Last night, in bed, I told my wife, “Every celebrity I have a crush on dies.”
I was talking about The Bachelor contestant Gia Allemand who recently committed suicide.
My wife said, “You like girls who don’t like themselves very much.”
Let’s address that.
Great picture, but it’s not the girl I had a crush on. I fell for the lovably bubbly, bumbling, hot-mess from Uptown Girls who always looked like she had a smudge on her face.
Molly fell quick and hard, she was vulnerable and too busy living to spare a thought for suicide – which doesn’t look to be the cause of Brittany Murphy’s death anyway. It was likely either pneumonia or toxic mold, and not all the over-the-counter medicines she was taking.
Maybe Brittany wrestled with demons, but Molly didn’t.
Gia appeared on the 14th season of ABC’s The Bachelor. It may have been the 14th season for you, but it was my first. I was coming to it raw and it floored me.
By watching The Bachelor a man can feel like he’s dating dozens of super-hot women whilst actually strengthening his marriage. It was a very confusing time for me.
The way she broke down in the limo after Jake Pavelka (presumably) got his end away and then sent her home during the season finale, ouch man, it just crushed me. She gave it away to yet another ungrateful jerk and he dumped her anyway.
So I looked her up on Facebook and sent her a message.
My wife is still making fun of me for that. Whatever. I wasn’t jaded yet. In my mind she’d gotten caught up in this nasty Bachelor stuff. It was a bad deal.
When I saw her on The Bachelor Pad a few months later though, that was it. If The Bachelor was dating, The Bachelor Pad was clubbing. The crush ended. I stopped watching all of those shows. They’re toxic mold.
Gia posted this Instagram shortly before she killed herself. I just found it and it’s creeping me out.
Back in bed my wife conceded, “I guess there is that C-Span girl you like.”
“I hope she’s still alive.”
My early morning crush. I’d just moved here, just started drinking coffee, catching up with what it means to live in America. I found C-Span – what is this thing? It’s really weird. Is she just going to sit there and read the paper to me?
And she did.
My mother and sister were both librarians – maybe that’s it.
Incredibly there are hardly any pictures of Libby Casey online. This is the best collection I could find and it’s terrible. She’s never done a GQ spread. What? And with only 3100 twitter followers over 2000 tweets you’d almost think she wasn’t famous at all.
And that, right there, is the appeal. Libby is just getting the job done, cutting off the phone-in whack jobs, leafing through the day’s top stories, highlighting something in the WSJ with her yellow highlighter.
She’s even better in her glasses.
And I’m not the only one who thinks it.
Here’s a quote from a fan who blogs at sportsmediaamerica.blogspot.com.
I’m guessing Casey wears those Tina Fey/Palin glasses to distract us from the fact that she’s beautiful. But the fact is, that by wearing the glasses, we are compelled to look beyond them, and then imagine what it would be like to be behind closed doors with her when she seductively removes them (the glasses, I mean). Casey is very prim and precise and calm and cheerful in her anchor duties, but it’s hard to avoid imagining the potential for smoldering sexuality that must lie within.
And that’s what happens when someone who watches C-Span tries to write erotica.
Libby Casey is my trump card.
For a start you can tell she likes herself fine.
Plus she’s so wholegrain that she’s never going to die. In her Twitter profile she says she’s “obsessed with her garden”. People who garden last forever, why else would so many old people like gardening?
No doubt she’ll outlast me, and I’m fine with that.
Please Libby, no drugs, no toxic mold, no reality TV.
I just couldn’t stand to lose another one.