I allow many things from many people. I allow Christian Bale to be Batman even with that goofyass voice. I allow Renee Zelwegger to starve herself even though the thinner she gets, the more her face looks like it’s being sucked inside her head. I allow my boyfriend to snore with little to no threat of death by pillow. But there is one thing I do not allow: I do not allow anyone, ANYONE!, to hurt Sandra Bullock.
I just don’t.
Look, say what you will about any celebrity. More often than not, I’m right there with you. I think Miley Cyrus is half-duck. I think Jessica Biel is basically a dude. I think Jennifer Aniston is a sad cat lady. I think Ryan Reynolds is a douche. I think Gerard Butler is a weird caveman-werewolf amalgamation that science hasn’t discovered yet. And all that’s okay. Not everyone can be awesome. But some people are. And that some people is Sandra Bullock.
My love for the Sandy B. dates back to 1992 and a little film called Love Potion No. 9. Sandy and Tate Donovan were pretty much Bogey and Bacall to my youthful mind with no idea who Bogey or Bacall were. After that, I was sold. She had my undying adoration. Through Hope Floats, through Miss Congeniality, through 28 Days, through The Proposal and, most of all, through While You Were Sleeping, which is, without a hint of guilt or concern regarding my indie cred, one of my favorite films of all time.
In my lifetime alone, Hollywood has force fed the American people more “America’s sweethearts” than we can shake a stick covered in cocaine at. And we are always let down. Meg Ryan ditched her husband for Russell Crowe’s bloat and then apparently injected her lips with Rosie O’Donnell’s ass and her face with Carol Channing-tox. Julia Roberts hasn’t opened a movie by herself in about a hundred years. And if they think Katherine Heigl is an heir to the title, well then I have some words for them (spoiler! The words start with ‘b’ and ‘c’.) But Sandra, she’s never let us down.
She’s lead a relatively scandal-free life, and the relatively part is only included because the rare drama she’s seen has been related to her husband. She’s fought in court for the ability to raise his daughter and save the kid from her drugged out porn star mother, and now of course, there’s this week’s shitbag mess disaster.
If you’ve been living in a cave, and by cave I mean in a world with outdoors and friends and actual work to keep you busy, let me fill you in. First, watch this.
So if you can’t watch the video / you are lacking in heart, basically she thanked her dead mother for the man who was unprotectedly betraying her almost nightly with a stripper that looks like Kat Von D’s ugly Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? meets Sid and Nancy sister. Jesse James, reality star and car fixing person, was outed by InTouch Weekly magazine (a tabloid so often incorrect and filled with lies that it might as well boast James Frey as an editor) as having spent 11 months shoving his unsheathed penis into this delicate flower.
What a lucky man. Say what you will about Tiger Woods, but at least he didn’t screw Nazis. He only slept with the finest reality television castoffs around.
Again, she thanked her deceased mother for giving her the ability to find the love of her life, her soulmate, a man she desperately loved without judgment and without shame and he spent his time away from her having unprotected sex with that creature?
No, you don’t understand. You don’t GET to do that to someone so beloved by people everywhere. You aren’t allowed to. You don’t screw over the woman who has been raising your kid as her own without question. And you really don’t eschew the star of A Time To Kill and The Blind Side for a woman with white supremacist tendencies.
When one star leaves another for another other, it’s always irritating, but often weirdly understandable. When Brad Pitt left Jennifer Aniston for Angelina, it almost made sense. Since he first became famous, he’d always had a thing for the odd chicks, like Juliette Lewis. Gwyneth Paltrow and Jennifer Aniston were uncharacteristic girlfriends, really, so Angie worked. But when someone leaves someone who’s just so … nice, it just seems wrong.
I don’t know Sandra Bullock. She could marinate babies in virgin blood and cook them on the barbecue for all I know. But by all accounts she is one of the last truly genuine and kind people in Hollywood. And when something bad happens to a nice person, it’s just sad.
Seriously you guys. HER DEAD MOTHER. Ugh. I want to hug her.
Jesse James, you are an asshat. Also, your mistress could easily skin you and wear your ass as a hat, so suck karma, bitch.
Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.