I hate him. (Back-story ahead …)
Many, many moons ago, a then 19-year old Jeremy stumbled in to one of my fitness classes and I thought, “Good Lord, that kid is wildly attractive!” Somehow he and I became friends and I started sprinkling him in to the occasional TV commercial or print ad.
He got to be so good … I got him an agent. He then promptly moved to New York — on a wing and a prayer and a megawatt smile.
And from day one I was worried that he’d get eaten alive by the Big Apple.
On a whim, I called him to tell him I’d be visiting New England to see the fall foliage and asked if he wanted to take the train in for the weekend. Now – I ask you – what 24-year old male model would want to stop living a party-boy life of excess to come see the leaves turn in Connecticut?
Turns out – Jeremy did.
We spent a couple days roaming around country sides and seaports with my dear friend Kati, who played hostess with the mostest. Even though Kati and I are the same age, she was a lot more maternal with Jeremy than I was. She wanted him to eat a sandwich. I wanted him to show off his abs. She wanted to make sure he was tucked in for the evening. I wanted to see how many push-ups he could do.
Jeremy is – shall we say – struggling a bit in NY. Who wouldn’t? His rent is an ungodly $1,500+ a month to live in relative squalor. But he’s doing what he wants to do and getting by on his looks, charm and charisma.
Yep, still hate him.
Even though he’s become a bit jaded by the whole NY scene, he’s still affable and goofy and good natured. Once a Midwest boy, always a Midwest boy. (Takes one to know one.)
So here’s to you, Jeremy and your stupid mega-watt smile. You’re like the little, thinner, prettier brother I never wanted. In fact, you’re like my own little Derek Zoolander. Guess that makes me Hansel. And I hope that your looks hold out for years to come. You make me instantly better looking just by proxy.