Even Jennifer Garner wants to be Jennifer Garner

Even Jennifer Garner wants to be Jennifer Garner

Every time I fake having IBS so I can sit on the toilet and read my new People magazine (while the kids play with knives and hand grenades outside the door), I group the celebs I see into three different categories:

  1. There are the ones I want to look like but don’t want to be. Halle Berry.
  2. The ones I want to be but don’t want to look like. Lena Dunham. (FYI, I do NOT think that Lena Dunham is bad looking. In fact, I think she’s kinda cute and shits gold and I would happily clean up her poopie diapers when she gets old if I still can. She’s just not the celebrity I look at and say, “I want to look like her.”)
  3. And then there are the ones I want to look like AND be. Like Jennifer Garner.

I’m pretty damn happy with my life (especially when I drink), so I don’t know what the hell it is about Jennifer Garner that makes me want to be her. But when I flip through People and see her carrying her adorable kids through a farmer’s market in sunny LA, and here I am sitting on the shitter with my rug rats beating down the door, I’m like if someone gave me the choice to switch places with JG tomorrow I’d say hells yeah. I know that’s totally wrong and I’d miss my kids and hubby like every F’ing day, but that still doesn’t change my answer.

So WTF is it about Jennifer Garner that makes me want to pull a single white female on her? And FYI, JG, if you’re reading this I have three things to say:

  1. Holy crapppppp, Jennifer Garner is reading my blog!!!
  2. I am not a stalker and totally have way too much on my to-do list to deal with shit like that. At least until the kids are in school fulltime.
  3. Call me!

So anyways, WTH is it about her? It’s actually not the fact that she’s drop dead gorgeous ‘cause she’s not. She’s more like the really pretty girl next door who looks good even when she’s wearing fat pants even though she’s never fat.

So maybe that’s what it is. She seems so normal. Which makes me compare myself to her as I go about my normal day. Only I can’t help but think about all the normal shit she doesn’t have to do.

Like sometimes when I finish my cereal and I’m cleaning the bowl because if I leave it in the sink the leftover Cheerios will get all hard and stuck to the side of the bowl and it’ll be just be harder to clean later, I start to think I’ll bet JG doesn’t have to do shit like this. I’ll bet when she finishes her cereal she just puts her bowl in the sink and as soon as she walks out of the room a little person scurries in to wash the bowl and put it away. FYI, I don’t mean a little person like a midget. I mean like a little housekeeper or chef who’s so fast you don’t even notice they’re there.

Plus JG gets to wear all of those totally awesome fancy dresses and stuff. I think the last time I got to wear something fancy like that was to my prom 22 years ago (F you for doing the math), and it was the early 90’s so as you can imagine it was pretty fugly. Imagine lots of colors, lots of sequins, and lots of eyebrows.

And you know she has help like 24/7 so she totally gets to poop alone. I mean, assuming Jennifer Garner poops, ‘cause she might not. But seriously, knowing her, she does all the important stuff like gives her kids baths and changes their diapers and breastfeeds them and sings them to sleep, but when nature calls, all she has to do is yodel to the live-in nanny and she’s got the shitter all to herself. I wonder if she reads People in there like me. Or hates the way her thighs look when they spread out on the toilet seat.

So anyways, while I go about my day removing the ginormous disgusting bag o’ poopie diapers from the diaper pail, shoehorning myself into my only jeans that fit anymore, Brillo-padding the hardened guacamole off my kid's cheek, etc etc etc, I think about Jennifer Garner and how she probably doesn’t have to do any of this shit. She gets to do all the GOOD normal stuff and avoid all the BAD normal stuff. What a bitch. Ugggh, but she's totally not. Which makes me want to be her even more.

Plus, her husband ain’t too shabby. Not that I’d do him ‘cause I’m happily married and all. But if I were JG, I’d have to, right? Just sayin’.

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