fact: though i had every intention of eliminating world hunger and patching the ozone layer today, i’ve spent the past fiveish hours on my couch entranced by e!’s oscar coverage. now that my mind has been sufficiently numbed by talk of sparkles and spanx, i can dive head first into another pint of ben and jerry's knowing one thing is abundantly clear: i am never allowed to be famous.
so yeah. i've never really been one to get all orgasmified about dressing up. much to my mother's chagrin, prom dress shopping was always done in one day. despite my elfin proportions, i will never prefer choos to chucks. i refuse to work at a job where every day isn't casual friday even though i'm well aware it limits my career options and my idea of nice jewelry is black rope and silver as opposed to platinum and diamonds. to round out the list, i always opt for my black-framed librarian glasses over contacts, perfume makes me feel pukey and i can count the times i've worn makeup in the past month on one hand (three, in case you were wondering). shit, man..i even loathe the word “diet” and i've never been to rehab. even before the swag bags are all gone and the glare of the flashbulbs has subsided, i know the public eye will never be my home.
it's not that i couldn't hold my own against the joan riverses and perez hiltons of the world. if this blog is any indication, i definitely could, lambasting my own shoddy sense of style to ryan seacrest and kimora lee simmons before j and p could even let out their first cackling wisecrack or scrawl jizz on my face, respectively. who am i wearing, you ask? sorry, jame gumb i am not. and my shoes? most likely $2 flip flops from old navy, complete with unpedicured tootsies. while my peers spent the last two weeks subsisting on cayenne pepper and maple syrup, i probably just scarfed down some mickey d’s on the way over. if your blood sugar wasn’t so low, i’m pretty sure you’d be overcome with jealousy. come to think of it, who do i really have to answer to? didn't our rubber-faced septuagenarian friend and her equally scalpel-obsessed daughter get canned? and p-nasty? oh, he's far too busy chronicling britney's every move – choreographed or not – to give my faux pas a second thought. guess i'm in the clear..for now. being a nobody kind of rules sometimes.
..comfortable in my own skin isn’t even the half of it,
lex
so yeah. i've never really been one to get all orgasmified about dressing up. much to my mother's chagrin, prom dress shopping was always done in one day. despite my elfin proportions, i will never prefer choos to chucks. i refuse to work at a job where every day isn't casual friday even though i'm well aware it limits my career options and my idea of nice jewelry is black rope and silver as opposed to platinum and diamonds. to round out the list, i always opt for my black-framed librarian glasses over contacts, perfume makes me feel pukey and i can count the times i've worn makeup in the past month on one hand (three, in case you were wondering). shit, man..i even loathe the word “diet” and i've never been to rehab. even before the swag bags are all gone and the glare of the flashbulbs has subsided, i know the public eye will never be my home.
it's not that i couldn't hold my own against the joan riverses and perez hiltons of the world. if this blog is any indication, i definitely could, lambasting my own shoddy sense of style to ryan seacrest and kimora lee simmons before j and p could even let out their first cackling wisecrack or scrawl jizz on my face, respectively. who am i wearing, you ask? sorry, jame gumb i am not. and my shoes? most likely $2 flip flops from old navy, complete with unpedicured tootsies. while my peers spent the last two weeks subsisting on cayenne pepper and maple syrup, i probably just scarfed down some mickey d’s on the way over. if your blood sugar wasn’t so low, i’m pretty sure you’d be overcome with jealousy. come to think of it, who do i really have to answer to? didn't our rubber-faced septuagenarian friend and her equally scalpel-obsessed daughter get canned? and p-nasty? oh, he's far too busy chronicling britney's every move – choreographed or not – to give my faux pas a second thought. guess i'm in the clear..for now. being a nobody kind of rules sometimes.
..comfortable in my own skin isn’t even the half of it,
lex
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