April 20, 2007
Jennifer Love Hewitt is definitely not returning Dennis Crowley’s phone calls. Not this week. Probably not ever. This was the most recent:
Hey it’s me again. Pick up, I know you’re there. Just wanted to thank you again for pressuring me into the worst decision I ever made and basically being the reason my life has completely sucked for the past two years! Call me when you get a chance! Love you, buh-bye!
Whatever. As if. You want to talk about bad decisions, they dated for what, an afternoon? And she’s still paying for it with shit like this. Jesus.
They met in New York City. Spring 2005. She had a day off from filming Confessions of a Sociopathic Social Climber, so she went to visit a friend, a professor at ITP who had consulted on The Tuxedo. Dennis was one of his students. They hit it off, hung out a bit while she was in town, whatever. He showed her how Dodgeball worked. A few of the commands seemed overly complicated, she offered a little advice. He said he had concerns about scalability, she gave him a few insights from projects she’d worked on. He mentioned Google had been sniffing around. Did she pressure him? No. Did she encourage him? Sure, a little. And so what if she did? This was back when everyone thought Google was benevolent. Did she hold his hand and outline his signature on the paperwork? Yeah right. By then she was back in L.A., dating whoever the fuck she was dating two boyfriends later.
Ugh. UGH! She should call Alex, they could always share a laugh when Dennis got like this. Or fuck it, whatever, just let it go. It’s good. It’s an excellent reminder. Even if Ghost Whisperer occasionally feels like a drag, and even if she’s going to be fighting LonelyGirl or iJustine or whatever hot little hairball YouTube coughs up next for roles in summer blockbusters, she’s happier where she is than she would be if she dove back into the vaseline and chlamydia hot tub called Web 2.0.