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July 20, 2004
I Hate Paper Gowns
So guess what?
Yesterday I did this fun little interview for VH-1. No, not I Love the 90s which I would love to do. Yo, did you see when Beth Littleford made fun of Joey Buttafuoco’s wife’s facial impairment? I usually have crazy shit fly out of my mouth when I watch television and make my commentary but I thought that was just crazy. I don’t think you can really make fun of someone’s paralyzed face after she's been shot at point-blank range. Period. Point. Blank. Period. One-way ticket to you know where. He’s watching us, man. From a distance, but still.
No, it was a show where all the reality people get together and probably say they hate the editing on their shows and reveal “secrets” and behind-the-scenes, even though you, the smarter-than-the-TV-gives-you-credit-for audience probably already know everything because you Google and you TiVo. Well, I did say that I had a sneaking suspicion that almost all of the straight guys cast on any Real World or Road Rules had gay potential and that has to be why I never get to hook up. Did you ever think that? Shit dude, sometimes some of them just feel gay. My dad asked me if – you know what, this doesn’t matter. The real story here is Omarosa who isn’t a gay man, but instead an almost mythical being.
So, I was getting my make-up done and I asked the woman who else was coming in today. Making sure I didn’t have to stitch up my pockets or bear arms this afternoon. Never hurts to ask. This reality bubble is getting thick. She said we were all waiting for Omarosa. I said a bunch of expletives as I shimmied in the make-up chair. Yessssss!
The door opens just then and I’m preparing for Omarosa to saunter through the room, fill it up with the scent of her various perfumes and lotions (she just strikes me as a very clean-smelling individual) and sit right next to me in some sort of red sequins gown. I always imagine her in a red sequins gown no matter what the occasion. I imagine her shaking my hand firmly and introducing herself complete with the hyphenated last name and some kind of British accent. Why? I don’t know. I just think of her in crazy ways. She’s the only reality person, that if I saw, I’d straight up be baffled that she was standing right in front of me. I met Andrew Firestone’s cute ass and even he didn’t have the same effect.
Instead it was Mercedes.
Mercedes, that really pretty girl from America’s Most Wanted Model, comes in and wow, she’s way shorter than I thought she’d be. Pretty girl.
I met Kennedy too and she’s a friendly person. Her voice is so distinguishable, it’s crazy. If I was a data entry clerk at the utilities office and she called, I would know it was her.
Now, I go in for my interview and still no Omarosa.
I do the interview.
You know, these interviews are always fun and easy and painless and nice and then you drive home and rewind all the shit you said and you just hope they put it together nicely. Or you're not paranoid at all and you go on about your business like a regular person of sound mind. I didn’t mean to blabber on about a bad experience at the OB GYN, but the question was, “What was the most awkward time you were recognized?” and that was the answer. All medical people should ask no personal questions when you’re down-there is exposed and you’re hanging on for dear life under that paper gown. Spriteboy knows all about paper gowns these days.
So yeah, I was talking about Real World when I did it over four years ago. WHAT! I know, right. I’m almost 100% positive that I’ll sound jaded, and I’m so not jaded. It’s just that I already know all the answers and I’ve said this stuff again and again.
And of course they asked about old fights and I had to answer so everyone will say, “Wow that Melissa needs to get over it,” when in reality, it’s squashed to all hell but I can’t refuse to answer the question. Did you see how LaLa clowned Veronica when she tried to act like she and Katie had no more beef on the Inferno reunion? You see, it’s a catch-22, but whatever. My feelings on all that shit still stand and on top of that, I don’t give a shit. I have bigger things to worry about. Like this little kid pointing my direction at the dim sum restaurant and saying, “It’s those, behind that LADY.” He called me a mother fucking lady and he didn’t mean a female with class. He meant old ass lady. How could a five-year-old have enough power to ruin my entire month of July? Nobody knows, but he did. That dick.
And I told Norman, who’s staying at my apartment with me this week, what I said about dating post Real World and he said I got it all wrong. I said, quite honestly, that you’re just un-dateable after Real World because, shit damn it all to hell, you are. He said I should have said I was single and open to date you know, somebody good. But seriously, is somebody good going to call up my manager and say he saw me on VH-1 pleading for a date and would like to take me out? No. Somebody good is laid up in the bed with somebody better and to that I say Fuck You Leslie. Quotes from Monster. The. Best. Ever.
Doesn’t matter. It was a fun interview. It’ll air. Hopefully my hair didn’t keep growing from the humidity in the room and then maybe Rick Fox will call and say he’d like to make me a celebrity overnight. Or, better yet, my head will catch on fire and my new problems will be burns and recovery -- way more important than the ones I have now. Good day to you too.
Oh, and Omarosa, the unicorn that she is, never showed up. Why! Why? It's all I ever wanted and nothing.
Posted by melissah at July 20, 2004 02:51 PM