It’s Sunday morning; I slept in til 11, made myself some coffee, and sat down to read up on some news. What I ended up reading up on instead were the 11 emails of Facebook notifications from one super-pissed, kind-of famous person who, it would appear, had a mental breakdown on my fan page.
Let’s start at the beginning: Last week, I decided I should stop ignoring Twitter. To be honest, limiting my jokes to 160 characters is almost impossible for me, which makes me respect hilarious tweeters like @meganamram and @damienfahey that much more. I hopped on there, tweeted a little bit about what I was watching on ESPN, and perused the twitterverse. Lo and behold, Entourage star and former crush-of-my-life Kevin Connolly had just tweeted something about hockey. It was as if a cupcake tweeted that it was also willing and able to give me oral sex. I was intrigued.
I tweeted some sort of carefully-worded combination of smack talk and compliment at him, and 2 minutes later I had a message in my inbox:
Wooahhh. Maybe I’ve given you the impression that I’m one of those people who keeps it totally cool when they meet and/or talk to a celebrity, but I’m not. I’m the person who screen-caps it and posts it on social media, as if it makes me any cooler of a person (hint: it doesn’t). So I did that; I posted this pic on my fan page, along with some sarcastically corny caption about whether or not this means Kevin’s in my Entourage now.
12 people “liked” it, a few commented that they miss Entourage, but most made jokes about Kevin’s excessive exclamation points and weak first line. I chimed in that we were having a full-blown conversation in Twitter messages (at that point, we were), and also that people can judge him for being short all they want - I like short guys and was obsessed with the movie John Q because of this one in particular.
Over the next few days, I would tweet things and Kevin would respond to them in a private message. Which I thought was weird, but also I have no idea what famous people deal with in terms of what they can and can’t do, so whatever. One day, the hashtag #MentionYourCutestFollower was trending. I named a few, one of which was Kevin, who I said I had always had a crush on. He immediately sent me a message:
[It’s important to note that at this point I was fully convinced this person wasn’t Kevin Connolly, regardless of the fact that the account was “verified.” There’s just no way someone I used to watch on TV would come at me with a “I have a crush on you too exclamationpointexclamationpointexclamationpoint.” Just no way.]
I’m leaving in all my embarrassingly flirtatious replies to both keep this story authentic and also drive the point home that I have zero game. Like, none at all. Especially on the internet, where it’s almost impossible to grab a guy’s balls.
So okay back to the sequence of events. This all went down, as you can see, on May 28th. After that we pretty much stopped awkwardly messaging each other, which I was cool with because trying to fit your already awkward flirts into 160 characters was like the olympics of things that are difficult for me and I was getting some serious agita.
Fast forward to last night. I’m comfortable admitting I spent a Saturday night as a 25-year-old sitting on my couch drinking fun-flavored beers and catching up on Game of Thrones. My phone starts blowing up, which, mind you, is not a normal thing for it to do. So I check it and have 3 emails that say “Kevin Connolly commented on Katie Nolan’s photo.” [Note: The best thing about having a fan page is that all your emails talk to you in the third person. Whenever they tell me something shitty, I just think “Ha. Sucks for that girl.” Which will inevitably cause a personality disorder, but right now it’s amusing.]
For the sake of forming your own opinion, here are the comments left on the photo up until now:
And now here’s Kevin’s Saturday evening response:
Okay. So at this point, I’m both A) baffled, and B) flashing back to middle school when the word “argument” just meant yelling loudly at someone’s face until one of you got too tired to continue. I head to Twitter to send him a message, but it turns out he’s unfollowed me, and therefore I can’t. So I tweet:
Not because I expect anyone to be looking at a photo on my Facebook page from a week ago and know what I’m talking about, but because I know if you poke a person with irrational anger issues with a stick, they’ll snap. Case in point, he sends this message:
I tried to respond to that last one, and not only had he unfollowed me again, but now I was blocked. *gasp* What in the world will I do without knowing what he’s not doing with his life every day?
Up until now I was operating under the “try to be a little Switzerland about all this because god only knows where your life is going or may go and if Kevin Connolly disliking you could one day affect things then you’re going to be really pissed at yourself” attitude. This is the moment where I realized that attitude could go fuck itself.
He then sent me a message on my FB page (so, yes, if you’re keeping score: He responded to tweets in private messages, blocked me from sending those, commented on my facebook page, and responded to my comments in facebook messages..)
Here’s the point where I went to bed. Well, actually, here’s the point where I sent out like 16 tweets hastagged #inoffensivetweet because I’m sick of people who don’t understand comedy. For example: me pasting a screenshot of you messaging me and asking if that means you’re in my entourage: joke. You taking the time to go to someone’s personal facebook page, find a picture of their wife, and call her a beast: mean. And kind of pathological.
Anyway, 6 hours of sleep later, here are all of the things I wake up to:
On the photo of his tweet..
In my inbox..
“Stick to insulting people to feel better about yourself… And you’re ugly.” I honestly couldn’t have written that any funnier. The guy might be a genius.
But, more likely, he’s crazy pants. So I sent a quick little
And there you have it. The anatomy of a psychological breakdown. Why post this? Because it’s important to remember that celebrities are just normal people who have money. Some are probably cool as hell, some are boring as shit, and some have serious mental issues that cause them to stomp their feet and cry really loudly when someone says anything not nice to them because they’ve been in show business since they were 6 and no one ever taught them how to handle the word “no.”
And also because making people laugh is my job now, and what the fuck isn’t funny about what just happened here.
I know. It’s almost ironic, since my relationship with BCH as of late has been more on-and-off than [insert celebrity couple i’m too lazy to google and pretend i’m familiar with]. But, given my new responsibilities over at Guyism (along with some other fun stuff we’ll talk about later), this little blog’s gonna have to take an intentional back seat for a while.
