Adam Levine is hot. Come on. I mean maybe it’s the Jew in me that sees the Jew in him and bows down to those perfectly placed Jewish traits. But come on, he’s hot. So when I read the prompt for this weeks Finish the Sentence Friday, and then watched Saturday Night Live the next night, which I never do, there was my hot boyfriend hosting! What are the odds? At this serendipitous hormonal moment I immediately knew how to answer Friday’s question.
Then I got to thinking, you know, this guy will take his shirt off for anyone. Literally. Maybe he has a little bit of an ego problem. If I got to spend the day with ONE celebrity, would I want it to be this guy? I mean, he’s hot, but that’s not even my hand! What??!!
Would he even care what I had to say? Or would he be trying to catch his reflection in every window we walked by. If he offered, I would never say no, but only ONE celebrity, only ONE day? Sorry Adam, but if you just hadn’t claimed to have the moves like Jagger, I may have given you the benefit of the doubt. And if you’re reading this darling Adam, because, you know, it could happen. Nothing personal, I don’t really know you, but if you aren’t an egomaniac, you might want to work on your image a little.
So, I dug right down to the bottom of my soul. (Important segue: Please tell me you’ve seen A Chorus Line? Obviously you should: the songs are epic, that line reminds me of the song “Nothing”) And there he was: the one man I told my husband I might leave him for. He just gets me, you know? It’s like we are soul mates. Does the other mate need to know your soul in order to be soul mates? I mean we are only separated by ONE DEGREE, and in TWO ways! I mean come on, it’s like I know him right? Oh wait you still don’t know who I’m talking about,
you John Cusack, you can look at me like that anytime, and I will never call you egotistical. I am pretty sure that I know you, your dry sense of humor. I believe the absence of a sign can be a sign, just like you do! I had the same conversation with myself that you did before you went to your high school reunion. “Hi. I’m, uh, I’m a pet psychiatrist. I sell couch insurance. Mm-hmm, and I – and I test-market positive thinking. I lead a weekend men’s group, we specialize in ritual killings. Yeah, you look great! God, yeah! Hi, how are you? Hi, how are you? Hi, I’m Martin Blank, you remember me? I’m not married, I don’t have any kids, but I’d blow your head off if someone paid me enough.” We have the exact same career motivations “I don’t want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don’t want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don’t want to do that.” either.
You know I get you, I mean we all need a little medication every once in a while like when you said “Look, Byron, I want to be honest with you. Before I came down from the room, I took a half a pound of Vicodin, so I’m going to be really comfortable until about late March.” and “You probably read in People Magazine that I’m on Zoloft.” We both have anger issues, like that time you “tried to walk away, but the guy just kept pushing. So you hit him in the tray with your face.” But then, John, you had to go and get all depressed on me. You know, you and me, we’ve got something. But I don’t know, I just can’t tolerate depression in a partner, I mean there’s really only room for one, and that one, well it has to be me. My narcissism demands it. So when you said “What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?” I knew we could never be. Come on now, don’t look at me like that
I mean maybe I could do a day, but what if you start on that downward spiral of depression and angst… I can’t handle angst. I mean, if you could sign some sort of contract, you know a promise note? I will be funny and self-deprecating but not angry and depressed? I’m just saying.
Maybe I need to think inside the box, apparently my Jewishness knows no bounds because if I have to say, “now hold on Jen, we (meaning me and the other people in my head) appreciate people for what’s on the inside (unless they’re more depressed than you), not just what’s on the outside” I guess I would have to pick Woody Allen. Yes. I would spend the day with this guy:
You know what? The voice in my head is Woody Allen. The over-thinker, the self-deprecator, the hyper-intellectual, the elitist who pretends he is not, the ironic, the paranoid, the witty, the imaginative, the over-thinker. All of those people are in my head, and their voice is Woody’s, but Woody does it so much better. It’s OK if I call you Woody, right? He is the only celebrity I would want to spend the whole day with, and you know what? I wouldn’t want to say a word, that’s how I know I’m right. I would just want to listen to him talk, well, not about politics, or his personal life, just about stuff. Tell me about stuff Woody. What is your theory about life, we only have 24 hours, so you may have to synopsize (that’s a real word, I looked it up). I have mentioned this before, and the more I write the more I realize it is true. Woody Allen is my muse. I do not claim to emulate, imitate, or duplicate, I would never. Truth be told, my life is a Woody Allen movie, well not “Curse of the Jade Scorpion” or “Midnight in Paris”, or “Bananas” for that matter. Well, whatever. It just is, and when I look at my family en masse, I know why the things I think are funny are funny, and I know why Woody Allen lives in my brain.