18 Feb 2008 ›  10:02am

In the interest of brutal honestly I must make a confession:

No matter how confident I may be,
No matter how often my boyfriend may call/text/email,
No matter how foxy of a phase I may be going through (and can I just say that my hair has been behaving itself like a mofo lately?)…

Having a boyfriend on tour completely blows!

Two weeks in and it’s already brought out every ounce of insecurity that lurked beneath the surface of my too-cool-for-school, who-cares-anyway veneer. And honey, I should know better! I know I’m not alone—this hell has gobbled up many a good woman before me. Just ask Jerry Hall. Sure she looks like a tranny, scarecrow-hag now, but let me tell you back in the day she was the cutest, lil’ freckly-faced Amazon you ever did see. She stuck it out for like 40+ years, keeping her eyes on the prize while Mick diddled everything in sight. But even she cracked eventually!

Now I know, my situation with Bloke isn’t even remotely similar. Besides the fact that his band is adored by an audience of about 35 (90% of whom happen to reside in Japan), and I’m unlikely to discover him under the covers with Bowie, the man is completely committed to me on every level… and I KNOW this.

So why, when I’m all-too clear intellectually, do I still feel like someone punched me in the girl-nads if I:

a. Hear a feminine giggle in the background when he calls from the tour bus?
b. See pics of the groupie-packed front row of last night’s show on the band’s website?

Seriously! Why is it, that you (ok I) can’t out-think that skanky she-devil jealousy? And why, in this day and age with all the psychotropic, pharmaceutical breakthroughs out there, hasn’t anyone manufactured a candy-coated anti-jealousy gel-cap? Ohmigod I’d take that shit so fast!! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… jealously feels worse than a broken heart.