Occasionally I am distressed by my inability to write about the events of my fabulous life in timely fashion. The mad whirl I live in would leave a woman of stronger stuff exhausted--but then, there are no women made of stronger stuff.
However, I do suffer from that deadliest of diseases (besides cancer and oral herpes, of course): PROCRASTINATION.
How often do I tap an exquisitely manicured fingernail on my cheek, thinking, "My, that would make an excellent entry" or "Dear God in Heaven, that person deserves to be written about and PUNISHED!" or "That's pretty".
Then the doorbell rings and another celebrity comes for a style consult; or the maid forgets to put the cream in my coffee; or a package arrives with my bespoke kidskin black boots, hand-sewn by the finest child labor, and all thoughts go scattering away.
That, and my assistants are imbeciles. Sometimes I wonder if I should stop hiring assistants who cry easily. They keep making mistakes. But the cringing is so enjoyable.
Life would be easier if I did giveaways, partnerships, and PR. That would generate "content", which makes me think of air-popped popcorn. Maybe I should have a daily product plug, or a round-up of links, or my entrys could be a collection of my Twitter tweets.
Even that seems like too much work. Ever have one of those days when you don't feel like sharing your fabulosity? Or you've forgotten you've locked your assistant in the bathroom to punish her for crying on a Fortuny gowns? Those aren't Perma-pleats, damn it!
In closing, let me say that ordinarily I would say something critical about Kathy Griffin making fat jokes about Bristol Palin. But...but...she's BRISTOL PALIN.
Your faithful correspondent has to draw the line somewhere.
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog