My phone has been ringing off the hook today – which, to be honest, was a little inconvenient….and sort of annoying. Wednesday is the day I take voice lessons with Adam Lambert….and every time the phone rings, it really throws him off when he’s hitting those high notes. I can’t tell you who our voice teacher is – because I promised I wouldn’t…she’s very shy. But if I could tell you, I would tell you it’s Paula Abdul. But I can’t tell you – so please don’t ask.
Anyway, our voice teacher – lets call her Baula – was taking us through a very difficult voice exercise that involves trying to hold a very low baritone while swallowing a Percocet. It’s very challenging – but when done properly, really strengthens the vocal cords and leaves you feeling quite relaxed. Adam had reached his low tone and held it for a good 20 seconds before swallowing the pill – but as he was getting ready to gulp, my phone rang. My Susan Boyle ring tone startled the hell out of him – and he choked. Baula had to give him the Heimlich maneuver – which was tricky because she had to stand on a bar stool in order to do it. I would have done it, but I had to answer my phone.
It was Regis Philbin. He was PISSED. Kelly Ripa had shocked him on the air by premiering a new tattoo of her husband’s last name – placed on her wrist.
“You need to talk to Kelly! Someone needs to talk some sense into that girl!” he belted into the phone, “She got a tattoo, of all things, on her wrist! Who does she think she is? P!nk? Kat Von D? It’s madness!”
“You need to calm yourself, Reeg.” I began, “First of all, even if I wanted to school her on the downside of body art, she wouldn’t listen to me anyway. For years I’ve tried to convince her to lay off the air-brush tanning. Has she listened? No. She’s gone from a healthy bronze to an anorexic umpa lumpa – and quite frankly, her incessant rebellion against my counsel has taught me to just keep my mouth shut. If she wants to ink herself silly, so be it. I really could care less. I have to go Love, I’m in the middle of my voice lesson with Adam Lambert and Baula Rabdul. Give my love to Joy. You’re a peach. Kisses.”
So, back to the voice lesson. Baula wasn’t pleased with my baritone Percocet exercise (apparently it was “pitchy” in spots) – so for my benefit, she demonstrated the proper technique three times in a row – and before we knew it, she was laying across the top of the piano snoring. While Adam covered her with a blanket and turned her to the side so she wouldn’t swallow her tongue (again), my phone rang for the second time.
It was Victoria Beckham. Based on the tone in her voice, I could tell she was staring at herself in the mirror as she spoke, “Dahling, I’m bloody despondent and I need to talk someone. I’m a wretched mess.”
She explained that her arch nemesis, Joan Rivers was saying terrible things about her in an interview with Closer magazine. Joan’s quote:
”Victoria Beckham is so nasty. Why don’t she just go home?! Her dresses are beautiful, but I don’t care what she does. She’s mean to all the people around her. She’s too short to be a diva. We all use the same hair-dresssers, makeup artists, limo-drivers and greeters at the airports in LA and nobody has anything nice to say about her. They say she’s rude. She can’t be having a bad day everyday. Victoria Beckham should get a life. I am not a fan of outrageous consumption. I think it is vulgar.”
“Two things,” I said flatly, “You’re far too sensitive, Love Biscuit. Celebrities say hateful things about other celebrities in the media whenever they have nothing very interesting going on in their lives and need to keep the spotlight shining on them. It’s all for the sake of PR. Get a grip, V. Far more relevant stars hate your guts…you shouldn’t get your thong in a bunch over lil ol’ Joan. And PS, has anyone even ever heard of Closer magazine? I have to go…Adam Lambert is starting to use my printer cartridge for eyeliner. Give my love to Davey and the kids. Kisses.”
Talk about a wasted afternoon. We didn’t even get to my favorite voice exercise where we test our vocal range while doing tequila shots and whistling.
Love ya like hitting a high note on Ativan,