That's Rich

Full disclosure, everyone. My mind is somewhere else today. Growing up is apparently inevitable at this point, no matter how hard I try to ignore it. The other day I thought I found a gray hair. I nearly cried myself stupid. But, upon much, much, MUCH closer inspection, I discovered it was definitively not gray. Stupid too-light highlights.

In the interest of distracting myself, I came home from work and whipped up a dinner of Spongebob Macaroni 'n Cheese. I let the sky-high caloric values wash over me. Kids don't think about calories. Anyway, I'm over it.

I'm watching Gossip Girl and my problems are completely dwarfed by this fictional saga. I'm pretty glad I'm not on house arrest and my dad hasn't ever tried to take over any evil corporation. Well, not that I'm aware of, at least. The point is: disgustingly rich people have problems too, yo. They're all "I have to drug this girl before she tells everyone that I went slumming with the quiet kid last semester." Or "I'm NEVER going to get this internship at Vanity Fair on my own merits, so I'm going to lie and say I'm someone else and screw up everyone else's lives so that I can make myself a shoo-in for this job I'll get fired from because of my associations with uber-powerful, uber-evil kids who are currently blackmailing the editor-in-chief." Drama!

Okay, so yeah. Rich people have probs. And while I'd give my left foot (it's my most useless) for a day in the life of the fictional Blair van der Woodsen, I don't think I could handle all the hustle and bustle rich people go through while also wearing Louboutins. Okay, so the personal driver would help a lot, but being rich and fancy seems like hard work. There's like a LOT of running around and chasing down enemies or attending galas or balls or masquerades, all while doing anything to get a man, keep a man, deceive a man, or whatever. I don't have that kind of energy. Also, it would appear that they do all this on tummies full of only egg-white omelets and strawberries. That's it. Oh, and champagne...despite their obvious minor status.

I know that having tons of money doesn't mean you're going to have it totally easy. Right now, I have exactly zero people who are "out to get me" (that I know of). I also wore dirty jeans on Saturday, and no one photographed me and plastered the fashion faux-pas all over Page Six. Not once has anyone been involved in a Twitter conversation about whether I'm pregnant or fat (answer: fat). Oh, and I know none of the people in my life are using me for money. If you ARE, though, you've definitely picked the wrong gal.

But I could do with the endless waves of clothes and dresses and shoes and jewelry making their way through my closet. I would love to be on the Board of something. I could handle the free town car rides everywhere. And it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to not have to choose between buying contact lenses or groceries.

Everything is so relative. In high school, I worked at a sporting goods store just so I'd have enough change to go to movies with my friends without asking my parents (which, inevitably, leads to doing chores to EARN the money - RUDE). After the first year of my first job out of college, I was STOKED that I had enough money to go to Brueggers, like, any time I wanted! And after the next bump in pay, I felt like queen of the world when I starting paying all my very own bills almost every month. So, yeah. Who knows? If I were super rich, I'd probably forget about all the little piddly things like bills, or fast food, or poor friends. So maybe it's not all THAT bad being where I am. Okay, so I'm not Blair van der Woodsen, but I'm ALSO not Kelly Bundy.

Unless, wait, do you guys have an idea for me to quick become a millionaire? Because that would be tops. If you do, I totes promise I will give you a cut. But then I'd have to like hunt you down and get back those photos of me at that one party before you send them to TMZ for cool $10,000. Either way, it'd be nice to go buy some new clothes tonight instead of doing stupes laundry.