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Lights! Camera! Attention?

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A/n: If you laughed once, giggled twice, or even just smiled, please vote for it! It just takes a second of your time! Enjoy and thanks for reading!

 

"Guess which British singer we spotted cuddling and kissing with a cute mystery girl last night? Blake Wesley! That's right fangirls! Go grab your pitchfork and torch ASAP, Britain's prized possesion is TAKEN. If you noticed, that's two relationships in just one week!We will spill ALL the deets right after this commercial break!" ,spoke Giuliana Rancic off of Entertainment TV. 


"Kissing? What the hell!" I yelled. "They thought we were freaking kissing and cuddling?"


Blake let out a small grin towards me and shook his head ,before turning right back to the TV. That was the first show of contact we have had all morning (besides when he asked me what flavor liquid creamer I wanted in my coffee). We have been watching all of these celebrity news programs all morning long; I'm not a mathematical genius or anything, but I think I am allowed to say that over 50% of my life is currently on the internet- they correctly know my birthday, yearbook pictures, weight, height, ethnicity, and even my favorite perfume! The one thing that I found very disturbing was when they brought in an old lady that was known as the "Bra Girl". And just by examining a photo of me from last night, she (correctly) guessed my bra size...close your eyes and try to imagine the awkwardness when a guy is in the same room as you listening to the same thing. 


I purposely sat as FAR away from Blake as possible. If I couldn't tell that the paparazzi were stalking our every move last night on the balcony, there was no way that I could tell if someone had the capability of filming us right this moment. Deborah, Blake's publicist, just kept rambling on and on about how we should have kept our 'teen love' indoors and behind closed curtains. She was obviously choosing to believe the story that was already making it's way into trashy tabloids around the world. 


There wasn't just one story, according to one magazine, Blake had met his 'exotic beauty'-ME, during a family vacation to Tahiti last year. During his vacation, he apparently got me pregnant and made me get an abortion to protect his 'well-deserved' fame. Other tabloids were reporting random stories like I was Blake's long-lost sister from Rhode Island, I was a publicity stunt gone wrong, or even that he picked me up at the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Kings Street as a prostitute (according to that one, he bought me for the night at the rate of $600).

Whether you believe story one, two, three, or four, there was a striking similarity between each TV channel, radio station, newspaper, and website. They each wanted rip open every single 'detail and secret' I have in my life. And when I say they wanted to know every detail, they really did. Pointless things were being treated as breaking news. When news broke that I like Trader Joe's Kosher Pickles, girls were posting statuses on Facebook like "OMG! I WANT TO TAKE THOSE PICKLES AND THROW THEM AT THAT BITCHES FACE! BLAKE WESLEY IS MY MAN!". 

 The familiar face of Giuliana Rancic popped back up on TV,
"Welcome back to our special edition of 'Blake Watch'. Follow us online on Twitter or Facebook and we will send you updates on Hollywood's new couple, Steak!"


"Steak?" I questioned. "What did she mean by that?"


Deborah let out an exaggerated breath, rolled her brown eyes, then opened her mouth for probably another rude, monotone, unnecessary, and sarcastic comment.


"Do you not get it? That is your new 'couple name'. They take a part of your name and a part of Blake's name and combine it into one." ,She said that as if she was that snobby girl in high school who thinks she is all that...we all know one. 


"Fine, smartass." I whispered under my breath while thinking about how stupid Deborah and 'Steak' are. 


Prior to the whole "being friends with Blake Wesley" adventure, I actually enjoyed the 'network-that-follows-every-celebrities-private-business' (a.k.a., the Entertainment network). I would always watch celebrities that yelled vulgar comments at the paparazzi and think, "I would kill for someone to recognize me."

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