Yesterday I luxuriated in a quiet day of doing as little as humanely possible. I got a pedicure, grabbed some take-out pad thai from Pei Wei, ran to the supermarket for some groceries, and caught up on blogs. While traipsing through the internet, I uncovered a completely insane morsel from Kitty Kelly's 201o unauthorized biography of Oprah Winfrey. Allow me to share an excerpt:
About five years ago, Oprah's office contacted Georgetown's L'Enfant Gallery, because she owned works by portraitist John Kirthian Court and wanted to see more. Gallery owner Peter Colasante bought three paintings ($60,000-$80,000 each) and had them shipped from Portugal to his shop for Oprah's consideration. He received strict instructions for her short visit, along with a partial schedule: "2:17 p.m.: Oprah's limousine arrives at L'Enfant Gallery, 2:20 p.m.: Oprah walks into gallery...."
On the appointed day and time, two limos pulled up and Oprah went into Deborah Gore Dean's shop across Wisconsin Avenue. After waiting 30 minutes, Colasante walked over and found his famous client berating Dean. He told Oprah and her entourage that he had other appointments scheduled and she needed to honor her timetable.
"Oprah does not walk," she told him, referring to herself in the third person. "Who is this guy?" Then she started screaming at her staff, but finally agreed to cross the street and come through his front door.
"I just don't feel it," she told him. "The vibrations aren't right."
"You'll feel them once you see the paintings we've assembled for you," he said, pointing up the stairs where Court's art was hanging. "Oprah does not do stairs," she said.
Things went rapidly downhill from there: Colasante's partner hissed that maybe Oprah could use the exercise (unclear who heard), and she stormed out in a huff without buying anything.
Naturally, cackling sadistic that I am, I found this entire description HIGH-larious. Being rather diva-esque myself, I can think of few things that would make me happier than declaring to the world the things that I "do not do." So I figured I'd devote today's post to just that. In the third-person, of course.
*Elissa does no do bunnies and roses and Cathy comics and motivational inspirational crapola. It just ain't me.
*Elissa doesn't do snakes. Except if they've been utilized in a lovely pair of pumps or a fetching clutch.
*Elissa does not do tents. Or hippies in tents.
*Elissa does not do leather shorts.
*Elissa doesn't do karaoke. Unless there's a considerable amount of booze involved.
*Elissa does not do seafood of the "slimey" variety. Aphrodisi-MY ASS.
*Elissa does not do "hiding emotions." Note: This is more often a curse than a blessing. Heart-on-sleeve club for life.
*Elissa does not do workout gear in public.
*Elissa does not do jokes about bodily functions. Because I'm a lady.
*Elissa does not do loud clubs with booming house music and strobe lights and $15 shots of Patron and girls prancing around in patent leather platforms and chain-metal handkerchief tops. Blech.
*Elissa doesn't do acid-wash.
*Elissa doesn't do yardwork.
*Elissa does not do interruptions during The Real Housewives of Whatever-City-They're-Filming-In. Consider yourself warned.
*Elissa does not do beets. Or blue cheese. Or lamb.
*Elissa does not do mountain climbing or mountain biking or basically any activity involving mountains.
*Elissa does not do thongs. Ever.
I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam, y'all. I'm sure there's a ton more but I figure it's best for me to quit while ahead.
Are there things that you just "don't do?" Share 'em in the comments, or on your own blog (with a link back to mine, 'kay?)