My feelings about Jock Itch were mixed: Blasi tends toward a catty tone when speaking of the other women her unfaithful jocks cheated with, though alternately redeeming herself with girl power tales of vengeful voice messages. She also takes care to specify that she was a “girlfriend” to these athletes, not just “some slut.” As a sex-positive woman, I take exception to calling anyone “slutty” simply because they don’t idealize the traditional monogamous structure of male-female relationships. Anyone reading Blasi’s book can see this kind of relationship fail epically multiple times.
The second half of the book, however, completely justifies Blasi’s occasionally bitter and somewhat jaded tone through the retelling of her failed marriage to an NFL player. While she keeps her narrative light and joking, a real sense of heartbreak comes through. Hearing about her multiple miscarriages, her husband’s neglect, and the ultimate revelations of years of deceit and deep betrayal make it obvious why she would feel wary and defensive. Her ability to remain upbeat and recount her often horrifying past is truly admirable, and her strength and self-reliance are inspiring. The book is worth reading for this survival story alone.
If the first half of the book proves difficult to relate to with its tales of Playboy Mansion parties and jetsetting weekends, the second part completely redeems itself with intimate moments of real vulnerability. Without turning too dire, Blasi allows us to feel the weight of becoming a single mother, and the apprehensions of aging as an actress in image-based Hollywood. It was refreshing to see how in touch with her own flaws Blasi is, and how willing she is to turn her own scrutiny upon herself and use it to evolve. She keeps it real. Her frank talk about plastic surgery, buying herself a new set of divorce boobs and a divorce Porsche (“Divorce-sha”) is a welcome change from the usual show business self-censoring. By the end of the book, Blasi completely wins you over, so much so that you too, in honor of her asshole ex, will want to change your email password to “FuckJim.”
By the end of the book, we’ve all hopefully learned from Blasi’s mistakes, which is perhaps her primary reason for writing the book: to educate poor misguided athlete lovers such as herself. Ultimately, Blasi does find true love, not with an athlete, but with a nice Jewish boy.
Now that’s what I call a happy ending.
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