Holy "that's hot" Batman!
Yes, being a socialite and/or reality show participant are actual careers in today's world (well how else would the cast of Jersey Shore pay for their hair products if that weren't the case?), and nobody does absolutely nothing better than Paris Hilton.
A Day In The Life Of Paris Hilton
8:16 a.m.: Wake up to an armpit dog wearing a diamond-encrusted collar whining to be taken outside. Yell at personal assistant for not taking care of the pooch before being woken up.
8:17 a.m.: Roll over onto the custom-made, 4,000-thread-count sheets dyed to a custom shade of pink named "Paris pink," pull down the eye mask, and fall back into a dreamless sleep.
11:28 a.m.: Wake up to a crisp breeze blowing in through the bay window that your assistant opened silently while you were snoozing. Ring a tiny bell on the stark-white dresser next to your bed signaling that you're ready for breakfast in bed and your daily bouquet of fresh flowers flown in from remote regions of the world.
12:43 p.m.: Get out of bed and walk over to a nearby bedazzled recliner reupholstered with the fur of the most endangered species in Africa. Sit down with Modern Luxury magazine and repeatedly say "that's hot" while not actually understand why you're doing so.
12:49 p.m.: Get impatient at how long it's taking for one assistant to dress you in thousands of dollars of gratis clothing, a second to twist your hair into a chic up-do, and a third to go through a suitcase full of makeup in all colors of the rainbow to find the perfect blend.
1:17 p.m.: Complain that you have to move your arm onto the chair's armrest so your manicurist who bends the rules and makes house calls can make sure your French manicure is even.
2:03 p.m.: Walk down a carpeted spiral staircase to a customized pink limo waiting outside to take you to a lunch with whoever you've asked to drop her plans so she can have lunch with you.
3:50 p.m.: Enjoy a second drink with a pink umbrella attached to it and pretend you hate the paparazzi snapping your photo because you're unaware that they're the reason that you're famous.
4:19 p.m.: Pay for lunch with daddy's credit card that to your knowledge has no credit limit.
4:47 p.m.: Start shopping on Rodeo Drive by lazily telling the limo driver to drive you from storefront to storefront, ignoring the fact that they're right next to each other.
7:32 p.m.: Plop down daddy's credit card for tens of thousands of dollars of clothing you don't need and probably won't wear, and tell your assistant - who's been waiting in the limo in anticipation of your shopping trip while you were at lunch - that you expect all the purchases to be dry cleaned and hung up in the bedroom that you've converted into one of your closets before you get home.
8:17 p.m.: Settle back down in bed for a nice nap.
10 p.m.: Grumble about being woken up for a party at an invitation-only club so your assistants have time to prep you again.
11:20 p.m.: Smile while walking down the red carpet into the club. Drink, dance, and be surrounded by admirers.
12:20 a.m.: Collect your paycheck for tens of thousands of dollars for your hour-long appearance.
12:21 a.m. to the rest of your life: Do whatever the hell you want with an unlimited amount of money because someone else worked hard so you don't ever have to.
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