Please do not feed the celebrity.

It's no secret. I want to see my name on a book. Not a pretend book, or a coloring book, or a cook book. I want to see my name on an honest to goodness, sitting in the window of Barnes and Noble, book.

I'm sure when most people think of attaining celebrity or fame, they imagine themselves singing or dancing or eating bull testicles while they lie in a coffin filled with African Killer Slugs. (Oh how I hate reality TV.)

Not me. I see myself sitting at a wobbly card table in a book store in Dayton signing "Love and laughter, Sher Bailey" in the books of the twelve people that showed up and felt sorry enough for me to buy a copy. (In fact, I've been practicing writing that for years... on everything from traffic tickets to divorce papers.)

Naturally with phenomenal sales like that, I'll be rich in no time. And of course, when I do get rich from selling 12 copies of my book in every store across America, The Oprah's people will call my people and I'll be a guest on her show. (I seriously need to get some people.)

And everybody knows that once The Oprah has you on her show, you become crazy famous and have to wear a wig and fake Bubba teeth just to go to the grocery store forever after. I'll be a best selling author, stinking rich and so famous that even Barbra Streisand won't be able to get through when she calls seeking my Maw-Maw's prized recipe for Pig Pickin' Cake.

Wow. I've got a lot of preparation ahead of me if I'm going to be insanely famous and stinking rich.

I should go on record right now as saying that I will not become an obnoxious celebrity. I will still be the same old obsessive-compulsive Sher.

Of course, there will be a few necessary changes. I mean, one does have to change a thing or two when one has celebrity thrust upon one. For example, excessively and pretentiously using the word 'one' when referring to oneself. I will also use the phrase "sort of" so often that it may cause the ears of those within the sound of my voice to spontaneously and profusely bleed.

There is also the issue of my diet. I will have to give up peanut butter and syrup sandwiches once and for all. Celebrities eat something called a macrobiotic diet and as soon as I find out what that is, I plan to eat the hell out of it. At the moment, I'm not even sure how to correctly spell "macrobiotic". For all I know, it's actually the "make me bionic" diet which would mean I'd probably have to eat things like nuts and bolts and mother boards. No matter how much the other celebrities point and stare and administer peer pressure though, I refuse to eat baby boards... which I believe are correctly referred to as veal boards.

I also need to decide what kind of celebrity body I want to have. Let's face it, people. These things don't just come off the rack. You pick and choose everything from your shape, to your nose to how low your ears hang. I was hoping for my sake that Kirstie Alley would pave the way for women of all shapes to be accepted into the celebrity inner sanctum, but what with Jenny Craig spending every waking hour wrestling Ding-Dongs out of Kirstie's hands, I'm totally screwed.

I can't possibly go the anorexic route because frankly the less I eat, the meaner I get and nobody wants a mean, highly successful author. Those Book Span freaks won't tolerate it. I guess the only thing left to do is have completely unnecessary plastic surgeries until I no longer even remotely resemble anyone in my family. (That may or may not be a good thing, depending upon which relative we're talking about.)

The thing that scares me is the realization that it's very likely that celebrities have stopped going to plastic surgeons all together, opting instead for taxidermists. I guess if that's what the famous do, I'll have to do it as well. I just need to be sure I stay away from the one that does Joan Rivers. I want to look life like.

The one thing I won't have to change is my habit of getting married as frequently as the law will allow. I may have to pick up a super young husband once in awhile or maybe marry a wrinkly old rock star to be considered a true celebrity, but I can do it. How hard can it be? I think you just add your name to a roster or something and receive your next husband's name in an email forward.

Once I have a new husband and although my tubes have been out of service since my doctor learned to tie a bow, I will have to have them put back in functioning order so I can pop out a baby and name it after a piece of fruit or a character in a Dr. Seuss book. I didn't really want to have kids at my age, but it's not like I'll have to raise them anyway. I think that Super Nanny lady could be bought. She seems like the kind of chick that could handle whatever tantrums my precious little Banana Fangdoozler might throw.

Yep, being rich and famous and thin and plastic is going to be way cool. I can hardly wait. I guess all that's left is to actually write a book.

Copyright © 2004, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

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