Please don’t cry - in fact, the stuff I’m writing for Guyism is essentially the stuff I’d write for bitches anyway, so just use that to hold you over! Then I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can figure out how to do 15 jobs at once. I can do it, it just takes some practice (read: medication). Check back every now and then, and be sure to follow me on facebook so you’ll know what’s going on. Til then, keep cool ma babies <3
-KN
Couldn’t find a blank wall in your apartment, Court? Or are you not-so-subtly alluding to the fact that dancing in your underwear in front of a sheet tossed over your windows is the step the comes directly before you tell us you’ve decided to become a stripper? Either way, keep doing that thing where you move your hips in a circle. Do it for a solid 3 minutes and 20 seconds. Riveting.
I find it particularly amusing when people try to outsmart professionals at what they do for a living. Like when I used to bartend, and for whatever reason our bar didn’t serve Irish Car Bombs, kids would say “Oh. Well can I just have a Guinness then? And a spare pint glass? And my buddy here wants two shots of half Baileys, half Jameson.”
Why, absolutely! My undeveloped bartender brain couldn’t possibly compute that those are the exact ingredients of the shot I just told you I can’t serve you, so I’ll go grab those various components! And then, when I turn around, you bros can high-five about the success of pulling a fast one on me! Assuming people in the food service industry aren’t college educated is fun, and almost always accurate! Go you!
But in this lady’s case, I just feel like.. do you see all of those machines, honey? The ones with wires that go directly into your son? They aren’t just fancy beep-makers. They monitor everything that goes down in his tiny infant body. So when I come rushing in with a crash cart to save him, and you tell me he just stopped breathing out of nowhere, I’ve got like 6 high-tech instruments I can check to see if that’s true. And they have absolutely no motive lie. Unlike you; the woman with the look on her face that says she’s just realizing now that she should maybe have opted for a trip to Planned Parenthood 8 months ago.
When I was younger, I was fascinated with being the first person in the whole world to do something. I used to make up sentences of straight jibberish just so I could be like “yeah well maybe you think I look crazy, but I’m the first person in the world to ever do that so I’m a pioneer.” If you’ve ever seen Garden State, Natalie Portman jacked my swag and made the same thing look cute and quirky, as opposed to borderline sociopathic.
Well, congratulations, Kelly Lough. You’ve done it without even trying: You’re the first woman in the world to ever say the sentence “Thank god I held on to those rubber-soled shoes.”
Allow me to put whatever went down in YOUR world this weekend into perspective: At least your ex-girlfriend didn’t sedate you and remove the contents of your mouth.
Sure, this woman is nuts. Pretty much just put herself out of a job for the sake of revenge. However. I’ve been dumped before, and you end up in a pretty irrational place. I’m not saying I’ve ever thought to seek out an ex and pull out all of his teeth, but then again I’ve never had an ex taking a medically-induced nap in a dentist’s chair in front of me with all the necessary tools and skills required to do such a thing.
The fault here lies in the ex-boyfriend. Everyone knows that if you screw a bitch over, you don’t park your car on the street for a few weeks, and you certainly don’t pencil in some dental surgery at her office. He says he “didn’t have any reason to doubt her” and he “thought she was a professional.” Yes, well I’m sure she “didn’t have any reason to doubt you” and “thought you were her boyfriend,” but that didn’t stop you from running around with some side chick. Think these things through next time you give someone full control over your grill-piece, maybe.
At least we know it won’t happen again, because whoever dates you next can rest assured that you can no longer bite off more than you can chew.
saturdays were made for hanging out, so pencil me in. cuz this is happening.
episode 1: is sisqo gay?
Hi blog.
I miss you.
Love, Katie.
“Fans” feels weird and alienating, but “friends” might give you a false sense of security where you feel you can acquire my phone number and text me dick pics. So “fans” it shall be.
A couple of you have sent me your own cool projects that you’re working on, and I want to return all the awesome support you’ve given me over the last couple of months. So every now and then I figure I’ll post a few of the things that come my way, and I encourage you guys to at least give them a click and help them out. And hey, who knows, maybe it’s right up your alley and you know a guy who knows a guy who wants to throw money at an amateur racist (?). The world’s a crazy place.
Hamoon’s PSA for White People:
The first official music video for Luke’s band Marsyas Complex:
Also check out Dan & Ian’s new clothing line Illustris Provisions, and of course my college besties Maria, Amanda, and Valona on Oxygen Network’s Brooklyn 11223.
See? It’s not always shameless SELF promoting. Except the part where I say if you end up loving any of these, be sure to tell ‘em Katie sent you. Happy clicking :)
To be dead honest, I read so much news every day that sometimes I only read the headline and use it as material without any further research. It’s a horrible way to do things, but then again so is wearing a green shirt in front of a green screen. I don’t exactly consider myself a beacon of professionalism.
Anyway, every now and then the powers-that-be throw me a little reminder that reading the actual article, in its entirety, can sometimes help you find something even funnier than your original angle.
Take this article, for example. Full disclosure, I wasn’t reading it to make a joke about it. I’m sarcastic, not an asshole. This shooting actually happened fairly close to where I live and work and it popped up on my newsfeed. How could this ever be funny, you ask? …
Oh. Oh god. Hillary, not only did you just experience a terrifying tragedy very close to home, but you just got your midweek one night stand broadcast in the local newspaper. And he’s too embarrassed to even give his name. EVERYONE gives their name. That’s that kid’s 15 minutes right there. He weighed that against the entire school knowing you two did the dirty and basically said he’s all set. Yikes. I know this is an article about a shooting, but that right there is the most painful part.
