Real Life

In high school and even college I was really into popular culture. Like, really. Like, far more than anything that actually happened to me in my actual life. I went to movies all the time. I handicapped the Oscars like most people thought about their chances to get a job. I knew instinctively which movies were on top that weekend. I don’t recall ever seeking out that information; I just knew.  I knew Johnny Depp’s children’s birthdays.*

(Okay. That’s a little bit strange.)

So imagine my surprise when I clicked on to this evening for the first time in apparently several months and discovered Orlando Bloom has a baby.

That’s my jaw. Over there. On the floor.

Apparently Orlando Bloom has married and procreated and I DID NOT KNOW ABOUT IT. LIKE NOT EVEN OH, YEAH, I HEARD ABOUT THAT RIGHT I FORGOT. NO FRICKIN CLUE.

Do you know how many times I saw Pirates of the Caribbean in theaters? Seventeen. Yup. Seventeen times in theaters. That’s a two and a half hour movie. Seventeen. In theaters. Not on DVD. THEATERS.

(Disclaimer: It was summer. I was fifteen. I had very little else going on.)

And now I am too preoccupied with my own real life that I don’t even know that ORLANDO BLOOM HAS A BABY.

I was flipping out about what this says about my sad shell of a life and my sister responded, “Uh, you didn’t know because you have a job and school and a life and frankly, I think that’s a step up.”

Well. Okay. I guess. When you put it that way.

But I’m still going to Google Johnny Depp to make sure he’s still with that skinny French chick.