2008 Woodie Awards
Butlers, Brad, and Bono: a day in the life of this celeb
Nicole Dellasanta
Issue date: 3/1/05 Section: Feature
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Beep. Beep. Beep.
My alarm clock?
Of course not.
The deliveryman backing up his truck to the gaping glass doors of my mansion to deliver freshly squeezed Florida orange juice and raspberry Milano cookies just in time for breakfast?
You bet.
"Thank you, Jeeves," I say as he humbly bows his head and hands me the juice and cookies on a solid gold platter. His name is actually Bob, but what do I care? I'm a celebrity; I can call people anything I want.
Lordy, what to do next, I wonder as I munch on my breakfast and wander through the gold-tiled halls of my 800 square mile mansion. Should I call up Paris Hilton and tell her to return the Versace dress she borrowed from me last week? Nah, it looks much better on her; it's a bit too...er, skin-showing for me.
Hey, I could text-message Jude Law and ask him to meet me for lunch! I haven't seen him since the Oscars last year. Or maybe that was Johnny Depp...or was it Brad? Yes, I think I remember seeing Jennifer around, so it was probably Brad. What a shame they broke up. I was going to be their child's godmother. If they ever had a child.
Perhaps I'll just finish my breakfast and ring for the butler to tell his butler to bring me my choice of clothing for the day. Yes, I'm such a celebrity that even my butlers have butlers.
Man, what a great day, I think as I look out the window. An absolutely perfect day here in Orange County, California: a balmy 75 degrees, not a cloud in sight, and big blue waves in the sea. Almost as perfect as the color-coordinated outfits my butler Winston (real name Harry) has arranged in front of me. The blue and green would fit the weather perfectly. The yellow one adds ten pounds to me. Winston agrees the yellow doesn't compliment me. Winston doesn't know it yet, but he's fired.
Let's see what's on the official celebrity schedule today. Sleep until noon: check. Eat a healthy, nutritional breakfast: ummm...we'll go with check. Work out in celebrity gym: hmmm, I don't know. Last time John Travolta almost made me spew my cookies and juice when he bumped into me while I was running on the solid sterling silver treadmill. Let's skip that one for today. Look good at all times: obviously a check. Visit President Bush and tell him how to run the country: check; that was yesterday.
My alarm clock?
Of course not.
The deliveryman backing up his truck to the gaping glass doors of my mansion to deliver freshly squeezed Florida orange juice and raspberry Milano cookies just in time for breakfast?
You bet.
"Thank you, Jeeves," I say as he humbly bows his head and hands me the juice and cookies on a solid gold platter. His name is actually Bob, but what do I care? I'm a celebrity; I can call people anything I want.
Lordy, what to do next, I wonder as I munch on my breakfast and wander through the gold-tiled halls of my 800 square mile mansion. Should I call up Paris Hilton and tell her to return the Versace dress she borrowed from me last week? Nah, it looks much better on her; it's a bit too...er, skin-showing for me.
Hey, I could text-message Jude Law and ask him to meet me for lunch! I haven't seen him since the Oscars last year. Or maybe that was Johnny Depp...or was it Brad? Yes, I think I remember seeing Jennifer around, so it was probably Brad. What a shame they broke up. I was going to be their child's godmother. If they ever had a child.
Perhaps I'll just finish my breakfast and ring for the butler to tell his butler to bring me my choice of clothing for the day. Yes, I'm such a celebrity that even my butlers have butlers.
Man, what a great day, I think as I look out the window. An absolutely perfect day here in Orange County, California: a balmy 75 degrees, not a cloud in sight, and big blue waves in the sea. Almost as perfect as the color-coordinated outfits my butler Winston (real name Harry) has arranged in front of me. The blue and green would fit the weather perfectly. The yellow one adds ten pounds to me. Winston agrees the yellow doesn't compliment me. Winston doesn't know it yet, but he's fired.
Let's see what's on the official celebrity schedule today. Sleep until noon: check. Eat a healthy, nutritional breakfast: ummm...we'll go with check. Work out in celebrity gym: hmmm, I don't know. Last time John Travolta almost made me spew my cookies and juice when he bumped into me while I was running on the solid sterling silver treadmill. Let's skip that one for today. Look good at all times: obviously a check. Visit President Bush and tell him how to run the country: check; that was yesterday.