Jennifer Lopez

You had me at J, Lo.

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Life was starting to stench more than Harvey Weinstein’s jail cell, but Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck just doused the world with 2004’s finest musk and we’re alright again. I got a few shots, Bennifer’s back, and so am I. Who would have thought two needle punctures and a dead romance revived by a rebound would be the best thing to happen to me in 16 months?

I dig envisioning Jen and Ben’s romance reeking of Camel Lights, mahogany and orchid room diffusers. Poor Jennifer Lopez just wants Ben to look at her the way he looks at his cigarettes — don’t we all want someone to want us like Ben wants his smokes? For Jennifer Lopez, Ben Affleck is the best in a menagerie of men she has dated so I am happy she’s back with Massachusetts’s patron saint of intellectual brooding bad boys. Perhaps Ben can convince her to stop making new music and she can hold his hand while he removes that atrocity of a tattoo from his back. That way, we all win.

I needed this so badly.

The pandemic stung me with its boredom and self-reflection.

The last few years pounced on my nerves like my new kittens to my house plants. I couldn’t stop and I couldn’t start. My self-care only includes shopping, napping and watching; watching entertainment, my neighbors, people in the grocery store, shrouded in masks. If I share all the shows I religiously watch I fear you’d never think of me the same. Here’s a sliver: HBO’s “Hacks,” HULU’s “The Handmaids Tale,” vintage “The O.C.“, every Housewives horror show, and I sprinkle on Masterpiece Classics for some culture. Anything not to think, not to start and not to act.

We never deserved Britney.

The pandemic and pop culture was a study in sadness. By watching The New York Times Presents: Framing Britney Spears , we acknowledged that the world has been treating Britney Spears as bad as Pink’s recent Billboard Music performance with her kid. I do not care how unstable any court has found Britney Spears, she should be able to purchase all the cropped shirts, low-rise shorts, bronzer and hair extensions her heart desires. Britney Spears is a mastermind and should be cherished for her decades of pure pop perfection. Oh yeah, and we all knew Justin Timberlake was an asshole, we let those curls fool us. May he and Jessica Biel live a boring life.

Ew, onto Pink. If I wanted to see an aging pop star do acrobatics with her kid, I’d go to the local dance studio and ask for the mother/daughter $99.95 class — at a discount, please. Why are we always subjected to Pink’s kids and her husband? Why is she a combined package of cheesiness and more importantly, why hasn’t she changed her hairstyle in 20 years? Isn’t there a land where pop stars go to retire and only show up for lifetime achievement awards? Can that place be Belize?

An addiction does not equal talent.

No, celebrities haven’t fared well in the pandemonium. Demi Lavato lost their mind over a low-fat frozen yogurt shop in Los Angeles. Isn’t L.A. fueled on low-fat yogurt shops, cocaine, sun and Botox?! Go ahead and cancel me for the following: Demi Levato is desperate for relevance and their talent, at once powerful, is waning while their cries for help escalate. They’re a car accident that I can’t look at anymore. Sorry, Demi and get better. Please note that I am using Demi’s preferred pronouns so that you don’t think my dislike for them has anything to do with gender orientation, I can sense the phoniness and it stinks worse than their haircut.

There are no children in pop music.

On a positive note for all, my children truly got to know me during the pandemic and they’re baffled, annoyed and entertained. We Generation X parents are so “extra,” as the Gen Zers would say. I may have my own life but I’m RIDICULOUSLY fascinated with my children’s lives. I don’t want to dance with them on an awards show but kids are fascinating creatures.

Speaking of kids, Olivia Rodrigo is a blast of coolness in the dead heat of summer. I love her, Phoebe Bridgers and Billie Eilish. And yes, I only listen to female singer songwriters and I’m okay with this.

