No one talk to me.
No, I take that back.
No one talk to me, no one look at me, breathe at me, stand within ten metres of me. And no one – absolutely no one – congratulate me on the recent one year advancement I received towards my final destination.
But comfort I shall gladly take in the knowledge that there are those ahead, oh much ahead of me in this wretched and infernal race we call life. Where the bitter end is both an inescapable curse and a welcome blessing.
Now I will go drink myself to oblivion, hopefully waking up in time for my next advancement.
Don’t worry. I have voicemail.
*puts Moses down for his afternoon nap and realizes that she has the house completely to herself*
*looks for a book to read but can't concentrate on anything for longer then a page*
*can't check her email because she spilled a glass of wine on her keyboard the other night after Googling her name*
*refuses to become one of those horrid people who turns on the television just because they are bored*
*turns it on anyway and becomes completely engrossed in an afternoon talk show about men having to take paternity tests*
*finally manages to pull herself away during a break, turns the TV off and picks up her phone*
Voicemail left on Will's phone:
Will? It's Gwyn. I was just calling to congratulate you on having the number one movie this past weekend. You must tell me what that feels like. I'm a bit scared to go see it as I don't understand anything about race car driving or beer or Southern people. Do you think I'll still find it funny? I miss you, darling. My neck was stiff the other day and I actually had to go to a masseuse to get it taken care of. Please call me when you have a moment.
Voicemail left on Jen's (Aniston) phone:
Hello there, Ms. Perfect Legs. Maybe I should have stuck with dogs instead of children. The tabloids that the nannies keep leaving around the house tell me that you're getting married. Or that you're single. I'm confused, dear. I don't know whether to go out and buy you china or a stiff drink. Do call when you have a moment. Madge is on tour and all Stella wants to do is laugh about her stepmother's downfall. I need a sane girlfriend to talk to.
Voicemail left on Ricky's phone:
Mr.Gervais? Ricky? It's Gwyn. Gwyneth Paltrow. Ummm...this is a very strange message to leave but I accidentlly opened Chris's cellphone bill last night thinking it was mine. I noticed that he's called you almost every day this past month. If he's been bothering you then I do apologize and on the off chance that you've become friends then bravo. I'm glad he's finally found a friend I don't mind inviting over for dinner. Please call me when you get this.
Voicemail left on Lindsay's phone:
Ms.Lohan? This is Gwyneth Paltrow. I hope you don't mind me calling you. I know we don't know each other very well. I got your phone number from my friend Maya Rudolph who got it from Tina Fey. I just wanted to let you know that I think you have the potential to be a great and respected actress. You just need a little guidance. And better taste in men. If you're ever in London or New York when I am then we should do lunch. I could introduce you to my yoga instructor. It's all about replacing one addiction with another.
Voicemail left on Orlando's phone:
Darling, it's Gwyn. I...I'm not exactly sure why I'm calling you. I suppose I just wanted to say hello. Ummm...hello! Congrats on the big summer movie and all that. I hope you're finding time to relax. Maybe get a nice tan or work out some. Not that you need to do either. I mean not that I've noticed whether you need to do either. Okay. I'm going to hang up now. Feel free to call when you can. Or not. I'm sure you're busy. Goodbye. Have a lovely day. It was nice...ummm...not speaking to you.
Voicemail left on Colin's phone:
Hello you. I'm having the dullest afternoon possible. No one seems to be home. I hope you're out enjoying yourself. We should do lunch soon. You and Hugh and me and...well me. Some wine, some of those tiny sandwiches I know that Hugh loves and the three of us just enjoying each other. *long pause* I just made one of those entendres I always seem to make in front of you, didn't I? I should go before I accidentlly use the word threesome. Ta, darling.
Voicemail left on Jennifer's (Lopez) phone:
Jennifer, it's Gwyn. I'm calling on behalf of Stella. She's misplaced your phone number but wanted to make sure that you saw the latest pictures of the step-bitch being questioned by police. Those were her words not mine. If you have her number please give her a call, if not call me and I can reconnect the two of you.
Voicemail left on Jack's phone:
Bored. Call me. I miss you. One could almost say I pine for you. Don't make a pathetic woman of me.
*walks onto a stage, facing empty seats*
*remembers a time when these seats were filled with celebrities, desperately waiting for their name to be called, in acceptance for an award*
I ain't never been up here before. Have I? Wait...was Under Siege good enough to win me-DAMN YOU JEAN CLAUDE! DAMN YOU TO WHATEVER WRONG HELL YOU BELIEVE IN!!!
