"Sharon?"
There he is now, coming up the stairs.
"Yeseeee!"
"What are you doing? We're all waiting for you."
"I'm coming down. Just having a bit of a think."
He wanders into the room.
"Nothing bad, eh, Shaz?"
"No, Ozzy. Nothing bad. I was just packing," and I smile at him, looking so worried, pushing a curtain of hair behind his ear, something I must have watched him do ten thousand million times. And he smiles back at me. A smile that could light up a room.
"I love you, Mama."
"And I love you, Dadda. Now come over here and give us a kiss."
Coda
Note: The British edition of Sharon Osbourne Extreme was published in the United Kingdom in fall 2005. The United States edition was updated in April 2006 and published in October 2006.
Doheny, April 2006
Sometimes, when you're reading a magazine at the end of a hard day, someone turns on a light and only then do you realize how dark it has become, and you wonder how you managed to read anything at all. Writing this book forced me to look at things I had stuffed down for so long. It brought home to me the level of darkness that had become the norm in my life. I needed the light to be turned on to see it. Ozzy's sobriety was that light.
Exactly a year has passed since we celebrated his first anniversary with the surprise party with his friends from the sober community. That milestone--so unbelievable at the time--has now been doubled, and the darkness of the past grows fainter with each day.
Let nobody tell you writing an autobiography is easy. It's like what they say about omelettes: you can't make one without breaking eggs, and Extreme has proved to be a family-sized omelette. I was always determined to be honest--but this decision came at a cost, and I have learned the hard way that there is no such thing as objective truth. People's memories are different, even about things that appear straightforward, like the story of the fight at the Hard Rock Cafe. Four people who were there that evening came up with four different versions, and that's not counting Ozzy, who has no memory of the evening at all.
Of the people who have said, "No, you're wrong, it wasn't like this," the most upsetting to me is my brother. Even though we shared our childhood, his memory of those years is very different from mine. David adored our mother, and he is still angry at me for my depiction of her. But I can only see my life from where I stand, and whether people agree or don't agree, this is my story, my memory, and no one else's.
I have had many letters from women saying thank you for being so honest; they say the book has given them the courage to face up to their own difficult situations. But it's so hard when you want to be truthful not to hurt other people. My husband--the person whose opinion I most value, the person who I least want to hurt in the world--hasn't even dared read the book, he's so frightened that he comes out badly. But, as anyone who has read this book will know, he doesn't. He comes out as the crazy, loving, gorgeous man he is, with that extraordinary sense of humor, which--as most women agree--is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
I, too, was frightened as the day of publication approached. I was never convinced that my story would interest anybody, despite what the publishers, editors or even Michael Parkinson might have said. It was only my life, after all, a life that I suspected should be subtitled "a cautionary tale." Yet the sales figures for the British edition--together with innumerable letters--tell a different story, and even now, I can't really believe how hugely successful it has been. It has outsold David Beckham. It is the biggest-selling autobiography in the United Kingdom since records began. A month ago, it even won a prize at the British Book Awards: Biography of the Year. Not bad for a hairy mozza ball from Brixton.
Perhaps as a subconscious reflection of how I feel, light now permeates my life. I have gone blond. I wear pale blues and white. The gloomy house that was home to The Osbournes will soon be unrecognizable. The old me would just have changed houses: sold this one and bought another one with all the added tension that would bring. But it's finally dawned on me that life doesn't have to be lived to extremes, so why not just change what it looks like? So that's what I have done. Our house in Doheny is currently a forest of ladders and workmen in overalls spattered with paint. Doors that looked like they led to dungeons are now the color of vanilla ice cream. For the first time since it was built, you can see the beautiful curve of the staircase. Windows, tinted for the MTV show, have been stripped of their smoked-glass coating, and for the first time since we moved in, the kitchen and the sitting room are flooded with natural sunlight, and the space looks twice the size. Sofas and chairs are pale. So what if they get dirty? They're only slipcovers--throw them in the machine!
Out goes the dark. Out goes the Gothic. From the hall a seventeenth-century oil of Sodom and Gomorrah (Lot's family, just before they got turned to salt) is going to the upstairs landing. In its place a twentieth-century French cityscape--Aimee's fabulous find--lies propped up against the wall waiting to be hung. On the staircase itself, there'll be light-as-air designs for Chinese wallpaper: birds, butterflies and flowers. Only the Prince of Darkness has yet to be convinced. "It looks as if someone had wiped their arse on it," Ozzy said on being asked for his opinion. But as Gloria once put it, no man likes change.
