Since I’ve been living in Los Angeles, I’m sure plenty of people believe that I am living a very glamorous life. Well, I am: I live at home, I have a two hour commute, and my mother makes me dinner every day. It’s pretty rad. However, sometimes I like to imagine that my life is even more glamorous, so I will share with you a day in the life of my pretend glamorous life. Then I will share with you a day in the life of my regular glamorous life, just to see how little I have to go to achieve this fantasy. You know me: always giving minimum effort to achieve maximum result!
PRETEND GLAMOROUS LIFE
9:00 AM: Wake up to to the sound of “Crazy In Love” playing in my hotel suite at the Downtown Ritz Carlton.
9:01 AM: Walk out of my room to find Beyonce playing a stripped-down version of “Crazy In Love” on the white baby grand piano in the penthouse suite adjacent to mine.
9:02 AM: Fist bump Beyonce.
9:05 AM: Fist bump Blue Ivy on the way downstairs because we’re cool too.
9:30 AM: Have a champagne breakfast with Helen Mirren. She reads the NY Times out loud in her English accent while I pour her tea. It’s very fancy. We’re both wearing crowns because we can.
10:00 AM: Get picked up by my personal chauffer, Morgan Freeman, as we drive around downtown pursued by paparazzi. Thank god I had those built-in missiles installed.
11:00 AM: Meet up with Julie Andrews for a rigorous hike. We climb every mountain, ford every stream, while following every rainbow till we reached “Your Dream”, a super-secret mountain villa for super famous people only. I flash my veneers and we go in for some truffle fries, caviar, and peanut butter M&Ms.
12:00 PM: Catch a helicopter down to Hollywood for some really successful movie premier. I don’t really know what one, because I go to sooooo many, but it was fun.
12:30 PM: Go to the park with Jon Hamm where we feed breadcrumbs to Lindsay Lohan. Then we laugh about how handsome we are and talk about doing this again.
1:00 PM: Get lunch with Paula Deen, Ina Garten and Mario Batali. Then we realize the elevator won’t hold all of us, so we kick Batali off cause we don’t do gingers. We have such a great time without him that we send him pictures of us at lunch with the text, “Suck it, Ginger!”
2:00 PM: Receive a frantic call from Yo-Yo Ma saying he has become too arrogant to perform and needs me to come down to deflate his ego.
2:15 PM: Traverse secret tube system used by famous people to travel to brothels and strip clubs without being seen. Wave to Tom Hanks as he heads to “Hoe’s R Us”.
2:23 PM: Arrive at Walt Disney Concert Hall. Shred the cello until I reduce Yo-Yo Ma to tears in awe of how he will never come close to being half as good as me. He considers himself successfully humbled enough to perform that evening.
3:00 PM: Meet up with Taylor Lautner to go visit his family at the Alpaca Farm.
3:30 PM: Play a match with Roger Federer over in Malibu. We get some beers afterwards and throw some darts. Rafael Nadal’s face is the bullseye, naturally. We have a great time.
5:00 PM: Smoke some weed with Miley Cyrus, Snoop Dogg, and Tom Cruise. Things get weird when Tom thinks Snoop is Katie Holmes and tries to make out with him. Miley and I politely extricate ourselves from this awkward social situation.
7:00 PM: Go to dinner and a concert with Celine Dion and Cher. We heckle the shit out of Barbra Streisand, with Celine piping up that her nose looked like it belonged on Mt. Rushmore. We got thrown out of the concert, but we don’t care cause we’re divas.
8:04 PM: Secret handshake with Celine and Cher as we part ways.
9:00 PM: Attend plastic surgery consultation with Kim Kardashian so they can verify that my measurements are correct so that she can get the right amount of bounce on her next round of cheek implants.
9:23 PM: Punch Kim Kardashian in the face.
10:00 PM: Go clubbing with Brad and Angelina
11:00 PM: Perform a perfectly choreographed re-enactement of “Jai Ho” with Brad and Angelina. All the brown people cheer.
12:00 AM: Go to afterparty at Gwenyth Paltrow’s house. You must have an Oscar statue in hand to enter, but I didn’t know which of my 27 to choose from, so I blew that joint.
