The Fantasy is Better than the Reality
Tonight, I watched said season finale of Mad Men and...wow. Just wow. I won't ruin it for those who haven't seen it, but even though I think the writers sort of phoned it in with a couple of plot twists, I am still hooked. And my obsession with Vincent Kartheiser somehow continues, despite his character Pete being the ultimate smarmy silver-spoon weasel he is.
So, um, I decided to do some research on Mr. Kartheiser. In an effort to learn more about my second future ex-husband I went to a cute VK (in the parlance of the Web) fansite, The Ultimate Charm. (Ultimate charm, indeed!)
And now I know why I stopped reading anything superfan-related after my obsession with New Kids on the Block and Kirk Cameron ended. Facts ruin the illusion.
Five facts about Vincent Kartheiser that totally make me want to break our fake fantasy engagement:
-He dated Rachael Leigh Cook. Something about that is just so...late-'90s and ew to me.
-He failed the ninth grade. *UPDATE: But graduated from UCLA with a history degree! Let's not forget that! (See comments.)
-This was an actual quote he gave an actual publication: ''I think learning is such a great thing. I just want to learn and really just want to go out see the world.'' Totally, man.
-He is a big fan of the band Phish. (Though I might be able to overlook this, because he also likes Tool.)
-He smokes. Normally this would not be a dealbreaker for my fake boyfriends, but I quit almost two years ago, and I ain't never going back. *UPDATE: Apparently, I stand corrected on this point. My sources (and by "sources" I mean "a commenter") tell me that he quit right before the pilot of Mad Men, which in my opinion seems like the opposite way to go, considering how much they all smoke in the show. Wish I worked on the show -- then I'd have an excuse to start smoking again. Mmmm...smoking.... Ahem. But, seriously, who really knows if he's quit or not?
So, forget it, Vincent! No matter how much you beg, there's no way we're going to get married and move to the suburbs now. You blew it. No-- no crying. No pleading. Get off your knees and just accept it.
Uh, but if you happen to be in New York for, say, a night...for business...or, you know, pleasure...let's talk. I'll wear my best pencil skirt and take you to the Flatiron Lounge. And I'll let you call me Peggy.