Hey, screw you! Oh wait, I mean hi, my name is Stella McCartney. This is just a little place where I can finally speak my mind, and get some things off my chest. I'll answer some commonly asked questions as well. Is that alright with you?! Wise @ss!
I'm sickened to death by this little "pretty girl" image some people are making me out to be. I'm tough, buff, and loaded with dough my Pop hooked me up with, ya dig? My best friend is Madonna, she's cool. And as you might have heard, I'm a professional fashion designer. Okay, I'll admit I kinda like alcohol...okay, A LOT! In fact, I'm drunk as I'm writing this. But so? SO?! You don't know me! You wanna say something to me, say it to my face! You aint all that! You don't know what's a goin' on...wait...what were we talking about?
So anyways, why don't I tell you about my day? Hey, why don't you shut your little mouth and let me speak! GoOosh, what it takes to get a little respect around here. Like I was saying...I woke up this morning and had a beer for breakfast. I kinda felt like bacon and eggs, but the hell if I can cook. After breakfast, I felt like seconds...so I had another beer. Then, the phone rang. I was all like, "Yo?" And I hear my Pop say, "How is daddy's little girl?" I answer, "Yo, I'm not your little girl anymore. I'm a grown-up respected fashion designer." He's all like, "Ooooh, it sounds like someone is DRUNK again." I said, "I'm not drunk! What do you want anyway?" He says, "Well, its been a while since I've gotten to see you. Me, being busy with the new album and you, being busy with your fashion designing. So I was wondering if you would like to join me for a lunch? Hows' about 12?" I agreed and we hung up.
I met Pop at a restaurant and who do you think should be there but daddy's dumb @ss fiancÚ, Heather! Oh my sweet Lord, I can't stand that woman. She was sitting in daddy's lap, swaying her wooden leg back and forth. When she saw me, she shot me this evil look and mumbled something. I pulled out a chair and sat down with them. "Hi Pop." I said.
"Hello sweatheart! You look beautiful." he greeted me.
I kissed him on the cheek and then sat back down. Pop looked at Heather and said to her, "Now Heather, what do we say?" She groaned and murmured, "Do I HAVE to?" Daddy nudged her a little harder and she looked at me, and said in the most unenthusiastic tone, "Hi Mary." I sneered and cried, "It's Stella!"
"My name!" I shot back at her. She kinda rolled her eyes and said, "Like, you all look the same anyways." I went on to say, "No we don't! Mary has dark brown hair, James is a redhead, and I'm a dirty blonde." Heather rolled her eyes again and declared, "Like, duh! I knew that! I'm not STUPID." Pop turned to Heather and said, "Now honey, be nice."
The lunch was okay, and as we started to leave, Heather insisted she left something at the table and would be right back. I was curious as to what she left behind and watched her head back to the table. She glanced around, slyly, then picked up the tip daddy had left for the waitress and shoved the bills in her purse. Then, she casually walked away.
The rest of my day was kind of a blur. I remember drinking some martinis and a couple scotches. I spent most of the day alone at my house, playing drinking games. I watched mostly reruns of Saturday Night Live and everytime Molly Shannon made a bad joke, I took a shot of tequila. I totally forget the rest of the afternoon but I remember waking up in some guy's bed, downtown. I said to myself, "Oh crap, not again" and left.
So yeah, that was my freaking day. My life is composed of many days like that. It sucks. Now, I will answer some of your many questions. Shut up and listen.
"Stella, do you ever fear that your popularity springs from being Paul McCartney's daughter?" I'm not scared of nuthin'. I'm famous because I deserve it and I'm hot. So back off, sista'!
"What new styles do you think are coming back 'in' this new season?" Yeah, I think styles with stuff on them are coming back. You know, stuff. Like fabric and colors and patterns and stuff. Hey, piss off! You know what I'm talking about, STUFF!
"How are your feelings towards Heather Mills? What kind of relationship do you have with her?" Heather Mills can suck it! She's annoying, obnoxious, and a leach. We have absolutely no relationship with one another. She hates my fashion and I hate her as a person. Dig?
"What's with the whole buch attitude? Are you as tough as you sound?" Oh, you goin' down! Me and my homies will bring you down to Chinatown!
"Do you like the Beatles?" Yes. But I hate Wings. I had to grow up with that crap and listen to it my whole childhood. I love my mummy dearly, bless her soul, but she couldn't sing for poo and she wasn't that musically inclined either. Her main instruments? Keyboard, tamborine, triangle, and kazzoo.
Well, thats all I have to say. I'm gonna go see if theres any Vodka left on the wet bar. Cheerio, and piss off.
Pissed off her wits,
Okay, now for my side of the story! Here's what REALLY happened: I woke up in Paul's bed and heard him talking on the telephone. So while he was pre-occupied, I helped myself to Paul's lonely wallet. He hung up, and walked in just as I put back the slightly thinner wallet. "We're going to lunch with Stella, so get ready." he told me. "Who is Stella?" I asked. "Stella...Stella! My daughter!"
"You mean THAT brat?! But Paaaaaul! She's mean! Why do ~I~ have to go? She's YOUR daughter!" I whined. Paul said, "She's going to be your step-daughter soon so you'de better learn to love her." Paul continued lecturing me but I totally like tuned him out. Anywho, he forced me to come along. Stella arrived and she was all pretending I wasn't there. So I gave her a mean look. Paul elbowed me in the ribs and said, "Now Heather, what do we say?"
