I AM Butthead.

So...I live in Santa Monica, and frequent the Malibu netherworld. I hate most of the celebrities that I've met and all of the ones I haven't. But there was one in particular that I didn't hate, and actually really, really liked...until this week. His name is...well...lets say it rymes with Shmike Shudge and lets just for now pretend that he created...oh...I don't know...say...such jems as Shmoffice Shpace and Shmevis and Butthead. And lets say he was a short little nugget of hotness with an awesome surfer's tan and a cute little bald head who popped into my favorite bar every once in a while and slipped away from his famously stoned/primped social circule to amuse me (yes, me!) with his extremely witty, intellectual, and seriously funny conversation before he dragged himself back to bask in the shadows of the Wilson brothers and their social kin. He was nice. He was smooth. He was a little dorky which made him endlessly endearing. and he effing created Shmevis and Butthead and Shmoffice Shpace for christsakes! Sigh..now lets say we, for the sake of whatever would make this appropriate, looked him up on the internet one day...and, lets also say that upon a thurogh googling of our hero we found he was married with two kids who lived in some cute little suburb in Shmexas and that in all the times he slipped away to flirt with us he never mentioned said fact. Now lets say that we mulled it over in our head, and although we were disappointed with our last bastion of normal-personed-ness on whom we had hung our last thread of "Some of them have to be great people, too!" naievite, we decided that it was cool, and that we were probably making a bigger deal out of the whole thing anyway, because for God's sake, woman, he randomly sees you at bars and talks to you for like 20 minutes at a time and then goes back to his coke-snorting 80lb. minions without ever giving you a second thought, and the most he's ever done in his whole life is text message you back AFTER you texted him first, so what the hell did he do wrong ANYWAY, you self important BITCH! ...ahem...so... Lets say that we got over all of that and then didn't see him for like 6 months and almost forgot about him until one night when we were out with our new hot boyfriend that we love and are going to be with forever and are going to have ten million babies with, and were a little bit tipsy and were caught off guard and saw him and were really happy again because we were totally over the internal monologue of a fight we had him and we wanted to let him know that everything was normal and okay again between us, and we were going to keep letting him be all of Celebrity's saving grace, and we were going to do this by saying hi again. But now...instead...lets say...we were drunk, yelled his name, slipped on the chair, tripped, got up, straightened out, yelled his name again, pushed aside our roommate, ran over to him, said the same EFFING THING 5 TIMES, watched while he was completely bored and OVER anything having to do with us, and then left. Whereupon we returned to the table with our Hunky boyfriend looking over his eyebrows to laugh AT US and our friends all avoiding eye contact in silence and pretending to eat the crumbs of the food we'd devoured the last of a good 20 minutes prior. AWKWARD MUCH??? JESUS EFFING CHRIST!!!

Moral of this story: I FUCKING HATE CELEBRITIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You might want to sit down...

...hi...um...I have to tell you something...and....sigh.....it's going to be hard...so I'm just going to come out and say it...

I have a boyfriend. I've been with him for a couple months now. I know I should've said something, but I just...the timing was just never right. But I realize now that you're still there, hanging on, and...well...I'm just not the same me anymore, and I think...well...I think the time for "us" has passed. What we had was beautiful, it really was, but...well...we thrived on my misfortunes, my self loathing, and my cigarette smoke-clouded reasoning, and...well...that's all passed now. I don't even smoke anymore! I guess what I'm trying to tell you is that...I'm happy. And what we have here...it isn't a "happy" relationship. So...well, I'm sure you've already realized it, but...well...I'm going to be around a lot less in the future. Maybe we'll meet again at some later point in our lives...like when I grow jaded and eventually despise my new job and want all of my clients to die of heroin withdrawls...but that time just isn't now. I mean, I'm sure that after a few months of inmates asking me out on dates to the places where they worked right before they were arrested for residential burglery at knifepoint IN THE CITY WHERE I LIVE, maybe then I'll have something to complain about once again. well...wait...actually, I guess I could tell you about the prick of a waiter we had yesterday who, after a wonderful meal of Slime-Fish Suprise in an off-color lemon(esque)-soggy-caper sauce, when I asked if they had any desserts with bananas, literally SCOFFED in my FACE and mused that I'd "just have to pick that up somewhere on my way home. ha ha." right before he sauntered off, probably with MY BANANA UP HIS A---ahem...sorry...where was I...? Oh, right...you know what, fuck it, nevermind. I'll be around.