Drinking and Tweeting by Brandi Glanville, Leslie Bruce Page B
Authors: Brandi Glanville, Leslie Bruce
Ads: Link
happiness—some people around you will be jealous of you and resentful for it. Occasionally, it’s natural to totally obsess over your best friend’s new Alexander McQueen skull clutch or the amazing new promotion she got at work; even the best of friends are guilty of it. The difference is, if you’re a good friend, you can be totally envious of her fabulous purchase or his new job, but also be genuinely happy for him or her. Unfortunately, in La La Land, those kinds of “real” friends are few and far between.
That’s my experience, at least.
I had it all. I had the hot husband who had somehow managed to develop a modicum of celebrity. I had a beautiful six-bedroom home in Calabasas and was a stay-at-home mom with two gorgeous little boys. I had wonderful friends who were there for me at the drop of a hat. I had a limitless credit card and a husband who never questioned a single bill. I thought I had won the life lottery.
Apparently, so did my friends, many of whom were struggling with their own relationships and careers. I’ll be completely honest: a glimpse of fame can be incredibly intoxicating if you’ve never experienced it before. Even though Eddie wasn’t well-known, being a working “actor” came with its fair share of perks, and in our social circle he was the only one who had established any kind of name for himself in the industry.
There is no exact science to why some people “make it” and others don’t. It’s perseverance and hard work coupled with an obscene amount of luck. I’ve said it before: Eddie is a pretty face, not a talented actor. That’s not to say he couldn’t be. If he spent half as much timelearning to develop his craft as he did juggling all the women in his life, he’d probably have a shelf full of Oscars—or at least a few Emmys.
Once Eddie started carving out a television career for himself, it was amazing how many people came out of the woodwork. But I loved it. I loved being the woman who had it all. And I loved being the woman behind that man. When we were married, we had a wealth of friends who seemed so present and supportive. I felt so blessed.
As the saying goes, the higher the climb, the bigger the fall.
When my world began crumbling around me, I realized I had three tiers of friendship:
1. Those friends who hit the road at the first sign of trouble. It’s all gravy when you’re throwing parties with top-shelf booze or picking up the tab at the hottest new restaurant, but when you actually need a hand? Forget it.
2. Those who stick around long enough just to see you miserable before jumping on the next rising star (in this case, LeAnn). It’s actually twisted. You allow these people into your world and share countless memories with them, but you learn one day that they resented you all along. And when you are at your lowest of lows, they rejoice in your misery, because they have seemingly been waiting for this moment. I guess that makes people feel better about their own lives. Then one day, they’re just gone.
3. Those who won’t budge. Friends for life. These are the men and women that I cherish. Come rain or storm, we will always be there for one another. Maybe that’s the silver lining after having to deal with shitty people: you can truly appreciate the good ones.
If you had asked me four years ago, I would have been certain that almost all of my friends would fall into the third category. I would have bet my life on it. Being seriously wrong was something I was getting used to by now.
Turns out about half of my friends snuggled right into the first two slots. That revelation was almost as heartbreaking as my divorce.
I wasn’t the first of my friends to go through a divorce, and odds are, I won’t be the last. One friend in particular went through a messy, nasty divorce just a few years before Eddie and I separated. She was Asian, a stylist I met while modeling, but we didn’t hang out much until we were both retired, pregnant, and
That’s my experience, at least.
I had it all. I had the hot husband who had somehow managed to develop a modicum of celebrity. I had a beautiful six-bedroom home in Calabasas and was a stay-at-home mom with two gorgeous little boys. I had wonderful friends who were there for me at the drop of a hat. I had a limitless credit card and a husband who never questioned a single bill. I thought I had won the life lottery.
Apparently, so did my friends, many of whom were struggling with their own relationships and careers. I’ll be completely honest: a glimpse of fame can be incredibly intoxicating if you’ve never experienced it before. Even though Eddie wasn’t well-known, being a working “actor” came with its fair share of perks, and in our social circle he was the only one who had established any kind of name for himself in the industry.
There is no exact science to why some people “make it” and others don’t. It’s perseverance and hard work coupled with an obscene amount of luck. I’ve said it before: Eddie is a pretty face, not a talented actor. That’s not to say he couldn’t be. If he spent half as much timelearning to develop his craft as he did juggling all the women in his life, he’d probably have a shelf full of Oscars—or at least a few Emmys.
Once Eddie started carving out a television career for himself, it was amazing how many people came out of the woodwork. But I loved it. I loved being the woman who had it all. And I loved being the woman behind that man. When we were married, we had a wealth of friends who seemed so present and supportive. I felt so blessed.
As the saying goes, the higher the climb, the bigger the fall.
When my world began crumbling around me, I realized I had three tiers of friendship:
1. Those friends who hit the road at the first sign of trouble. It’s all gravy when you’re throwing parties with top-shelf booze or picking up the tab at the hottest new restaurant, but when you actually need a hand? Forget it.
2. Those who stick around long enough just to see you miserable before jumping on the next rising star (in this case, LeAnn). It’s actually twisted. You allow these people into your world and share countless memories with them, but you learn one day that they resented you all along. And when you are at your lowest of lows, they rejoice in your misery, because they have seemingly been waiting for this moment. I guess that makes people feel better about their own lives. Then one day, they’re just gone.
3. Those who won’t budge. Friends for life. These are the men and women that I cherish. Come rain or storm, we will always be there for one another. Maybe that’s the silver lining after having to deal with shitty people: you can truly appreciate the good ones.
If you had asked me four years ago, I would have been certain that almost all of my friends would fall into the third category. I would have bet my life on it. Being seriously wrong was something I was getting used to by now.
Turns out about half of my friends snuggled right into the first two slots. That revelation was almost as heartbreaking as my divorce.
I wasn’t the first of my friends to go through a divorce, and odds are, I won’t be the last. One friend in particular went through a messy, nasty divorce just a few years before Eddie and I separated. She was Asian, a stylist I met while modeling, but we didn’t hang out much until we were both retired, pregnant, and
Similar Books
