Dear Jeremy aka Pivs aka J.P.,
I have some good news and some bad news for you.
In September, my future baby-daddy Todd (McMuffin) & I got back in contact after 20 years of lost touch and because Linda Ronstadt sang a chart-topping, terribly cheesy sweet duet called "Somewhere Out There" in an animated movie about a lost Russian mouse who was trying desperately to find his loved ones, we came to the conclusion that one day we'll have a kid together and name him after the singer Peabo Bryson (which was initially because I thought Peabo was the man dueting with Linda, but I was wrong-- he sang "Tonight I celebrate my Love for You, which actually is just as offensive touching).
I know this might not be making sense, but it'll help if you comprehend the bomb I'm about to drop if you read two short posts, serving as background information. First, click to read: McMuffin 1, then click McMuffin 2.
Now that you know the history, I'm going to break the news to you. Prepare yourself. Maybe take a 10-count deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Here we go:
The bad news: My future baby-daddy McMuffin found out about us and has e-mailed me his feelings on the subject.
The good news: He has NO IDEA who you are...
Because I realize the male ego is a fragile thing, I know you're probably thinking, "He doesn't know who I am? This is not good news!". However, it is my hope that you choose not to obsess over the fact that you have a lengthy resume in stage, television and motion pictures; including your starring role on Entourage, one of the most successful HBO series of all time (not to mention the collection of Emmys you're currently using as bathroom doorstops throughout your Malibu beach house), and yet, McMuffin was only one of the handful of people who didn't recognize you in the photo(shopped picture) of us.
It's kind of astounding just how many people can't place your name when they ask me who you are, and then when I start firing off everything you've starred in, roles you were seemingly meant to play, these people just shake their heads and have no recollection whatsoever. Nothing you've been in jogs their collective memories. Your face doesn't even remind them of an old college roommate or some random guy they talked to at a bar once.
I know who you are, though, and that's all that matters. Now get over here so we can Hug It Out.
Love, Jules
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
He doesn't know who you are, Jeremy Piven; and he doesn't like where you're standing very much, either!
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4 comments:
And tell him to bring Pearl over for a visit, too!
I'm sure he'll bring his real life niece over here just as soon as she's done collecting the rent from Will Ferrell. I hope she's not drunk this time.
But she's so funny when she's drunk! And if he does decide to hug it out, I am totally next in line. It would seem that I need to call dibs quickly because apparently the entire free world is reading your blog now and it's only a matter of time before Pivs e-mails you.
But you know I'm not just holding out for an e-mail. ;)
OH, and hello, I totally love him for him and not his money, in case you were insinuating otherwise. I mean, I've loved him since the Gas n Sip scene of Say Anything. Back when he had a receding hairline. My love is pure and in the words of Elvis Costello, my aim is true. heh heh
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