JK, Lea. I follow you on Instagram for some inexplicable reason. And that dress is beautiful. And you have great hair. Okay, enough nice crap. Let's get to the bitchassness.
Much gratitude to Gawker, and more specifically Rich Juzwiak, for bringing the video below into my life. (And even more thanks are owed to Rich for introducing me to the likes of Grey Gardens and Paris is Burning via his blog FourFour.) I really can't imagine living my day-to-day life without seeing Lea Michele be completely ignored by the light of our lives, Jessica Lange, now that I've been exposed to its glory.
I'm sure this all happened because Ms. Lange was wondering the same thing that we all are: HOW LONG DO YOU NEED TO POSE FOR A HANDFUL OF PICTURES? That and Jessica was probably just trying to get inside and see if all of the catered pizza rolls were gone, like any sane human would do.
I will admit that it takes me 908543095 minutes to take a semi-decent photo of myself to use in beauty-related posts using a camera timer in my cave of solitude, but I don't possess TV-levels of attractiveness. I don't even have infomerical-levels of beauty. Not to mention, my eyes are usually mid-flutter and I look like this in every picture:
I would hate to be a famous. Most of your awkward social interactions are filmed and spread around like Justin Bieber's circa 2012 haircut in Alabama (I can say that, my family's from Alabama and I kind of enjoy Lynyrd Skynyrd) so assholes like me can make fun of you. I don't think that there's a video of me falling flat on my face in Wal-Mart while wearing slutty knee-high boots from Charlotte Russe in 2007, even though that really happened. I'll just stick to being a mediocre normal.
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