I’ve Been Celine Dion This Whole Time And You Never Told Me!

You know how you hate it when I sing along to every song? Well, now I know why. You’re just jealous because I’ve been Celine Dion all along and you haven’t!

I know you always wanted to be her, but not everybody can. I mean, what does this even mean for the other Celine? Well, I hate to break it to you, but I did find an article on Facebook that claims she’s a robot created by the Canadian government. And since I am not a robot created by the Canadian government, there’s really no competition! 

Besides, I have more of a circa 1996 Celine Dion thing going on, hitting extra hard with the uncontrollable arm movements and the English vocals. None of that French bullshit, like you like. 

I guess what I’m saying is, there’s plenty of room for two Celines. For you, it means double the goosebumps, tears, and silent reflections. And for me? It means a recording contract, a warehouse full of shoes, an exact replica of the Titanic. And I can finally end my relationship with pants, in exchange for trouser suits and floaty, chiffon ball gowns.

You’re probably wondering how I discovered this new identity. Because you loved me. No, not you you. You, as in plural. Because other people loved me. Seriously! I can’t believe my best friend didn’t tell me I’m the most influential pop artist of all time! 

Instead, I had to find out while singing karaoke at home. On the couch. Someone handed me a mic, well not a real mic, a remote control, but it’s pretty much the same thing. So I sang a song I felt compelled to sing on an emotional level, and totally not because no one else could sing it. 

It’s all coming back, it’s all coming back to me now. As I started to serenade whatever would listen, in my old familiar French-Canadian accent, it literally started coming back to me. I remembered that I too am Celine Dion! 

People gathered around, hypnotized by my energy. That’s when I blacked out. At first, I thought I might be stuck in an elevator or lost in the fruit section of a grocery store. Until there were moments of gold and there were flashes of light!

What I’m saying is I rose to a more spiritual level, experiencing what I can only describe as the euphoria of performing in a music video. There I was, lurking inside an unfurnished bedroom in a creepy mansion, surrounded by floral wallpaper and wrapped in silk robes. I was walking in figure eights, trying to dodge all the dangerously-lit candles scattered across the floor. 

And in that moment, it didn’t matter to me that the song was all about sex. Because it’s a romantic kind of sex. And just as I was wondering what things Celine would never do again that had always seemed right, I came to, standing on the couch in my living room.

One dude was crying. Another was initiating a group hug with the plants in the corner, and my parents were in the back renewing their wedding vows. Okay, so maybe all these people were family and we were all a little tipsy. But the other Celine and I share that. A big family who loves it when we sing at them. So I gave them two chest pounds and drove all night to get to you. So I could rub it in your face.

Oh, I’m sorry. Did you just say I’m not even that good? Okay, did Prince come see your show three times? What about Justin Timberlake? No? Oh right. That was me. 

Trust me. I’m not the first person to tell myself I should be a megastar, and I definitely won’t be the last. I just hate that I can’t share all my newfound fame with you. But if. You. Asked me to. I just might change my mind, and let you in my life, forever.

No? Okay, fine. I’m busy anyway. I still need to claim my Canadian citizenship, find a manager, convince them to mortgage their house, and re-record some of my old albums. All by myself. But hey. My heart will go on and on. Oh, and tell your mom, if she’d still like me to perform at your grandmother’s birthday party next week, I’m available any day but Tuesday. 

On Tuesdays, I’m Alanis Morissette.

And that’s the way it is.

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