Spelling It Like It Is Read Online Free PDF

and continued to discuss the amazing news that we’d hit the school.
    As I sat in the front seat, still stunned, people started running out of the school. The head of the school. The office staff. But then the most amazing thing happened. A group of moms were standing outside the school. They had witnessed the accident, and all at once, as a group, they started running toward my car. They descended on the paparazzo, who was starting to take pictures of the rear end of my car, smashed up against the wall. (Talk about adding insult to injury.) The moms pushed between him and my car, waving their arms in the air to block his shots. I heard them yelling, “Get out of here! We’re going to get you!” Tears of gratitude sprang to my eyes. They weren’t even moms I was friends with, but they had formed a mom lynch mob in my defense. My heroes! The photographer yelled at them, determined to get his shot regardless of what had just happened, but finally he gave up and left. Moms in sweats unite! Go mom warriors!
    I’d had a few fender benders, but this was by far the biggest accident I’d ever been in. I had hit the wall of the driveway so hard that I’d taken part of it down. The back of my car was crushed, and it was completely undrivable. We ushered the kids inside and saw them to their classrooms. Only after they were out of sight, and I was in the safety of the headmaster’s office, did I burst into tears.
    The headmaster said, “Are you hurt?”
    I said, “No, I’m just so sorry I did this to you. You have this sweet family school. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
    The school was meant to be a haven. They didn’t deserve this intrusion. And a busted wall. The headmaster was gracious—he and everyone else blamed the paparazzo—but I was mortified.
    A friend came to pick me up. We were going straight to the doctor to make sure the baby was okay. As I waited for my ride, my mortification turned to anger. I’d had some faith in humanity, but that guy ruined it. Everyone was just out for a cheap buck. I went on Twitter and wrote: “Paparazzi chased me w/the kids 2school. I was trying to get away from him and had a pretty big accident. Took down whole wall of school. He thn STILL got out to try to get pics. 10 school moms chased him away. Wht will it take? Someone dying for paparazzi to stop? Going to dr now to check on baby. I think its just shock.” That tweet was a big mistake. I didn’t do it to get attention—I did it to vent and prevent—but a media shitstorm ensued.
    It was on every station. Paparazzi and the stars. Children and privacy. Where was the line? I agreed that it was an important issue. But as I watched the coverage I was increasingly horrified. Camera crews stood in front of the preschool. It was night, and the lights were on the reporter as she told the story. “Tori Spelling was in a car accident”—the camera zoomed in on the wall that I’d hit—“while at her children’s school.” The camera swooped up to the name of the school. There it was. The very shot I’d been so desperate to avoid. They were reporting on how the paparazzi violated privacy without realizing that what they were doing was actually worse. Some tabloid shot of the school would have come and gone, but now it was all over the national news.
    On 20/20, at some red-carpet event, they were interviewing Julia Roberts. It was such topical news that they asked her opinion on the matter. She said something like, “Yes, I think it’s terrible.” Julia Roberts knew about my car accident! She knew who I was. Mystic Pizza was my fave. Every cloud has a silver lining.

I’m the Stalker
You Let in Your Front Door
    J ulia Roberts was impressive, but she was not on my Must Meet One Day list. Kelly Wearstler, designer extraordinaire, was, and I was about to have my big chance with her.
    Two years earlier, Dean and I had spent an ill-fated summer in Malibu, when jury duty, travel, and my own neuroses got in the way of