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Dying for Attention

Written by Leigh Anne Jasheway-Bryant
Thursday, 19 July 2007

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Like Queen Latifah, I changed my hair color this month. Like Britney Spears, I got a new puppy, although mine was a rescue from a local animal shelter. Like Lindsay Lohan, I took my first drink in weeks last night (mine was a Fuzzy Navel wine cooler from the 90s I discovered at the back of the refrigerator behind a really skanky kiwi.) And like Nicole Richie, I'm starving.

But does anyone care? Nooooo... What's a girl like me have to do to get attention anyway? Put on an orange jumpsuit and find the lord? Not that I'm fame-obsessed, mind you. I actually enjoy being able to scratch my ass without a dozen cameras capturing the act for posterity. Ha-ha. Ass and posterity. That was so witty, I had to enjoy it twice.

But every once and awhile, I could use a little media attention just to let my estranged family know I'm alive. Because if I have to e-mail them, they'll start e-mailing me back, and it will never end.

I thought perhaps I should hire the publicist of one of the women who has gotten more than her fifteen minutes of fame to help me do the same. After some cogitation (I blame the wine cooler), I decided on Anna Nicole's PR person. I figured she had an opening. I called her up (got her number from Fox News). Here's a transcript of our conversation:
Me: Hi, I'm looking for a publicist.

PR Person: Who are you?

Me: I'm a humor writer and stand-up comic.

PR Person: You write for SNL?

Me: No.

PR Person: Letterman? Leno? Jon Stewart?

Me: No. But I do have some books, a play, a musical...

PR Person: Hairspray?

Me: No. It's called Yes Mamm! It's about breasts...

PR Person: Breasts. Hmm... We may be able to work with that. Are you willing to show yours?

Me: Depends on the lighting. In total darkness, yes. But only while lying down.

PR Person: Do you do any drugs? I've had good luck with women who do drugs, then give them up, go to rehab for a few days, then start into heavier stuff right away.

Me: Well, I do wear an estrogen patch. Is there a rehab for that?

PR Person: Estrogen patch? Are you transgendered?

Me: No, perimenopausal.

PR Person: Damn! Transgendered I can sell. Perimenopausal I can't give away. You might as well be Perry Como.

Me: But I'd be happy to slap six, seven patches on if it'll get the media interested.

PR Person: How about a police record? We prefer our clients have a DUI or a DTP.

Me: DTP?

PR Person: Disturbing the peace. Ever been arrested for dancing topless on a bar?

Me: No. Heights make me dizzy.

PR Person: Work with me here. Got kids you could fail to strap into their child seats? Better yet, ride around with them on the roof of the car?

Me: I don't have kids of my own, but I have friends who would gladly let me traumatize theirs so later when they need therapy, the kids can blame someone else.

PR Person: Any of your friends famous?

Me: Quasi-famous. No one throws panties at them when they walk down the street. Although I think my friend Jan once had a pair of Barbie shorts flung in her direction at a booksigning.

PR Person: How about eating disorders? Anorexia? Bulimia? Alphabeteria?

Me: Alphabeteria?

PR Person: You only eat things that begin with a certain letter of the alphabet. U or Q are really hot right now.

Me: I once had a popsicle addiction. Went through about three boxes of the things in one week.

PR Person: What flavor?

Me: Root beer.

PR Person: No good. Orange, I could work with.

Me: There's got to be some way to get the public interested in me.

PR Person: I'm thinking here. Have you recently changed your hair color?

Me: Yep!

PR Person: Bingo!

There you have it. I now have my very own PR team working to get me a little exposure. Don't be surprised if next month you see a drug-free redheaded perimenopausal woman of average size committing no crimes and wearing six estrogen patches gracing the covers of tabloids everywhere.