I am currently lost in the wonderful meanderings of John Steinbeck's Travels With Charley: In Search of America. Each night I read a few pages in an effort to savor and enjoy each drop of poetic wisdom that drips from his fingers. I have such a fondness for John, I fear I may never recover my spirits enough to love another.
(Well, except for the occasional crush on Chicago basketball players sporting hair buns;
I promise my heart is not as fickle as it might appear)
On principle, I don't give my heart to celebrities: a) they're going to cheat on you (probably because they don't realize that the two of you are dating) and b) well, my heart is a gloomy pessimist about the likelihood of these things happening (go figure).
But unfortunately, I had developed a major crush on one. Not just any celebrity- an athlete! The worst kind of celebrity, the biggest cheaters (even when they're in non-imaginary relationships). It was an affliction that all the ladies of Chicago (and probably most of the men) are dealing with... I was in love with Joakim Noah. And even though he's an awesome player and super-duper tall, what it really comes down to is that he has a charity with his mom...for kids. It's a double shot to the heart: mom, kids, mom, kids... I don't know which has me weaker at the knees.
So when I got a free ticket to the Bulls game, I thought my heart might explode. My eyes found him the moment he came into the room... absorbing all six feet, eleven inches of man with a hair bun. After a beer or two on an empty stomach (at those prices you have to have your priorities straight) – I knew like I knew that he was the one. I professed my love at least 1,064 times that night. By the 4th quarter strangers around me were high-fiving me when he scored, saying 'That's you're guy!'
And then the next morning, just like that, I was cured. The celebrity crush was itself crushed.
And my mind said I told you so, and my heart said I know, I know...
So that concludes my senseless story of love and loss... he's now yours ladies.