I remember the first time I heard Kim Kardashian’s name. It wasn’t through Perez Hilton’s online ogling of Paris Hilton’s entourage or the nonstop coverage from Showbiz Up Yours!, it was because of Kim Kardashian’s sex tape. I’ve always felt guilty about that. Not because of how I felt, I didn’t really care, I was just wondering what the big deal was since she appeared to be –yes– a nobody. “Why do I want to see her have sex with Brandy’s brother?” I told myself….anyway, I’m off topic. It wasn’t because of me, it was because I felt bad for Kim.
Yup. I felt bad for Kim Kardashian and her sex tape. (Dear Google: I’d like to use the following related keywords on this article: booty, kim, kardashian, free, sex, tape, online, feet. (I’m not into feet. I think they’re funny looking but I keep seeing “feet” in recommended search terms in Google when I do research on female celebs. People are apparently doing a lot of searches for all things feet. You guys are perverts. I’m into ears.))
So here’s Kim Kardashian: a young 20-something with a lot of cash because her dad is/was a lawyer for OJ and because her other dad was an Olympic skier…or something. I’m not quite sure what’s going on in her oh-so fabulous life, I’m just going off previews I’ve seen on E!. (What’s with the exclamation point? E! mutherfucka! Muthafuckin’ E!!!) At any rate, she has become popular because she let her then boyfriend video tape her performing fellatio on him…amongst other things. She’s famous for the wrong reasons and I’ve had a hand in that. In fact, some might say I’m the reason Kim Kardashian is the No.3 looked up personality on Google (a guess).
I should make it up to her.
First things first, I would call her up. I happened to have her phone number handy because I’m friends with the 2006 University of Miami football team and they gave it to me. I dialed the number and I was pretty surprised that she answered her own phone especially since it was a number she probably didn’t recognize.
“Hello?” she said as if she was in an abandoned warehouse in a horror movie. “Hello? Who’s there?” I told her I was an online writer who first heard about her when her sex tape was released in 2007 and that I felt guilty about it. She listened and there was an awkward pause after I sneezed and waited for her to say “bless you.” She never did and I was a bit upset over it.
“Anyway, I wanted to see if I could take you out for a cup of coffee this week and I could get to know you,” I said. “I feel bad because I see you, by-and-large, as an inanimate object with large butt. I’d like to fix that.”
She told me “thank you” when I was done, which was weird because I didn’t really didn’t say anything that needed a thanks, but I told her she was most welcome. She said she usually doesn’t go have coffee with strangers who randomly call her but she would make an exception. I felt bad because I know how busy she is but I felt a lot better when she said her soon-to-be husband, the NBA player, would not be joining us. Tall people really scare me. Some people are scared of little people, which is completely silly, and I’m petrified of tall people, which is completely rational when you think about it.
I drove to her house later in the day and I used the intercom on the gate out front. I ring the buzzer, state who I am, and wait for Kim to show up. She finally did 45 minutes later and I drove us to Starbucks.
My car, a ’99 Honda Civic, smells a bit like those spicy hot dog/sausage things that you can pick up at any gas station. One time I tried the break the seal with my teeth and the juice inside sprayed everywhere. If Kim noticed, she didn’t say anything which was pretty classy of her.
I try to be a gentleman and order her a black venti Pike Place, which is what I drink. I assumed she’d like that too since I heard she likes it black. I was wrong. She ordered a tall Frappuccino with half-whip. I’ve never heard of half-whip. “Is that with half of the normal amount of whipped cream on the drink? Is that what ‘half whip’ means?” I ask her. She told me it wasn’t and didn’t elaborate. Awkward.
“Thanks for taking me to Starbucks,” she told me. “I never get out and when I do it’s by car service, limo, helicopter or private jet to any number of parties, fundraisers or clubs so this was nice. I’ve never been in a Lexus Civic.”
I didn’t correct her. I didn’t want her to feel bad. After all, I saw her receive cunnilingus on video.
We talked about the weather and I told her how tornadoes are formed and what Nor’easters are. She feigned interest and I could tell she was getting bored. I asked her what her favorite movie was and she thought about it for a bit. “The Final Countdown,” she said.
“Wait, what?” I asked. “The movie about the aircraft carrier that travels through time to the ’40s and has to decide if it will stop the looming Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor? For real?”
I couldn’t believe it. All this talk about Kim Kardashian having the intellectual aptitude of “Hacksaw” Jim Duggan wasn’t true at all. She loved an obscure movie from 1980 that starred Kirk Douglas and Martin Sheen. It was incredible.
“What?” she asked quizzically. “I…um…what?” She had no idea what I was talking about. Apparently she asked if her eyeshadow was making a sound, not The Final Countdown.
“Aircraft carriers are those really big ships with all the plans, right?” she asked me. She knew the answer but was trying to play along with our dieing conversation. “Yes…yes it is,” I reluctantly said.
Our talk never touched on her wedding, her reality show, her suit against Old Navy or how much her company paid NBC to have an hour-long product placement in The Apprentice. She did ask me if I knew how to hack into computers. I told her I didn’t and she was a lot more upset than I thought she would be.
I got her a petite vanilla scone to go and we headed back to her place. She said it nice to meet me, thanked me for the scone (she paid for the coffee) and that she would appreciate it if I wouldn’t call again.
I understood. It was weird for me too. She was a nice girl with great hair that smelled like a bowl of flowers mixed with a rainbows. Seriously. I think she washes her hair with unicorn blood. Now when I see her I can stop thinking of that damn sex tape and think about our coffee, the scone and her eyeshadow.
We’ll always have Starbucks…and her ears were so damn sexy.
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