So a few weeks ago I moved to the bedroom across the hall. The thing about moving rooms within your own apartment it’s almost harder than a normal move because I didn’t get movers. Also, I decided two years ago that I wanted to realize my childhood dream of having a canopy bed, so I bought one from Ikea. I regret this decision most days for the following reasons: #1 – The bed bugs loved the canopy when I used to have all this black tulle wrapped around the frame. #2 – Ikea.
Can we all agree that the creators of Ikea were malicious sadists? Seriously, when I think of the conversation that lead to the founding of Ikea, I imagine that in between rounds of torturing fawns one of the dudes was like, “Hey, you know what would be fun? What if we made a furniture store that was absurdly cheap.” and the other guy was like “Why would we do that? Hey, hand me those hot coals.” and the first guy was like, “Because if we make a furniture store that’s absurdly cheap, we can get everyone on the planet to think it’s awesome but actually create the world’s worst maze for people to walk through.” So the second guy was like, “That seems like an ok use of my time, but not murder-y enough.” And so the first guy went, “WELL HERE’S THE THING. Not only will the maze they have to walk through to get to the checkout be terrible, we will also name all of the furniture names in an unrecognizable language, and we will pump the smell of cinnamon buns through the store, despite the fact that it’s incredibly difficult to find the area in which the cinnamon buns are sold because it’s a furniture store, not a restaurant and we will make ALL OF THE DIRECTIONS FOR ASSEMBLING INCREDIBLY HEAVY FURNITURE IN HIEROGLYPHICS. AND THE CINNAMON BUNS WILL SUCK.”
And then the second dude was like, “Oh. Sweet. I’m in.”
I spent most of a Sunday afternoon dodging giant pieces of canopy bed as they fell apart on top of me, cracking pieces of my canopy bed, looking up new beds online while I considered selling my bed and inexplicably ripping the paint off of my wall with a piece of the bed. Eventually I prevailed. Well, sort of… there were a couple of pieces of the bed that no longer seemed like they mattered so now they live under the bed, and I”m probably going to have to duct tape one side of the canopy because it’s broken in half and sagging over my bed. At the end of it all, I sent Chris a very long text describing all the ways I planned to dismantle and burn the hell bed, video tape it and send it to Ikea whenever I am finally able to afford a different, non-Ikea bed.
Anyway. The reason I’m telling you about all of this, is to tell you why it’s terrible that I started following Rihanna on Instagram. Really, I shouldn’t follow any celebrities on Instagram, but Mindy Kaling at least keeps it down to earth and makes it seem like she’s working hard for the money.
The whole time I was at risk of severing a limb with particle board made by Satan’s minions, Rihanna was in Barcelona. BEING BLONDE. Every time I’d check my phone, hoping that someone on Facebook would post about wanting to buy a canopy bed from Ikea, I’d see Rihanna… shopping at Chanel; sitting on stairs smoking a cigarette; wearing things with cutouts in them. Rihanna’s Instagram feed basically says, “Look at how much better my life is than yours.”
I think that was literally one of the comments on her photos. It was at least a hashtag.
When I was younger I wanted to be a celebrity because I wanted people to ask me weird questions about myself that no one asks you in real life like, “What do you was think the key to getting were you are today?” Then I realized I can just write a blog and make the questions up for myself (new post idea: Getting interviewed by an imaginary Diane Sawyer). For a couple years I was like, “wow. Now I don’t need to be a celebrity. Look at me… having it all.”
And then Rihanna’s Instagram had to go and ruin it for me. I want to be a celebrity again. Celebrities have so much downtime. When Amanda Bynes threw that bong out the window and everyone was reporting on it, I was sitting at my desk like, “That lucky bitch doesn’t have to be in an office right now?! I’d kill to live on 47th street. Who has time to go wig shopping? ”
The rest of us have the raw end of the deal… don’t we? Celebrities are always complaining about how busy they are and justify it by saying, “I suffered from exhaustion last year. You know? I had to go to A SPA.”
I suffer from exhaustion every WEEK. It’s called Monday, celebrities. Seriously though, based on her Instagram feed, here’s what I think Rihanna’s typical day is like versus mine. These are the busy ones when she has a concert or something.
Given this new info (that yes, was entirely made up by me), I have been strategizing again. Trying to figure out how I can become a celebrity. Seeing as that I don’t really act, dance, sing or start fights with everyone around me, I’ve ruled out pretty much everything in terms of the performing arts and reality TV.
Do you guys have any thoughts? How else do people get famous?
Peace, love and death to Ikea,