I wear clothes that cost more than a down payment on a home in Minnesota. I can afford to have Evian water flowing out of my faucets. I have nutritionists, personal trainers, chefs, nannies, astrologers, accountants, publicists, managers, agents, all at my beck-and-call.
WHO AM I?
I’m a celebrity who is living their dream come true, yet still expects to have some semblance of a “normal” life. I wear the BEST clothes, (although sometimes I’ll wear a plain white Gap T-shirt to the Oscars just to show how “normal” I am).I eat the BEST food (although sometimes I’ll slum it to the local 7-11 and buy a bag of Cheetos and a slushie just to show how “normal” I am). I live in the BEST houses (you actually won’t ever catch me slumming on my digs, so forget showing how “normal” I am in this department).
Celebrities, let me tell you what “normal” is: “Normal” is needing to wait for your tax return before you can do any home improvements, or necessary things, like getting your leaky roof fixed before toxic mold sets in and poisons the entire family. “Normal” is eating vegetarian at the end of the month, not because it’s the trend, but because you only have twenty bucks left to feed your family of four until your next paycheck. “Normal” is having your kid’s birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese’s, with the hundreds of other screaming stranger-kids, not renting Disneyland for the day.
Do spoiled celebrities want to be the kind of “normal” I just described? You bet their insured asses they don’t! So will someone please tell them to stop all the whining about wanting their privacy respected? They’re a PUBLIC personality. Just like a politician will suffer public humiliation should the public find out they dropped acid and banged a different chick every night back in their college days, so should a future celebrity know they will suffer the loss of their privacy if they become famous.
I love the celebrities who play dumb. The ones who claim they love what they do, yet didn’t sign on for the “bad stuff.” That’s like a nurse saying she became a nurse to marry a doctor, yet has no intention of wiping asses or cleaning up vomit. Or a vet who loves animals, yet doesn’t want to have to euthanize any of them.
Every job has its negatives. How screwed is the average Joe once they find out they have carpal tunnel syndrome from doing the same repetitive crap over and over, and have to be on permanent disability for the rest of their life? How about Black lung disease from working in a coal mine? What about being a cop and getting shot?
And celebrities complain about loss of privacy? That they can’t go to the supermarket or McDonalds anymore without getting mobbed by adoring fans and paparazzi who want to take their photo? REALLY? Do they honestly think there should be no negatives whatsoever in their profession? That the hardest thing for them to deal with should be having to choose between Valentino or vintage Dior? Where in their karma does that even remotely smell like fairness?
All an actor needs to do is be on one wildly-successful sitcom for a few years, and they never have to work another day in their privacy-deprived sorry life. Meanwhile, they’re living in their gazillion-dollar mansion, you know, the one with the three swimming pools, tennis court and home movie theater and gym; they can afford to send someone to do their shopping and mundane errands that folks like us would kill to have someone do for us.
Oh wait, they want to be “normal,” with privacy, so I guess that means they’d rather live like me…swimming in a cloudy public pool, with fifty other people I don’t know. Or working out in a germ-filled, sweat-ridden gym, hoping I don’t catch a fungus. Or communing with other movie-goers, who inevitably forget to turn off their cell phones, and bring their freaking baby to an R-rated film. Or quickly making a box of mac n’ cheese for dinner, because I have to rush my son to soccer practice, and quite frankly, I don’t have the energy to cook anything else, because gee, I have to do EVERYTHING myself.
What was that, Mr. and Mrs. Celebrity? You don’t want my life? You want all the glory, riches, and preferential treatment, but not have to suffer for it?
My advice then would be to buy your own private island, because you know you can afford it, move there with your entourage, and bitch and moan to people who get paid to care.