We're All Damaged

Thursday, March 12, 2009

I’m Just Not That Into You, Natalie Portman

Listen, Natalie Portman, we really need to talk. Come down here, OK? Seriously, I can see you. Quit trying to hide; I’m looking right at you. The gig is up.

OK, that’s better. Watch your step now. Here, let me help you.

So, the thing is . . . this is kind of hard to say . . . no, no I don’t want to make out with you. I just need you to listen to me, OK? We’ve been over this several times now, Natalie Portman. This is all very flattering, and I’m thrilled that you’re so into my blog, but I’m happily married.

No, I don’t want you to go put on your bikini. This isn’t about bikinis, Natalie Portman; this is about you hiding in a tree at two o’clock in the morning spying on me with night-vision goggles. That is just unacceptable. And, frankly, it’s a little weird. I’ll be honest, you’re kind of coming off as desperate here, Natalie Portman.

Now please, would you stop crying? You’re better than that, Natalie Portman. You were in that one movie, V is for Vendetta, which I didn’t see, but apparently you were some kind of tough girl who fought crime or something.

Now, my wife is a very understanding woman. And she’s gotten used to female fans of my world-famous blog showing up at the house in their underwear looking for autographs. But spying . . . well, that’s just too much. And so was the cookie-gram yesterday, by the way. And the giant teddy bear on our front porch last week? I love you “Beary” much, Matt Norman! Come on, couldn’t you think of anything better than that? Didn’t you go to Harvard?

I know you’re famous, Natalie Portman, and you’ve been nominated for an Oscar and a lot of people find you reasonably attractive. You could probably have a lot of guys. But you have to understand something. My blog, The Norman Nation, currently has more than 39 followers. That level of fame is just . . . well, it’s kind of out of your league. You’re just going to have to accept that, Natalie Portman, OK?

How does that old saying go? Think of me as bird or a butterfly or whatever. If you hold on too tight, you’ll crush me. You have to let me fly away. And if I come back to you, well then it was meant to be. But in this case, I probably won’t come back. I’m married. And, well, you’re kind of weird and a little too intense for me anyway. So, I’m going to go back inside now, OK? Don’t forget your ladder. It looks like a pretty nice one. OK, then. Good night, Natalie Portman.

1 comment:

  1. Why do you keep calling me Natalie Portman!