Look, I know I’m married and all. I have a wonderful, loving, supportive and faithful husband who thinks my extra soft parts are beautiful. He thinks it’s “funny” when I don’t shave my legs for a few days, unlike ex boyfriends who would refuse to get in bed with me unless I was silky smooth everywhere (hence why they’re exes). The best part about my husband, though, is his complete lack of jealousy toward My Imaginary Boyfriend.
When I was in junior high, I was not a cool kid by any stretch of the imagination. I wore weird clothes, I read books without pictures, I was a competitive archer and bowhunter, and makeup was an elusive monster. As a result, while my peers were partying and making out and drinking cheap wine coolers their older siblings bought for them, I was sitting at home. Watching TV. With my parents. Luckily, in 1996 one of the greatest sitcoms of my childhood hit the airwaves – Third Rock From The Sun. My parents and I were huge fans of the show, and in the early seasons I remembered feeling extremely
conflicted about the Tommy character, played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He was such a weird kid with his long hair, am I right? What a weird kid.
Then, in the third (or perhaps the second) season, Tommy cut his hair. I am almost certain that is what triggered puberty. I instantly grew tits and developed “feelings down there,” and suddenly I had my first celebrity crush that was actually around my age (my unrequited love for Bruce Willis and Jeff Goldblum remain to this day). I became an even more rabid fan of the show and began despising Tommy’s endless run of failed attempts to woo August and then some other bimbos. Look at me, Tommy! I’m right here, faithful to you…well, for at least half an hour, once a week.
Eventually, the show was cancelled, I grew up, moved on, and found other celebrity crushes – Edward Norton, a brief affair with Rory Cochrane (the guy who plays Lucas in Empire Records), but never really finding what I needed in a celebrity crush. I never was the girl who had posters of Brad Pitt on the wall or went nuts when Matthew McCona-however-you-spell-it took his shirt off (in EVERY movie), I just enjoyed fine actors who turned out stellar performances. I was more likely to go see a movie with Steve Buscemi in it than whatever heartthrob was making the most magazine covers that month. I got
married, I got divorced, I got caught up in Real Life and Harry Potter movies and forgot about finding another Imaginary Boyfriend to ogle late at night on the internet when I can’t sleep.
And then, Inception came out.