Day1

I really don’t like writing. I hate writing stuff because, I mean, I have to think and stuff and it just makes my head hurt. My publicist just says I should start writing stuff ‘cos it would make me more money. I mean, like, I would totally do anything for more money. So here I am, writing my daily memoirs, in between shooting my reality show, totally not being a mom (although I have kids) and taking selfies with my lips puckered like a duck from Peking that’s been roasted till it’s golden brown.

MY publicist says everyone wants to know what’s going on in my mind (not that there’s much going on up there) and seeing how much people have taken to everything else I’ve done (which, in my opinion have been a total waste of time. I could totally have used up all that time on more useful things like, I dunno, taking selfies in my bathroom?), I’ve decided to start writing these totally random events that happen to me everyday (they’re totally not scripted, by the way. My publicist says I should also write that previous sentence).

So I got up this morning and I was feeling all blue from all the work I had to do yesterday (posting pictures on Instagram really is hard work! Those hash tags are a complete pain to come up with) and the first thing I did was to take a picture for Instagram without any filters or make up (my publicist says that I should write that too, though it’s like, a total lie. I had a team of make-up artists do my face before the picture. You do NOT want to see what I look like when I get up without make-up. I look like Tyrion Lanister without a beard, lol). So after taking, like, a hundred morning selfies, my publicist went through them and picked just one. I’m like, oh my god, just one? Why not every single one of them? I mean, I looked awesome. MY publicist says I can upload only so many pictures each morning on my Instagram before Instagram ban me from posting or an angry mob comes to burn my house down, whichever happens first. Whatever, I think he’s just hating (K taught me that! I’ve been learning how to speak black and say things like shizzle, dizzle and nizzle and it’s like, oh my god, so cool! More on that later though).

So after posting the picture, my publicist and I had to come up with a hashtag for it. This took like an hour, because I had so many hashtags I would have loved to use but he says to pick just three. I wonder why he’s being so pinchy with posting pictures on Instagram and using hashtags. Like, do people pay for those? And even if I have to pay for them, I’m rich, duh. Eventually we settled on #allnatural (which is, oh my god, such a lie), #iwokeuplikethis (I certainly didn’t wake up like that) and #readytotaketheworld (after what I took last night, I’m not sure I’m in much shape to take anything else. How much more the world).

After we were done posting that, my publicist said we should look through my social media activity from last night till this morning and reply fan comments and messages. It does baffle me sometimes that I have fans, seeing as I don’t actually do anything, but the world is a crazy place like that. Also, I still do awesome duck lips in my selfies, so I suppose that’s something worth having fans for along with, I dunno, basketball stars, the President and those boring scientists looking for the cure for cancer.

So we decided to look through the comments on the last selfie I posted yesterday before going to bed (I didn’t actually go to bed after that selfie! *wink, wink* OMG, that’s like TMI!). Most of the comments were from the usual ass-kissers “I love you Kimmee”, “Would you leave K and marry me, Kimmee?”, “You look awesome!!!” (IKR!) and soon I was getting bored with reading them. I was about asking my publicist to go call one of my personal assistants to get me breakfast when I spotted a particular comment.

“You look like Tyrion Lanister without a beard.”

OH. MY. GOD! Why would people say such hurtful things about me. I mean, technically it’s true, but it’s just so hurtful and I started crying while my publicist immediately handed me a hanky from the large box of white handkerchiefs beside my bed. I mean, it’s just so hard! I try so hard to look so much less like a dwarf from Game Of Thrones and I was beginning to think it was working, only for some random bitch (my publicist says I shouldn’t call anyone a bitch, like, ever, but this is my memoir so the bitch can go to hell. Hope he doesn’t read it though. That’s unlikely, since he’ll be the one publishing it online. He’s, oh my god, such a queen!) to come tell me the truth? I felt really hurt and I cried for, like an hour till K said I was beginning to piss him off for the morning, so I had to shut up.

That really hurt though. Actually, it still hurts.

Gimme, a moment, I need call my publicist to get me a white hanky.

http://theopenlibrary.upbuzzed.com/2016/02/28/memoirs-of-a-kimmee-kay-day-1/

Were dis man nw

Annnd he never fails to deliver..Senbo come and continue ooo

Annnd he never fails to deliver..Senbo come and continue ooo.

kimye?! OMG! As much as I try to jump those silly couples on blogs and forum alike. I found out I still av TMI information about them which is tots annoying.

You have to be melancholic and illiterate not to know so much about them, thank God am not. and stone cold dead not to have heard about them. Oluwa thank you, I still dey here, because na ur hand I dey

That doesn't mean am not reading this. I love you too much to jump and pass this.

Now senb, after writing this episode. Believe me am very stingy with my comments, I rarely drop them. I command you to Drag ur black yansh over here and continue before I change my mind. Thank you for ur cooperation.