Worry, Rabbits, Sir Ivan

Well, I had a bit of a reality check last week.

I think that as time goes on you tend to run into more and more people that like to analyze your life and predict your future. I’m turning 29 this August, and a few people have asked me what I’m going to name my column when I turn 30. I still can’t really believe that I am going to make it to 30, but that is beside the point. I like to keep it simple, so I’ll probably call it thirtysomething, or something like that.

I have a pet rabbit named George, and one of the reasons that I like him is that every time I see him in my house I get the impression that he is terrified for his life. This is a natural state for rabbits, a constant worry. He looks at me and seems to be saying, “IS THIS THE END? IS THIS IT? WHAT HAPPENED? ARE WE GOING TO BE ALRIGHT? UPDATE ME!!!” [expand]

And then I go to pick him up out of his cage and he thinks, “OH GOD NO, OH GOD NO, OH GOD NO!!!”

And then I give him a carrot and pet him, and he suspiciously eats it.

This is a very different pet than a dog—dogs are always happy. You walk into a home and a nice dog is there and he can’t believe it. “OH MY GOD, YOU’RE HERE! THIS IS UN-FREAKING-BELIEVABLE! SO AWESOME. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHERE YOU GOING? YOU ARE THE MAN!”

And I’m just like NO, YOU ARE THE MAN. Dogs are incredible. People who own dogs are good people I think. I heard that there are a few rich people who love their dogs so much that they hire full-time staff just to look after them and hang out with them, and I’ve heard of rich people even willing some of their money (or all of it) to their dogs.

My rabbit ain’t getting anything.

I like rabbits though, because they worry, and I’m a bit of a worrier. My Dad is too, and I inherited the gene I guess. You can worry yourself to death though, so you really have to be careful with that. I’d say that there are some people out there that worry so much it destroys their health, and I could easily be one of those people, but I worry too much that that could happen, so I do things about it, like go to Hamptons Gym Core in Southampton and hit the punching bag for a while, to work out the worry, because I’m worried that the worry might kill me.

I wish there was a way I could tell George not to worry so much.

I have to say that this July 4th weekend was quite possibly one of the most epic weekends I’ve ever seen in the Hamptons. There was not a single place that wasn’t fun to go to over the holiday, not a single one. Sunday night I found myself at the castle of the KING of partiers, Sir Ivan in Water Mill, and as always, the guy does not disappoint. Most of his shindigs get over-packed, but this one couldn’t have been more comfortable and more pleasant.

Everywhere, as far as I could tell over the weekend, seemed pretty pleasant. I got the feeling that this Fourth of July weekend for everybody, even the people that want to show off, was all about enjoying friends and sharing in the beauty out here, which is really how it should be.

Things were going great for me up until I had my final reality check for the week, which is that part of my job is to write about celebrities, and part of a big panic I had over the weekend was that Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez were in the Hamptons and that it needed to get up on our website, www.danshamptons.com, which I am the editor of.

You know that things aren’t going exactly as planned when your Saturday emergency is figuring out how to write up and search-engine optimize as fast as possible a story about a teenage pop star and his girlfriend in the Hamptons. But it’s news. Justin Bieber is like a blog of celebrityness, but then again, everybody is sort of a celebrity out here right? [/expand]

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