I'm taking a motherfuckin personal day today and if anyone asks IT'S BECAUSE OF KIM KARDASHIAN, OKAY??! I need to stay home to consider the implications of this divorce. I don't have the most solid of foundations but the announcement of Kim Kardashian's divorce has fucking rocked those that I do still have in place. My belief system has been seriously shaken - a rough estimation would register it measuring at least a 6.2 on my Richter scale - so I need this personal day to rake over the wreckage. (Also, just quietly, I am in the grip of something of a digestive crisis, and am not entirely convinced that the two issues are unrelated. I'm sensitive like that.)
The intention is to take a probing and possibly discomforting look at contemporary celebrity culture but the reality is that I will spend the day googling Reggie Bush photos. Apparently Reggie was in contact with Kim in the days before her wedding begging her not to marry Kris. Bitch knew what was up.
When the dust of my disillusionment has settled I will be happy and filled with idiot optimism, because this divorce essentially kicks the door open to allow Reggie to ride right back on in. It should have been Reggie all along, goddamnit. I actually murmured this several times during the televised wedding special. It went for four fucking hours, I had to say comething. Other things I said included a range of comments relating to how wack Bruce Jenner's pierced ears looked, and others indicating my approval of his fabulous son Brody Jenner during the reception. On a loosely related note, I've just remembered that it took me weeks to recover from the shock of the role Brody Jenner played in the last scene of the last episode of The Hills. This also left me deeply uneasy, although now, with the healing powers of time, I can appreciate the genius behind that final, dramatic flourish. If for some unfathomable reason you don't know what I'm talking about with The Hills (and if not WHY THE HELL NOT?) I won't ruin it, even if you are several years out of touch and probably a lost and hopleless cause anyway. Let's just say the scene confirmed everyone's long-held suspicions about the show in a spectacular, if unnecessarily rude and confronting fashion, and that it left me wrung out like a dirty dishcloth.
I just love me a celebrity. I fucking love me a celebrity. Regular people are beautifiul in their ordinaryness - except in food courts, no-one is beautiful in a food court - but celebrities go that extra mile and manage to be be at once beautiful and repellant in their absolute and outrageous weirdness. There is something truly arresting in observing beautiful people operating unencumbered by reality. And when reality does intrude like it seems to have now for Kim K. after seventy-two days of marriage? Settle in with a bag of salted nuts and wait for the Big Picture Truths to emerge.
Anyway. The one thing I do know which requires no degree of reflection whatsoever is that Kris Humphries was way too tall for Kim. Seventy-two days of having to tilt my head at an absurdly awkward angle just to get in the general vicinity of someone's face would be about my limit too. The neck pain would be a bastard.