Sunday, March 23, 2008

The Beau-To-Best-Friend Conversion

I have just put down a copy of US magazine wherein I learned a new difference between the glitterati and myself. Not only do they have personal shoppers, bigger homes and more glamorous lives, but when celebs split up, I've discovered, they all remain "the best of friends." US has a whole section devoted to who's getting together and who's breaking up, and all those broken-hearted people are quoted in glorious detail about how very close they're going to stay to each other.

Barring Mia and Woody, there's not a person in Hollywood who doesn't seem to adore their ex.

What I've learned from this is I need a publicist. The next time I'm laying in bed with my pint of chocolate cookie dough ice cream, wearing the same robe for three days and swearing every revenge from running a magnet over his hard drive to putting shoe polish in his hair gel -- I need some publicist who writes little notes to my friends and all the magazines to say: "Oh, they're still on amicable terms, that little rumor about his having an affair with Liv Tyler was a complete lie, and they're still best, best friends."

I mean, please. It's ridiculous. Yes, beau-into-best-friend conversions have been sighted, but they are rare, rare indeed. And often (though not always, of course) it's because both parties are still sleeping together and they've just postponed the part where they get really mad and hurt and lonely.

I have listened to many people who don't understand this. "Why won't he even hang out with me, anymore? I just want to go out to dinner from time to time. Hear how he is." But it doesn't work that way. For 9 out of 10 relationships, you learned exactly one way to act around each other, one way to love each other, one way to talk to each other. Bringing it down to closeness without intimacy can be almost impossible. What do you do with your hands, after all? And then you're talking to them and you become so obsessed with your hands and how much they don't-fit anywhere and you think about how comfortable everything used to be and next thing you know you're somewhere between angry and sad and you wish you could box your ex and all the memories up into some trunk that you can open twenty years from now when maybe, just maybe, you feel strong again.

And even when seeing each other doesn't bring out and out trauma, you keep thinking it means something. Perhaps a good conversation is some measure of how far you've come, or a sign you'll date again, or conclusive proof that she's thinking about you even when she's with that studpuppy. Bad conversations mean nothing short of the end of the world.

Frankly, it's going to be easier if you accept that you're not destined to be friends. Breaking up turns your life upside-down and inside-out. Invariably. Accepting that gets you one step closer to pulling your life back together.

So enjoy the ice cream, enjoy plotting revenge, but if you really wish you were friends, then get yourself a good publicist -- that eternal friendship thing only happens in magazines.

No comments:

Post a Comment