Mini-Masochist: Impersonating a Celebrity

Lady Gaga is performing at the House of Blues on Monday night, and we couldn’t have been more ready to put on our “po-po-po-poker face.” But since Bostonista sometimes leaves things to the last minute, we tried to score tickets too late in the game. And now the show is sold out.

Looks like Bostonista won’t be just dancing with Gaga and commiserating over our misplaced keys and lost phones (send us your numbers, people!).

We did the same thing to Britney. So we had to make a play for Canada. When all else fails, go to Canada, right? Our friend is getting married in May, so our concert date turned into a Montreal “girl’s weekend” and bachelorette party (complete with our two fabulous gay man-friends).

The Britney concert was a full-fledged circus with tight rope walkers, contortionists, acrobats, and more. And even though Britney only said one sentence that wasn’t prerecorded, we were really only there to see her bejeweled costumes and the dances anyway.

The day after the Britney concert, we went shopping on St. Catherine Street (no, not for that kind of stuff). On a storefront window, we saw a poster of our other girl, Lady Gaga. We took one look at Gaga with her bleach blonde hair and big white sunglasses, and then we stared at our friend Amber, also with her bleached blonde hair, slight frame, and sick abs. She was a dead ringer.

That day, we made it our mission to get Amber some big Gaga glasses to wear out that night. She found a pair with white frames that covered most of her face, put them on, and the resemblance was uncanny.

“That’s it, we’re riding like celebrities tonight,” she said. Bostonista loves playing celebrity. We once even faked our own paparazzi scheme.

Back in the hotel room, we got ready for dinner and a night out on the town. Amber zipped up a cropped white jacket and tucked her skinny jeans into shiny, black, thigh-skimming boots. With the glasses on, she was officially Gaga-fied.

Hey Nicole Ritchie did it. So why can’t we?

When she was ready, most of our entourage went down to the lobby of the hotel, while Amber/Gaga and two other friends stayed behind, and waited by the elevator. They delayed five minutes, to give us time to prepare downstairs.

Once in the lobby, we started talking to a group of ten guys that was standing near the elevators.

“Did you hear Lady Gaga is staying at this hotel?” we asked.

“No way, really?” one guy said. “She’s staying here?”

“Yeah we think we saw her waiting for the elevator upstairs. She’s coming down any minute,” we said, while getting our cameras ready for some action.

Minutes later, Amber/Gaga emerged from the elevator with her shades on and her head down, and our two fabulous man-friends quickly took on the roles of her “manager” and “publicist.”

We all started screaming. “Gaga! We love you!”

“It’s really her!” and we snapped her picture over and over again. We asked her to sign our gum wrapper and our receipts, because we “didn’t have any paper.”

The looks on the guys’ faces was priceless. They all started asking for her autograph and pictures, too.

“We thought you were just joking around, but it’s really her,” said one.

Our impersonation was completely successful. Even the concierge was giddy at the spectacle.

But little did we know that that same concierge, who had earlier hooked our large group up with dinner reservations at a fancy place, was quickly phoning the restaurant to where we were headed.

To give them a heads up about just “who” was coming to dinner that night.