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July 20, 2004
Humping Screech.
Fuck it.
I have to just tell the truth. I know I’m supposed to act like I have this mysterious LA halfway famous (as Shorty would say) life. Like I just go to parties, rub elbows with the famous (i.e. get elbowed in the head because tall people refuse to acknowledge that smaller people may be right behind them), cash all my checks. Okay, I do do some of that shit although running into Bank of America in flip flops and a hot oil treatment on my head and getting asked if I’m Ruthie from Real World is hardly as glamorous as you might NOT imagine. I was just at a party the other night and I saw some famous folks. They’re crazy. The DJ was playing Chaka Khan and not one of them got up to dance. What person doesn’t dance to a Chaka Khan song? That’s illegal in some counties. Celebrities. What the fuck? Needless to say, and really actually needless to say (don't you hate when people say that and the thing that they said was actually a necessary thing to say in order to move the conversation along?), I danced.
Ahh, so speaking of famous, could I get more famous if I made a nasty tape like Paris Hilton and of course, Cameron Diaz! Can you believe that shit? You see, there are small gifts that the one upstairs gives me. She can’t just have 45 bazillion dollars, have the world think she’s the baddest white girl in all of the motion pictures and on top of that be kissing Justin Timberlake all up in my face. That would just be rude. To me! And what have I ever done to her? So long ago (to be sung like Luther) she made a nasty S&M tape that critics have hailed as not that sexy (that’s what they said) and for years she’s been fighting the release of it blah blah blah and now it’s out and available. Dude, what is the problem? What’s a little bad press for someone who has everything including Justin fucking Timberlake?
Who cares about bad press when you've got all the cash! So Mary-Kate's possibly a coke-sniffer? Even if so, she's a multi-millionaire coke-sniffer with an insane shoe collection, so snort it up MK. None of this shit will matter when you're lounging in your bungalow in Brasil, getting papercuts counting that cash. And you'll always have Ashley. People do need to leave those two alone. They've got empires to build.
Shit, I’m about to make a nasty tape with Screech or something. Then can I have the money? Then can I get on the red carpet to fucking Anchorman? Oh yeah man, I was denied access to walk down the red carpet and go to the premiere of Anchorman. Fucking Anchorman. No, I wasn’t already at the event and turned away. I have some dignity, people. It was a phone call no. Truth hurts, but you can’t be scared of it. I’m about to ask my publicist lady if I can go to Sleepover just to see how deeply these Hollywood people can go with the clowning. Sorry, Melissa of Real World and Girls Behaving Badly fame, you cannot go to the screening of a G movie. You’re not important enough. Well Fuck You Leslie. That’s my new thing. Everything is Fuck You Leslie. Monster. Get on the train. Oh, oh, but I’m happy to inform you that I will be at the launch of Andy Dick’s The Assistant. I am allowed to go to that. Phew! For a moment there, I was feeling like I lost my shazaam.
Let’s talk about how deeply they go with the overlooking. Don’t they see I have magical powers like the liger? It’s so deep, so deep he put my butt to sleep and I have no choice but to find it funny. It’s just funny to me and hopefully to you.
So, Coral and I went to the Maxim Hot 100 party because mother fucker I was actually on that list. Insert Touchdown Dance. Don’t hate on No. #92. That shit just means I didn’t have to crash the party. I was invited and everything. They make it like these parties are so A-List Hollywood and that it’s just so hard to get in and that a plus one at the door would be doing a lot, and then you get inside and fucking Brian from Kinko’s is sipping on drinks that I ordered. Just random ass street folks.
And the whole cast of Scrubs is sitting across from you and you meet them and they are nice and they spill drinks on your shoes and they say they saw you on MTV and then the following Monday you’re at the public Laundromat up the street and one of the regulars (a real live star) of Scrubs is straight up washing his own clothes right alongside you. Cool run-on. Well, actually, I was just getting some quarters. Quarters and postage stamps are like gold around here. Fucking commodities not to be traded away haphazardly. Anyway, the Scrubs people are nice and regular just like you and me, honey. They wash their shit right up the street. So the next time your teardrops are falling in your cranberry vodka because you want to be on an episode of Cribs showing off all your same-looking lingerie just once, know that they have to take shits and wash clothes just like you. Umhmm.
Okay, so the party’s great. Ooh, there’s JC Chasez. Will he dance with the some girls that dance with women? And look at Matthew Perry. He sure looks rich. Oh snap, is that Snoop? I will admire him from afar. Actually, it truly was the most fun I’d ever had a party in my whole entire life and I usually hate parties. Nobody believes my social anxiety claims, but it’s true. Sometimes. Maybe. Well, kinda. The good news is I didn’t even have a hangover and the drinks were FREE!
The following week I logged on to the good old Internet to see my dress in a picture. God, self-involved much? Well, I just admitted the shit so stop rolling your eyes. Yeah you. It’s called PrincessMelissa, okay. Let’s just start there. Now, it was a yellow dress that I’d been saving and saving and saving to wear specifically for this party. I got it in Brasil and it is jammin’ on the ones. Too cute. And when I went on the website that shows the pictures of famous people arriving at parties, I had to straight up scour the page. Enter secret codes and shit. Okay, I didn’t have to do that but I was just nowhere to be found under my own name. So I had to go through pages and pages to see myself premiere this stupid yellow dress. How retarded am I?
Finally, I catch a glimpse of yellow. Not me. Just Shannon Elizabeth wearing a yellow dress thing with jeans at the Maxim party. Totally bad, totally unexplainable. But who am I to judge? Really, who am I? Glad I asked. I am actually Marissa. No last name. Just Marissa. Yes, I found the picture of myself but the photographers labeled my picture as just plain Marissa. Who the fuck is that? How are you going to get my name wrong on the Maxim red carpet when I’m on the fucking list? Pause. Let me take a moment. It's been fixed though. Yahoo.
So yes, I plan on making a nasty tape. Acting like it pains me to have it released. Release it. Get all the checks and then what? Can I buy a house? Or will that be another layer of my own demise? Will no one buy the nasty tape of Melissa and Screech? I mean, it is Screech. Come on. I wouldn’t say anything bad about his ass. That fool can box. Y’all seen that Celebrity Deathmatch? He busted that fool’s eye up. Little old Screech. Wait, did I just say I’d hump Screech? I think Puck threw a wet tuna sandwich at his head on a commercial shoot. That’s a little sexy, I guess. Well, not nearly as sexy as the dude that tried to lift my arms to smell my "armpit" (a word I don't recognize in the English language) so that he could enjoy my "pheromones..." but that, my cancer-free friend, is another story for another day. Who says armpit and why are you trying to smell me? Craziest comment ever. Another day though. For now, take this and I promise I'll try not to disappear for too long this time. It's just that Jeopardy! is so good right now. Website? Update? Who?
Posted by melissah at July 20, 2004 03:46 PM