I watched Jennifer Aniston on tv this morning.
I’d like to say ‘I’ll have what she’s having’ if it would assure me to be as fit as she is at 40. Or should I? Sometimes it seems all shes having is alot of walks on the beach sandwiched around public breakups and rom-com movies with sadly ironic titles.
If I were her I would probably be ecstatic about the day when I could finally do an interview without wondering if the audience is holding their collective rubber-necky breaths thinking “Ask her about Brad! Ask her what she thinks of Angelina’s ovaries! Ask her if she cries alone at night into a tub of Ben&Jerry’s! Do it Robin Roberts! Do it for us all!”
Could I be her and not be bitter? Could I keep it classy and such? The best response, I think, goes right along with the teachings of Captain Bongodrum. (omgWhatthehellishisname?? He’s in that Dolce&Gabana cologne ad? He’s from Texas. He’s always running on the beach and is seemingly allergic to shirts??*) Ugh. As Whats-his-face would say: “just keep livin” and I think that this is the best response.
Otherhandwise, the best revenge is to live well.
To keep going and ascending.To maintain a sixpack at all costs. To have healthy and highly publicized relationships with extremely attractive, younger men.
(see: Halle Berry – Eric Benet + Gabriel Aubry or
Demi Moore – Bruce Willis + Ashton Kutcher.)
And to NOT TALK ABOUT YOUR EX.
But could I keep it classy and keep it moving as she seemingly would like to do?
I ask myself this because this could totally happen to me.
Not in the way that Jennifer Anniston is supposed to be this American girl-next-door-ish everywoman.
A little bit more because her birthday is 2/11 and mine is 2/1 so I emphathize with my astrological sign sister. But mostly because that is the kind of shit that happens to me relationshipwise without fail.
I’ll be cruising along, comfortable in the relationship, my guard down like automatic windows. And then, seemingly out of nowhere the whole relationship will come to a screeching, burnt rubber halt.
Dude will stop the forward momentum, turn to me and say he’s just going to walk the rest of the way from here on, thanks. And I can keep the car and that soundtrack to the Breakfast Club in the cd changer… Wait, what? Can you turn the radio down and repeat that?
Something unseen went down probably started by a butterfly wing blowing a blade of grass or me watching music videos over his shoulder during dinner or me playing the same song on the radio over and over even tho’ I know he hates it or something…
(maybe i was sleep when we hit the speedbump shaped like a co-stars vagina?)
blammo. Its all oh-so-over
and I’m sitting looking around at this confusing wreckage that is my lovelife saying,
Damn. Will you look at that.
And only a creepy, jealous, insecure harpy would blame just the man for the mess. And a worse kind of woman would still be talking about it– especially if it had been years (…and years… and years) later. So you’ve got to stiff-upper-lip it. And not bring it up. Even if it is eating away at you. And especially if you can see it eating away at the studio audience with their semi-pitiying faces wanting to bring the torrid shit up just to watch the emotional trainwreck that they assume will ensue.
(you know, becuause everyone has a studio audience)
What is wrong with Jennifer Anstion’s media karma? In a scenario that happend a zillion hollywood years ago involving herself and two other people she’s the only one that’s not allowed to move on?
Granted, this is me looking at it not only from the outside but from the checkout line in the Duane Reed as I run in to get a protein bar and a bottle of water before the gym or whatever.
She could very well be over it and it’s the tabloids that wont let it die.
But watching Jennifer Anstion’s being interviewed by Robin Roberts on Good Morning America (sidenote: the most addictive tv show ever for me right now, btw) about a movie that may in actuality end up being OK or in fact, be the steaming pile of I-can-never-get-those-two-hours-of-my-life-back that I think it will because her main costars are that guy with the nose (who I like) and A DOG.
A FLIPPING DOG for christcryingoutloudsakes a DOG! All you can really think about is: A) Damn. This movie has a dog in it.
B) starts with a ‘B’ and is commonlaw married to Angelina Jolie.
And so Jennifer Aniston and Robin Roberts are discussing life on set with her costars and what it is like to work, no, not with Owen Wilson who is a living breathing human being who can communicate in actual words but with the DOG who, for the record shits outside and then buries it and licks its own arsehole…
and then there is a side bar of ‘Gee, Jen you sure look amazing at 40’
here in this [airbrushed?] photo of you on the cover of a men’s magazine wearing naught but a smile and a necktie. And in the article therein which regales you for your good humor and hello, your 90% nakedness.
I am on the fence about all of this. The seminaked spread (no pun intended) may or may not shriek ‘Hello, I am desperate. Look at me please! Lookatmelookatmelookatme!‘ It …may or may not. I’ve not decided. And desperate ploy or no, I repeat empatically that if I look like that at 40,(and I will, dammit!) it will be a good thing indeed. And
if so when that time arrives I may very well be publicly naked 45% of the time, too.
The interview continues and it did not once address the 300lb gorilla in the room. Nor his 68 kids. Or the otherworldly level of hot, humanitarian woman the gorilla left Jen for a zillion years ago and how she allegedly still can’t get over it.
No, none of that.
I wonder, if afterwards she looks back on how the interview went and remembers that they spent two of its 10 minutes talking about dog hair and feels some kind of way about it.
I wonder, did she look around her dressing room not really seeing it, more seeing snippets of moments of her life that had just passed which had’nt seemed so bad at the time but assuredly didn’t seem like it would lead up to well, this confusing wreckage. Causing her to scratch her head and say,
damn, will you look at that?
All of that rant because I identified w Jennifer Aniston this morning and she’s in a movie with a dog.
Yeah, I know. I probably should be worried.
*Matthew McConaheywhatever. Dammnit.