People, when you have a glamorous day job like me and you’re the type of person who is sometimes the only one capable of organizing buying someone who’s leaving a gift…it is you who has to drive .5 miles to Beverly Hills and pick it up. (This takes one hour total both ways, include parking.)
Wow! I sometimes see Beverly Hills in the pages of US Weekly. I really love that Normal/Not Normal section. It helps me put things in perspective.
I notice that on the shmancy streets of BH, near Rodeo and off, I never see starletts. I see people dressed like Paris Hilton in casual wear, velour Juicy sweatsuits, gaucho’s, etc. but these people have unsuccessfully squeezed their flesh in. And I can’t tell if they stuck a pillow in their ass, or have an arched back but a lot of big butts in Beverly Hills. Big butts, with nice pedicures, flip-flops, overly big and bejeweled sunglasses.
I see a lot of staring going on in Beverly Hills. There literally is an energy to that small area. People are fiending to see someone famous. If you were not familiar with the concept of celebrity (in other words, a total loser!) and you saw how people, stalk, stare, walk slowly until they have figured out who you are, and walk quickly away when they have figured out who you aren’t….you’d think that we were all secretly plotting to kill one another, or wrapped up in a universal game of slow-motion tag.
When I had my sunglasses on, people stared at me, determined to see if I was important, because I was hiding half my face in big, black lenses. (I have a crooked ear. I can’t wear small sunglasses, it looks mental.)
I stared back and thought that some women had skin that was just too nice to be ‘normal’ people. They must use those lotions and potions that I once bought when I put anything my angry little heart desired on credit.
I saw a six year old kid holding a blackberry up to his face and shouting in a bakery, “I can’t hear you! It’s loud in here!” I saw two shcleppy moms who did not know each other, stop IN THE DOORWAY of a bakery and compared strollers. One mom liked the other moms sort of Chinese-esque, pastel and silky stroller top. However that mom explained that it didn’t come with the stroller, she bought it separately. And look! It’s so flimsy. The other mom said, “Oh.” And they stood there looking at each other. I think the mom who once coveted the flimsy stroller cover was now judging the other mom for using a flimsy stroller cover that could let in some serious UV rays into her baby’s head.
I was just trying to get to the counter to get my self-ish, unmarried, non-child wanting ass a sandwich. I waited politely for the mommies to get the hell out of the way. I waited as an experiment, “How rude can they be?”
It’s not fair that I didn’t get to see a sad celebrity who is trapped by their Scientological husband, or their own drug-addiction, or an eating disorder, clutching an extra large coffee and looking forlorn, just like I see in US Weekly.