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I have many good reasons to question my taste in men. Fortunately, most of those reasons are in my imagination, as my real world taste is delicious, if not the cause of occasional indigestion (or emotional diarrhea, perhaps hives, periodic convulsions and flare-ups lasting more than 4 hours - but mostly tasty and good for me.)
Recently single for the first time since long before people could swear and show boobies on TV, I've been analyzing (which is a gross overstatement, it's more like judging and making fun of) my celebrity crushes in order to gain greater understanding about my take on relationships (which is really the many ways my mother's propensity for frequent marriage may have totally screwed me.)
There are some clear trends here. They are like giant warnings on cigarette boxes and remind me that I should not inhale - much less swallow or follow - my drive to dive into the lowest common denominator.
Now, my longest relationship was with Johnny Depp. It started when he was on 21 Jump Street and I was putting jell-o in my hair to recreate the Flock of Seagulls glamour, with a hint of Thompson Twins whimsy. Johnny and I were immediately drawn to each other for reasons that were - and still are - blatantly obvious to the naked eye. I was (ahem, WAS) shallow (then.) However, it was his dark and brooding nature that provided decades of exploration. It's not that I hung on his every hyper-intellectual and altruistic word on the cosmic nature of openness and meaning of life, but that his darkness needed my light. I knew that someday, he would look at me and smile, and I would know that I was the one person who could make him laugh, smile, relax and stop worrying so much. It was my light, MINE, that could save him. There are few things as addictive as the power of believing that you are that powerful. Indeed, It kept Johnny and I together for decades.
I don't want you to think that I was the perfect and monogamous imaginary girlfriend in my fantasy love life. Far from it, there were dalliances. (Does anyone fantasize about chastity?) Mostly, I had flings with professional athletes. Rick Fox and I were quite the item. He didn't have to think and brood all the time, and wasn't afraid to offend me with anything he brought to me, no matter how big and hard it was. I never had to wonder what he was really thinking and feeling, there was no drama, (Well, there was the time when his wife, Vanessa, caught us, but we wound up being best girlfriends because, really, we're both so awesome.) But it wasn't enough for me, as I was still young enough to believe that I needed to change the world. And that I could.
Besides Rick, there were a handful of intellectual / athlete hybrids. Tony Hawk and I have had a thing for almost as long as Johnny and I, but it is just an "in the moment" thing, when it happens, it happens. He's probably perfect for me, which is dull. I mean, where's the challenge in a guy who is gorgeous, successful, buff, creative, smart and dedicated? I dunno, I see that and I see a roasted chicken breast with Brussels sprouts - sure, it's good for you, but, um, where's the high? More importantly, who, exactly, could I blame if things went rotten with the perfect man?
I always returned to Johnny. It was perfect. I could hold on to my delusion of omnipotence while making myself both a martyr and blameless for the dark nature of our relationship. It's the romance trifecta!
Eventually, I grew up enough to realize that I didn't want to spend my life trying to light up the perfectly dark Johnny. We parted ways amicably and in love, but resigned to the dysfunctionality of it all. (He is, of course, still terribly in love with me, and I love him too, but.....
This is when Hugh Jackman and I fell hopelessly in love. He was the first man since Tony who had it all
