One thing about going to the hairdresser: there are plenty of smutty Hollywood rags lying around.
To tell you the truth, I'm sick of celebrities. Yes, I really said that. Me, who's been mortally addicted to People magazine since the very first issue which, I think, I paid 35 cents for.
First it was Anna Nicole, ya-a-a-awn (didn't that just go on for-EVER?). Then it was Britney with her freshly mowed head. Then Alec Baldwin's "thoughtless little pig" tirade to his eleven-year-old daughter--or maybe she's twelve because even Alec doesn't know. Now it's Paris, Paris, Paris and her pending reservation at Barbie's Dream House of Detention. Plus OJ got tkicked out of a KY restaurant because the owner, frankly, didn't want to deal with him so now OJ's screaming racism (huh?) and threatening the guy's liquor license.
So while Beth got her hair cut, I flipped through the rags and discovered that:
1. Portia weighed 86 pounds at one time and consumed 300 calories a day. 300 calories a day? Wimp! I can eat 300 a minute.
2. Whoopi dropped a ton of blubber on the NutriSystem diet and now she can squeeze her butt into a size 8. Yeah. Sure she can. A Hollywood 8 or a Wal-Mart 8?
3. Without makeup, Whitney looks like a sixty-year-old junkie, Barbra resembles a demented bag lady, Wynonna could pass for a waitress at a West Virginia truck stop, and everyone else pretty much looks dead.
Then I thought: why am I reading this stuff?