The Challenger explosion.
{Sitting in a second grade classroom at King Primary School.}
The white Bronco chase.
{Babysitting on a summer Friday night.}
The OJ verdict.
{Senior year of high school. Driving home at lunchtime to grab my pom-poms.}
Sadam Hussein's capture.
{Sitting in my boyfriend Lindsay's apartment watching reality tv.}
Osama Bin Laden killed.
{Visiting with out of town family at our second house in Denver.}
Michael Jackson's death.
{Scrolling through Facebook in the summer of 09.
Then, told my hubby by holding up a note while Skyping.}
Nick and Jessica's split.
(This one can still bring a tear.)
{At my parents' house celebrating Thanksgiving when I was engaged.}
Britney's bald headed, umbrella wielding rage.
{In our first home, a townhouse in Addison, TX, on a Saturday morning.}
Anna Nicole Smith's overdose.
{At work at SMU via a voicemail from my mom, then discussed at Bible study that evening.}
Let me guess... I lost you somewhere between the King of Pop and the Newlyweds? Is it odd that I remember just as clearly where I was during President Clinton's denial of sexual relations with "that woman" as I do Ashton's Vegas hot-tub romp while still acting as a bonus dad to Demi's girls? (I've lost you again. I can tell.) I'm the first to admit that I'm a pop-culture junkie addict - full blown, possibly in need of an intervention, if I had a problem, of course.
Judge if you must, but I come by it naturally; it's in my genes! My Grandma Sumner felt a deep connection to all of her country music faves, and Crook and Chase was her favorite source for information in the pre-internet era. She could go on and on about George (Jones. Obviously.) and his struggles with the bottle. She'd speculate on what woman or circumstance could lead him to pick up drinking again as if she'd just sat at her own kitchen table and had a heart to heart with him. She relied on Soap Opera Digest to keep her up to date on the Days of Our Lives off-screen romances. And on the other side of the gene pool is my Grandma Margie who made no secret of her love for the National Inquirer. She especially loved discussing political scandals and local celebrity scoop. Goodness, even sweet Aunt Suzie, who's an aunt by marriage, not blood, once told me, "If you don't know what to talk about, and you don't want to gossip, just talk about celebrities!" See? I don't seek out the stories; they find me.
On a Tuesday morning a few weeks ago when a migraine had me down and racial riots were erupting in my our own hometown, I was really in need of a pick me up, or even just a distraction. You can imagine how this image stopped me dead in my - Instagram scrolling - tracks:
I can always count on Perez (Hilton. Obvi.) to keep me informed.
Now, don't get me wrong: I was not happy about the demise of a marriage. I would certainly not rejoice in the ending of any marriage, let alone the marriage of two people who were raising six children (Three biological, three adopted. Three boys, three girls. I'd list the names and countries of birth, but there's no need to show off.) together while jet setting all over the world. Though I felt no pleasure at the situation, I felt an extreme amount of joy for what it meant for me. Personally.
The collapse of the marriage of arguably the two biggest movie stars on the planet (since Amal Clooney is not a celebrity) meant that the next hours, days, and weeks would be a celebrity news goldmine. And, I was not disappointed. Websites like TMZ, The Daily Mail, Radar, Blind Gossip... all provided me with glimpses and tidbits into the whos and whats and whys and whens of this shocking celebrity split. During weekday morning laundry folding, my girl Wendy (Williams. Of course.) provided an unique perspective as did the ladies of The View. My man Perez even recorded an emergency podcast which I listened to intently during gymnastics carpool.
At a birthday dinner on the Friday night after the split, the topic of Brangelina came up (not by me) at the table. It was during the conversation that I realized that perhaps my feverish mental cataloging of pop culture facts and my in depth knowledge of all sides of the story, including what attorneys had been retained by whom, could perhaps be viewed as odd. I held back on contributing too much to the conversation for fear of seeming like a big ole weirdo. Yet, when a friend noted that I must 'follow People magazine', I was slightly offended, but I didn't let it show. She meant no harm; how was she to know that People? People is for amateurs...
* This post is dedicated to Maddox, Pax, Zahara, Shiloh/John, Vivienne, and Knox Jolie-Pitt.