“What a saddle-bagging bitch.” That’s the first thought I have sometimes when I hear that so-and-so lost ten pounds, or got a great job, or anything that’s better than what I did.
But when a celebrity falls on his face in front of the entire world, we’re all inclined to laugh. “What an ass!” we say, and we start following him on Twitter. What crazy, messed-up, drug-altered thing will he say next?!
I agree with Charlie Sheen. What he does in his personal life is really his business, tiger blood and all.
Why do we love seeing people fall apart, but hate seeing other people succeed? (Sidenote, I don’t feel that Mr. Sheen is necessarily falling apart. I think he’s messing with the media, and, in effect, us. He’s “enjoying the view from the top.”)
A friend of mine is starting a new diet, and we were talking about what to expect. “People are going to try and make you eat things.”
When it comes to food and drink, your friends take a sudden and deep interest in your behavior, and they want you to do whatever stupid thing they’re doing.
“Come on, have a drink. Just one. What would College-Cassie think? Come ON.”
“One lard-filled, high-calorie, tear-your-guts-up taco won’t kill ya.”
Your friend will never beg you to dress like her, shop at the same grocer, switch to her bank, or use the same shampoo as her. “Come ON! Herbal Essences smells so fruity and floral at the same time! Just use it. Come ON. Just try it once! One dollop. Just lather it up. Lather, rinse, repeat. Come on!”
No, that would be ridiculous.
But when it comes to what goes in your body, people will literally beg you to partake. They’ll even pay for you to do it.
…Would you pay for your friend’s shampoo?
Why do we do this? Well, that’s easy. We’re afraid it’ll reflect badly on us if we’re the only ones doing something. Oh, I’m doing something stupid. But If we’re all doing it…
Also, we want to know that we’re not the only assholes who get drug problems and say crazy things on television.
Are you a saboteur? Do you revel in the failures of others? Well, cut it out. Worry about yourself if you have to, and try to be genuinely happy for someone.
Or, just hide them from your news feed so you don’t have to look at Little-Miss-Perky-Boobs and her God-forsaken abs. She’s too tan anyway.
Clearly I’ve got some work to do.
“Nope. I watched a kindergartener shove a crystal up her butt. That’s where the story was going.”