I've Gone Entirely Nuts Here
I think, today, I'm going to do something I don't normally care about doing here, and that is, first, recap something in the mainstream media (just like all the other bloggers, ooooh!), and, secondly, talk about a bunch of my obnoxious personal feelings.
I read this profile on Jennifer Aniston in Vanity Fair. I don't care about Jennifer Aniston at all. I watched Friends in the nineties, like everyone else, but I was over it by the time I hit high school in '95, and I've never particularly associated a fictional character with the person who gives it dimension, anyway, which may or may not be a product of all that fiction writing I do.
When she and Brad Pitt split up, I didn't really care, either. People break up constantly. Men, in general, can forget about a specific woman with little trouble. Women, in general, are heartbroken by this, because it amounts to a denial of individual worth, which no one likes. Aniston's way of putting it was, "There's a sensitivity chip missing," and, well, no sh*t. I don't think I've ever heard it put so neutrally correctly.
I finished the article, though, in the quick, skim-through fashion I read most celebrity profiles, only, for some reason, an hour or so later, out of nowhere, I found myself furious! What the f*ck is wrong with Brad Pitt? I still don't really care that he left her - if you aren't excited by someone, you should tell them, so they can repair their expectations, and, at the very least, get some scintillating new sexual partners on their dance card. But what the f*ck kind of person does he think is refusing to acknowledge all the sh*t that, undeniably, had to be a product of their relationship?
I have no idea what those things might have been, but, for Christ's sake, does it seem a little strange that there is absolutely no recognition from him that she's only, like, the one woman in America that everyone likes? Up to and including, now, me. Does that count for nothing with this man? Honestly, I felt kinda silly, because as I was thinking these things, I was also passing out fliers pushing to be Tampa Bay's "Best Local Blog," and getting a pretty positive response, to boot, so, like, what do I have to be so angry about?
And that's when I realized that the reason I was fuming at Brad Pitt, who I normally never think about, was because I was experiencing some latent storming at my own boyfriend. However many months ago, the Legend decided he wanted to spread his sexual wings. This was kinda OK with me, because I had sorta, maybe, just a little bit, been doing the same thing on the side, but, also, kinda not OK at all, which created in me an unnerving and uncharacteristic confusion that I had never really experienced before. (Yes, yes, hit the comments with all that "You're so young and stupid" sh*t some of you like so much.)
The first reason it wasn't OK was because I am deliriously narcissistic and couldn't even begin to fathom that someone might not think I was the sh*t. Secondly, I couldn't help but wonder why no one was granting any significance to all the stupid crap we had been through, I thought, together. None of it was so ground-breaking as to warrant listing here, but the general context seemed to indicate clearly the presence of mutual trust and affection. Lastly, though, it was not OK, because one of the reasons he gave was that he wanted someone "more like Jennifer Aniston." Which was so stupid, I can't even develop the idea further.
Now, you're probably thinking that particular comment must be why I was so enraged for Jennifer Aniston - an "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" atittude - but that would be entirely too simplistic. I got mad for Jennifer Aniston because suddenly I realized that no matter what in God's name I ever do - I could be gorgeous, brilliant, inquisitive, fun, honest, ambitious, sexually adventurous, talented, brave, trustworthy, and open-minded, and, frankly, I am - there is not one man on the face of the planet who is gonna ever see that as it stands. He's always gonna recognize those things only as they relate to him. I fear that may be true across the board. I mean, my God, I can only write these things without catching conjugal heat because the boyfriend could never in a million years conceive of these thoughts as independently valid in any sense. I'm not sure who, if anyone, loses out because of that.
I ain't mad at ya long-term, boys, because I see it's just the way it is, and I'm not really very cynical about the interplay of the sexes, anyway, but, sh*t, Jennifer Aniston is the perfect, most ironic victim for this kind of insult, isn't she? She's everything everyone would ever want in a friend, in a lover, in themselves, for crying out loud, but, at the end of the day, it didn't really matter to someone she cared about, someone she gave her life to quite generously and happily.
It just makes me think most people are pretty f*cking terrible in very innocent ways. And, now, I'm going to the Rack, where I am going to cease thinking about celebrities and self-worth as a relative concept altogether, because, I promise, I usually don't think this way at all, and, more importantly, I don't like thinking this way. It seems bad for humanity somehow.
