He knows. For years he’s endured my fascination with the actor – the fine specimen whose features have been crafted by The Creator with such precision that He must have been tired or just slacking when Seth Rogen slipped past Inspector #12 and off the conveyor belt.
At last the moment came. 8:30-ish. Of course my offspring had to be readied for the bus, which would arrive at any moment. I barked orders about tooth brushing, coat and shoes, while nodding profusely as he muttered something or other about homework, school, “share”…blah, blah, blah…”ssshh! Mama’s watching Johnny…” “yeah, Depp. I know…” *eye roll*. He knows too. “Mom’s watching Captain Jack Sparrow again Dad…”
Oh don’t worry. He got on the bus. Somewhere between Savannah Guthrie’s incessant gushing over her extensive wedding planning volumes and some description of his upcoming movie offering. (In short, and of primary importance ladies, he will be recognizable in it, and so even if this one sucks too, at least he won’t be covered in face paint with a dead bird on his head.)
But what rocked me to my core is his admission to being…dare I say it?…the E word. He’s *gulp* engaged, as in to be married.
Oh, the horror.
Ladies, you know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. You do it too. You suspend disbelief just like you do at the cinema when the dude is up onscreen bigger than life. You know as much as you adore your bad self that you are not in HIS league. You are constantly reminded by your own damn ring that you’re spoken for. Hell, you even love the guy who gave it to you, madly and deeply and all that, even when he still hasn’t put out the trash or hung those shelves you’ve been nagging him about for the last two years, even though it would take all of two minutes to do it. Johnny probably would’ve done it immediately, am I right? Or at least he’d have people to get the job done. And those little people who keep asking you for stuff every second that you spread your considerable ass cheeks down on a cushy surface and crack open a book? Those are your chil-dren. Yours and his. So what does all of this mean? It means, you don’t, never did and never will have a shot in fecking hell with the Deppster, so why such abject gloom upon discovering the news?
Because silly – you, like everyone else, had gotten used to the idea that he was with Vanessa Paradis, had two children with her, but because they weren’t married, there was that impermanence that said to you “Hey girl…there’s still a nugget of a chance…it could be you…” not. And she’s a beautiful, rail thin French pop/film star for fuck sake, so what were we thinking? But still…if we’re going to be honest and completely shallow (I am), she did have that space between her two front teeth, so she was real, yo.
And so everything that we adored about Johnny - our Johnny – was true. A loving “partner” and father who went for a beautiful, yet slightly non conventional beauty, not of the American supermodel, film star ilk, and she’s I’m guessing – closer to his age.
Oh whatever. I guess she’s…pretty…
Then they split. Why on earth didn’t he marry this woman? We all assumed he was too eccentric for that “piece of paper”. But now? Now he’s getting married to some 27 year old perfectly chiseled blonde actress whose teeth are welded together – named Amber for fuck sake and now we realize that poor Vanessa probably found out he was banging her all along and that’s what broke them up. That, and this quote:
“if you love two people at the same time, choose the second. Because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.”
What in the name of Wonka’s willie is that about?
Vanessa Paradis must be like “WTF!”. Listen, I don’t get it either. And when he flashed that rock on his left digit in front of Savannah this morning, I thought, well…Johnny, I get the eccentricity. I really do. I like to march to the beat of my own unrhythmic drummer. I like to rock interesting ensembles. If I could get away with wearing fifteen bracelets on one arm, a huge ring on every finger, bandanas hanging out of every pocket, dark glasses, a chain on my belt loooonnngggg after it’s been cool and back, and a moth eaten fedora that looks like it’s had a hole shot clean through by a large gauge shot gun, then I’d be all in, even in the ‘burbs. But Dude. Dude! A multi studded diamond engagement ring? Well, clearly I’ve got a little mind expandin’ to do.
In the meantime, I, like many of you ladies out there, shall mourn the loss of what I never had and never was gonna. Just because. Because it feels different somehow. Our relationship with Johnny has somehow changed. And I don’t know where it will go from here…and that scares me.
I think I need to be alone for a little while…with my thoughts…and my 12″ posable, talking Captain Jack Sparrow action figure.