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You Can Make It Up: Sandra Bullock Sees A Boner Ghost

Sandra Bullock couldn’t sleep. The air was filled with unfamiliar sounds: a far away television set, the hum of the ice machine in the hallway, cars pulling in and out of the parking lot at all hours. Where were those cars going in the middle of the night? What do people whose worlds aren’t falling apart do? Back home, of course, the background noise was familiar, soothing even. There was the gurgle of the money-shaped hot tub, the almost imperceptible buzzing of the tract lights focused on her hand-crafted wall-mounted Oscar case (formerly her hand-crafted wall-mounted Golden Globe case), and the occasional grunt of Jesse doing military push ups, or the murmur as he recited his neo-Nazi oaths. All of that was gone now. If Jesse was still deriding the Jews or, his favorite, saying the names of motorcycle parts out loud, it wasn’t for her benefit. It was for the benefit of someone with a tramp stamp ON HER FUCKING FACE.

Outside, someone was screaming into a cell phone “well then YOU take mom to the hospital, my license is suspended anyway.” Sandra Bullock kicked off the sheets, grabbed her room key, and wandered through the halls of the Extended Stay America in her Juicy Couture sweatsuit and Juicy Couture sunglasses. Her Juicy Couture slippers left tear-stained footprints in the carpeting. She ran a hand along the wall, and in the other hand she carried a half-empty bottle of Juicy Couture peach vodka.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t known about Jesse’s cheating. She had always assumed it was the same sort of trouble any couple ran into if they stayed together long enough. As Meryl would say, some husbands cheat, and some husbands sell the children for a cigarette boat, the important thing is NO PHOTOS. It had been years since Julia Roberts had laid a hand on her shoulder and said “do what it takes to stay together, Sandy. If he wants you to put cocaine all over down there, then you put cocaine all over. And if he gets into knife stuff, hire a Thai girl.” She had put cocaine all over. She had dressed up in the original Jerry Seinfeld bee costume from Bee Movie. She wasn’t crying over the dissolution of her marriage so much as she was crying over the public dissolution of her marriage. What right did anyone have to know her private business? Y’all?

There was a small, fluorescently-lit room at the end of the hall with vending machines and an icemaker. Sandra filled a plastic cup with ice for her vodka and tried to buy a Big Grab bag of Cool Ranch Dorito’s with her American Express Black Card. “Fucking thing,” she said. Suddenly, there was a faint sound coming from the other end of the hall. “WooooOOOOOOooOOOOOOO.” It was probably that piece of shit little girl in the Dora the Explorer pajamas that had been asking for autographs all week long and insisting that she loved Sandra in Flight Plan. The little asshole did the same thing every day, holding out her Official Jonas Brothers Autograph Book in her sweaty, sticky little hands. “You were my favorite in Grosse Pointe Blank,” she said one day. Sandra just signed every time she was asked. The last thing she needed right now was some headline about Sandra Bullock refusing to sign a mentally retarded girl’s autograph book.

“WooooOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOoooo.” It was closer now. Sandra felt her heart quicken in her chest. If things did go down, she just hoped that those three months of Women’s Tae Bo in 2003 had been enough for her to ward off her attacker.

And then she saw it. The Boner Ghost. Oh, Sandra Bullock had heard the stories, but she’d never actually believed any of it. A boner ghost? Here? At the Extended Stay America near the Burbank airport? Come on. And yet. The Boner Ghost had a towel over its face, and its pale arms spread before it. Of course, Sandra knew from the legends that it was best to just let the boner ghost have sex with you, rather than making it mad. Wasn’t that just what she needed right now, some tabloid headline, some TMZ blog, Oscar Sandra Bullock Has Revenge Sex With Boner Ghost In Extended Stay America. No sir. No mister. She put her hands on her hips and flicked her head to get the bangs out of her eyes. She pointed a thin, bony skeleton finger right in the Boner Ghost’s face.

“I don’t know what you want with me specter, but you sassed with the wrong firecracker, now why don’t you turn around and move on down the road.”

The Boner Ghost stood where he was, his arms straining forward. Sandra Bullock pursed her lips. Unh-unh. No. The Boner Ghost took a step forward. Sandra Bullock stood her ground. She clenched her hands into fists, the sharp bones rubbing against each other through her paper-thin skin. “I have been going through a real trying time, Boner Ghost, a real hogswallow, and I just don’t even know if I’ve got it me to fight you. But I will. I’ll give you a whallop you won’t soon forget, Boner Ghost.” But still the Boner Ghost persisted, with his pallid arms and his low moan. Sandra Bullock closed her eyes and reared her fist back, but before she could deliver a punch, she felt herself enveloped. She was being embraced by the Boner Ghost!

“Oh girlfriend, hush,” the Boner Ghost said. “WooooOOOOOOOooooOOOO. Tell Boner Ghost what’s the matter. WooooOOOOOOOooooooo.”

Sandra Bullock and the Boner Ghost stayed up until dawn, drinking and taking turns crying and laughing and sharing their stories. It turned out that his boner was bigger than his bite. Sandra Bullock fell asleep in his arms, and when she woke up, the Boner Ghost was gone. But she knew he had been real, because that day she got a Facebook friend request from him.