I believe that people deserve the right to privacy. I would never put someone on blast for anything. It is not my place. Live and let live. That is my motto. Even celebrities.
But then Vanilla Ice went and moved into my neighborhood, Y’all!
Miami’s on the scene, just in case you didn’t know it. How am I supposed to sit on that piece of information quietly?
Love it or leave it, everyone has heard Ice Ice Baby. Vanilla Ice was the first white rapper to top the pop charts. That was a huge feat.
He has had many other career ventures, with one of the latest being his show on HGTV, The Vanilla Ice Project. If you haven’t watched, you really should. He is talented. And he is a worker. Both admirable qualities.
I grew up in rural Alabama, in the tiny, little town where the country supergroup Alabama got their start. But I was a kid and it wasn’t the same. They lived there because that was where they were from. That was home to them. They had just always been there.
Now I am an adult. An adult who is making mortgage payments in the same neighborhood as Rob Van Winkle. Not that I am saying that he has a mortgage. How could I possibly know that? I would never be so presumptuous.
The fact that he lives here is pretty freaking cool though. We BOTH roll through this hood, when we aren’t out touring of course. Him touring the world and me touring local retail establishments. As in, buying groceries and stuff. We both have jobs to do.
Did I mention that I am not currently, nor have I ever been a wealthy rapper? Or even wealthy. I am a rapper, I just can’t seem to get paid. How have I stumbled into sharing a zip code with Vanilla Ice?
Mr. Bell On Heels isn’t known for his killer dance moves. He doesn’t dance much. Also no one hands him a mic and says SING US A SONG! That never happens. But you give him a microphone, a karaoke machine and some Ice Ice Baby and you have yourself instant entertainment. That is his jam. Circa 1990. There is no way that I can hear it and not break into my phenomenal dance moves, to my children’s chagrin.
I have never had an actual conversation with Vanilla Ice obviously, so I don’t know how he feels about that song these days. Some artists try to distance themselves from the very song that made them famous. And if that is the case, then I am sad. It forever holds a place in pop culture. And my youth.
But I can’t worry about all of that right now. I have bigger fish to fry. I have to figure out how a suburban mother of four is going to convince a chart-topping rapper that we should be besties. It is an obvious progression from new neighbors. Bound to happen. We have so much in common.
We are both white. We both rap. I am maybe more gangsta but that is a matter of opinion. And I am sure there is other stuff we have in common.
I have to get a plan in place though. I have to find a way to casually bump into him. And I absolutely do not mean with my Suburban. I am not trying to injure anyone. I have to be cool about it. I am sure celebrities always have their guard up. They can never actually know if a new person is authentic and trying to be in their life for the right reasons.
Maybe I should rent a Mustang 5.0, with my ragtop down so my hair can blow. How many times can someone roll past another’s house, blasting Ice Ice Baby, before an order of protection can be filed?
Asking for a friend, of course.
We are neighbors. Should a group of us ladies march up there and ring his bell and present him with a welcome-to-the-neighborhood strawberry bundt cake? Maybe not doing so before now has been rude on our part.
Or maybe we could send out invitations to everyone in the neighborhood inviting them all to a Rap Battle at the community club house. Surely he couldn’t pass up that action.
Or should we wait and hopefully run into him at the association pool this summer? Who wouldn’t love to hang out with all of the loud suburban families at the pool? We are fun. We just have to get him to see that fact.
Maybe it is all a pipe dream. Maybe he moved to an obscure city, not known to most of the world, for a reason. Maybe he wants to be left alone. He probably won’t be hanging out at the pool this summer.
Which is only going to force me to work harder (within the parameters of the law, of course) to be his friend. I am just a wife and a mother. Not that interesting. I document my life on this little blog. But within every blogger is the belief that they could blow up one day. We don’t just open our lives up to the masses for nothing. We have a story to tell. And the more people that we reach, the better.
And if it takes talking about my amazing new friend Rob Van Winkle, then so be it. Come on, Rob. Just give me a chance!
Word to your mother.