Don’t Call Andy Samberg; He’ll Call You.

by michellesmoller

Guess What!? Celebrities Don’t Care About You!

 

The time has come people.  It’s time to stop obsessing over someone who, chances are, will never meet you, nor come to know you in a way that forces you to reevaluate your lifestyle decisions.  So, guys, pop open that can of Pringles.  Feel free to eat three personal pan pizzas in a day and polish it off with some Cheetos without brushing your teeth.  Cuz, chances are, Jessica Alba is out there macking on some other dude right now.

 

I recently went out in NYC on a girls’ night out (also known as every Friday of my life.  Just kidding, gentlemen.  Emoticon WINK! ) and met one of my friend’s friend, who we will now call Callie (to protect her anonymity and chance of ever actually meeting a future boyfriend).  Anyway, apparently before we all got together, earlier in the week, once my friend told Callie how I do stand-up comedy, she somehow got the idea that I must roll in the same crowd as her fixation du jour: SNL regular Andy Samberg.  Evidently, the two of them then had a five-hour-long conversation about Callie’s undying love for him.  (Five hours?!  Really!?  That’s, like, practically a whole day, right!?)  By the time Friday night rolled around she finally met me, it became clear that, in Callie’s deranged celebrity-crazed mind, Andy Samberg and I were somehow one and the same.

 

I barely had the chance to squeek out an introduction, before Callie was putting both hands on my shoulders with crazy, wild eyes, stretched open so far that they looked like they were about to leap off her face.  Yeah, within minutes of meeting this chick I’d never encountered before, she literally yelling (yes, YELLING) in my face, drawing me in, close to her body, about how she “MUST MEET ANDY SAMBERG. YOU’RE A COMEDIENNE.  Look, I NEED THIS.  Hook it uuuup!”  Umm, I’m sorry, but did I miss a memo?!  For the record, Andy Samberg and I have never met.  I don’t chill at his bachelor pad, smoke weed on his coach, or go sneaker shopping with him on the weekends.  As much as it may surprise you, we’ve never exchanged anecdotes about the blessings and burdens of being funny in such a crazy, mixed-up world, while wearing matching tweed jackets and blowing bubbles from Sherlock-Holmes-ian pipes in the park.  Nope, never met.

Before I could so much as take my coat off and pour a glass of wine, I was being bombarded with inane chatter about how this rando-chick (working in finance, by the way) is in love…LOVE…LOOOOOOOVE…with Andy Samberg.  “And, like, I just am obsessed with comedians. I’ve never gone to a comedy show here in the City.  Or anywhere else for that matter, but I know we would be peeeerrrfect!!!  Like, Icanbefunnytoooooo!!!  And I’mreallygoodatgivingfeedbackandknowingwhat’sfunny!!!”  Like, damn bitch, take a breath!  Before I even had time to Blackberry-Google ‘ways to ditch random stalkers,’ I knew way too much about this girl’s obsession.

The worst part was, it was all based on the most vapid, unfounded claims of adoration.  No, she doesn’t know where he’s from or where he went to university.  Nope, she doesn’t know his birthday or, even his likes or dislikes. All she knows is that she loooooves him.  ”And his dimplesssss!!!”  It’s like, ok, I get it, you think you’re obsessed with a stranger.  Listening to her inane unfounded claims of eternal, unwavering love was totally surreal.  While I had barely even met this girl, all of a sudden she was just blabbing on and on and on and on about how she totally woulllllld marry Andy Samberg, but she just couldn’t because he’s Jewish.  Like, let’s be real, people!  That, kind of, sucks, if—even if in your fantasy life—you still can’t make it work with your supposed (and I quote) “soul mate.”  I off-handedly mocked her infatuation, suggesting she could always just “pull a Charlotte” and convert, which—to my horror and dismay—then just turned into a big ol’ convo about her religious beliefs and blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah.

 

Take it from me, people.  If you don’t know your celebrity crush, then don’t sweat about setting a date for marriage.  Don’t worry about the physical attributes your never-happening children will inherit and don’t even bother fantasizing about how difficult it might be to incorporate your life into your only-happening-when-hell-freezes-over soul mate’s schedule.

Instead, focus on more tangible goals.  Like, tapping that hottie who always smiles at you in line at Starbucks, or making eye contact with that ridiculously sexy bombshell who ignores you at the bus stop.  (See, reality versus fantasy. Learn it, biotch.)  And, to all you Andy Samberg fans out there.  Apparently no matter how random a celebrity you adore and how crazy unique you think your bond is, chances are there is some other bitch out there who is just as uniquely crazy as you.

 

Lastly, to that nutcase Callie: Guess what!?  I’m pretty sure he pronounces it Saaaaamberg and not “Somberg.”  Until then, just keep waiting, because I’m sure he’s planning to call any day now.