I Just Realized that Celebrities are Human Beings (except Tom Cruise)
I was thinking the other night that celebrities probably have it just as bad as anyone else when it comes to love. I mean, if Tom Cruise really, really, really does love Katie Holmes and she suddenly broke up with him, I'm sure his heart would hurt in much the same way mine would if some less-attractive, far less-famous girl rejected me.
Then I started thinking about the Black Eyed Peas. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that every one of those dudes wants to bang Fergie--and maybe some of them have--but for the one guy who hasn't, not even endless groupie sex night after night after night would be able to take his mind off the one girl he wants and just can't have. Actually...it might. But only temporarily.
What about Brad and Jen, you say? Well I'm glad you brought that up. You see, before the other night's contemplative journey, I might have been tempted to dismiss the whole thing with a casual wave of my hand. I might have said, "Who cares? She's Jennifer Anniston. She can have any dick she wants." But there's at least one dick in this world she can't have. That's right: Brad Pitt's. And you know what? I'm guessing that not even the knowledge that there are millions of dudes all over the world--some hot, but most not--beating off to pictures of her is enough to quell the ache in her famous heart. I'm sure there's some real pain there, on both sides. We all know what it's like to be sitting at home, alone, pining for someone we've loved and lost. Now just think how much greater that feeling of emptiness might be if you were in, say, a 10,000 square foot mansion.
Being a celebrity, it seems, does not exempt you from the pain of a failed relationship. You can sure as hell bet that when Tommy Lee found out that Bob "Kid" Rock was doin' Pam he probably reacted in much the same way that I reacted (crying like a bitch) when I found out my ex-girlfriend was cheating on me with my soon-to-be-ex-best friend, who wasn't even a celebrity. In a way, I wish he was, then at least I could've said, "Well, she dumped me for Brad Pitt, whatta'ya gonna do?" But no, he was just another average schmuck who she happened to like more than me. That's pain. And on some level, it's no different than Tommy Lee's pain.
Getting back to Tom Cruise for a second. It's tough when a girl dumps you, isn't it? Well take solace in your private hell, friend. Just think: what if you met some girl and went completely nutty over her to the point that you wouldn't shut up about your relationship and every time you were hanging out with your friends you went into some sort of epileptic idiot-dance, hootin' and hollerin' and shuckin' and jivin' while declaring your whole and undying devotion to this chick? What if you almost killed Oprah (or an Oprah-like equivalent among your own friends) because you were so fucking happy to be with this girl? Well, if she was really as amazing as your couch-stomping, fist-pumping, Oprah-mauling dumbass made her out to be, and she dumped you, you're gonna be dealing with some serious pain. I'm talking actual scar-tissue here. I'm talking about the kind of chest pain that feels like a cardiac arrest or myocardial infarction, except it's not, so it's worse, because there's no doctor in the world--not even a celebrity doctor--that can mend a broken heart. And then it gets worse. You know why? Because you're also gonna be suffering from the one thing in this world that trumps pain:
Embarrassment.
That's right. Full-on, I'm the biggest douche in the world and now I'm looking for the nearest hole to crawl into because my heart hurts and my head hurts and...goddamn I loved that girl.
So what's the point of all this? I don't know. I guess maybe I used to think that if I was a celebrity one day, I could have whatever chick (or chicks) I wanted. I could look at my ex-girlfriend and be all, "Check it out, I'm bangin' Pam Anderson. Be jealous." But she wouldn't be jealous. And I wouldn't be happy. And no amount of fame or money could change the fact that I'm dead on the inside.
Anyway, for reasons outlined above, I'm not going to tell you that I'm absolutely fucking going crazy over someone right now. I mean, seriously fucking crazy!
If I were famous, you could watch me on Oprah.
But I'm not.
So you can't.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go find a couch to jump on...
...because I AM IN LOOOOOOOOVE!!!!*
*This is not a true statement.
Then I started thinking about the Black Eyed Peas. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that every one of those dudes wants to bang Fergie--and maybe some of them have--but for the one guy who hasn't, not even endless groupie sex night after night after night would be able to take his mind off the one girl he wants and just can't have. Actually...it might. But only temporarily.
What about Brad and Jen, you say? Well I'm glad you brought that up. You see, before the other night's contemplative journey, I might have been tempted to dismiss the whole thing with a casual wave of my hand. I might have said, "Who cares? She's Jennifer Anniston. She can have any dick she wants." But there's at least one dick in this world she can't have. That's right: Brad Pitt's. And you know what? I'm guessing that not even the knowledge that there are millions of dudes all over the world--some hot, but most not--beating off to pictures of her is enough to quell the ache in her famous heart. I'm sure there's some real pain there, on both sides. We all know what it's like to be sitting at home, alone, pining for someone we've loved and lost. Now just think how much greater that feeling of emptiness might be if you were in, say, a 10,000 square foot mansion.
Being a celebrity, it seems, does not exempt you from the pain of a failed relationship. You can sure as hell bet that when Tommy Lee found out that Bob "Kid" Rock was doin' Pam he probably reacted in much the same way that I reacted (crying like a bitch) when I found out my ex-girlfriend was cheating on me with my soon-to-be-ex-best friend, who wasn't even a celebrity. In a way, I wish he was, then at least I could've said, "Well, she dumped me for Brad Pitt, whatta'ya gonna do?" But no, he was just another average schmuck who she happened to like more than me. That's pain. And on some level, it's no different than Tommy Lee's pain.
Getting back to Tom Cruise for a second. It's tough when a girl dumps you, isn't it? Well take solace in your private hell, friend. Just think: what if you met some girl and went completely nutty over her to the point that you wouldn't shut up about your relationship and every time you were hanging out with your friends you went into some sort of epileptic idiot-dance, hootin' and hollerin' and shuckin' and jivin' while declaring your whole and undying devotion to this chick? What if you almost killed Oprah (or an Oprah-like equivalent among your own friends) because you were so fucking happy to be with this girl? Well, if she was really as amazing as your couch-stomping, fist-pumping, Oprah-mauling dumbass made her out to be, and she dumped you, you're gonna be dealing with some serious pain. I'm talking actual scar-tissue here. I'm talking about the kind of chest pain that feels like a cardiac arrest or myocardial infarction, except it's not, so it's worse, because there's no doctor in the world--not even a celebrity doctor--that can mend a broken heart. And then it gets worse. You know why? Because you're also gonna be suffering from the one thing in this world that trumps pain:
Embarrassment.
That's right. Full-on, I'm the biggest douche in the world and now I'm looking for the nearest hole to crawl into because my heart hurts and my head hurts and...goddamn I loved that girl.
So what's the point of all this? I don't know. I guess maybe I used to think that if I was a celebrity one day, I could have whatever chick (or chicks) I wanted. I could look at my ex-girlfriend and be all, "Check it out, I'm bangin' Pam Anderson. Be jealous." But she wouldn't be jealous. And I wouldn't be happy. And no amount of fame or money could change the fact that I'm dead on the inside.
Anyway, for reasons outlined above, I'm not going to tell you that I'm absolutely fucking going crazy over someone right now. I mean, seriously fucking crazy!
If I were famous, you could watch me on Oprah.
But I'm not.
So you can't.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go find a couch to jump on...
...because I AM IN LOOOOOOOOVE!!!!*
*This is not a true statement.