How the
National Enquirer
got Edwards: [link]
Around 9:40 p.m. on July 21, Hitchen saw Hunter's friend Bob McGovern pull up to the hotel in a navy blue BMW 740 sedan and take the elevator up to Hunter's room. Hitchen and Butterfield knew Edwards would likely use a less visible entrance and stationed themselves in the lobby for the five-hour stakeout. Shortly after 2 a.m, Hitchen saw McGovern return to the lobby. Expecting Edwards to take the elevator to the basement where he could escape through a rear stairwell, the reporter positioned himself at the bottom of the stairs. Edwards popped out of the elevator and started up the stairs.
Then Hitchen pounced. "Mr. Edwards, Alexander Hitchen, from the National Enquirer. Would you like to say why you were at the hotel this evening to see your mistress Rielle Hunter and your love child?" he asked. Edwards froze and "turned pale," Hitchen remembers. Edwards made a move for the top of the stairs but Butterfield, standing with a photographer, was blocking the exit. "He ducked, tucked, and ran," Butterfield says. The Enquirer reporters ran after him, Hitchen asking questions all the while. "Do you think for the sake of your child, you should admit paternity?" he said.
Edwards said nothing.
Edwards darted into a bathroom and pulled the door shut. Hitchen and Butterfield stood in the corridor, trying to pry it back open. Edwards "was trying to pull the door, and occasionally I'd see his face, and you'd see the stress on his face and his hair tussling around," Butterfield told me. A group of security guards came over. Hitchen explained the situation and handed his card to a guard who went into the bathroom. Soon, the guards shielded Edwards's head with a jacket and escorted him up the stairs and out of the hotel.
Eric Heiden.
He was on the radio a few days ago--he's got a book out about health and fitness (he's an orthopedic surgeon, IIRC).
This weekend, I'm off from the bookstore for the first time in a while (yay!), so I might head over to the Farmers Market tomorrow morning and then work on cleaning my bedroom, closet, and drawers. Then, my brother and his family will be in town for the week, so I'm heading over to Dad's on Sunday for a cookout with all of them. (Don't know if my SIL will be there--she's flying in with the kids on Saturday, but due to the recent separation, it's going to be awkward if she is around.)
I want to go home and pull the covers over my head.
I took my roommate to the health service, she's been coughing for a solid week with not much result from regular cough syrup, so they gave her some super-duper stuff that's going to make her sleepy, and antibiotics for an ear infection that is probably not helping the coughing any.
Hubby has an appointment with the Buddhist God of Cardiology tomorrow--yes, Saturday appointments--and we're expecting to hear that he's going to need further procedures because things are acting up again.
After which we're going to the shooting range again and shooting at more stuffed creatures. Barney is doomed.
Weekend: nah, it's not that exciting, people. I mean, laundry, groceries, pray the children nap - what I do every weekend. With added "pick a health insurance plan" excitement.
I am invited to a work-people brunch on Sunday. Just me, not the family, which seems so odd to me after the work culture at my last place of employment, which was very inclusive of partners and family. Of the 7 people I now work with closely, one just had a baby and she's the only one with a child. At my old job, it was babies galore and everyone I worked with closely had children (though of course many of the "children" were my age.)
I'm getting my hair done, and doing massive amounts of laundry, and erranding. BIG TIME EXCITEMENT, let me tell you.
Wait, didn't you get your hair done last weekend?
I am really overdue for a haircut.
We have a big weekend. Tonight, I get to go on a date with my DH to see the new Stacy Peralta doc that a friend of ours was line producer on. We lamed out on all the free screenings we were invited to, so are going to the fancy reserved-seat theater and paying real money.
Tomorrow we are gardening, then going to see Tropic Thunder with our movie friends. Our realtor is a member of the local garden club, which she wants us to join as it is apprently a fun and funky group. Sunday, she is having a party for the club. She has a huge fig tree and we are all harvesting figs then making fig brandy and taking a bottle home. Should be cool!
