Reality TV Star Laments People not Knowing Her "For Reals"

7.20.11

Hollywood, CA -- During filming of her Lifetime Television reality series, Paris Hilton complained to some other skinny blond girl about people not knowing the real her, in what can only be described as the most annoyingly nasal voice ever caught on digital media.

"It's like, people don't know who I really am, and stuff" Hilton said, "They don't even know what I do," she continued after a day of acupuncture, driving around in a really expensive pink car, eating at restaurants with tiny tables and doing voice-overs to narrate aforementioned actions.

The two thin blond girls talked some more about not being understood by the public after being offended by another blond girl who mentioned the infamous sex tape Hilton was seen in several years ago.

"I can't believe she even brought that up," Hilton told the skinny blond girl who was still her friend, right before Hilton's voice over changed topic to her current pregnancy scare.

The rest of the episode Paris Hilton spent laying in her bed, telling her current boyfriend how angry it makes her when the media says she looks fat and how that made her think she was pregnant. "I'm a business woman" Hilton concluded, "I'm just not sure that a big stomach really matches my brand, so I don't know what I would do if I was pregnant."

The episode ended with the star taking the pregnancy test, since "looking fat, according to bloggers and paparazzi" and "that outfit not fitting in Spain" are two of the top symptoms of pregnancy. The new boyfriend mistakenly proposes marriage before the results are revealed, but then takes the offer back and suggests they go for a jog instead, once it is discovered she has only gained a few pounds, rather than become pregnant.

In the end, our heroine learned that if she wants people to know the real her, she must listen to her own instincts and stay true to... Wait, no. She doesn't learn anything.

OK, OK. Now I'm Ready.

Grief does crazy things to crazy people. Now that I'm ready to talk about how my dad's Death-by-Pirates makes me feel, I want to remind you that not everyone handles loss in the same way.

The week before the pirates actually killed my father, my mom, sister, aunt, brother and uncle and I all took turns laying in bed with him, sitting next to him and holding his hand while he struggled to speak, and at last, breathe. The following week I watched as my brother and sister's kids alternated between hysterically sobbing and playing games with one another as if nothing had changed. Watching my 5 youngest nieces and nephews cry and laugh and play and run, I finally understood that loosing my dad meant one thing: I want to trip my brother's kids.

Now, now. Before Brother and Brother's Wife get all upset, let me just say, I want to trip my sister's kids too. Next time any of them run by I want to stick out my foot, or an elderly relative's cane or move a chair leg in their path and I want them to fall. And when the are splayed out on the ground looking around in disbelief, just before they start to cry, I want to throw my arms out to my sides in a "T" formation and yell "Safe!" or point my thumb behind me and yell "Yourrrrr ouuuut!" or do jazz hands and say "Ta-dah!" or just hold up a big card that reads "9.6."

Why? Why would I do that? Because I'm mad as hell. Not at them, not at my siblings, and not because I will never have my daddy back. I am angry because this isn't fricken fair. All these kids got to know what it is like to have the best PawPaw in the world and my kids never will. My kids will never know how perfect a person he was, and they will  have to settle for learning his hand-me-down lessons from a highly imperfect daughter. My unborn kids will have to trust their father and I and all the rest of us who are left when we tell them the tales of this larger than life man, this giant, this demigod. And honestly, if I ever heard the stories we tell about how genius and unbelievably selfless my dad was, I would assume they were mostly exaggeration and hero worship.

For the record, I did not clothesline any children at my dad's memorial service last night. Though I badly wanted to. And there were plenty of kids running about, just askin' for it. I'm pretty sure my dad wouldn't have tripped a child if he were upset about something, but I know he would have laughed about it. Indeed.

Hey, Federal Government, While You're at It...

I know you are really busy with this whole Osama DNA testing thing, but I was wondering. I have had like, no luck on the Maury show finding out who my baby daddy is, and I was hoping you could maybe check that Osama DNA for me?

It's probably a long shot, I know. But I've already had those guys at Maury's check Darnell, Leon, Frankie, Paulie, Stevie, Angel, Paco, Lalo, Lupe and Eddie. I was gonna see if they could look for Juanito, but I think he was locked up at the time I got pregnant with Junior, so it's probably not him anyway.

I guess what I'm saying is that you guys are checking that dead Bin Laden guy's DNA anyway, so it wouldn't be much extra work to see if maybe he's my baby daddy. If he is maybe his cave family has oil money or something that I could get for child support, you know? I mean, Junior's got brothers and sisters who have daddys that never send their checks neither, and they need pampers and whatnot too. So, you know, just let me know.

Dear Skank at the Old Wal-Mart,

I noticed you at the old Wal-Mart the other night. Not the new one, the old one that they remodeled a couple of years ago. I guess you must have watched Pretty Woman earlier that day before you got dressed to go do your shopping at the Wal-Mart because girl, you were dressed to the 80's nines. Those thigh-high boots were something else. I didn't even know they still made those in periwinkle suede. Or maybe you got them at the Goodwill, because they did look pretty worn out, and you weren't older than maybe twenty two, so I know you haven't owned them since Pretty Woman came out in theaters.

I also saw how your pimp, or baby-daddy or whatever, was kind of helping you push the cart. Although, he had to stop a lot and touch his chin with his thumb and nod at other skanks passing by. And he could really only push with one hand because his other hand was otherwise occupied with holding up his pants.

It was of some concern to my boyfriend how your butt cheeks came out of the bottom of your lycra skirt when you bent over to make your selection from the bottom shelf of vodkas in the Wal-Mart liquor aisle. And I noticed how the little boy riding in the cart looked really sleepy. It's probably because it was about eleven at night, or maybe it was just the FAS-like face he was making. It's hard to tell.

Anyways, it was cool seeing you. Stay real.

Maybe Unconditional Motherly Love is a Myth

When I was a child my mom used to volunteer for the Right to Life organization in a booth at the state fair. She would sit proudly and distribute literature and pencils to cowboy-booted and mustachioed passers by about the miracle of life and how that miracle begins at conception. "Every life is precious" she would announce. Her deep rooted belief that every child has the right to be born was evident in the fierce, blue eye shadowed stare she would shoot at the Right to Choosers across the way.

Until recently, I have always felt that my mother loved my brother, sister and I, no matter how many times we annoyed her or made her so angry that most moms would have wished they had exercised their right to choose. A few months ago I drove up to my mom's house for a visit and we were out running errands. We drove past a billboard that featured several middle aged women with somber looks on their faces and a slogan that read "We had abortions and we regret it." My mother looked at me and I expected to hear her agree with the anti-abortion message. Instead she just said. "I regret not having three abortions."