A few months ago, four years after The Osbournes first aired, those two outstanding lawsuits were settled. Although nobody won, we definitely lost. In the end we decided to settle out of court simply because we were hemorrhaging so much money we had to apply a tourniquet to avoid bleeding to death. Nine million dollars in legal fees alone. Have I learned from it? Of course. Never again will I go into any pitch meeting without an agent or lawyer in tow. As lessons go, however, it was on the expensive side. I take heart, though, from what everybody since has told me: that being sued is the ultimate sign of success. For every successful movie or songwriter, there's someone saying, "That was my idea, you stole it." But I still can't get my head around someone saying that about The Osbournes.
In 2002, when I sold the idea to MTV, the phrase "reality show" had been used for fly-on-the-wall documentaries, but never for anything involving a celebrity. From the minute The Osbournes aired, however, the whole focus of TV changed, for good and for bad and probably forever--and our lives changed with it. It was a defining moment. In less than a beat it had become an epidemic. First came other musicians, other rock and rollers who thought, "Hey, I'm crazy, I've got a wife and kids! Why not me!" Gradually it trickled down through the music hierarchy to record producers. "Hey, my life's interesting! My family's different!" Then came the models, the half-arsed actors, gangsters, bounty hunters . . . even a family who ran a mortuary.
So far there have been about sixty "reality family" series across America, and I'm not even counting those that never made it past the pilot stage. Of these perhaps three have been successful. Eventually it will dry up; crazy soon wears thin.
That was why we quit when we did. It was the beginning of our third season, and crazy families were all over the networks like a rash. I knew then it had to be the last. There wasn't one network in America that wasn't trying to jump on the conveyor belt, trying to find their own The Osbournes. But of course they couldn't. It was like Beatlemania, with everybody trying to find "the next Beatles." You can't do it.
Just like Beatlemania, Osbournemania changed the cultural climate. Its impact has been global. In years to come students will examine the whole phenomenon. Well, for what it's worth, here's my view. I see us as on a continuum, lying somewhere between the Waltons, the Simpsons and the Addams family. We're different, however, in one crucial way. We were not invented.
I don't regret it. So many doors opened for all of us, so many opportunities. The only person whose life it didn't change is Ozzy. He already had huge fame and credibility as a musician, and as a songwriter. He still has a thriving musical career; this year he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, in the US and in England. This summer will be his elev
enth Ozzfest, though we've agreed he'll only do ten shows, because he's finally in a position where he can slow down. He's the only musician of his caliber to have a huge TV show and to have changed the face of TV. And what a piece of history to hand to our grandchildren.
The one thing that I do regret is the time I lost with Aimee--the filming, the promotion, the traveling: three years I can never get back. Would I do another series? No, though I think it would be interesting--in two or three years, say--to do a one-off special, a follow-up to The Osbournes. How our lives have played out. What has become of us.
No one would ever deny that we were lucky. The time was right, and we--and, to their credit, MTV--recognized that. Through it we became amazingly famous, and we had the time of our lives. But all the money we made went to lawyers and settling lawsuits. And lastly, in that classic LA scenario, when the show finally closed, it was like Who? Welcome to Hollywood.
The lawsuit concerning The Vagina Monologues had a happier outcome. It dragged on for nearly a year--numbers flying back and forth across the Atlantic: how much the advertising had cost, how many people asked for refunds, how much was being given to charity, etc.--yet each side stood to lose thousands on legal fees whatever the eventual outcome.
One morning I woke up and thought, This is completely ridiculous. I had always wanted to do the show, so why didn't I just get out there and do it? Two weeks, I said. As long as it's not in London. They agreed: Newcastle and Southampton, the two extremities of the country.
Tim Sheader, our director, was wonderful. From the instant I walked into the rehearsal room, we hit it off. He was reassuring and nurturing and helped me to develop the characters for each of the women I played, and he made the whole experience such a pleasure. It was also my luck to work with two fantastic performers: Lisa Reilly, a big-time TV star in England, and Jenny Jewels, an accomplished theater actress. We bonded instantly and had the best time. Every show we laughed. Every show was sold out. It has to be said that it's a great feeling when you go out there knowing that there isn't an empty seat in the house. At the end I was so hooked that I was down in the wings before the others had even left their dressing rooms, so desperate was I to get onstage, even watching the clock. How sad is that?