*Most of these celebrities never even called him in the first place*
*well, unless they needed 'medicine'*
*or a voodoo spell*
*So, basically Johnny was the only one*
*But he remembers them all with tear-filled eyes.*
*kicks a wadded up piece of paper across the stage*
*shoves hands in pockets*
*lifts head to the side, slowly, looking into the soul of no one*
*how he misses that...the...the looking into a soul thing*
*hears a voice echoing over the cavernous emptiness*
HEY! HEY, OLD MAN! You can't be in here! I gotta wax that floor in a bit and you're all on it with your feet! How'd you get in here? Get out 'fore I call the cops!
*shakes head from side to side*
*air guitars an awesome riff...probably something from Dream Theater*
*That'll show 'im. Busey's still got it*
Old man, is you retarded? I SAID GET OUT OF HERE!
*walks off stage*
*with each step, he feels his heart sink into his big, saggy, kinda red leathery-skinned chest, a chest which once held the heart of a dragon. "Dragonheart" he called it, until that name was stolen from him, too. Now he just calls it "Scaled Throbbing Thing Which Makes Blood".*
*wishes he had a pen and paper to write a poem about the benefits of St. John's Wort*
*sits down at desk*
*notices that someone has stuffed a Hershey wrapper behind the Feng Shui friendly plant that sits in the North Western corner of the desk*
*gets very mad at Chris until she remembers that he is on tour*
*remembers Googling Brangelina a few nights back, getting upset over all the fansites dedicated to them and dipping into the hidden stash of chocolate she keeps in the basement*
*vows to do an extra hour of Pilates that night*
*turns on computer and checks email*
*deletes the 10 forwards her mother has sent her of articles on how to be a better parent*
*reads her Yoga pose of the day email and prints it out*
*rolls her eyes at Increase Your Size In 10 Days and Pleasure Your Lady spam. sees that Chris hasn't emailed her for the fourth day in a row. forwards it to him*
To: Jack Davenport
From: Gwyneth K. Paltrow
Subject: Your Pirate Movie
I was able to get away for a few hours today and see your latest film. I'm not quite sure what to say. As always you acted circles around your costars and were the only true thespian on the screen. The timeless air about you made it seem as if you were not an actor born in the 20th century but an actual Commodore who traveled through time to appear in this film, perhaps in a big, blue box like the Doctor in that show that everyone here in England seems to love so dearly.
However I am appalled at how disheveled and dirty you were. Darling, how did you bear letting them do that to your immaculate and well groomed body? I applaud you, dear one, as I don't believe I could ever go so far for any role. A fat suit is one thing. Ripped and smelly looking clothing is another. I do hope that for the third movie you have found your way back to a more sophisticated wardrobe.
All my love,
PS- If you are in touch with Ms.Knightley please tell her that she was almost as good at dressing as a boy as I was.
PPS- Apple used the word distopian the other day. Have you been calling the house and speaking to her if she picks up again? I really don't want to have to hire another nanny to keep a closer eye on her.
THINGS I HAVE BEEN CALLED IN THE PAST 4 MONTHS:Poon Hound. This is ridiculous, as I have never hunted for poon, nor do I have a nose adequate for smelling it from miles off.
Ass Grabber. Ok, so I like to grab-ass, but it's all in fun. What man on this earth doesn't enjoy the suishy flesh of a woman's ass oozing between his fingers? YOU TELL ME WHO DOESN'T AND I SHALL STOP. (Sorry, Barbara...that was uncalled for. But you do have a nice ass.)
Pervert. Look...I am a man. I like women. I like their breasts, and I like to touch them. I like looking at them. Just because I poke them, make a point to mention how round they are in public, or stare obnoxiously at them, DOES NOT MAKE ME A PERVERT. I AM A COMEDIAN.
HUGE pervert. Well, I am tall. See above.
Womanizer. HAHAHAHAHA!!! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. A-ha. Ha. That's just...flattering, A. And untrue, B.
Disgusting asshole. Thank you!
Jenny McCarthy's boy toy. Well, I heard that if you believe something hard enough, it comes true. Thanks, Science! You really came through for me on that one. Oh shit, I said that out loud. Um...*clears throat* Don't tell J-Lo. If you're reading this baby, it's all lies, ok? I wasn't french-kissing Jenny McCarthy in my car for hours. We aren't dating, ok? You're the one I love, right? Oh, by the way...how's MARC DOING?!
So if any of you have unpleasant nick-names for me, feel free to post them below. I'm just DYING to hear them.