THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN PEOPLE TREATING ME POORLY IS WHEN THOSE SAME PEOPLE TREAT MY HUSBAND WELL. Some might say it comes with the territory. I’m constantly being reminded by my close-knit group of 43,000 Twitter followers that it was my choice to marry “the guy that fucked the pie,” and how no matter what happens in my life, I’ll forever be eclipsed by his notoriety.
There’s a part of me that wishes I could just sit back, relax, and spend all his residual checks on Shopbop. But I’m too much of an overachiever to not want to bring down everyone who’s ever written me off as some girl who got a golden ticket. Also, I haven’t seen anything that cute lately—I think we’re between seasons.
The thing is, I was awesome before I met Jason. In fact, he’s lucky even I like him. He could have easily landed in the hands of some freak sycophant who’d seen more than one of his movies.
Fortunately, I don’t care about things that don’t involve food, poodles, or me in a well-priced cute outfit. But seriously, I love my husband for who he is when it’s just the two of us. The fact that he’s an actor is probably the least interesting thing about him–aside from the fact that he’s recently gotten into NASCAR.
Fame brings out the best and the worst in people. Most of the time, the worst. I’ve seen uptight businessmen practically come their pants over snapping a photo. I’ve had mothers hand me their children so they could scamper off to get their tits signed in Sharpie. And even my own father describes me as “my daughter married to Jason Biggs.” I guess none of this would be an issue if I had any real self-esteem. Unfortunately for my husband, I don’t.
So when traveling around the world on a press trip I can name roughly a billion things more exciting than listening to my husband, Jason Biggs, talk about being Jason Biggs. Our chauffer in Sydney, Australia, however, could not.
Jason and I, along with my brother-in-law, Larry, landed in Sydney a day before the American Pie 4 world tour began. We were picked up at the airport by assigned drivers and taken to our hotel. Having the rest of the day off, the studio arranged a harbor cruise for the entire cast.
Ben, our driver, not only got us to and from the cruise with ease, he also happened to be a cornucopia of information. We stopped at the greatest frappuccino shop on earth, walked through the botanical gardens, and even managed to catch an underground Bon Iver acoustic set at the Opera House. Ben was the greatest chaperone of all time. There was no way I was going to let this human Wallpaper Guide be wasted on my husband. The rest of Jason’s time in Sydney was going to be all work, but Larry and I had two full days to fill with the best Sydney had to offer.
I broke the news to Ben just before he dropped us off at our hotel that night. “So Ben, tomorrow instead of driving Jason, we want you to come with us!” I said, as I presented him with a matching visor we’d bought him in the Opera House gift shop. “You, me, and Larry! All we want is to have the BEST day a local Sydney-ite could ever imagine. The ball’s totally in your court–we are up for whatever!” I high-fived him and jumped out of the car.
Ben laughed uncomfortably, nodded his head and bid us goodnight.
The next morning, after a leisurely stroll on the hotel treadmill, I poured my jetlagged body into a pair of sweats and wandered downstairs to meet Larry. Larry broke the news.
“I guess Ben went with Jason and we are getting his little brother Aaron,” he started.
“Wait, what?” I said, confused, taking off my Opera House visor.
“Yeah, I guess he was just being polite but he really wanted to be with the movie star,” Larry said.
“He’s kind of a fan,” Ben’s tiny doppelganger interjected from across the lobby. “I’m Aaron,” he said, extending his hand.
I was too under-caffeinated to cut his face off, so I acquiesced and got into Aaron’s sedan. Unlike his brother, Aaron happened to be THE WORST tour guide of all time. We knew we were fucked when he suggested a place that served deep-fried cod pie for lunch. The fuck is that, even? Larry and I spent most of our day carsick in the back seat, burning through our international wireless plans.
“Ben fucked us!” I texted Larry.
“In the ass!” he wrote back.
There was nothing left to do but sublimate my feelings of rejection into a full-blown plot for revenge. I started Aaron’s interrogation slowly, so as not to spook him. “So, your brother. What’s his story? Tell me EVERYTHING!” I demanded. “Married, single, dating someone he doesn’t love?” I needed to gather as much information on Ben as possible so that at a time of my choosing I could tactfully use it to destroy him.
Despite his flaws, Aaron did have a knack for gossip. He told me all about the girl Ben was dating and how Ben was dragging his heels about marrying her. We analyzed her family (aka her family of origin–a psychology term, look it up) and decided her father, Hugo, might be the cause for Ben’s trepidation. To be honest, Ben could have learned a fucking lot if he’d been there. Shit got deep.
By 6 pm that night, I knew more about Ben’s potential father-in-law than I did about my own father-in-law. I knew that Ben’s girlfriend was Hugo’s only daughter. I knew that Hugo hated Ben. I also knew that Hugo ran this coffee cart on Manley beach, was 5’5”, with silver hair and wire-rimmed Armani spectacles. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with the facts I’d collected but I knew I had to do something to get back at Ben for ditching us.
