My dad wouldn’t let me bid on the fainting couch Betty Draper bought in that one episode of “Mad Men” where she was the perfect mix of gorgeous and tacky and psycho because apparently it’s an antique and they wanted upwards of five hundred thousand for it. Ugh. Anyway, that’s kind of put me in a dark mood.
And while in this dark, introspective mood, I did not appreciate everything I encountered shouting at me. Shouty texts, shouty tweets, shouty comments, shouty television, shouty baristas, shouty little dogs, shouty bad highlights, shouty fans shouting “OH MY GOD YOU’RE BABE WALKER??? I COULD DIE RIGHT NOW.” Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the attention – I do, it’s a standard part of being a celebrity author. And I understand, LA is a big city and you need to speak up to be heard.
But I need everyone to do a little something for me. For just one day, I need every person I encounter to not speak above a whisper whenever I’m in earshot. It would really do wonders for my psyche right now. And I think it would be a good exercise in chilling the fuck out for the rest of you. In return, I promise not to throw a kale smoothie in your face for wearing knockoff Ray-Bans even though actual Ray-Bans aren’t expensive enough to knock off in the first place.
Also, can that one day be tomorrow? Today’s basically over and I already screamed at my dad’s personal chef for 45 minutes, so I feel like a little bit of a hypocrite.