So much of my time awake is used to go to work, run errands, drive around and do chores. These things are not glamorous. And maybe you’re someone who doesn’t care how much glamour is in your life, but I definitely do. I don’t want to start entering beauty pageants or anything (and not just because they wouldn’t let me in), but I think I might like it better if I were a soap star. Not a real soap star mind you, but a soap star in a soap opera. If I had to choose which one, I would pick General Hospital, because it’s less crazy than others I’ve seen, there are gangsters, and lots of the stars have actual jobs in the hospital, which seems very productive. Also it’s the only show I’ve ever followed.
If I were a soap star, most of my day would be spent chasing a man who wouldn’t/couldn’t have me, or being chased by him. We would end up stuck in elevators, involved in shoot-outs, and stranded in the woods together enough times that we would have no choice but to be together eventually (eventually in soap land is maybe 3 weeks), and we would come to this conclusion after we kissed in the elevator/behind the shoot-up dumpster/in the woods. We would battle to be together after that, fighting the opinions of our friends, family and ex-lovers, who we’d run into frequently on docks late at night and of course, in the hospital. Eventually we would get married or at least live together, until other sexy people came on the scene and tried to win each of us over, and we realize we want to split up to have a torrid romance with a new person in town or someone we’ve been friends with all our lives. Either that, or we find out we’re related and what we’re doing will produce deffective children. Or of course, one of us dies. That can only happen if we are soulmates, though, and even then the death probably won’t stick.
Speaking of death, one of the coolest parts about being a soap star is that you can’t die. You can die as a soap actor in a supporting role, but not as a soap star. If I die, I probably have just been kidnapped and hidden on a secret island or bomb shelter, or have hit my head, gotten the kind of amnesia that isn’t annoying and doesn’t exist, and started a new life somewhere where I begin the above wooing dance with a handsome stranger. The danger/eroticism will continue until someone inadvertantly spots and recognizes me, thereby threatening the love life of the man who currently has me. There will probably be a fight between the man who got me and the man who had me, and it really doesn’t matter who wins because they’re both handsome with washboard abs. And rich.
In soap land, pretty much everyone is rich through no work of their own. It’s all old money, enjoyed through marriage alliances, being born into it, or sometimes meeting a rich old person during a hostage situation and them subsequently naming you as their sole benneficiary, and then promptly dying. Old people dying on soaps is for keeps, because they’re never the stars.
It would be really nice to be thin and never exercise, wear heels all day and never get sore feet, and have perfect hair and make-up without ever having to shop for beauty supplies or apply them. The only thing I would have to do as a soap star is get caught up in pseudo dangerous incredibly sexy scenarios, plot to win a man or ruin a rival’s life, and be seen at glamorous parties, restaurants, and speed boat rides set to out of date music. I could have kids, lose the baby weight instantly, and then never really have to take care of them. The children would be perfect, play on their own in seperate rooms, and only speak when they have something very dramatic to say about their father who disapeared, or how my spiraling painkiller addiction is making them sad. Yes, I could have an addiction to painkillers, but I would still be beautiful.
With all the unglamorous activities magically removed from my life, I would have so much more time to sit luxuriously by the pool with a martini, attend charity galas, and have a shocked look on my face for an unnatural amount of time while wearing a beautiful outfit you’ll never see again. My feet would make perfect clicking sounds wherever I go, and I would get to toss my professionally blown-out hair to lure many men to my silk sheets.
Yeah…
I’m definitely going to think about how I can do this for real. Right now though, I gotta go pick up my drycleaning.
Brianna Carson's Blog 