Do you hate me? The drama of the insecure actor

Actors are a miserable, needy, sorry bunch of wimps. Sometimes I really think we should all be rounded up and thrown into some kind of Psychiatric Ward for Performers with Low Self-Esteem and given some hardcore therapy. Like lobotomies and electroshock and caged beds. You know, old school.

Take my friend Pete. He's an actor. The other night, I was out with him and some friends at a bar, and Pete started hitting on a girl ruthlessly. Eventually, he got her number.

Pete and his girlfriend, Ethel, have been living together for about four years now. He's cheated on her before.

"Don't be an asshole, Pete," I said. "Ethel deserves better. Just because you have an inferiority complex doesn't mean she should suffer because of it."

Pete started getting defensive. "I'm not an asshole! I was just trying to be friendly! Don't give me shit!" Eventually, his whining devolved into, "I swear I'm not an asshole... Don't be mad. Do you hate me?"

Do you hate me. Lots of guys, whether they're actors or not, cheat on their girlfriends (and vice versa, of course). But when confronted with the fact of their assholery by a friend, it really takes an actor to respond with, "Do you hate me?"

Pete's priority is to be loved. He wants a doting girlfriend. He wants every woman he meets to desire him. He wants his friends to admire and support him even when he's being a total shit. He wants to make the audience laugh and clap and yell, "Yay Pete! You're the best!"

Sound familiar? I could populate a small country with all the Petes I know (and trust me, I'd be living in Pete-land too). I met most of them in acting school.

But maybe you're different. Maybe you're a really really confident, not-love-hungry, totally monogamous, sweet, tall, handsome, successful actor guy with a private jet and a really big penis. Maybe you want to leave me a comment. And your phone number.

Sweet.