Failure of the Day: Homo Celebritus

See, it’s really just that I can’t leave an entry like that hanging out there. It’s not right. Even though I am a stuttering wreck a lot of the time, what I am even more is totally bonkers happy in love with a man who even now, this week and this month, comes home every night knowing that I am moody and as often as not totally deflating, that I stink of garlic and am sloppy in lime green sweatpants and fuzzy hair, that I am growling with hormonal I Feel Not So Freshness, and he comes home to my room and sits with me and tells me how he as been looking forward to this, to me, since he left this morning.

So here’s what I’m writing about instead of my own putrefaction: About a month ago, we started watching The OC. I don’t know why we started watching it. I didn’t know anything about it. There was just some sort of subsonic hypnotic ray pointed at my head by The Media and it told me to watch it and so I watched it.

Oh. My God. I love that show. Love it! The only thing better than Seth Cohen is Sandy Cohen, his dad. I can’t help myself. I have no justifications. It’s rich white people, yes, I grant you that. I grant that the cast are all members of that proto species Homo Celebritus and as such are unrecognizable as any kind of human anyone has ever seen in person.

Don’t care. Nope. Love that show.