Thanks for the Merry Christmases and Happy Birthdays.
I wish I could say things are better.
But life still sucks!
Yes, that's me. Courtesy of the boyfriend. And it's exactly how I feel lately. Like a floating head in a red sea of doom. I'm reeeeally hoping things are going to be better for me in the new year. But I've said that twice already on this blog the past two new years, and it's become a bit of a joke statement.
Things will get better on this blog, at least. So that's good news, right? I actually have a list of posts just waiting to be created. The topics are endless, my time is not. Blurg.
I have a new pet. It is my first pet since Moses, the canary I had to eventually give to my mother.
Moses sang so fucking loud, it was getting out of control. Like, I would be driving into the parking lot of the apartment complex and I could hear him wailing away. And he loved to compete with Rian's guitar playing, which didn't go over well. We started putting Moses in the closet to shut him up, but that didn't work either. So my mom took him in.
Anyway, this new pet doesn't make a peep!
My friend and I share joint custody over this betta fish, Mr. Sakana. Craig had him for the summer and fall months. Now it's my shift.
Like most children from broken homes, Mr. Sakana is stressed out and frustrated by the change. He swims around furiously, glaring at me and ignoring his new step-father, Rian. But that's life. We can't choose our family.
I wish I had more exciting news to share. Or, at least something way cooler than bragging about a fish.
My past week has been incredibly stressful and tinged with sadness.
I had two close friends attempt suicide. In one case, I was not there. In the other situation, I had a front row seat. Forgive me if I don't elaborate. It's too traumatic for me to even blog about.
The second scenario really forced me to open my eyes. I've been so consumed with my own unhappiness the past year that I had no idea someone right next to me was suffering in a different way.
And by pure coincidence, I also had two extremely important people from my university years pass away, unexpectedly.
One was a professor who catapulted my journalism career. The other was my advisor who always had my back.
My media writing professor was an extremely intimidating man. On the first day of class, he marched into the classroom draped in a black cape and wearing a scowl on his face. He yelled at us and hurled insults at anyone who so much as blinked. I was horrified. The next day, only half the class remained. The other half had dropped.
As the weeks went by, it became apparent to me that his harsh demeanor was nothing more than a dramatic act. He used to growl at me in class, but I always caught the teasing glimmer in his eyes. He spent a lot of class time voicing his disgust for Paris Hilton, who he claimed looks like a giant bird. He also bragged about sleeping with a Hollywood movie star during the 1950s, but wouldn't reveal which one. It was kind of shocking hearing such things come out of an 80-year-old man's mouth.
A year after I took the class, I was awarded a prestigious journalism scholarship out of the blue. The person who had nominated me wished to remain anonymous. I found out by accident, several years later, that this professor had been the one to nominate me for the award.
I was absolutely stunned. I always had it in the back of my mind that I would go back to my university one day and thank him. But I kept putting it off, because I just seemed too busy. I put it off too long. He died of a stroke yesterday.
My advisor was a headstrong woman, but she was kind-hearted. I had an internship at NBC for a semester. I spent 40 hours per week for six months going out with cameramen on feature stories, interviewing people and attending press conferences. I edited video and I wrote news script for the anchors. I spent most mornings making tiresome phone calls to various police stations and fire departments. It was hard work.
The manager of the station didn't like me. She was a bitter bitch who glared at me every single time I walked by. It wasn't until a week after my internship ended, that my advisor called me into her office. Apparently the manager of the NBC station had given me a C for my internship. I was stunned and incredibly hurt. How could she?! My advisor was so outraged, because she knew how hard I had worked at the station all semester, she did something she had never done before. She changed my C to an A.
Her decision saved my grade point average and allowed me to graduate with honors the following year. It was a gesture I never forgot.
She died over the weekend of a heart attack.
Sometimes people change your life in random ways. Do not take them for granted.
You know how some of you have suggested that I write a book about the doomed starlets I've been profiling recently?
Well, if I take your advice, I've found the perfect inspiration.
Gold Digger is one of the most well-written biographies I have read in ages. It follows the life of Peggy Hopkins Joyce, an influential and much-forgotten American celebrity from the 1920s.
Peggy was the first tabloid-created celebrity in American history. (Think Anna Nicole Smith meets Kim Kardashian.) Peggy was beautiful, incredibly vain, disgustingly naive, materialistic, superficial, and shallow beyond belief.
America loved to hate her.
Peggy was born to a lower-middle class family in Virginia and obsessively dreamed of being a rich bitch since childhood.
