I have some backtracking to do for this entry, but I'm just going to jump in head-first and explain where I can...
As of last fall, I have a nemesis. Once upon a time we were roommates, we got really close, I considered her my best friend, the whole relationship was very dysfunctional and co-dependent, she was a horrible friend to me, we don't talk anymore, the end. That's basically where we're at.
So, this nemesis (I need a name for her...let's go with Cassie. For no reason at all) - Cassie - is in the entertainment industry, but not yet famous. She almost, almost famous, kind of at that "after-the-first-commercial-break-right-as-they-start-the-dramatic-arc-of-starhood on the E True Hollywood Story point" if that makes any sense. And because I can't quite let go, I googled her recently, just to see if she had a)become legitimately famous, b)been given a horrible review, or c)gotten fat. Well, what I found was a publicity blurb which stated "...the 26-year-old Cassie LastName will bring her blah blah blah talent blah blah blah laughs..." She is not 26. Try 31. She is 31.
Part of me is laughing my ass off at the idea of Cassie pretending to be 26. I've seen 26 and she ain't it. And really, if Cassie - not even almost famous - is lying about her age, isn't it safe to assume most other actors are as well? I was surprised to read recently that Catherine Zeta-Jones is only 33. She seems much more mature (in a good, sexy way) than that, but now I wonder, hmmm, maybe she's not really 33. Maybe she's 38. And Michael Douglas is really 94...
But it gets worse, because as amusing as it may be to see her lying about her age, a big part of me is ill over the fact that Cassie's career has reached a point where she needs to about her age. People, I believe in the good of the universe. I know that negative thinking hurts me and only me. I am all about releasing the bad energy and wishing no ill upon anyone, karma, dogma, etcetera, but I kinda think the Universe owes me an explanation for her success. It's Beaches all over again. She is horrible Bette and I am dying Barabara Hershey (not really, I'm not dying, I'm very happy and healthy). I am quite content, living my life, VERY glad to be out of the toxic friendship that was Cassie. I have amazing friends who make me feel happy and fulfilled. I have a loving husband and a great family and I consider myself to have a full, rich life. But Cassie is the one reaping the glam benefits. She's potentially going to be a star, and I have to deal with that.
I hate it.
There, I said it. Honestly, if the day comes when I pick up an InStyle and her face is in it (or - barf - on the cover), I will have a really hard time being the Bigger, Better Person. I've never wanted to wish un-success on someone, but for her, I really, really do.
I've never had a bad break-up before, but that's what I feel like I've been through with her - and trust me when I say it was as traumatic losing a friend as it was losing any boyfriend I've had. Toxic relationships suck you dry, no matter who is doing the sucking.
Where was I heading with this? Oh yeah, Cassie and her success...so she is making oodles of money and drives a new convertible and thinks she's going to be super famous, and can shop at Gucci all she wants. The whole nine.
It's not fair. I've never once expected life to be completely fair, but is there any worse feeling than seeing your nemesis make good? Where does that feeling come from? It's not jealousy - I actually think it's an uglier emotion than jeaoulsy, if that's possible. Somewhere deep inside is this part of me that just wants to see Cassie fail. I'm completely embarassed for that part of myself, because it is pure, childish spite rising up out of my kind and loving exterior. It is the desire to yank all happiness out of the other person and make them cry. The last time I remember feeling this particular emotion was in the 8th grade when Debbie Gardner was picked to be a teen model by People magazine and got to be on television and walked around school in short skirts, flipping her long hair all the damn time. I wanted to smack Debbie Gardner then, and the other night, I wanted to smack Cassie. How horrible is that? Bigger, Better Person, where are you?
Vigilante-ism is not my strength (nor violent smackdowns), so I opted for a long bitch-and-moan session with my wise and patient husband. It's not fair, I complained. What is? he asked me.
Cassie treated me like shit. She was a rotten best friend. But Kent made me remember that life is long and complicated. Who knows what successes are in store for any of us? My story isn't finished yet, neither is Cassie's. I will, in all likelyhood, NEVER be in InStyle magazine. But I will also never lie about who I am. The Universe likes that, right?