Can I call you that? Miss Gomez is probably more formal since we don’t know each other. But since I’m old enough to have been your babysitter [or, if I had made more mistakes in high school, your mother] and we aren’t doing business together, “Miss Gomez” just seems weird. But I digress…
Sunday, my husband and I took the Pop Culture Girls to your concert at the Houston Rodeo. Now, of course, this concert was sprinkled with rumors since it was only your second concert after *ahem* treatment and the first concert after the paparazzi caught Justin Bieber following you to Hildago and McAllen of all freaking places. We have enough spoiled, entitled brats in this great state. We don’t need to start importing them from Canada, too! But, again, I digress…
So there we are, having a great time. We’re doing the “dancing” and “singing” you promised us at the beginning of the concert. My two-year old was shaking her groove thang to “Birthday,” and then you went dark, girl.
“There’s a lot of speculation and a lot of things being said. No one is perfect. And everyone learns from their mistakes. And everyone makes mistakes…. And I would not be on this stage if it weren’t for people like you to remind me that everyone is human. I hope I can inspire people like you to do whatever you want to do with your life.”
And you were crying. Look, I get that it’s a very trying time for you. In fact, I really hope that “mistake” you were talking about is related to you going to rehab (for whatever it is that ails you). Because if that “mistake” is this horrible on-again-off-again boyfriend of yours, allow me to offer some advice from my family’s current favorite movie: Let It Go. And by “it,” I, of course, mean the relationship (and that jerk).
You’re young. You’re beautiful. You’re rich. You’re famous. And you’re slightly damaged. Girl, we all are. At least, I understand that now. I might not have understood it so well at 21. I’m sure your mom, grandmothers, and tias are already talking to you about this awful boy, and you feel like you don’t need anymore lectures; but the fact that you started keeping company with this boy—this criminal who is consistently abusing drugs and alcohol–so fresh off your recovery is a sign that you need more old ladies talking to you. I don’t know for what you underwent treatment, and it really doesn’t matter. Whether it’s an eating disorder, depression, or drug/alcohol abuse, being around this asshole who sends you ugly, harassing text messages, who doesn’t know how to take “leave me alone and stop sending me pictures of your penis. Go to rehab” [paraphrasing] for an answer, who spraypaints and eggs historical buildings, who sleeps with hookers, who does drugs and alcohol and then gets behind the wheel of a car, who falls asleep in depositions about his abusive behavior… being around this spoiled douche is not good for your recovery.
I know your early 20s are your time to do stupid things and make dumb mistakes that you’ll look back on when you’re old like me and just laugh. But you’ve already made that mistake. It’s time for a new one. Get an ill-thought out tattoo, dye your hair a really unflattering color, sleep with a complete stranger who turns out to be all kinds of the wrong dude. But please don’t fool yourself into thinking you can make that little dweeb good boyfriend (or, goodness forbid, husband) material.
Girl, you interrupted your dance party to start crying. Love doesn’t do that. Real love doesn’t make you miserable and defensive.
In short: leave this fool, make some different mistakes, and then grow out of it. You’ll be glad you did.
Pop Culture Mom, just some old lady who doesn’t want you to cry anymore