Yay for Thursdays and Mama Kat for giving me topics to blog about! Let’s get this party started!
2.) Write a letter to a reality star of your choice.
Hi honey. How are you?
Do you remember the good old days? Back when you were married to Nick and you didn’t know which part of the animal kingdom tuna lived in? Those were good times. I loved the 30 minutes I got to spend with you each week. You would be all ditzy and endearing and I would be all “They let her outside without adult supervision? How has she never wandered into traffic?”
But I liked you! You were sweet and you said things in interviews that made me like you more. Like when you told Elle or Vogue or some magazine that you thought pop stars needed to pay closer attention to how their behavior looked to their very young fans. I LOVED that! It seemed to show great depth of character beneath the blonde exterior. Then you would go on tv and talk about how excited you were to shoot a magazine cover and not need any hair extensions. And the questions of depth seemed resolved once and for all.
I bought your album, you know. The one where you covered “Take My Breath Away”. And I started watching your sister’s reality show even though she was all kinds of annoying. It’s possible that I bought one of her first singles off iTunes. That’s how much I liked you, Jess. I was supporting your whole family. I did it even knowing that your creepy dad would probably get a cut. But it was ok.
What wasn’t ok was when CaCee came on the scene. And Ken Paves. That’s why Nick and you split, wasn’t it? It was Ken. I don’t like him Jessica. He’s a sycophant. And he’s had too much stuff injected into his lips. And he convinced you to inject stuff into your lips that one time. I don’t like him and he makes me not like you.
I want to be there for you now, Jessica. I felt bad about the whole fat-jeans flap. I thought you looked ok. Maybe it wasn’t your best outfit but I bet I wore something bad that day too but no one photographed me. And I was cheering for you when you directed your hurt and a outrage into a series about beauty in many cultures. I was gonna watch it, Jess! I wanted to see, I wanted to learn! I was ready for another reality tv adventure with you!
But not with CaCee. And her giggle. And the dumb spelling of her name, And definitely not with Ken. I just can’t watch Ken.
I’m DVRing The Price of Beauty, Jessica. I have a whole bunch of episodes saved. But I don’t know. I may not ever watch them. My sister saw one and said you and CaCee screamed like Justin Bieber fans over something that wasn’t a traditional Western beauty treatment. In front of the people who use it. Didn’t your mother teach you not to do that? She’s always seemed polite. And Nick never would have mocked the native culture in a foreign land. But CaCee and Ken? They egg you on. They make you more shallow.
Maybe someday we’ll be able to hang out again, Jessica. Maybe you’ll jettison the entourage and start singing pretty songs again. Maybe we can go egg John Mayer’s house for all the pervy stuff he said about you. Something real. But this tour of the developing world with people who don’t respect anything short of Rodeo Drive? I can’t go there with you. I just can’t.