Have you ever done something so lame, so embarrassing, so unbelievably STUPID that you visibly cringe, regardless of where you are and what you’re doing? Lord knows I have. I’ve got a ton of those under my belt. So I figure, why not share those with you? You know, you are my friends and all.
Thing I can’t take back:
My years-long crush on Tara Reid
In the spring of 2002, my friends Tony, Adam, Pat, and I went on spring break to the totally wild and absolutely incomprehensible party cluster F that is…Williamsburg, Virginia. Hey, any port in a storm. On the road trip from MA to VA, we had the newest issue of Maxim magazine that featured the soon-to-be-co-star of Van Wilder, Tara Reid.
This was not just a woman; this was a deity. This was an argument for perfection on fluffy pillows and lounging in my admittedly repugnant imagination. The voice spoke to a past of cigarettes and hushed secrets in basements and speakeasies.
Tara Reid, you could do no wrong. You were so good-looking, you were bedding Tom Brady, which at that point in time seemed like a completely legitimate seal of approval. At least you didn’t pop a circuit and pull the goalie like Bridget Moynihan (though I’m wondering if you’re mad you didn’t think of that first).
Then you started dating Jeremy Shockey, which seemed bad-girlish enough (and I told myself I was a bad little boy. Who needed to be punished. WHAT?) People started to say things about you, Tara, but I didn’t listen. They clearly did not see you in “Body Shots.” They did not know your goddess quality. Then you fell off the grid. I defended you and bought DVDs of “Scrubs.”
Then I heard you got a boob job. I argued it was icing on the cake. People gave me empirical evidence that you were bat shit crazy. They knew nothing. When a girlfriend ever questioned my devotion, I looked them dead in the eyes and told them with a straight face, “You’re the only girl for me. You, and Tara Reid.”
I was with you through every indication you were a walking pharmacy, though nipple slips, through just about everything that could really be said to shake my heaven-sent crush, even your induction into Bill Simmons’ “ The Tyson Zone.”
Then I snapped out of it. I mean, really? REALLY? American Pie 2 and Van Wilder were sweet, but come ON! I think I actually tried to make the case she was hotter than Halle Berry (I will hold “Catwoman” over your heads FOREVER), and I lost respect. I lost friends, I lost trust in my judgment, and I think its safe to say I completely lost my head. She got surgery that turned her areolas into the shape of New Jersey, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the state had filed a defamation of character suit upon seeing it.
Why did my friends not do their honor-bound duty and slap me about the head and face several times until I realized the basic fact that my crush on Tara Reid was absurd and about three years too old. I’m not above thinking Tom Brady has a poster of Tara like those posters seniors used to put on their walls about skinny freshmen. “Tara Reid: Get her while she’s classy.” I dropped the ball big time there, friends. Big time. I held on to that crush like a blankie soaked in mascara, vodka, and cocaine.
I’m your friend, Woody Tondorf. I had an absurd, blinders-on, years-long crush on Tara Reid, and that’s something I can’t take back.
…are they gone? Tara, if you’re still reading this, I totally didn’t mean any of that. I still watch Van Wilder and pray for you to be waiting by the side of the road in that rain jacket, tweed skirt, and F me boots. Come back to me. I left word with your representation. I heard you just got out of rehab. The thousand mile journey of recovery begins with a single step toward my apartment.