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POOP – Kymeth’s Newsletter January 14, 2011

Posted by Kimmothy in Celebrities, Home Life.
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I’ve pretty much always had an unhealthy obsession with Gwyneth Paltrow. Way back when, in the mid-to-late 90’s, it was for all the normal celebrity obsess-worthy reasons: she was the cool It Girl; skinny, blond, the girl Brad Pitt called “my angel” in an awards speech. The girl who then had the balls to cheat on Brad Pitt and rebound with Ben Affleck and win an Oscar and kill it on SNL.

But that was then. And oh how much fun it is to see the mighty fall. Somewhere along the way she married a douchey British rock star, have two kids she gave hideously pretentious names and renounced the United States as being too pedestrian for her newly acquired Olde English mentality. Apparently having Steven Speilberg as a godparent wasn’t cool enough for little Gwennie anymore.

And then, as if the level of fuckery wasn’t already approaching its peak, she went and started a “lifestyle” newsletter. Thought it’d be a super idea to name it GOOP. (She should never be allowed to name anything again, ever, including pets)A cute play on her initials? Her nickname when she was a kid? Does it matter? In it, she does us all the huge favor of sharing her unsolicited advice on where we should stay during our holidays abroad, how to stay in shape like she does by eating a macro-biotic diet and co-owning a gym with Tracy Anderson and working out forty hours a week; in other words the amount of time most of us spend earning money to try to keep an unleaky roof over our heads and put some non-organic but maybe sometimes namebrand food on our tables every night. It is to laugh, if to not instead become violent.

The latest edition of GOOP (seriously that’s the name that made the cut?) to me worse than usual. It describes a day in the life of working mothers: she, Stella McCartney and some other fancy important well-toned friend of hers. I’m too lazy to link it; it’s easy enough to Google GOOP, even for us unlearned commoners. But seriously – read it if you want a hearty laugh. What I did to extend the fun even further was to compare her day in the life to one of mine.

6:45am – alarm goes off; one of us hits snooze. Depending on the quality/quantity of sleep the night before this act can be repeated anywhere from two to five times. Sometimes along with the alarm comes the bonus of my dedicated and loving spouse’s ass-trumpet upon which earns him several punches in the arm, ribs or as close as I dare to his groinal area. It’s important to keep that physical relationship consistent, after all.

7:15am – prepare Maxwell House Original Roast ground coffee for the both of us and because I care deeply about my loved one’s nutrition, I sometimes remember to throw two Little Debbie Pecan Spinwill cakes at him as he heads for the door. After I’m certain he’s actually gone (because odds are amazingly high he will be back within seconds to grab his phone, wallet, paperwork – whichever item he’s forgotten that day), I strip down to nothing, including removing of all jewelry and step on the scale. Whatever the number says dictates my mood for the next hour or two and there might even be a tearful peptalk in the shower if the number is too high for my liking. Crying burns calories after all, so I’m utilizing GP’s advice for multi-tasking in the shower! (That’s not a joke; she really suggests it)

8:35 – 8:45am – arrive at work. Even though they’ve recently changed our start time to 8:30, I have a rebellious free-spirit I must pay homage to and it refuses to allow me to be on time. Not sure when this started; must be true what they say about getting older and no longer giving a shit about so many things.

9:30 – 10am – unless something irregular is going on, this is when I am usually just finishing up coffee and perusing celebrity gossip sites – like ones that make fun of GOOP! and actually begin working.

11:30am – 1:00pm – depending on how busy/hungry/bored/antsy I’m feeling that day, I will at some point during this period leave the office for my lunch hour. I use the term “hour” loosely, as more often than not it’s actually more of a lunch hour-and-a-half. It’s all about nourishing one’s inner child, right? Weather permitting, I may use this time to take a brisk, reviving walk around the campus or, if I’m feeling a little life has no meaningy, I’ll head to Target and see what treasures there might be to bring about that instant gratification we’re all so fond of.

2pm – 5pm – if I could make myself as groggy and lethargic at bedtime as I feel during this time of the day, I’d never have to medicate myself to go to sleep again. The dual temptation of sugar and caffeine are never as evident as they are now. Gwyneth would use this opportunity for a self-control exercise; I usually have a Diet Coke and seethe.

