Le DuDu

I'm 'working' right now which means I'm in a giant hotel bed in a reclined position with a hot laptop on my thighs watching The Biggest Loser on Hulu.
I am eating a bag of chips from the mini bar which could very well cost about fifteen dollars.
This picture has nothing to do with my current situation, but I could see it happening to me and I honestly feel like a slight fail right now.
And anything having to do with Fail makes me laugh a wee bit.

Anyway.
There is a baby sleeping in the shower.
So my job is essentially checking from time to time to make sure the baby has not suddenly disappeared a la Lindberg or turned into a radish a la Fairie Tale Theater.
Not in the shower, but in a crib placed within the shower. I forgot to specify that part. Le Infants parents are French and very sweet but they do not like to get up early so the baby goes in the bathroom out of earshot.
I am NOT passing judgement here; I have been a nanny for my entire adult life and I know full well that kids are a pain in the ass. And when I have a baby, i will put it anywhere I want.
FYI:
This is occurring at the Bowery Hotel, a few doors down from Debi Mazar and Jason Schwartzman. Not that those two are sharing a room, but I have seen both of them while babysitting here for these french people the last couple of days.
They both have very absurd voices and small limbs.
And they both felt the need to start a weird conversation with me. That is something I enjoy. When you look at someone famous, and then you go about your current activity, you can almost feel the disappointment in the air. Sure, they say on Oprah "I just want to practice my craft and be left alone" but that my friends, is total horseshit.
If you pass a celebrity in a quiet hall or step into an empty elevator with them, chances are they are just ITCHING to say, "Yes, I am so-and-so...thank you, yes I enjoyed working on that project I'm glad you enjoyed watching it...ciao." (normal people do not say ciao, only famous people/models/Italians/assholes say ciao)
If you take the route of ignoring the fact that they have been on television or in film or sold a million records, they might just spontaneously combust. They will wonder if you are stupid or just aloof. They will think maybe you too, are famous, or very rich. Maybe THEY should be striking up a convo with YOU. Maybe your father owns Viacom or your fiancee just bought a small country to lord over.
So this is how Debi Mazar ended up telling me I have princess hair. All because I completely ignored her. Yes, I watched her in the hall sensually apply deep red lipstick. Yes, I got a flash of GoodFellas when she stepped into the elevator with me. Of course I wanted to tell her Entourage sucks and she's the only bearable part of it. But I didn't.
So there.

I think we should take this issue back to Oprah for a moment, just to express what happens to people when they are acknowledged wherever they go.
PS I hope this note is real, and I bet the woman who wrote it has mysteriously fallen off a cliff since then:


OK. This entry is really all over the place, I have become a muddled shitty writer with little to no direction. But it all comes to a point. The point is me.
I am wondering what kind of person I am after saying all of the things I just said.
I am wondering what kind of person blogs.
I BLOG. I TALK ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE ON MY BLOG. I SIT HERE TYPING ABOUT ASSUMPTIONS I HAVE MADE ABOUT OTHERS. AND I WANT YOU ALL TO READ THIS. I'M EXCITED THAT OTHER PEOPLE READ ABOUT WHAT I'M DOING!
There's the link. I just made the mental link about what kind of person I am.
It's still a popularity contest everywhere.
In the sixth floor hall of the Bowery Hotel.
In the blogosphere. (that's a blogger term, no?)
In the city I reside in.
In schools and in bars and in Hollywood and in your family.
Everyone wants to be popular and relevant and recognized and sometimes that includes me.
I want everyone to love me just enough to read my blog and offer me jobs and date me without trying to date other girls at the same time.
I am not sure if that is asking a lot, maybe it is.
If I were a big fish in a small pond, I doubt these things would even cross my mind.



It's just tonight sitting in a hotel alone I feel as though I really am a tiny speck in the water. Plankton maybe.



I'll be plankton if you'll be it too.