Not that smut. Well….thatsmut has it’s place. The smut I am referring to is of the celebrity variety. The gossip, the dish, the dirt. The celebrity smut.
Since the beginning of the year I’ve been frequenting a specific dating website in an effort to wrangle a man into marrying me before I’m 80. Under the part of a man’s profile that asks what he is looking for in a woman, you would be surprised at how many list, “Must not be interested in gossiping about Britney and Lindsay!” WHAT?!? You’re not surprised by that?!? Well. I was. I love the smut. I really, truly do. I like trying to figure out which gossip is made up and which may be based on some sort of fact. I like the fact that it makes my life seem somewhat “normal”… and I use that word loosely. And I like the escapism it provides me. When I open up a new, juicy, smut filled magazine I am no longer a single, 28 year old mother who lives in a modest apartment in the suburbs and works a 9-5. I am a glitzy, young, beautiful celebrity with nothing better to do that show up to parties and get paid $100 grand to be there and to make out with Josh Duhmel. (Yes, I know he is dating Fergie. But this is my fantasy. I can make out with whoever I want!)
Just because I love the smut, does not mean that I am an idiot. It does not mean that I have no idea what is going on in the real world, that I have screwed up priorities or that I cannot carry on an intelligent conversation. Because, Mr. High and Mighty, I can! And I can probably kick your ass at Jeopardy! too! Ha…so there!
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