My Journey to Stardom

Finally, I have figured out where I have been going wrong.

Now I know why I am not yet rich and famous, why the paparazzi do not swarm my doorstep, why I have to stand in line like ordinary folks, why I am not part of any “It’’ circle, clique or cabal.

I am too normal. Who wants to be normal in a country where a new wacko is born every minute and if you can’t do magic tricks, like turn $10 million dollars into a box drain, you are nothing and nobody and destined to obscurity forever?

Idiosyncrasies, I have aplenty. But they are usually the result of plain laziness—you think the plaid mixed with floral sprinkled with polka dots is design with an edge? No, it’s a style invented because I hate to iron, so whatever is wrinkle free goes on my back.

Still, despite a lot of dedication to the cause of being unique, I just have not crossed over into wacked status which is required of all international celebrities. People, who grab the headlines with, cuckoo guilty pleasures, extra-terrestrial wardrobes and strange deal-breakers on their tour contracts.

Take Rihanna, that chick is hysterical. I don’t know who told her what she was wearing for Crop Over celebrations in Barbados was a costume but she was all over the Internet in that beaded string bikini as if she was Queen of the Bands.

That is the point of being a celebrity. You can wear a banana peel and people would say, “Oh, you look so fab!’’

 Then there is Johnny Depp. Know what his guilty pleasure is? Watching reality TV child star Honey Boo.  Yes, the same six-year-old beauty pageant veteran who once caused Ken and Barbie to fornicate on American television during a talk show. Depp says he is a little bit frightened of Honey Boo but can’t stop watching.

Even Kate Middleton has some less-than-cute habits. She keeps up with the Kardashians! Who are probably keeping up with her because Kim sent the Duchess a maternity gift and calls herself a fan of the new royal mother. Can you just picture Kate and Kim sharing fashion tips and comparing notes on designer diapers?

Well, it’s time to shake off all this ordinariness that has dominated by un-famous life. First, I go blonde. Then, I get my own portable toilet seat, followed by the purchase of the same expensive skin creams made from sturgeon eggs which Angelina Jolie swears by. Tomorrow, I change the spelling of my name from blah Yvonne to Yellow Ivy, and then I shall top things off with a run for political office.

If that does not get me the strangeness I deserve and rocket me to stardom, nothing will.

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