"Stella! How nice to see you. How are you?" I said. But then, for no reason at all, she started accusing me of calling her Mary. Hey, its true! She did! I was all like, "Stop being mean to me! What did I ever do to you besides give you my ever-lasting love?!" Okay, maybe I didn't QUITE put it like that but it had the same affect. Grrrrrr! How I hate kids. Okay, so maybe she's not technically a kid but soon she will legally be mine. Ew.
Oh! And that LAST part she said about me stealing the tip! That was so totally a lie! I was merely taking it so I could GIVE it to the waitress personally, that way no one else would steal it. Only, I forgot to give it to her. My bad.
More Excerpts from the Drunken Memoirs of Yours Trully
Yo, this is Stella and I'm back! Sh*t, you thought I was gone for good? Well screw you, pal! Cuz the b*tch is back! Whoa, I think that's an Elton song. What kind of name is Elton anyways? That name pisses me off...Elton. I mean, who the hell does he think he is? Being named Elton and all? Do YOU know any other Elton's beside him? Hey shut up, you liar! You do not. Well its another Saturday night and I'm having my usual count-down to Happy Hour. How does the count-down work? Basically, every hour prior to Happy Hour, I get to drink myself stupid. Then when Happy Hour arrives, I drink some more. What, you gotta problem wit' dat? You wanna make something out of it? Yeah? I didn't think so. Now where were we? Geez, if you didn't have to go about interrupting me all the time, MAYBE I could get round to a bloody point. Oh yeah. So its Saturday night, I've got a bottle of rum, and I'm flamin' P.O.'ed.
Its time to talk about a series of things that PISS ME OFF. These aren't just what you would call "pet-peeves" - these are some major fricking psychotic hatreds. Okay. Where to begin? Maybe if you just shut up and let me talk for a minute - GEEZ! Now where was I? Hey, do you ever find yourself in the middle of a sentence and just........wait, what were we talking about? Right, things that get my knickers in a twist. My dad. Yeah, I love you, Pop, but sometimes you do all this idiotic poo to embarress me. I mean, SERIOUSLY! Like that one time at the fashion awards! Did I ever tell you about that? A'ight, so there was this fashion award show and I was all in it, right? Well my Pop was there and he came on the stage with me, yo? Then he puffs out his chest and what does his shirt say? "About Flippin Time"! Bloody hell!
For those of you too stupid to comprende the humiliation, when Pop was inducted into the Rock N' Roll Hall-O-Fame, I wore a shirt that was all like, "About F***in Time". Yeah, dat was tite, too. Cuz I all designed and crap. I thought of it all by myself. Wait...no I didn't! My stupid father was all like, "You need to come up with a sassy slogan to make me look cool when I get inducted tonight." Ugh, and he even called me his DATE. Ha ha, but we was both flamin' pissed off our wits. Yeah, what a night! I had 10 shots of tequila! Oh yeah, and he got inducted, blah-dy blah-dy blah. But mostly, I got drunk. Good times.
What else pisses me off? Oh, I know! Dumb-@sses. I can't STAND the b@st'ds. They all stupid and what not. Can't talk no good English nei'tha. And they're everywhere! They flamin' rule the planet if ya ask me (and you'd betta'!). Every place I freakin' go, I run into one. Okay, lemme give you an example. I'm walking in the subway when this whole biotch bumps into me. I go, "Yo, watch it buddy!" The chick is all like, "Oh, excuse me." And I'm all like, "What did you say?" And she go, "I said excuse me". I'm all in her face and I'm goin', "Yeah, excuse YOU is right!" The nerve of some people!
Right, anudda thing that pisses me off: teenage-sex movies. Or teenage-"friends" movies. You know the kind. Where a group of guys are all tryin' to get layed and what not. Let me explain to you the premise of each type movie: Teen-Sex-Movie: Bunch of no good loos'as get into hairbrained schemes to get some. They do and live happily ever after. Alright kids, you wanna hear how it works in the real world? I go do it with some guy while I'm wasted and wake up in the morning carrying 6 different STD's. Yeah, life sucks that way, doesn't it? Teen-"Friends"-Movies: Pack of annoying bratty gals go on a roadtrip, get into some not-so-exciting adventures and in the end, learn a good valuable lesson. Now, for what REALLY happens (from my own personal experience): Madonna and I hit the road and somewhere on the state-border line, rage into a fight over the last bottle a' Vodka. We part our seperate ways, each loosing a fistful of hair and one more strand of dignity. Dig it?
Next on my list: Designer companies that won't hire me. I mean, come on! What's up with that? I have come up with some d@mn good designs in my day. I mean, remember what I wore to the fashion show? A freaking white dress...but not just any ol' white dress. It had a horse on it, yo! I mean, that is talent! That is creativity! Could YOU think of something that inspired? Hell no. Only me. So any ol' company that don't want me can suck it!
Yeah okay, I think I'm done with my rant (shove it, Dennis Miller). If you'll excuse me, its 45 minutes til Happy Hour and I need a fix. Ta and piss off.
Sincerely Shut Up,