I read this profile on Jennifer Aniston in Vanity Fair. I don't care about Jennifer Aniston at all. I watched Friends in the nineties, like everyone else, but I was over it by the time I hit high school in '95, and I've never particularly associated a fictional character with the person who gives it dimension, anyway, which may or may not be a product of all that fiction writing I do.
When she and Brad Pitt split up, I didn't really care, either. People break up constantly. Men, in general, can forget about a specific woman with little trouble. Women, in general, are heartbroken by this, because it amounts to a denial of individual worth, which no one likes. Aniston's way of putting it was, "There's a sensitivity chip missing," and, well, no sh*t. I don't think I've ever heard it put so neutrally correctly.
I finished the article, though, in the quick, skim-through fashion I read most celebrity profiles, only, for some reason, an hour or so later, out of nowhere, I found myself furious! What the f*ck is wrong with Brad Pitt? I still don't really care that he left her - if you aren't excited by someone, you should tell them, so they can repair their expectations, and, at the very least, get some scintillating new sexual partners on their dance card. But what the f*ck kind of person does he think is refusing to acknowledge all the sh*t that, undeniably, had to be a product of their relationship?
I have no idea what those things might have been, but, for Christ's sake, does it seem a little strange that there is absolutely no recognition from him that she's only, like, the one woman in America that everyone likes? Up to and including, now, me. Does that count for nothing with this man? Honestly, I felt kinda silly, because as I was thinking these things, I was also passing out fliers pushing to be Tampa Bay's "Best Local Blog," and getting a pretty positive response, to boot, so, like, what do I have to be so angry about?
And that's when I realized that the reason I was fuming at Brad Pitt, who I normally never think about, was because I was experiencing some latent storming at my own boyfriend. However many months ago, the Legend decided he wanted to spread his sexual wings. This was kinda OK with me, because I had sorta, maybe, just a little bit, been doing the same thing on the side, but, also, kinda not OK at all, which created in me an unnerving and uncharacteristic confusion that I had never really experienced before. (Yes, yes, hit the comments with all that "You're so young and stupid" sh*t some of you like so much.)
The first reason it wasn't OK was because I am deliriously narcissistic and couldn't even begin to fathom that someone might not think I was the sh*t. Secondly, I couldn't help but wonder why no one was granting any significance to all the stupid crap we had been through, I thought, together. None of it was so ground-breaking as to warrant listing here, but the general context seemed to indicate clearly the presence of mutual trust and affection. Lastly, though, it was not OK, because one of the reasons he gave was that he wanted someone "more like Jennifer Aniston." Which was so stupid, I can't even develop the idea further.
Now, you're probably thinking that particular comment must be why I was so enraged for Jennifer Aniston - an "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" atittude - but that would be entirely too simplistic. I got mad for Jennifer Aniston because suddenly I realized that no matter what in God's name I ever do - I could be gorgeous, brilliant, inquisitive, fun, honest, ambitious, sexually adventurous, talented, brave, trustworthy, and open-minded, and, frankly, I am - there is not one man on the face of the planet who is gonna ever see that as it stands. He's always gonna recognize those things only as they relate to him. I fear that may be true across the board. I mean, my God, I can only write these things without catching conjugal heat because the boyfriend could never in a million years conceive of these thoughts as independently valid in any sense. I'm not sure who, if anyone, loses out because of that.
I ain't mad at ya long-term, boys, because I see it's just the way it is, and I'm not really very cynical about the interplay of the sexes, anyway, but, sh*t, Jennifer Aniston is the perfect, most ironic victim for this kind of insult, isn't she? She's everything everyone would ever want in a friend, in a lover, in themselves, for crying out loud, but, at the end of the day, it didn't really matter to someone she cared about, someone she gave her life to quite generously and happily.
It just makes me think most people are pretty f*cking terrible in very innocent ways. And, now, I'm going to the Rack, where I am going to cease thinking about celebrities and self-worth as a relative concept altogether, because, I promise, I usually don't think this way at all, and, more importantly, I don't like thinking this way. It seems bad for humanity somehow.
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