Superstar Rihanna recently granted exclusive access to a 'day-in-her-life', shedding an intimate spotlight on one America's most talented performers.
But before the outing began, we first had to find our way through Rihanna's staff, which included personal assistants, chauffeurs, hair and makeup people, wardrobe consultants, a bodyguard that could double as a bungalow, acting and singing coaches, chefs, butlers, highly-screened au pairs, an umbrella holder, a room-darkening specialist, a jewelry care-giver, an electronic device battery-changer, a toilet seat installer (for when traveling), along with physical therapists, astrologers, masseurs, nutritionists, a muse, two psychologists and a wig consultant on 24-hour standby.
And when we finally got to Rihanna's bedside to begin our day, she awoke (at her usual 10:45 am), at the most requested poolside cabana at the Beverly Hills Hilton (for which the hotel paid her to stay in), wholly spoiled in Ivana bedding, a pair of pajamas personally designed by Donatella Versace and the soothing sounds of a nearby Japanese water garden (a mandatory hotel perk).
But when a personal assistant handed Rihanna her usual venti Austrian goat milk double-half-caf-half-decaf-soy milk cappuccino with a dash of organic Madagascar cinnamon, the superstar became livid when the staffer forgot to throw in the usual detoxifying pro-biotics and amplified Omega-3s4eXY metabolizer.
"How dare that worthless nobody mess up my coffee?", Rihanna asked while handing her fired personal assistant a Walmart employment application. "Doesn't she know who I am?"
A hour later, while in a highly-tinted SUV (to avoid the commoners), Rihanna's entourage - a Communications Director (for phone calls, emails & tweets), a Skin Consultant (to maintain a youthful glow at all times), a seasoned Publicist (to handle the legitimate celebrity press) and a Bigfootish bodyguard (to handle the illegitimate paparazzi) were on Code-One Alert.
Then, out of nowhere, Rihanna hit traffic, and was amazed that she too, a self-proclaimed VVIP (a Very, Very Important Person), had to remain idle on an LA freeway like everyone else did.
"I've been trying to get the LA City Council to provide a 'CELEBRITY ONLY' express lane on the freeways for years!" Rihanna shouted while her Skin Consultant hastily applied the world's most expensive exfoliator to combat any stress the traffic situation may have on her face. "And I can't believe not a single city politician has ever gotten back to me on the well-deserved idea."
When Rihanna finally arrived at her location, the super-exclusive premier of her new film, "Fatal Remembrance", everyone present was eager to see her transition from 'singer' to 'serious dramatic actor' - and the reception to the superstar's arrival was nothing short of majestic.
Rihanna's fans (at a safe distance) showered her with praise, the paparazzi fought amongst themselves to capture her best angle (which, according to Rihanna, was any angle) and the Fuji Blimp was circling above just for her. Moreover, she was holding hands with Bradley Cooper (a man she would soon break up with), while giving the cool-eye to Ryan Gosling (her replacement for Bradley Cooper).
Then, while emitting enough star-wattage to melt away Kanye West's ego, Rihanna hit a snag when she learned that her former housekeeper, Esmeralda DeJesus, was suing her for Assault, Unlawful Imprisonment and Slavery.
"As far as the 'Assault' charge' is concerned," a livid Rihanna said to a reporter. "I accidentally slapped that flotilla bitch when she barged into one of my super-low impact aerobic sessions. And that 'Unlawful Imprisonment' thing? How was I supposed to know the door to my linen closet locked itself from the outside. And the Slavery accusation? Here's what happened..
It was midnight, and Esmeralda had just finished her 18 hours shift. Then, out of nowhere, Lil' Kim, Lil Wayne and Lil' B showed up and trashed my place when they got into a fight about who was named "Lil" first - so Esmerelda, that orange-picker, had to stay another 6 hours to clean up the mess..
Then, Chris Brown barged in, along with the three cops chasing him, and Esmeralda had to cater to his every whim while I told the fuzz Chris wasn't in my crib anymore - and that took another three hours.
And that's when Cee-Lo Green showed up, and Esmeralda had to make him baby back ribs, corn fritters and a peach cobbler, all capped-off with a foot massage - which took another 4 hours..
So, as you can understand, I couldn't do anything about Esmeralda's 31 hour work shift."
Three hours later, as soon as Rihanna returned home from her film premier, a far more severe problem surfaced when celebrity journalist Perez Hilton, thanks to the maid imbroglio, downgraded Rihanna's celebrity from A to B-List status - sending the megastar into a tirade.
"That mother****** Perez Hilton better better put me back on the A-List!" she yelled while taking a Evian bubble bath. "Or I'll have 50 Cent but a cap in his ass!"
But Rihanna may have been overreacting, for as a newly minted B-Lister, she could still enjoy a David Hasselhoff, Marilu Henner or Emilio Estevez level of fame, good enough to get her on the cover of 'Us Magazine', or be the third story on "Extra", by concocting a tawdry dilemma for all the world to see, knowing full well a tinged spotlight was a spotlight nonetheless.
But later on that day, Rihanna, while stepping out of a stretch limousine in route to a Shen-Zu message for her frayed nerves, had to endure a slobbish paparazzo who called her a "Slave-driving has-been" in lieu to her sordid maid incident.
In response, Rihanna grabbed the paparazzo's camera, threw it under a passing bus, and capped off the incident with a swift slap to the face that sent the tawdry reporter crashing to the ground. Yes. She had acted out. And was it in response to going from A to B List celebrity? Who knows? One thing, however, was for sure. Hollywood, as a whole, would soon herald Rihanna as the latest celebrity courageous enough to strike back at the despicable paparazzi.
