Everything is wrong with me
Friday, June 17, 2005
people people people
Your assignment:

1) Got to your nearest bodega, convenience store, or place that sells magazines
2) Buy the June 27th issue of People (available now)
3) Turn to page 102
4) Say “Holy shit – I read that guy’s blog!”

I can’t believe that I’m not joking when I write this, but I have been named one of People’s “50 Hottest Bachelors” of 2005.

(I'm not mentioned on the website - shockingly - but you can see the write-up here)

Now everyone, just stay calm. The important thing here is that no one freaks out. Because if you guys start freaking out, then I’m gonna start freaking out, and then something bad is going to happen, most likely involving fire, a mob of people, and my crotch.

Realizing that this would be a strange and confusing time for all of us, I have prepared an FAQ to help get us through this. Remember, deep breaths. We’re all in this together. Mostly.

Q: People Magazine? What the fuck?
A: I know. Ain’t that some shit?

Q: How did this happen?
A: What, you think you’re the only one who reads this blog? You think that I’m lying when I talk about how popular I am? You think I just woke up hungover on one Saturday morning, cheese fries crushed into my pillowcase and my hair, and said to myself, “You know what? I’m going to start calling myself an ‘Internet Quasi-Celebrity?’” Of course not.

(Well, that last one is actually true, but you get it)

The good people at People read this here blog. They emailed me and asked if I’d like to be a part of the issue. Of course I said, “You’re joking, right?” But they were actually serious. And so here we are, trying to piece together what went wrong.

Q: No, I mean it like, “How did this happen? You suck.”
A: Oh, sorry. No idea. I’ve thought a lot about it and I’ve come up with three possible scenarios:

1) Someone at People is trying to lose his/her job.
2) God, who as I’ve mentioned I’ve been feuding on and off with since 1994, is building me up as high as possible in order to bring me crashing, kicking, screaming, and swearing to the ground.
3) This issue is not actually “50 Hottest Bachelors”, but rather “50 Guys Who Like to Drink Beer in the Shower” or “50 Dudes Who Masturbate in Empty Parked Cars” and the “Hottest Bachelors” thing is just a typo.

Q: What’s with the quote? “Women in the Midwest want to marry me?” What the fuck?
A: You know what you’re telling me when you ask that question? Do you know what you’re saying? You’re saying, “I am not famous. Not at all.”

The interview was almost an hour long. That is a long-ass time. After about thirty minutes, I had no idea what I was saying or what the questions were. I started answering all questions with “I don’t know” or “I have no comment”. At the forty minute mark, I accused the interviewer of calling me a racist and for the rest of the interview put the phone down and did push-ups (or rather attempted to do push-ups). So yes, I may have mentioned that I have received a few marriage proposals from women in the Midwest. The exclamation points I can’t take credit for. I don’t usually speak in exclamation points, unless there are a lot of methamphetamines involved.

Q: And the picture? The excerpt? I mean, what gives here?
A: Look, again, you’re just showing me how un-famous you are. In regards to the excerpt, it’s People, so there are certain restrictions about what can and what can not be printed. 2000 words on how I got messed up on pills and beat up a cabbie or how I smoked some crazy shit and tried to fuck a refrigerator is just not gonna make the cut. I’m happy they were able to find something usable, since most of the site is not exactly PG-rated.

And the picture - I personally think I look like the sexiest man on earth, so I’m happy with it. It’s a good look that I’m giving. One that says, suavely, “Excuse me, but do you mind if I have that last nacho? No? Well then you should know that I am going to poison you.” Also, the photo shoot was a whopping four hours long. The good news is that I got to drink the whole time. Put me and a camera in a bar for four hours and magic happens. Put me and a pile of hot dogs in a bar for four hours and no one is going to walk away a winner.

And really, you’re being too negative. It’s People! Come on! Let’s be positive. Because really, it’s all downhill from here for me. Quickly, too.

[I do want to clear one thing up: I do NOT want to get married. I mean, eventually, sure, but the way the post was edited, and the line about how I get proposed to by women in the Midwest, makes it seem like I want to get married now. I do not. Not now. Later. Much later. Also, it's more than 10,000 hits. There is a difference between "hits" and "unique visitors", but I don't want to get into that now. Thank you.]

Q: Ok, ok. So what happens now?
A: As I type this, the “I was in People Magazine. Seriously.” t-shirts are being printed. My friends have been instructed to cut the page out and carry it in their wallets at all times, so that when we are at bars they can pull it out in front of women and I can act bashful and say things like, “Brian, come on. Put it away. [sighing] Ok, yes, I was in People. Not a big deal. [turning to girl in group with lowest self-esteem] So what do you do again? Do you mind if I smell your hair? It sure looks pretty. Come on – let’s just duck into that corner so I can show you my penis.”

In the more immediate future, my friends and I are going to have a party tonight because of this. I’m going to guess that this “party” will consist of me, my roommate Brian, and my friend Jeremy sitting in a booth at a bar, sharing pitchers of Bud, talking about how we should talk to girls about the “Bachelor” thing. Then after about five hours, I’ll say I have to poop and want to go home, we’ll get some pizza, and call it a night. So you can see that I’m keeping it real and not letting my new-found/finally-vindicated celebrity go to my head.


And so I hope this hastily-crafted-while-mildly-intoxicated FAQ answered some of your questions. We’re going to make it. I promise.

I’ll tell you though...why do I feel like this story is going to end with me a few years from now, drinking a Colt 45 out of paper bag in tattered clothes, sitting on a park bench, eyeing little girls with bad intent, screaming, “I was in fucking People Magazine! I was one of the top bachelors of 2005, god damn it! People Magazine! Also I am the second son of the Virgin Mary!” before freaking out and throwing rotten fruit at a passing cars and stray dogs.

We’ll just have to wait and see I guess.

[Many thanks to Joyce, Jessica, and Laura for putting up with my diva-esque tendencies and endless questions and Ben, Chris, Naima, and Naomi for making me feel beautiful and drunk.]

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