1:00 AM: Go to after-afterparty at Richard Simmon’s house. Why? I don’t know, I just do.
2:00 AM: Go to after-after-afterparty back at the Ritz Carlton. Beyonce is riding a lion, and Jay-Z is riding an emu. The theme for the party was Dr. Doolittle, so I guess it was fortunate I was already on my unicorn by the time I got there.
3:00 AM: Close out the party and the night with a dramatic rendition of “Survivor” my Destiny’s Chilled, a Destiny’s Child cover group with Kelly Rowland, Michelle Williams, and Solange Knowles. Beyonce falls asleep in a large-backed chair petting a white cat while the lamp shades her facial features. Destiny’s Chilled looks terrified, but they do a great job.
REGULAR GLAMOROUS LIFE:
10:00 AM: Wake up.
10:15 AM: Wait around for my brother to come downstairs so he can make me scrambled eggs because I’m too lazy to do it myself.
11:00 AM: Read the paper for a reaaaaaaally long time.
11:30 AM: Wander around the house.
11:45 AM: Look busy.
12:30 PM: Go to the library and peruse their encyclopedias, magazine, and large print sections. Leave shortly after finding that the latest Mary Higgins Clark novel isn’t available yet.
1:30 PM: Work out, but not to the point of sweating. Wander around the gym a bit, using it as a time to get updated on Sports Center, as well as the latest gossip magazines.
2:00 PM: Feeding time. Anything in the fridge is fair game, even entire cheesecakes.
3:00 PM: Wander around the house.
4:00 PM: Get caught up on the 10-17 TV shows I couldn’t keep up with during the week.
5:00 PM: Complain about being hungry, but be mysteriously absent when dinner is being prepared.
6:00 PM: Feeding time again. There is also an unwritten rule that if you do not finish before me, whatever is left on your plate is fair game.
7:00 PM: Attempt to “conversate” with family unit.
8:00 PM: Mock the stupidity of people competing on “The Amazing Race”
9:00 PM: Decide between Game of Thrones, Mad Men, and The Good Wife based upon whichever has the most amount of nudity, witty reparte, and Jon Hamm.
10:00 PM: Bed time.
So you see, I’m not really that far off from my pretend glamorous life. Because at the end of the day, my life is pretty glamorous as long as Jon Hamm is a part of it.
In honor of this week of love, I would like to share my feelings about an elderly woman I admire. In fact, the only older women I admire more than her are my grandmothers. That’s right, I’m talking about Dame Helen Mirren. However, as great as she is, I think there are some facets of her that go unrecognized. Yes, she’s utterly hilarious, and yes, she is one of the greatest actresses working today, but I’d like to highlight some of her best assets. Or rather, her breast assets.
Yes, I’m talking about the talent that is Helen Mirren’s Boobs. Here it goes…
1. Calendar Girls: Without question, their finest, most raw, most revealing performance. Literally.
2. Age of Consent: A light and airy performance in which they let everything hang out. Though they are now old and perky, this performance captures the time when they were young and perky.
3. Prime Suspect: Gritty police work and tenacity have nothing on a well-fitted bra and flattering lady blazer that helped define her iconic character, Jane Tennison. Showed that they were more than a pair of boobs.
4. The Queen: Regal boobs whose sheer authenticity and suppression of natural skill won themselves an Oscar. Established themselves as icons.
5. The Love Ranch: They played a madam. They were married to Joe Pesci. Helen Mirren’s Boobs: ain’t nothing to mess with.
6. Raising Helen: Fashionable, yet older, this performance put the work of Kate Hudson’s boobs to shame.
7. Excalibur: One of their more supple and pure performances, showing they could be alluring and menacing at the same time.
8. RED: A killer role. Literally, they killed men. It was very impressive.
9. National Treasure: Book of Secrets: Obviously done for the paycheck, but they performed in surprising harmony with Nicolas Cage’s toupee.
10. Shadowboxer: Decently exposed performance. Unfortunately overshadowed by the performance of Stephen Dorff’s half-chub. Seriously.
Overall, this body of work they have demonstrated throughout the years is quite impressive. In spite of that fact that I’m not really even into boobs, the fact that these ten performances were so memorable speaks to the talent that is Helen Mirren’s Boobs. Academy, are you listening?