6pm – depending on how grueling the seven-mile commute was that day, like maybe I had to stop off at one of our local southern delicacy food markets, the Piggly Wiggly, the Bi Lo or the Walmart, I may unwind for a little while before starting our dinner. By “unwind,” of course I mean putting things away that didn’t get done the night before and preparing the kitchen to once again get used. In the winter months this is especially important, as it takes a fresh clean atmosphere to create the cheap and starchy concoctions I like to prepare for that optimal and cliche’ winter weight gain.

7pm – ? – ah, my favorite time of the day. This is the “quality time” all those marital advice books talk about, where you and your significant other reconnect, bond and relish in each other’s company. For us this means both laptops open, books being read and current events being discussed, some proofing work for me perhaps, because much like Gwyneth, I’m also a woman of many pursuits though unlike Gwyneth, this additional job allows me to actually have money in a savings account. And all this romantic activity is always, ALWAYS underscored by the neverending drone of the TV in the background, as my A.D.D.-addled spouse finds it most relaxing to have as many of his senses stimulated as simultaneously as possible. If you want to infer that sexually, go ahead but I can assure you that’s not how it was meant.

Of course bedtime is never a set time, as I suffer from both insomnia and what I think is probably a mild form of narcolepsy as I can barely keep my eyes open until I get into bed to try to sleep.

I’d love to see Gwyneth live one day, one DAY the life of one of us. My guess is she’d hold out until around lunchtime. You go, poseur.

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Comments»

1. kmj99 - January 21, 2011

Hahahahaha! I did go read the GOOP newsletter, and I think I sprained an eyeball from rolling them so hard………

I think you should write Gwyn & offer her a little challenge – see if she could survive a day in the life of the rest of the world……

Kim - February 2, 2011

I would LOVE to write to her; unfortunately I don’t think my scathing words would ever reach her delicate, snotty eyeballs.

2. Karen - January 25, 2011

Kim, I read all of the time, but rarely comment. I must do just that here and now because this shit, this shit right here? Pure brilliance.

I’m left thinking two things. Well, many things, but…
1.) Gwyneth Paltrow is an asshole, man. She always was, even when she was boffing Brad Pitt. Wait. Pause there. Imaginate. Remember him in Thelma and Louise? Oh my sweet holy christ! My sister and I used to rewind/play his parts to such excess that the VHS warped and the VCR would spontaneously eject the tape and so naturally, we thought the house was haunted. True story. Perverts. Also, I said boffing… Why? Because it sounds pretentious and Gwynethy. Consider it removed from my lexicon. (Why when I say boffing am I reminded of Caddy Shack II, though?)
And 2.) I just really dig your perspective on this and many things. You’re neat and I think if we were neighbors or family, we’d be friends too. They’re not always mutually exclusive, you know? And I realize, it’s a bit one-sided (read: creepy of me) being that I don’t have a blog and you’ve not been able to read all about me and my life, but anyone who is daily treated to the sounds of her husband’s most practiced instrument, the ass trumpet, and publishes this fact on the internets would be theif thick with me. Friendships have been based on far less.

Kim - February 2, 2011

Not only do I remember Brad in Thelma & Louise, it particularly stands out because it was the first time I realized my glasses could actually STEAM UP from my face becoming hot and sweaty. And from that moment I formed the opinion anyone who had the audacity to cheat on him thinking they may find something better (because you’re telling me that grouchy British poseur she’s married to is better? No.) is and will always be an asshole.
And anyone who thinks farts are funny is a friend in my book, so yes I wish we were neighbors because mine suck.

3. Karen - January 25, 2011

I spelled “thief” wrong. I know.

4. Scott - February 10, 2011

She does–I guarantee it. Like any celeb–she appears to have it all together, but she’s just like anybody else, in reality.

One time in my Mobile, Alabama hometown, a movie was being filmed at Battleship Park (on Mobile Bay). And I went there late at night, and asked the security guard if I could see any of the actors. He nodded, then went to an on-location trailer. Out came a man in a robe, with a few other men (probably bodyguards). Though I didn’t know his name, he looked familiar. And I thoughtlessly called out, “Hey, aren’t you someone famous?” The man looked at me, as if offended, possibly hurt. He replied, “No!”, and went back into his trailor.

I later realized who he was–Gary Busey! And to this day, I regret what I said (I should have just said, “Hello, good to meet you!”). But that experience reinforced, for me, the fact that famous people are just like all other people–with the same egos, the same needs, the same desires, the same problems.

Kimmothy - February 10, 2011

Oh how I would love to meet Gary Busey. As for the few famous people I’ve met, I just turn into a blushing, stuttering freak – it’s never a proud moment for me.


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