I might be kinda lonely now, but I feel like that’s just life giving me a little break. After all, when I’m super famous I’ll have an entourage following me around everywhere, cameras flashing, people in the streets bringing me books to sign…I won’t get a moment of peace!
I’ve been laying some serious groundwork recently, in fact. I think I might have found a cameraman, and it’s the guy on the Channel 13 news. Just the way he manages to hold the thing steady while filming those news reporters…I want him on my team. Oh, and of course, I’m going to need some makeup girls. Or guys, really, I’m not discriminating. If they’re got an official diploma of makeup from a real university, they can follow me around and put powder on my forehead whenever I’m about to go on camera.
Naturally, their job will be one of the most involved. I’ll need my personal beautician with me 24/7, because who knows when I’m about to get mobbed by a pack of fans? I don’t want to be one of those people who gets their picture taken in some kind of awful tabloid papers, looking all sallow and degenerate. That’ll hurt my image as a great television celebrity and dispenser of wise advice, because who’s going to trust someone who looks like they can’t look after themselves?
Oh, it’s all very unfair, I realise that. But that’s showbiz…it’s a cruel world, and one wrong move can have you out on your ear. I have to look good at all times, and while it’s not the most appealing idea, being doted upon by a professional makeup artists…it’s one I accept, along with the hassles of the job. I’m serious about that diploma, though. It’s got to be a real diploma in beauty therapy, otherwise my career could be over for good. Poof, all gone. Makeup professionals only!