My boyfriend treats me like shit. I cry all the time. My mom says I am giving myself to Walmart while my Barneys is waiting. What should I do?
Some general thoughts on the subject of significant others.
1. Having a boyfriend is kind of like having a Givenchy crocodile clutch. They come in lots of different colors and are easily interchangeable.
2. It doesn’t matter how big his dick is, what’s most important is that he makes you feel like Lindsay Lohan in a bathtub full of Grey Goose (really really happy and really really dirty all at the same time).
3. As a general rule, if you find yourself telling people that your boyfriend “treats you like shit”, it’s probably time to move on.
4. Remember, if you’re crying over a guy you’re losing water weight, which means losing real weight, which means you’re skinny (I think).
4. Please never use the word “Walmart” in a message to me again.
Dear Arnie Grape,
I usually take the week of the Cannes Film Festival to rest and reflect. I haven’t bothered to attend the festival ever since Katie Price made her first appearance at an afterparty in 2008, but I still check in with the parties, the carpets, the weather (so far, terrible). The only thing I don’t pay much attention to is the movies. But your behavior this year is giving me major pause.
You’re a mainstay at Cannes. You’re like George Clooney meets Nelson Mandela for one week a year. You own every room as soon as you walk in, and every yacht year round. I know since everyone and their trashy cousin is able to get an invite, the event is being pulled in a tug-of-war between the Marion Cotillards and the Jessica Biels, but isn’t it clear which side you should be on? Hint: this is NOT the place to pick up your next model girlfriend. This is the place to inspire Scorsese to write another script about you and your furrowed brow.
You’re already on thin ice visually; have you seen your own face? Or your father’s? Constantly flipping between Gatsby-level hotness and brown liquor bloat is dangerous business.
I won’t dare to give you advice. I love you too much to be impartial. Allow me, instead, to be the concerned but caring initiator of your intervention. I just hope I’m not too late.