“I’m so glad I’m not Ben right now,” Larry said, as we took the elevator back to our rooms to change for dinner.
I opened the door to my hotel room and Jason was already washing up for dinner.
“You guys were gone forever!” he exclaimed. “I’m so jealous. You must have had the best day ever!”
I smiled, kissed him, and didn’t get into the details.
“You need to hurry, though because we have to be at dinner in less than thirty. Ben is parked out front and I don’t want to keep him waiting,” Jason explained.
I called Larry and told him to shower fast. Twenty-five minutes later, I was reunited with Ben.
“Yo, yo! My big J-man!” Ben shouted to Jason across the lobby like they were in a gang in the eighties. After high-fiving Jason, Ben decided it was time to acknowledge Larry and I: “Hey, Mousketeers! How was your day?”
“Good!” Larry laughed and shot me a look.
“I’m gonna fucking kill this guy!” I muttered.
“Hey Jaysky, why don’t you sit up front with me so you can control the radio!” Ben went on.
Jason, unable to be mean, obliged after squeezing my hand and kissing me on the cheek.
The entire drive to the restaurant was filled with Ben licking my husband’s ass. Growing uncomfortable, Jason finally diverted the conversation to Larry and I.
“So what did you guys end up doing today?” he asked.
At this point I was fuming. But nothing was going to distract me from my goal. “Wow! Well, we did so much! Aaron took us down to the beaches. Oh my God baby, I didn’t even tell you yet…” I started.
“What?” said Jason, taking the bait.
“I was completely sexually harassed today!” I told him.
Larry looked at me, unsure of where I was going with this.
“Where did this happen?” Jason asked, concerned.
Here it was, my perfect moment… “Um, Where was it, Larry? Manley Beach? I think. It was so weird–this little older man named Ugo? Or Hugo?” I started.
“Hugo, I think,” Larry chimed in. “It got bad.”
“Like really bad, right?” I asked Larry.
Sitting in the front seat, Jason grew more and more upset. Meanwhile, Ben started to sweat.
“Jenny! Stop being so cryptic! What happened?” Jason demanded.
“Well, we were at the coffee cart and this guy who I guess owns it with like silver hair, propositioned me,” I told him. “People are really aggressive here. Thank god Larry was there to intervene.”
I looked up. Ben looked on the verge of cardiac arrest.
“Did he touch you in some way?” Jason asked, now furious.
“Just… Thank god for Larry is all I really feel comfortable saying, right now.” I fake whimpered as we came to a stop in front of the restaurant.
Jason spun around to look at me but before our eyes could meet, I buried my head in Larry’s chest and proceeded to fake sob.
What happened next, I didn’t have to see. The sound and smell were insight enough. Ben had just vomited all over his homeboy, Jason.
“Wow. Dude, are you okay?” Larry asked as Jason opened Ben’s car door and redirected his mouth.
As you can imagine, the conversation that followed wasn’t exactly easy.
“So listen baby, I lied because I needed Ben to understand that I’m more powerful than he can imagine and that fucking with me is basically asking for physical and emotional castration,” I said.
“Jenny! That was really too far, and if it had been done by anyone other than you, I’d have been thoroughly underwhelmed. Your acting was magnificent. You sold the shit out of that story. I’m proud of you,” he said, smiling.
“Really? You understand why I couldn’t help myself?” I asked.
“Baby, the guy was a star-fucker and if I were as unfamous as you, I’d have done the same thing,” he assured me.
I threw myself into Jason’s still vomit-soaked arms and kissed him. I realized that it doesn’t matter how the rest of the world views me. My husband thinks I’m Madonna, so fuck everyone else. And though his visibility can sometimes lead to me feeling like an extra in my own life, I’m head-over-heels in love with him, so I just have to deal.
Bottom line? None of this would have had to have happened if Ben had just worn his matching visor.
Jenny Mollen Biggs is an actress and writer living in Los Angeles with two poodle angel muffins and an asshole miniature pinscher. She also has a husband. Keep up with her at IMDB or on Twitter @jennyandteets.
- gracegmw likes this
- zgulko likes this
- corrine-rice reblogged this from jennyandteets
- little-lovers-so-polite likes this
- possum187 likes this
- cooltreats likes this
- ctash likes this
- darcibastiaan likes this
- mashedcontent likes this
- biorhythmist likes this
- thebeeka likes this
- jazzhandsforlife likes this
- davesloboda likes this
- writinginbed likes this
- lebanesetoaster likes this
- missemmamm reblogged this from jennyandteets
- vinaya-lara likes this
- jennyandteets posted this