There are people who don’t deserve the masses’ time and attention, yet, when my mother asked me yesterday if I knew that Kim Kardashian was pregnant, I realized the situation is hopeless.
And so I wish Ms. Kardashian a healthy pregnancy and a nice baby. What else can I do? It’s the right thing to wish upon a mother-to-be, no matter how much you’d like her to use up her fifteen minutes already. Which would be futile, were it to happen. Because there will always be someone to replace her. Possibly someone more annoying.
Yes. Jealous. I am. I admit it. But, if you’re going to allow me to pick at the smallest of nits, I am not envious. I am jealous because I would like to have an s-ton of money—hence, a sense of security, future-wise—but I don’t envy that sort of celebrity. I wish I had some celebrity—some more, if being a Quasi-Famous Ventura County Star Columnist counts—but I wouldn’t be able to deal with the vitriol that accompanies someone who is way-famous just for being way-famous. She also has a famously large tuchus. You go, girl. I mean it. Go. Just go.
A big butt is not exactly a Pulitzer Prize- or Nobel Prize- or even County Fair Prize-winning attribute. Although, when it comes to rich kids, I have to say Kim is much more facially attractive than Paris Hilton, who creeps me out with that sneer thing. Maybe Kim’s a nice person. I don’t know. I don’t care. All I know is that I’d like to sell more of my writing and not have to worry so much about the mortgage. Which sounds unrelated to my jealousy, but it isn’t.
I am hoping for a happier new year on this first day of it. 2012 was not great for a variety of whiny reasons, but of all the months, December was the best. My grandson started calling me “grammy,” my younger daughter came home from college for a visit, my older daughter made some mature decisions that impressed me, and my husband is thinking about building a pizza oven in the backyard.
Maybe if I eat enough pizza, my tuchus will get huge (huger) and I can get a TV show, too.