Hot like me
I had this rather garrulous literary masterpiece three quarters written about my propensity for being a lush, versus my roommate’s propensity for looking at me funny when I say “holy fucking hangover”. All of which went to the wayside when during the premiere of ANTM, there was a long preview for a new reality show in search of the next…great…PUSSYCAT DOLL. Almost like being the next…great…BEATLE, but with less clothing and more eyeliner and acrylic nails.
I watched in awe as girl after girl sat teary eyed and confessed that being a pussycat doll was what they wanted in life more than anything. How it would change their world forever and all carried signs that said “Live Pussycat or Die!”
I’ve had some crazy goals in life, ranging from neonatology to fictional novelist to Ballerina, which I know, right with the size of my ass. But never before nor will I ever, get on camera, in front of a million and ten people and announce that I, Heather B, have the aspirations to dance in my bra and boy shorts, with my ass cheeks hanging out, lip synching that I would love nothing more than for Snoop Dogg to push up on my buttons, baby.