So I was sitting around mourning my life losses the other day,
lamenting closed windows and opportunities untaken, torturing myself by searching for the audition tapes of all the women who have lived and/or are presently living my personal life-long dream to be a writer/cast member of Saturday Night Live.
Yes, I have more than one personal life-long dream and yes, one of them is to rescue a family of goats, but I have it on good authority that I should aim high so…
If ever, by some miracle, I should one day “make it”, at the top of my acceptance speech list will be my parents, my children, my girlfriend, my agent, my manager, and The Deer Garden.
As I continued to surf the interweb of my broken dreams, one link leading to the next, and the next and the next, I suddenly I realized that somewhere I’d taken a very wrong turn. I was no longer watching audition videos, but scrolling through what may have been one of the most disturbing internet forum threads I’ve ever seen.
Granted I don’t really peruse forums much, unless they’re about word press plug-in compatibility issues, or DIY home remedies for anything that can be cured with tea tree oil, turmeric or ginger, so what do I know?
Did you know, that there are online forums crawling with bazillions of creepers who are obsessed with other people; talking about the things that they do or do not know about them and having actual virtual real-life arguments about them like they know them personally even though they don’t???
Do famous people realize that the people who wait outside for them, after a show, and ask for selfies and autographs and stuff, run home and post them in these weird underground stalker caves, where other stalkers sit and wait with bated breath to hear and argue amongst themselves about it???
Do. They. Know. That? If they don’t, You. Should. Tell. Them.
I’m not going to lie. At first I was somewhat fascinated.
Really? Her maybe-girlfriend is a clown…? Weird. Clowns are weird.
But the more it went, and the deeper I got, the more uncomfortable I became…
Okay wait… so you checked the twitter account of her maybe-girlfriend to see who she is following, and then you checked the twitter accounts of the people she’s following to see if they are following her back?? And you then did the same on Instagram??? And then you used this scientifically proven, highly respected and indesputibly reliable method of research to determine whether or not the two victims of your voyeurism are dating each other? For real? Actually?
She reminds you of your ex? How?? Did you also NOT know your ex in real life???
And also… you know “normal” “stable” lesbians?????????????
The more I read, the more nauseated I became. I felt guilty for ever looking at anything that was even remotely related to her, let alone intentionally googling her audition tape/youtube videos of absolutely every single sketch or interview she’s ever done in the entirety of her whole life.
but I kept scrolling, kind of like one might, when witnessing a traffic accident; with our head turned slightly to the side, hands over both eyes, but with one eye kind of squinting and peeking through the fingers.
I was amazed by some of the things that people casually announced, as though there was nothing weird or restraining-order-inducing about what they were saying.
No! No it is not okay. And neither is this:
You know why? Because Kate McKinnon is not Perry Como.
And can I just take a moment to ask you all what a “Fancy Dress Mask” is?
And can we please just take a moment to remember that these people you are talking about are actual human beings? Please? I mean, I can’t imagine how violating it would feel to see this kind of craziness about your own self?
Granted, I’ve never been famous, on account of those crushed dreams that I mentioned earlier, but if I could imagine what it was like, were I famous enough for people to dedicate entire forums to dissecting my life like it were on a glass slide under a microscope, I would imagine this would scare the crap out of me!
Think about it really. Take any of those lines and replace the celebrity’s name with your own, and just sit with how weird that feels.
Soft Butch……..? I was 7 years old in 1977 for God’s sake! What is wrong with you people?
Okay you know what? It was more like mid-march when word got out. And also, do you though? Do you hope it goes well? Because…
I’m not feeling’ it. And my girlfriend does not look like doom and gloom okay? She does smile and laugh, she’s just super shy, and also she likes to look super cool and aloof – It’s her thing. Just like your thing is being a creepy jealous weirdo.
Yeah… near/far, pretty much all of the above. I mean, I can kinda almost see properly in that space that’s right betwe.. wait. Who wonders that about a person???
Okay I can see how some people might think she’s my assistant but she likes to carry my luggage for me and I’m just joking when I call her my Burlesque Sherpa. Kinda…
People please! This has to stop. Right now!
Oh my GOD STOP! You really think I’m funny AND smart? Really? Thank you sooooo much. I think you’re pretty too Bekah. Well, if you look anything like your avatar that is…
But seriously people, you actually need to stop. You need to ask yourself why you are so freaking obsessed with these celebrities. Ask yourself what they have that you don’t. And go get whatever that thing is, because I promise you PROMISE you A) That person isn’t who you think they are, B) If they knew you were talking about them that way, they (unless they are Taylor Swift) would be horrified and want nothing to do with you, and C) The internet is not real life.
Except for the cat videos. Those are real. 100%.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s crazy to have a little celebrity crush. Or somebody who inspires you to the point where you may or may not have added this first ever lesbian action figure to
my your Amazon Wish List…
I’m just saying… Step away from the computer. Stop living vicariously through somebody else, and start living your own actual real life. You can hate me right now if you need to, but if you follow my advice, you’ll thank me later. When I’m famous. Right?