…to warrant a blog? After getting into the whole blog thing and reading other people’s blogs, I’m beginning to wonder if this is really worth it. I mean, are people out there truly interested in the fact that I’ve been almost mainlining the black Tazo ice-tea at Starbucks on a daily basis? Or that I’ve been singing Rich Girl by Hall & Oates over and over to the point that my husband dashes out the front door every time I open my mouth? (Come to think of it, he was doing that even before I started in on the song….) Maybe I should just make stuff up to make myself look like I’m rolling in the chingy, hanging with P.Diddy and Ashton Kutcher? Maybe something like…
- Woke up at 11:00M to watch The View on TiVo to see if I was discussed; slapped my personal assistant for the first time today because she ordered 2% milk instead of non-fat in my latte.
- Noon: Shiva Vishnu Feldenstein, my yoga/pilates instructor, shows up for my daily workout. During the “burning peacock/fighting clamdigger” stance, CNBC announces that my stock in a company developing do-it-yourself botox injection kits is tanking faster than the box-office numbers for last week’s summer blockbuster premiere. It takes three fire engine battalions to extricate me.
- 3:00pm: on the way home from Cedars Sinai, Liza calls me on my private cell phone to tell me she’s divorcing David. “It’s not so much that he’s leaving,” she wails, “it’s the fact he stole all of my outfits from Liza With a Z, including the shoes!” I try consoling her by recommending a fab new eyebrow waxing guru.
- 4:30pm: slapped my personal assistant for not picking out the glazed candied hazelnuts out of my pear-and-radichio salad. She wimpers something about getting me the latest American Libraries and runs out the door. Make a mental note to buy her the Z. Bigatti Re-Storation Vitamin and Antioxidant Skin Treatment creme for $150 a jar because she’s looking sooo stressed these days….
- 7:00pm: Russell calls–again. For the past month he’s been calling me twice a day, wanting to play a “special” game of rugby with him on the set of his new film. I gently decline, citing the fact that I have to put the finishing touches on an article about CIPA implementation in wireless libraries for Searcher. He curses–something about my mother and a slutty wallabee. I tell him that’s no way for an Academy-Award winning actor to talk.
- Midnight: slap my assistant again for laying out the oversized “I’m z39.50 Compliant!” t-shirt for me to sleep in. She retaliates by side-kicking me in the abdomen. Guess those kickboxing lessons I gave her for Christmas are really paying off…..
Next time: my real life….