I’m not accustomed to feeling sorry for celebrities. I grew up Los Angeles and there are other places to eat besides The Ivy. Other places to stay besides Chateau Marmont. Other places to shop besides Melrose, Rodeo and so on. The cat and mouse game of Popo Zao versus put-upon famous person is rarely as win or lose as it appears in the tabloids.
Take Kim Kardashian, a savvy grown ass woman who realizes exactly where her bread is buttered. And it ain’t anyplace without a flash bulb. The lady knows her multi-million-dollar empire was built on the small screen. Still I doubt news of her ex-boyfriend and co-star Ray J’s “Hit It First” “song” came as a welcome surprise. Like really, dude? Obsessed much?
For her part, Kim K has rightfully ignored Brandy’s little brother’s lyrical temper tantrum — and the resulting video featuring a bootleg Kim-a-like. But the whole sad affair got me to thinking about all the sorry clowns out there who could potentially throw a bitter wrench all up in my flow. I’m a writer who mines her life, so the karma is a coming.
One of the biggest and probably most valid criticisms I’ve gotten from formers is that I can be a bit callous, actually the words my last ex used were “cold-hearted bitch,” but you get the point. I have an on/off switch. Wrong me — and by “wrong” I mean annoy — and shit gets flipped. I can go from soft and cuddly to “And you are?” in less time it takes to switch your FB status, which I never do because why.
I thought this was a fatal flaw I’d never be able to shake until I met Ike and realized it wasn’t me, it was them.
Now I can only imagine what some of the wronged might be willing to say during a sit-down with Barbara Walters someday. Because, yes, I plan to be so hugely successful in the faraway future that accomplished TV journalist will track down those who knew me when.
After my book came out and while I was writing the first draft of a screenplay an ex spotted me at a party and pointed to a quiet corner.
“Ugh,” I remember thinking. “He wants to emote on me.” We’d broken up maybe three months before and I’d already been on twice as many dates.
“I wanted to ask you something,” he said as I put on my most put upon face.
“Are you? Or can you make sure not to? I mean are you going to write about anything that happened between us in your movie?”
I went sort of bug-eyed and blurted out, “Um? No. I’m not even thinking about you like that.”
Oh, my god, that was horrible thing to say! I immediately regretted it. Not because it wasn’t true but because it was so unnecessarily rude. It also probably confirmed every single shitty thing this dude thought of me. He muttered an “OK thanks” and shuffled away.
And least I look like a total jerk (I probably am) this dude was not always the nicest to me. Actually pretty often he was very far from nice, the furthest thing in fact. So when it was over, I was relieved. Elated, even.
So part of my gut reaction was sheer shock. Why would either of us want to rehash that foolishness? Isn’t forgetting a blessing?
The point is for some people holding on is a hobby — and for Ray J it’s a job (“I Hit It First” sold 41,000 copies its first week out).
Are there any skeletons in your closet who you don’t want to start flapping their jaws someday? And, honestly, what can you when and if they do? Just take the hit and keep it moving?