The first night was another matter, of course. TV I can do-- there's always the knowledge that if you fuck up you can do it again, and audiences of millions don't bother me. But an audience of 1,000 women in a theater? I didn't want anybody there as witness. I certainly didn't want my family there to see me make a fool of myself. I could always lie and say it was fine. I don't think I have ever been so nervous in my life as I was in those last few hours of theatrical virginity, and I piddled the day away, my heart hammering. But there was such support and warmth out there, from both the audience and Lisa and Jenny, that I ended up loving it. There was a camaraderie between us that I have never experienced in television. When an actor is onstage and something unexpected happens, you've only got one another to bail you out. There's a danger in that, but it's a creative danger.
Sticking to a script is not something I am famous for, and I never went out there word perfect; I always had the cue cards and sometimes would end up reading from them. Nobody seemed to mind. When I lost my place, which I often did, I would just go "Fuck Shit Bollocks," then either I'd find my place or one of the girls would help me find it.
One night, we're in Southampton, right in the middle of one of my monologues, and I watch this woman walk from the back of the stalls down to the front of the stage, then plonk her arse on the edge of the orchestra pit. She was about forty-five, wearing a silk blouse and a nice cardigan. Very prim and proper. And then she begins to shout.
"I've read Eve Ensler's book," she yells, loud enough for me to stop and look up. "I didn't buy a ticket to hear you read it."
"Then what the fuck are you doing here?" I said, to a wave of laughter. I loved being heckled, it was like, Bring it on!
"Because I thought you were going to tell me how you masturbated."
The laughter had stopped. I put the microphone close to my mouth.
"What did you say?"
"I want you to tell me how you all masturbate. I want you to teach me."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lisa and Jenny standing stock-still, their eyes locked on me, like deer caught in the headlights.
"Look here, Missus. You wanna know how to masturbate? This is how every woman masturbates." Then I lifted up my right index finger, licked it, then shoved it between my legs.
Once the terror of the first night was over, it was incredibly relaxed. I didn't care what I looked like. You just put on your black dress and got out there. When I finish TV stuff, it's like it's over, gone, forget about it. But this was different. I miss it and I would definitely do it again, if ever I was offered the chance.
On the last night, I finally found the courage to let the family in and they found the courage to watch me--all except Jack, because he had seen the script and didn't want to hear his mummy going on about her vagina for two hours.
Who would have thought, when Simon Cowell made negative remarks about Ozzy and Kelly back in 2003, that we would end up as the best of friends? I owe him so much. First taking a chance on me for The X-Factor at a pivotal time in my career, then giving me a second chance on the second show.
I didn't make the same mistakes the second time around. I didn't get emotionally involved. I kept my distance. And I did well: of the five finalists, three of them were mine. I still cared and still gave the best that I could to each of my kids, but I personally was no longer in competition. I was the only judge who didn't want to manage my artists, and I would sit back and watch Simon and Louis getting hot under the collar. Because winning to them is business. Get it right and they hit the jackpot. Like playing poker. They are playing for high stakes. I am playing for matchsticks. I hope mine win--and do what I can to make it happen--but I don't gain anything personally if they do.
Through Simon I have a whole new circle of friends in England--his circle--which now includes my husband and me. And today, this very morning, I got news of another second chance--another chat show, this time in England with Simon's production company. It'll be hard work--five days a week, starting in August--and I'll already be involved with the third season of The X-factor, but I'm so looking forward to working with Simon again. He is, without doubt, the best entrepreneur out there today.
Ozzy is as focused, strong and gorgeous as ever and busy working on a new album. He remains, as always, the most normal member of our crazy family, and never lets me take him for granted. Jack is now three years clean and sober and has found a new life with extreme sports and has his own TV production company. Of all of us, Kelly, I think, was most affected by all the fame. But she is now twenty-one, a gorgeous young woman with her head firmly on her shoulders and the world at her feet. Aimee and I are now closer than we have ever been, and now that we've lightened the house, it's brought her back, if not forever, at least for most nights of the week, and that makes me so happy. Most important, she's happy, and as any mother will tell you, that's all we want. She too has her whole life in front of her and is capable of great things. As for Minnie, she's still by my side, but is currently tied up writing her own autobiography. World rights soon to be auctioned.
Sharon Osbourne was born in London in 1952. She is married to rock legend Ozzy Osbourne and has three children: Aimee, Kelly and Jack. She divides her time between Los Angeles and Buckinghamshire, England.
* O.Z.Z.Y.--self-tattooed at the age of seventeen.(back to text)
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Sharon Osbourne Extreme: My Autobiography Page 35
