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Opinion: Nadya Suleman brings celebreality to Whittier

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There I was, sitting comfortably in a chair at Hi Top Nails in Whittier on Sunday, as I do every few weeks. My dry hands were extended as the manicurist rubbed them with lotion before painting my nails with “Kiss Me Pink” polish. And, then, there she was. Standing before me in all her tabloid splendor. A walking, talking source of debate for my friends and me for the past month: Nadya Suleman. A name that has become more ubiquitous than Barack Obama in households across the nation. I’d been waiting for the day when I would see her around the neighborhood and she would no longer be an abstract figure seen on magazine and TV shows, but an actual human being I would be more inclined to feel sympathy toward. The day was finally here. But my sense of sympathy never really flourished.

She had come to the nail salon with a young girl—I assume her daughter or, in mathematical terms, 1/14 of her brood. She interrupted my moment of relaxation to ask my manicurist if they had an opening for two pedicures. When I turned to look at the woman, I recognized her immediately. And I think she knew that I knew who she was. But all my frustration toward her (for what I view as poor decision-making) escaped me because I found myself lost in the abyss that was her lips. You know how people are usually smaller than how they appear on TV? While that applied to her physique—she certainly didn’t have the body of a woman who just gave birth to eight babies—the same couldn’t be said about her mouth. Her lips were larger than I expected--not exactly the reaction I thought I would have upon first seeing her. I was sure bewilderment over how she could even find the time or money to pay for two pedicures --$13 each--would be my most pressing thoughts; though, it might be easier now). But like a bonafide celebrity, I was preoccupied with comparing her real-life appearance to images of her from the media.

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But what struck me more than the size of her lips, was the lack of reaction her presence solicited from other customers. I’ve lived in Pico Rivera--a city in Southeastern Los Angeles that is adjacent to Whittier, where Suleman is currently residing—for 16 years. And my trips to The Quad, a shopping center in Whittier, are frequent. But I—as I’m guessing is the case with most of the people in the salon-- have never witnessed paparazzi lurking outside neighborhood storefronts until Suleman entered the spotlight and caused a media flurry to the area. I’ve read reports that neighbors aren’t too thrilled with the attention her case has generated and it’s no surprise that she has her detractors. Still. When a celebrity—genuine or self-imposed—is standing before you, it’s hard not to be in awe … or, at least, intrigued. Which is why I found it so puzzling that no one really was. Women continued with their manicures and pedicures as usual, ignoring the spectacle in front of them. Sure, they recognized her, as was evident through the muffled whispers when she first walked in. But they didn’t really care. One kid, waiting for his mother’s nails to dry, even said “why is there a guy talking a picture of that lady? Is she someone special?” “No,” his mother replied.

Still, I was mildly intrigued by her--but that could just be because her story has taken up so much space in this paper that it was weird to see her going about her day. And Suleman seemed to want us to be in awe or her or, at least, sympathize with what her life has become judging by her proclamation that the paparazzi ‘are following me everywhere!’ before she said she needed to be seated at a more discreet location in the salon.

And, sure, it’s unfortunate that this once unknown-figure has become so famous, that even getting a pedicure warrants attention ... but my sympathy quickly wanes. She seems to want to prolong her 15 minutes of fame. Here’s hoping Daylight Savings makes it go by faster.

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