I hope my husband cha-cha-cheats.
Dear Remy,
Earlier this year, my husband got the call every celebrity dreams of.
No – not becoming the next James Bond, headlining the Super Bowl, or singing with Elmo on Sesame Street.
He was told to stay on.
Naturally, he is extremely psyched about it. She has had DWTS on her vision board for years and hopes that it can land her better acting roles. In addition, he began his career performing on cruise liners and has often talked about how he dresses in Lycra every day.
Here’s the twist: I hope he cheats on me with his dance partner. Our friends have teased me that she might run off with her handsome co-star. And the tabloids gleefully rubbed their hands together and printed articles about how a DWTS contestant’s spouse should worry about being faithful to them. But everyone will be surprised to know the truth.
Because: I would be happy if he started an affair. My husband sees me for most of his social interactions and – while I’m often out with girl friends – he haunts our house like Casper the Friendless Ghost. I’d just like someone else to take it off my hands for a while, so I can have some precious ‘me time’.
So while I’m praying she finds a dance partner who isn’t her type, I’m actually hoping she has blonde hair and a lisp (she’s always had a crush on Kelly Ripa). And while most wives would desperately want their husbands to have a sexless, comedic dance, I hope she leads him straight into a sexual rumba. Skin-to-skin contact as much as possible. Legs everywhere.
Remy, these thoughts are bothering me. I didn’t realize I wanted my husband out of my hair so much. Is it time to review my marriage?
Tired of waifing.
.
Terrible, terrible… of my career
Dear Remy,
Do you think it is possible to escape from one’s place?
I’m a horror writer and – like many of my characters – I’m desperate for escape. But instead of being locked in a coffin underground or in a serial killer’s attic, I want to escape the pigeonhole I find myself in.
I fell into the horror genre but I don’t mind telling you I’m good at it. really good Think of a horrible way to kill someone. I’m sure I can make it better, and then add a cherry on top (they’re watching their death on multiple screens, or the killer intends to steal their identity, starting with their face. (See?) Gore, horror, and sadness are just my specialty.
Here’s the problem: I’m starting to scare myself. It’s disturbing to think what is inside of me that has given rise to so many blood, mucus and pus filled seat pieces. I’ve written characters who are driven by evil and need to hurt others – and I’ve enjoyed it. What does it say about me?
I’ve thought about branching out into other genres, but whenever I try to write a specific script outside of my wheelhouse, panic sets in. I tried to write a river adventure that centered around a family of singing otters. would have loved, but the family of amphibians drifted into a bay and were eaten one by one by vengeful crocodiles. After that, my Sondheim-esque musical about growing love during Prohibition slowly fell apart as I realized my protagonist was an android faking her humanity. And when I tried to write a decent family drama, I got to the end credits before I realized I’d made them all obscene.
I’ve spent so long in this skill that I’m afraid my brain is now wired that way. Remy, is there any hope for me beyond the field of horrors?
yours,
Horror
My parents keep bombarding me with pictures from movies.
Dear Remy,
It started as a joke.
When I landed my first mainstream role, my parents were so excited that I talked the director into giving them cameos. It felt great at the time – he’s always been my biggest cheerleader and it felt really special to have him on my journey. They were like little kids on set – my mom would tinker with the runners and my dad would be in the kit store going around filming equipment all day. To him, cameramen were like superheroes.
Then, I got the next big casting, my parents assumed they’d be given cameos again. My mom contacted my agent to get filming dates (they had tied for the recipe for Mary Me Chicken years ago) and immediately booked a blowout for the day before. I went with him because it was fun being on set with him for the first time, and my dad only broke one lens cap.
But Remy, it’s getting yellow now. He’s been on set with me for every movie I’ve done, and I’m worried I’ll become the laughingstock of Hollywood. What if everyone thinks I’m a six-foot toddler who needs his mommy and daddy’s security blanket for every role? That my mom brings me cookies? And my dad has a ball and bat if I need a distraction in my trailer?
Also, will this limit the roles I can sign up for? Surely people wouldn’t want me for a steamy thriller, or a taut two-hander if they thought I came as a package deal with my people?
I don’t want to hurt their feelings – they’re healthy, well-intentioned people – but I need to find a way to gently let them down and cut the metaphorical umbilical cord.
Remy – How do I dump my parents?
yours,
Too old for adoption
***
.
Credit : www.hollywoodreporter.com