounced on my head. You came out to rescue me, telling me you once killed a fuzzy blonde monkey with your bare hands.  The monkey climbed into the back of the Mercedes and asked for a ride to L.A.

We got into the car and headed to Los Angeles in silence that was soon broken by the monkey leaning forward and asking, “Hey, can I give you a script I wrote for Big Bang Theory?”

I dreamed  a super TV producer was sitting in a poo filled diaper driving myself and a script writing monkey to Los Angeles. After spending the past 8 months trying to get my show sold to a network, this dream doesn’t surprise me one bit.

Closer and closer to becoming the Chuck Lorre of cable television,

Jaden of Jaden Dot Com