By Jennifer Lubin

I am dazed and confused.  Just as I thought that life couldn’t get any worse (with the whole recession thing and with my ridiculously sexy neighbor, Toby, moving away because that God-awful bank foreclosed on his condo and now I won’t ever again get to watch him jog shirtless down my street in the early mornings, as sweat glistens down his shiny brown chest), I get the news.  And, I swear, this kind of “news” is just the worst.

No one ever expects this sort of informational blow to the throat, even if iddy biddy voices in the back of your head have been trying to hint at it for months, even years.  The problem is that actually listening to “voices” can be tricky because you never know why or how they even got into your head in the first place.  They could’ve been there because you’ve always sort of known the point that they (the voices, that is) were trying to make.  Or you might just be tipsy from having had too much to drink on a weekend night or be suffering from some sort of an allergic reaction to the goat cheese that you just ate because it gives you heartburn when you eat it too late at night with crackers).  And sometimes you don’t want to listen because it just CAN’T BE.  But then some reliable source (or what you believe to be a reliable source) “confirms” the information and you just can’t ignore it any longer.  And everything hits you like a ton of bricks and you realize that there is only one thing you can do to ease the pain:  put an end to it all.


So I’ve decided to do just that.  And since both the new seasons of Dexter and Game of Thrones have a while yet to air and since I’m still upset about Brad Pitt not winning the Oscar for the grow-old-backwards movie a few years ago, I refuse to prolong my suffering for one minute longer.


One thing’s for sure:  I’m going to miss everyone.  I know that my family will be pissed at me for being so selfish but I honestly don’t feel like I have any options here and I am clearly too depressed to let it go on.  Life just doesn’t make sense to me anymore.  And I am disappointed because I had plans.  Big plans.  Planned plans.  But now they’ve all gone to crap because I just don’t see the point in trying to execute them.  Screw it all.  Screw everyone.  Well, not everyone.  Not my Mom, because she’s cool peeps and she was the one that made it all happen for me, giving me such a precious gift.  And my brother is ok, too.  And my cousins.  And my two best friends.  And a few of my gym buddies.  And Idris Elba because he is just so ridiculously fine.  But other than that, forget everyone and everything because I just heard the worst news of my life—news that I shouldn’t have to hear at the delicate age of 36, when I have my whole life ahead of me.  I mean, I haven’t even gotten married yet and I haven’t even had my first child.  I haven’t bungee jumped or sky dived, I haven’t completed my first book, I haven’t starred in my first feature movie (I was once an extra in a Bollywood flick but that really doesn’t count.  Of course if I was an extra in, say, Slumdog Millionaire, then that would be a different story.  But this was no Slumdog Millionaire, I can tell you that).  I haven’t yet done a lot of things but it doesn’t matter because the information that I received today crushed me to the core:  Anderson Cooper is gay.


Yes, lawwwd, Anderson Cooper with his sexy, white-haired, news-telling is just as gay as they come so there is absolutely NO chance that he and I will ever be together.  No chance at all.  He will never get turned on if he sees me in the sexy Victoria Secret lingerie that I planned to model for him on our wedding night.  He will never send me kinky texts on the Verizon network.  He will never send me flowers at work to tell me that he misses me and that he can’t wait until I get home.  He will never call me his “chocolate rose.”  He will never tell me how my Brazilian bikini wax turns him on and he will never whisper sweet nothings into my ear as we make out.  I will never have his children and I will never get a chunk of that HUGE Vanderbilt fortune.   We will never dine with Oprah together on the weekends and he will never, ever, ever tell me that he loves me.  Damn it to hell, I’m ending it all TODAY.


Now, the fact that I have been in love with Anderson Cooper for several years does not, in any way, negate the fact that I am very pissed off at him right now.  As far as I’m concerned, he should have stayed his behind in the closet or, better yet, simply never addressed the gay question at all and just tell everyone that it was none of their damned business.  That way, I could’ve continued thinking that one day we would be together and have three children:   Zoe, Lucas, and Simone…in that order.  Anderson would teach them all about the world and its conflicts and we would read the newspaper together as a family at breakfast and we would all gather around in the living room at night when Anderson Cooper 360 would come on and we would support him—as a family.  Like I said, I had plans.  But he ruined all of that by telling someone who told someone who told someone else with a big mouth that he wasn’t into women.  Damn you, Anderson.  We could’ve had a thing, you and I.  And it would have been beautiful.  You ruined all of that just because you wanted to be true to yourself, you white haired news angel, you.  Your priorities are obviously not as sound as you make us think they are when you’re reporting live from all those dangerous places around the world with that perfectly fitted black or grey shirt.  You’re just a tease.


Well, I’ve decided that I’m not going to be too dramatic about my “exit” and just pill this one out.  I’ll make the necessary calls and then have a couple of glasses of wine to relax so that I won’t change my mind.  That is, of course, if someone or something doesn’t make me change my mind.  And a something that might just make me change my mind is an entire pint of Haagen Dazs Rum Raisin ice cream.  And I think I might just have one left in the freezer (I bought it earlier this week—it was on sale at Publix).


Maybe I’ll think this through and just have the ice cream and go to bed.  Screw Anderson.  He is selfish, anyway.  He clearly doesn’t care about me or my desire to be his future wife.  And Haagen Dazs Rum Raisin tastes so good, and is always available when I need it.


And plus:  I’m too young to cancel my cable service.  How else will I be able to watch True Blood on Sunday nights?