NOT FRIDAY'S BUT MONDAY'S Chronicle because... I feel like

When I was young my parents were that kind of persons that taught their children that they couldn’t do what they put in mind. So I grew up fully convinced that I couldn’t become what I like the most. To become a ballet dancer, to have a job related with fashion, or even an artist of any kind was an idea totally ruled out. My parents were, and still are, so down to earth that they made me believe my true path was to become a doctor, a lawyer or an engineer… these are real jobs for the real world they lived in.

So I became a lawyer for almost eleven years, until the day I messed up my life, and I gave up of the down-to earth attitude inherited from my parents, to find another way to express myself. I began getting two birds, the Dior and The Chanel, one yellow and the other cobalt blue. Then I resolved to become gossip magazine’s “Sexiest Women Alive”, but I couldn’t do it because I was too cool and low profile, and I really hate hot pants. So I changed my strategy: as I had two fashion birds with the same name of the iconic fashion idols I will become fashion magazine’s “The Most Famous Fashion Celebrity Alive”. It will be ok if I didn’t know anything about fashion at all. But this wasn’t a true problem because the most of the fashion celebrities didn’t know anything about fashion too. They have the money to get someone who knows something about the theme. So my goals were: To get money, and to get more money… then to get a stylist who will cover me with bizarre looks and the most important to get weird attitudes; I should get some addiction, sometimes to vomit and regurgitate in public places, to be caught by a handsome police man in a traffic stop, to get in jail for a while (but not for too long because people may forget me and changed me by another weird celeb).

Dior was the big male that ruled the cage but it wasn’t convinced about the hard work that is to understand a coquette like Chanel was. In some way, I was too much alike my parents, because I wanted my male bird acted like the male I thought it was, and maybe he wasn’t up to the task. It preferred to sing all day long and it treated badly the female Chanel. I didn’t see they got sex a single time since they lived in the same cage. Dior spent the time to envy the blue cobalt of the Chanel’s feathers. Dior had this kind of insecurity that make very thin people pretending that they’re fat, and they are so annoyed talking about all the fattening food they eat the day before. Dior was like “I’m a so ugly bird with my poor yellow plume, so much demotic I prefer to die”. And Chanel said “You’re so over, over my dear, too much glow in your golden feathering, so last season and excessive”. I may learn so much about fashion with my little birds that I couldn’t imagine.

One day the bird named Dior committed suicide trying to be so minimalist as Chanel wanted to. The poor bird plucked all its golden feathers hoping new ones will grow up in black and white instead, and stopped the tacky glow that made female Chanel laugh. But the stupid bird died of cold, and Chanel bird began to love glitter the next season Dior bird died. As a punishment for its hard heart to the poor male bird I changed its name from Chanel to Rachel Zoe.

When I gave up being a lawyer I hadn’t a plane B. So to get enough money to be a celebrity it was a hard task. I wasn’t that kind of person who married by money, and I didn’t believe that love and money came in pairs. It’s too hard to be the one you’re not, and this was what my father wanted for me. So I sold my bird Rachel Zoe at ebay and with the money I went to a Marc Jacobs’ boutique and I bought the only thing I could get with the bird’s financial transaction: A scarf that reproduced the Jacob’s tattoos all over his naked body. Then I rented a friend’s studio, I got crazy and I shot the scarf in the empty bird’s cage in all the possible ways my crazy mind could remember. But until today I thought that was my gloss in a TV popular reality show telling the drama of my beloved birds that made be a celebrity. Some months later I was nominee “The most Famous Fashion Celebrity Alive” by People magazine. I became a writer and a respected blogger, and I was invited to write a book with my birds’ story. My parents were so proud of me but they still ignore until today that I became famous not because I became a great down to earth person but only because I could make the big decision to sell my own bird at ebay. That’s what the world is and I have the merit to be enabling enough to read it.

Why are you rolling your eyes? Go on roll your eyes at a Haruki Murakami's novel. I didn't write Lars Von Trier's Melancholia but I know what I'm talking about! I'm a fucking trivial celebrity and I'm in the throes of a depression because sometimes celebrities should get this empathically thing with their fans. All I want for Christmas is to struggle stupid people who think celebrities like me are stupid and vain. Cancel the pony. 

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