When she was a teenager, Peggy gave the middle finger to her hometown and took off with a theatrical group, in hopes of being a star. She wanted to be a silver screen goddess, or at least find a millionaire to marry.
She ended up marrying a series of wealthy men, but it was a high-profiled divorce with her third husband during the early 1920s which made her an international tabloid sensation.
During the trial, it was revealed that Peggy lived a lifestyle most Americans couldn't even fathom. She was draped in $60,000 fur coats and wore diamonds worth millions. Her mansions and trips to Europe were laced with astounding luxury.
And her love life was scandalous enough to make even the most lecherous of men blush. A raging nymphomaniac, Peggy slept with hundreds of men, most who bought her jewels and designer clothes.
The public couldn't get enough. When the divorce was finalized, Peggy still made front page news around the globe, throughout the 1920s, for her indiscreet liasons, outrageous purchases, and fabulous fashion.
She is one of the first American celebrities to be a fashion icon, in fact. Almost every single newspaper article about her described in detail the exact outfit she was wearing. Women everywhere desperately tried to copy her glamorous style.
She was the most famous woman in the entire world.
When she wasn't busy spreading her legs for millionaires and granting interviews to an adoring media, Peggy dabbled in silent films and theater. But it got her nowhere because she had absolutely no talent.
Some of her most famous affairs include Charlie Chaplin (who described Peggy in his autobiography as being "crazy") and Walter Chrysler (the automobile legend was so obsessed with Peggy he bought her the most iconic diamond in the world).
Six of her former lovers were so distraught she dumped them, they committed suicide.
She received thousands of fan letters per day, mostly from worshipful teenage girls who adored her style and middle-aged men who begged her for one night of passion.
Unfortunately, however, the good life didn't last long for Peggy.
By the 1940s, she was getting older and a slowing metabolism took away her girlish figure. Her looks were fading. Men didn't find her appetizing anymore.
Since her beauty and youth were her meal ticket, Peggy found herself selling fur coats and diamonds to stay afloat. She was so depressed, she became an uncontrollable alcoholic.
By the late 1950s, she died of throat cancer in relative obscurity and with a modest savings.
I normally don't have a difficult time telling people apart.
But there are celebrities who I swear are the same person. Or, at least, are long-lost twins, separated at birth.
Allow me to show you the following:
Zooey Deschanel and Katy Perry
Before our favorite lip-locking pop star went blonde, she was the splitting image of the quirky, adorable Zooey. For more than a year, I honestly could not tell these two women apart.
Katy is on the left, Zooey on the right.
Are they not related?!
Isla Fisher and Amy Adams
Two gorgeous redheads and one very similar face.
Isla is on the left and Amy is on the right.
Our favorite Shopaholic
Her ravishing Oscar-nominated twin
Seriously. What the fuck.
Daniel Radcliffe and Elijah Wood
One is a hobbit and the other is a wizard. Go figure. The Harry Potter star has admitted in several interviews that he often gets mistaken for the Lord of the Rings star, who is eight years his senior.
Harry on left, Frodo on right
They totally need to play brothers in a movie or something.
What do you think of these celebrity twins? Am I right? Are there other celebrity twins I am missing?
Over the weekend, I watched the thriller, Abduction, starring the delicious Taylor Lautner. I instantly became mesmerized with his gorgeous co-star, Lily Collins.
Lily, 22, is the American-raised daughter of soft rock superstar, Phil Collins. No offense to the little bald British music man, but his second wife, Lily's mother, must have been a knockout.
With her flowing chocolate brown locks and thickly sculpted eyebrows, Lily reminds me of a modern Brooke Shields. (Although the media has crowned her the next Audrey Hepburn).
Some of you may remember Lily as playing Sandra Bullock's teenage daughter in The Blind Side a couple years ago.
She also stars as Snow White in the much-anticipated Mirror, Mirror. Her co-star in that fairytale is another Hollywood movie queen, Julia Roberts.
Lily has been acting since she was two years old. Her parents divorced when she was five, and her American mother brought her to Los Angeles, where she was trained at the Youth Academy for Dramatic Arts.
But acting isn't her only passion.
The delicate beauty is also a journalist. As a teen, she wrote a column for Elle Girl, called "NY Confidential." She also wrote articles for Seventeen, Teen Vogue, and the Los Angeles Times magazines.
She majored in Broadcast Journalism at the University of Southern California.
Here are some photos of Lily from the upcoming Mirror, Mirror.