Gold Digger

I was hoping it would never come to this, but it looks like I’m gonna have to get a gold tooth. I’ll never make it big if I don’t do everything I can to be exactly like Ke$ha.

Oh...except I don’t plan on brushing my teeth with a bottle of Jack. That’s just gross. Although...I imagine it probably does kill germs...but I don’t mess around when it comes to bad breath.

Plus I’m not a sloppy drunk. Or any other kind of drunk for that matter.

And I don’t find Zach Galifianakis all that attractive.

...also I don’t want to make it big.

I can remember a time when I thought I did want to be famous...but eventually I realized I’m just too lazy to get very far.

For example, I considered trying out for Glee earlier this year, but once I really started to think about what that would mean, I decided against it. Let’s get one thing straight: if I tried out, I’d make it. I mean come on, look at me. Right now I bet you’re thinking you’d like to hire me for that underdog high school show choir television program you’ve been working on, aren’t you? (Yeah, I’m talking to you, Kelley Dixon. Don’t act so surprised. Everyone knows you read this blog. Everyone.)

But when I think about flying to Hollywood to film, spending hours in the studio recording, trying to make small talk with people who are famous even though I’m already awkward enough with regular old non-famous people, never getting to see my dog...it all makes me feel kinda sleepy/nauseated. Mostly the dog part. My dog completes me. Lucky for me, he sheds a lot, so no matter where I go I always have a little piece of him with me. Actually, hundreds of little pieces.

I’m pretty sure I’d be excited for about a week, but after that, the celebreality would set in and I’d start to lose it. It would only be a matter of time before the angry mobs set up camp on my front lawn because I never have time to blog anymore and they’re all having withdrawals, and then before you know it those pictures of me during spirit week at the service center would surface, causing the media to question my sanity, which would send me into a spiral of anger and a quest for revenge, resulting in my arrest on grounds of having beaten a member of the paparazzi within inches of his life with the spiked heel of my favorite Louboutin shoe. My lawyers would get me a shortened sentence of course, because although I’ve only been on the show one week, I was an overnight sensation, but it'll be too late because by then I will have already lost the respect of all those youngsters out there who used to look up to me as a role model and fashion icon and, to be honest with you, I just don’t have the energy to deal with that kind of pressure.

I’d really prefer to stick to my regular routine of coming home, having dinner with Gary and Sarah, and then settling in for a fun-filled evening of watching Better Off Ted and wondering if people ever stop outside our house and try to figure out what we’re watching since our windows are always open and we keep the sound up really, really loud because I’m nearly deaf from all those years of driving around in my old Malibu with Rage Against the Machine blaring as high as it would go.

Also, some day I really want to have a kid so I can stick him in a corner and make him memorize poetry,  and how on earth will I find the time if I’m constantly flitting off to awards shows and filing slander lawsuits against Star magazine? I won't. So for the sake of little Tom Sawyer Gray, I think I'll just stay a regular kid for the rest of my life.