But that's not what happened. By dusk, Rihanna's fame-level, thanks to the paparazzo bashing, had been further reduced from B to C List status, and as usual, Perez Hilton was behind the vicious discounting by posting "A B-List stunt merits C-List celebrity".
"Damn!" Rihanna shouted right after firing her publicist. "I thought I was following in the valiant footsteps of other stars that had the guts to stand-up to the paparazzi, like Alec Baldwin, Lindsay Lohan, Justin Beaver, Britney Spears, Woody Harrelson, Cameron Diaz, Charlie Sheen, Gwyneth Paltrow, with all of them taking their cues from their noble leader - the honorable Sean Penn."
This time, Rihanna had reason for concern. She was living the life of a C-Lister, and the implications were abysmal: she would be famous for the sake of being famous, like Kato Kaelin, Flavor Flav or Nicole Richie, her new gal pals would be Kathy Griffin, Caitlyn Jenner and Donatella Versace, and as far as magazine covers were concerned, she would be lucky to get on the cover of Cat Fancy Magazine.
It was why by 8 pm that evening, Rihanna was a contestant on "America Wants To Dance", garbed in a sizzling outfit that was one part "Game of Thrones" and another gay S&M attire - a risqué costume that would suck up all the attention.
Then, at approximately 8:07 pm, while dancing to "La Vida Loco" with Senator Ted Cruz, the unimaginable happened: the fringed black leather drapette that covered Rihanna's buttocks had failed, fully exposing both cheeks of her behind, causing her immediate elimination on "America Wants To Dance" - despite Rihanna telling the show's host, Mario Lopez, that her 'booty breakdown' was the innocent result of one of her more sultry pelvic gyrations.
Then, it happened again. Perez Hilton had flung Rihanna into the celebrity D-List column, this time for her attire mishap on "America Wants to Dance", calling the misfortune "a shameless act desperation".
So Rihanna was now a D-Lister, and the grisly demur in glamour was froth with additional downgrades: she would now loiter with Peaches Geldof, Jack Osbourne and Snooki, had no staff to speak of (except for a new cleaning lady who came in on Thursdays), and as far as magazine covers were now concerned, Rihanna would have a hard time getting on the cover of her local PennySaver.
?Furthermore, being a D-List celebrity, according to many noted celebrity scholars (some of whom attended the Rona Barrett Institute of Gossip), actually puts Rihanna's new caliber of fame below several prominent animal actors in Hollywood, and among the creatures who would get better seats to a Lakers game include LiTai (the Asian elephant in "Operation Dumbo Drop"), Crystal (the capuchin monkey in "The Hangover Part II") and Finders Key (the thoroughbred who starred in "Seabiscuit").
Finally, Rihanna being a D-Lister meant she'd be 'lost in Hollywood', doomed to now share a dim spotlight with Spencer Pratt, Brigitte Nielsen, Carrot Top. Britney Spears, Jamie Lynn Spears (Britney's sister), Corey Feldman, Heidi Montag, Tori Spelling, Kevin Federline, Tonya Harding and the Octomom.
And all of them would hang out together, huddled at an IHOP on Santa Monica Boulevard at 3 in the morning, where they'd bitch and moan about how "the bastard power-brokers" in LA had overlooked their legitimate talents, with Rihanna in the middle it all, hanging on for sheer celebrity life, unable to be milked for any more fame, lost in a future maze of mug shots, plastic surgery disasters and putrid reality shows. Why Rihanna? Why her?
But by 7 pm that evening, Rihanna was miraculously seated behind a table at a Barnes & Noble in downtown LA signing copies of her new book, "My Path to D-List Celebrity: A Road Taken By All", a tell-all paperback chronicling how the superstar had courageously endured her fall from fame while blowing the lid off the illegitimate celebrity-rating system in Hollywood.
But before even a 100 copies of Rihanna's story sold, the book reviews were in: "Absolute garbage", "Banality redefined" and "It dropped so many names a few of them hit me in the head" were the typical tones of the evaluations, which caused "The Path to D-List Celebrity: A Road Taken By All" to debut at number 373 on Amazon, and falling fast, giving Rihanna's tome the shelf life of chopped lettuce.
Rihanna was not pleased by her literary failure.
"When crackers like Kirstie Alley, Kim Kardashian or Paris Hilton write a book, the reviews practically compare them to Tolstoy," she said while signing a book with one hand and slapping her Literary Agent with the other. "But when I pen a masterpiece, it gets trashed because I over-shake my luscious booty in my music videos."
Later on at 9 pm that evening, while "The Path to D-List Celebrity: A Road Taken By All" was being thrown onto a Barnes & Noble's super-discount cart, Rihanna learned that Perez hilton had further demoted her to Z-List - thanks to the surfacing of a sex tape.
"At this point," Rihanna asserted at midnight with her hands in the air, "..the only thing Perez Hilton reminds me of is the Chernobyl tragedy insofar that I'd like to bury that ***hole in a sarcophagus of steel and cement for a hundred and fifty years. And that's all I have to say."
Z-List. Rihanna could drop no further down the celebrity totem pole, and it meant she would now have to chase the paparazzi, Vanilla Ice would de-friend her on Facebook and there was a good chance she would soon host an infomercial for women's Viagra - all while making Rihanna realize her 15 minutes of fame expired 32 months ago.
The World of Celebrity. It can get ugly.