Botox Euphoria and Things Worse than the Plague

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I scheduled my first Botox appointment in the midst of this bloody apocalypse. It seems my sunny disposition and smiling mug have rendered me more wrinkled than a fat furless cat. After a lifetime of fainting at the sight of blood and the thought of a needle, I bravely welcomed these injections—right into the corner of my beady eyes— without a blink. Thank you, sir, may I have another?

It was such sweet relief; the results were automatic, and I felt a few years younger. Unfortunately, I don’t have many people to show my motionless face to right now. I’m not Housewives of NYC paralyzed but I am refreshed. What’s next? A colonic? Might I order my first salad?

What’s less bearable in plague times: being away from people or actually speaking to them? It’s tougher than figuring out who’s more annoying: Kelly Clarkson or Justin Bieber. (For the record, Kelly wins.) Every strained exchange ends with, “We’re all in the same boat.” Well so was everyone on the Titanic and young, hot Leo still ended up dead and bloated when there was a perfectly suitable flotation device for him. If we are all in the same boat, I hope mines being filmed for “Bravo” and that my new eyelids look AMAZING!

It’s filthy fun, this level of pandemic judgment we all have going on. The people in the bunkers are scoffing at peeps like me who occasionally get out, while I feign outrage over people hopping on planes. At this point, I prefer fewer actual conversations and more living in my own head. It is comfy and crowded in there and Courtney Love makes occasional appearances.

There are people or places worse than the pandemic. I’d rather be stuck in my unorganized home smelling my dog’s gas than experience any of the following atrocities again:

More Unpleasant than Quarantine

Jennifer Lopez’s Desperation– Jennifer Lopez is old, way past middle age, and her inner thirst clock strikes her brain senseless. Yes, she looks amazing naked, but we’ve seen it all before when Ben Affleck sold his soul to apply lotion to her derriere. In the world of faded pop stars, why is JLO the last woman standing? She’s packaging the same crap at every award show and we’re all just AMAZED that she’s so hot. Yawn.

I’d rather live without toilet paper than listen to new Jlo music.

Jenny from the Block, you are so past your time for anything other than an ABC drama that will surely be canceled, or another divorce. Girl, it’s been a long time since you were a fly girl and it’s time to take your vitamins and settle down with Alex Rodrigues. Sell your crappy products, hawk your kids into the entertainment industry and let’s call it a career. As much as I’d love to attend an all-day music festival hopped up on whatever I can find, then show up at a local hotel in hopes of making out with the bass player, I’m old, like you, and I’ve retired that act. It hurts, I get it.

Whining about Losing- Listening to pop stars and politicians complaining is less appealing than piercing my own brain with a COVID swab. I dig The Weeknd as much as the next overweight housewife, but get over it. Add Halsey, our former president, and Lana Del Rey and everyone else who whines about losing onto my shite list.

Where can I file a complaint over never making Homecoming Queen?

Take it from this big loser, it’s okay. Every year I would find the most overdone semi-formal dress I could in the sticks of Massachusetts and tease my hair with ferocity- just to be deemed pretty enough to make Homecoming Court and it NEVER happened. I also never landed a date with Patrick Kennedy, after years of trying, but you don’t see me crying into my cheap white wine.

Zoom Meetings– No, I can’t take them anymore. Oh, the people who are obviously looking at themselves the whole time, pumping their lips and trying out different poses while also attempting to look scholarly. Or even worse, the over talkers who just forge their own path of rudeness when others are speaking. Then there’s always one older person who is miffed that he can’t figure out some technical mystery that kindergartners have mastered. Can we go back to the conference call?

COVID Dreams– There was a time when I tracked COVID time with my periods, but I’m going to be in menopause before we’re out of this. Now I’ve started tracing time with COVID dreams and nightmares. My dreams are a sacred place for me and Timothee Chalamet so this invasion of privacy is jarring.

We’re All in This Together– No, I’m not referring to the insipid saying that everyone’s spewing, I’m talking about the legendary “High School Musical” series. Put me back in high school with Troy and I can save the world and make Homecoming Queen.

xoxoxoxoxox