The stars I love most plagued my psyche. I dreamed that a blond Meg Ryan type was hired to sing lead (where was Simon?) for Duran Duran during their current tour. I was nice to her, helped her out with NYC info. She had a suspect older man/husband lying on the crappy hotel bed, managing her career. When she had to rehearse, I tried hard not to push my agenda. Dish has a longstanding policy of being polite to celebs in person*, listening but not asking for anything, this due in part to effort in maintaining upright stance. Sadly, as Meg was leaving, I couldn't help saying, "Please tell the band that meeting them is the only thing on my Bucket List." True, yet an embarrassing slip. These awful dreams were interspersed with real Dish waking to read
The Help, which is amazing. I'm somehow feeling related to the maids not daring to ask for more and doing covert things to inch closer to success and vindication. The mind is so complicated. I'm not a black maid from the 1960s but a privileged white woman who's had everything and is lucky/happy in personal life without needing three jobs to support the family (I only have 2). Despite this, I still have mild psychological and, occasionally, circumstantial turmoil. Dish is spending the day with some nonfiction.
Inside Job: Very compelling--even if you flunked Economics 101 at Oberlin College--with excellent narration by Matt Damon. Dish learned all about derivatives and deregulation and what f*ckers the banks are. Might be switching to less corrupt institutions. Know of any?
Rumor has it the McCartney marriage is happening this weekend. And in dirt: If online rags are to be believed, Liev Schreiber was caught cheating but maybe it's all BS to promote a movie coming out. It's been a while since we've seen his brilliance. More pictures of LeAnn Rimes being superskinny surface. Dish has examined the photos, the musculature and *knows* you have to work really hard to be that thin and toned, especially when you've had some chubbage in the past. As long as she *feels* good. The body is a temple.
On that note, I'm going to take these nightmares for a walk.
*ex: I hid from Anderson Cooper, figured he was busy and didn't care, but TG chatted him up like a pro and got pictures. Then there was the time Wil Arnett walked by us in front of Whole Foods. I hid behind a nearby bush as TG screamed at him, "Hey Wil! I love your work!"
Due to some noxious germ, my doctor ordered me to stay under the covers for the next few days. What must a girl do but watch Contagion. I wanted to see it for many reasons:
...are not wildly amazing, though her body is celebrity-tastic with her "blond" hair, huge gazongas and skinny legs. She is artfully arranged on a bed like Marilyn. Zzzzz.
The stars I love most plagued my psyche. I dreamed that a blond Meg Ryan type was hired to sing lead (where was Simon?) for Duran Duran during their current tour. I was nice to her, helped her out with NYC info. She had a suspect older man/husband lying on the crappy hotel bed, managing her career. When she had to rehearse, I tried hard not to push my agenda. Dish has a longstanding policy of being polite to celebs in person*, listening but not asking for anything, this due in part to effort in maintaining upright stance. Sadly, as Meg was leaving, I couldn't help saying, "Please tell the band that meeting them is the only thing on my Bucket List." True, yet an embarrassing slip. These awful dreams were interspersed with real Dish waking to read The Help, which is amazing. I'm somehow feeling related to the maids not daring to ask for more and doing covert things to inch closer to success and vindication. The mind is so complicated. I'm not a black maid from the 1960s but a privileged white woman who's had everything and is lucky/happy in personal life without needing three jobs to support the family (I only have 2). Despite this, I still have mild psychological and, occasionally, circumstantial turmoil. Dish is spending the day with some nonfiction.
