Julie Luongo

I don’t want to marry, date, or sleep with celebrities. There, I said it. I have this vague idea that they’re mostly assholes and once I got in there I’d be screaming to get out. Only it would be harder than usual to break it off because my family would think he’s a good catch.

Sure, I have ideals. But, they’re characters. Inventions of writers. I know their private behavior and can judge for myself whether or not I could stand to drink coffee with them in the morning and pick up their prescriptions when they’re sick.

I even have a problem with this. For instance, I like Mulder’s character. But, in reality, I’m not into the poor-me, conspiracy theorist-type. I like John Cusack in Grosse Point Blank, but I don’t want to do little chores for a professional killer. “Which poison do you need me to get?”

I’m skeptical of people who drool over celebrities. Sure, I think Liv Tyler is a doll, but I’m not going to pretend I’m going to marry her. She might be a raging alcoholic for all I know, and I’ve dated those before. It doesn’t matter how cute you are when you’re carrying that baggage. (Nevermind that we’re both straight.)

Apparently, the details of someone’s availability are irrelevant in this game. I’ve been accused, by the people who speak of marrying, dating, or sleeping with celebrities, of confusing fantasy and reality. Is it fantasy to dream about marrying Richard Branson? How about Santa Clause? Your neighbor’s husband? Some of these choices are more fantastical than others. Where do we draw the line?

One of my problems with a fantasy celebrity marriage is that I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t like most celebrities. I mean, who doesn’t know an attractive struggling actor? Yeah, that effing idiot who schleps your soup to your table, with his thumb in it, after he’s wiped his nose with the back of his hand, done a line with the busboy, and pissed in the bisque.

He might get his big break and play the nice roommate who is deeply in love with the girl next door. But, he’s still that prick who pissed in your soup. And the guy who really loves the girl next door with earnest ardor is sitting at his computer making characters people love.

Not that I’m saying writers are the be all and end all. Sure, we’re cool. But we tend to be snarky elitists who occasionally forget to bathe.

I like celebrity culture as much as the next American (see my post about Christiane Amanpour). It’s just that when it comes to who I want to kick it with, I’m sort-of selective. Plus, I have such a big ego, I think I could hook up anything I want. Technically, no one is out of my league. This is tricky. As you may have guessed, I don’t think soup pissers, however attractive, are in my league. My yardstick is slightly different.

So, I guess I’m a celebrity in my own mind. If I’ve given someone the time of day, it’s generally because I’ve decided I like something about them – and it has nothing to do with their marketability.

But, Richard Branson … he seems like fun, doesn’t he?

(Call X to the Z, because that’s the biggest pimped out ride on the planet.)