Most of us have been there.  You date somebody, convinced he is sparkles and rainbows and puppies…and then you eventually come face to face with the monstrous truth.  He’s–gasp!–human!  Life is more complex than black and white, so sometimes good people can do bad things, including the biggest, baddest relationship transgression of all: infidelity.  This article lays out the signs to look for, some of which would be laughably obvious–except that people have a tendancy to conveniently ignore what they don’t want to see.  (You mean, my boyfriend who oozes smarmy charm, has a bunch of douchebag friends and cheated his way through business school might not be the world’s greatest mate?  Well, golly gee!)

Dating 101: Will Your Guy Cheat On You? (Yahoo)

Dear Britney,
I know that Ted Casablanca says you are still off the rails, but I love you anyway.

Plus, your abs look great and you’re so pretty when you smile and look happy.

Kisses,
Jolie

Britney’s first Rolling Stone cover, in 1999

Britney in 2000

Britney’s September 13, 2001 Rolling Stone cover

Britney in December 2001

Britney in 2003

Well, the braces are on, and it’s hardly a picnic, but I think I’ll survive.  To be fair, since they’re clear and only on my bottom teeth, they’re barely visible.  Eating with them, however…not so fun.  (And definitely not a date-approved activity.)  I’m grinding and clenching my teeth less, which has led to fewer headaches–the very reason I bit the metal bullet in the first place!  Unfortunately, my weirdo lisp has become much more pronounced…at least, I think so.  My friends say I’m overly sensitive and being crazy (you say I’m crazy?  I got your crazy!).

I posted a video on YouTube, but it cuts out after only a few seconds for some bizarre reason.  Me = not so technologically advanced.

Way back in 2001, when I was the grooming and fashion assistant at men’s magazine FHM, we put two young, blonde social climbers on the cover.  They were primarily known for their obvious desire to be famous, which meant they’d attend any party that would have them (or featured a red carpet) and frequently landed on Page Six for their bad-girl hijinx.  Why are we helping this trash to become famous? I’d thought grumpily, taking consolation in the fact that, surely, they’d fade into oblivion just as quickly as they appeared.

Their names?  Paris and Nicky Hilton.

Over the years, I’ve tried to ignore Paris Hilton–The Socialite Who Shall Not Be Named–hoping she’ll go away, but I think it’s obvious as this point that that’s just not happening.  Last week, I went over to the dark side: based on a hilarious review on Jezebel, and against my better judgment, I watched Paris Hilton’s My New BFF…and felt ashamed of myself for completely loving it.  The very concept of reality TV usually makes me want to gouge my eyes out, but much as I’ve had to come to grips with the fact that Paris, for better or for worse, is an icon now (each generation really does get the idols it deserves, huh?), I’m beginning to make peace with the fact that the collective we is strangely fascinated by reflections of ourselves on screen.  (You know, ourselves…just louder, more obnoxious, less shame, tighter vocal cords, more promiscuous, lighter feet, skinnier, blessed with a uterus that incubated six kids simultaneously…whatever.  Pick your poison.)

Who says you need talent to be famous?  Not America in the oughts, that’s for damn sure.

Look ma, (almost) no airbrushing!  Britney, we welcome you back with open arms.

Because it’s Friday evening and this is all my brain can handle.  Off to see Twilight (mouth full of metal)…

Jolie is getting braces today.  For reals, y’all.  I spent what felt like my entire childhood at the orthodontist, tortured by an overbite and crowded jaw, which turned into an endless humiliation parade of teeth pulling, headgears, neckgears (hella sexy during the oh-so-crucial tween years) and, finally, braces.  After I had my braces removed, my dentist fitted my bottom teeth with a permanent retainer, which I impetuously removed in college.  Worst…decision…ever.  For the past five years, my bottom teeth have been zooming out of place with lightening speed, leading to chronic headaches–not to mention an “adorable” Kirsten Dunst-like snaggletooth situation.  Honestly, I don’t care about the aesthetics; I just want the pain to stop.  (Dear, lord!  Make it stop!)

Soooo, that brings me to today and my clear braces on the bottom teeth.  Apparently, Invisalign costs ten billion dollars and sometimes must be followed by traditional braces anyway, so I’m cutting to the quick and just getting the damn thing over with.

*Buries head in hands*  I’m sure it’s going to make dating positively delightful.