I miss People!

Since the move, I've started missing People. Either my subscription ended or I forgot to give a forwarding address. Either way, crap! My daily dose of gossip now comes from a well-read VP who works at an investment company specializing in subordinated debt and structured equity investments in superior middle-market companies. (Yeah, Mike. I lifted that right from the website.)

My source and I recently got into a debate about Hollywood, political and professional cheaters.

"Would it be worse to be Elin Woods or Elizabeth Edwards?"

I love would you rather games no matter how awful. I mulled it over.

"Both situations are horrible. But, I'd have to go with Elizabeth Edwards."

Mike awaited my rationale which usually was full of emotion and fury rather than logic.

"She had cancer and her idiot husband also fathered a child. He cheated with one woman for a long time as opposed to a million women over the course of a long time."

"That's what most of the guys at work thought their wives would say."

So, this was the lunchtime topic of the day. God. Sometimes I actually miss work.

"Yes, but regardless, both men are despicable and should have their nuts chopped off," I added since I can never provide an opinion without a good dose of emotion. For some reason, I then remembered my next-door neighbor growing up. She used to make her husband's suits and never sewed a zipper into the crotch. I always thought that was weird. The poor guy had to pull his pants down like a preschooler to take a whizz. But, in retrospect, what a smart wife. Who's going to sleep with a man who wears zipper-less sansabelt pants? Smart. Smart. Smart!

Last night, our conversation about celebs and their cheatin' hearts continued.

"Jesse James slept around with more than one woman," Mike announced.

"SHUT UP. The tatted-up, butter-face booby girl wasn't enough? I can't believe it. This is a very bad day for womankind." I bemoaned.

"Why?"

"If you cheat on Sandra Bullock, there's no hope for any woman. Sandra's the shit. She's funny. She's cute. She's one of the guys. No. No. No. This is bad. Very, very bad." I looked for a book so I could hit myself with it, scream and grieve. "Did she leave him yet?"

"I don't know."

Christ. WHERE WAS MY PEOPLE?!?!? I debated phoning Mr. and Mrs. Lin and asking them if they knew. They're the new owners of our old house and are probably enjoying the spoils of our move.

"I so know what's going to happen next. That asshole is going to claim sex addiction, check himself into the Betty-Ford-for-Booty-Addicts Clinic and get rehabbed. Right now, everyone in Hollywood hates him. He'll be lucky if a three-year-old hires him to pimp out a tricycle. What a jagoff."

And, guess what? I just got this email from my source.

____________________

Just as you predicted yesterday…

"Jesse James has decided to confront his problems in an effort to save his five-year marriage to Sandra Bullock.

"Jesse checked himself into a treatment facility to deal with personal issues," his representative said in a Tuesday statement obtained by People.

"He realized that this time was crucial to help himself, help his family and help save his marriage."

____________________

Seriously? Come on, Jesse. If Sandra takes you back, that's total bollocks.