Well I've been writing for 29Secrets since autumn 2009, so this is long overdue. You heard it here, alright: after years of silence, I'm ready to discuss what everyone's been whispering about. I'm ready to address the rumours. I'm ready to stand up on my perch and declare to the world, "Celebrity crushes: how dare you."
Now, I don't want anyone to get ahead of themselves. I'm not about to drop bombshells, just tokens of disappointment. These "celebrities" let me down. They've let us all down. And especially one celebrity in particular. But because I'm shitty at blind items and excellent at projecting my hopes and dreams onto relative strangers, I'm writing this. A call-out to the former Tiger Beat cover stars, the Titanic leads, and to wearers of cargo shorts. You know what you did.
Dear former loves of my life,
It seems like just yesterday, doesn't it? When you didn't know who I was, and still don't know who I am, and I got over you, and somehow despite all this left you crushed, emotionally, I bet, or so I tell myself religiously.
"I don't know if I can film today," you'd tell your directors. "Something's different."
It's true: on that different day, I had moved on. And you knew it. You knew it because one less Tiger Beat had been sold. One less episode of Home Improvement had been watched. One less picture of you had been cut out of Seventeen and taped onto my history binder. And eventually, you eased out of your heartbreak, and moved on. And so did I. Kind of. Unless your name is Leonardo DiCaprio.
Look, I can talk candidly on the Internet about this because he knows, and a few of you might know, too. He knows that after years promising that he'd never wear cargo shorts, that he damaged our relationship possibly beyond repair when he bought his first pair. Then he grew a beard. And his hair. And bought a water gun. True, he had other girlfriends, but that didn't bother me — I mean, look: we're busy. I'm busy. I'm too busy — I've reminded him — to go to award shows and film shoots and to Ibiza. How do I even pronounce Ibiza? Is that where the Vengabus will be? Because either way, you can keep it. So he did. And that's when he started to change.
I don't know if it was the loss of the Oscar all 14 times or Kate Winslet's decision to marry a man named Ned Rocknroll, but something turned — our love, for starters, when instead of going out for our anniversary, he ran around in the yard, spraying people with a Super Soaker 5000 and taking showers under waterfalls. He does that every morning now, I'll let you know. He gets up, he takes his waterfall shower, then he recites a monologue from The Wolf of Wall Street — but not a good one. That weird one about Steve Madden. Then, without fail, he asks if I've ever met him. I never have. Which is a lie. Steve Madden is my son.
But for reasons I'll never understand, I still can't let Leo go. Was it because I memorized that piece of dialogue from Titanic? Did I even mean it? Of course I did — I meant it then, I mean it now. Unlike the rest of you — you, wonderful celebrity crushes who managed to make the line, "Can I keep you?" from Casper seem cute and not entirely terrifying. For reasons I don't understand, I did let all of you go. And I hope you can get over it — I know it's hard.
I know — out of everyone — how hard it is. It's been 84 years since I first started making that "84 years" joke from Titanic, and 100 more years than that since I vowed that if Leo and I were ever stuck on the ocean, I would think about sharing the wardrobe door a little longer than Rose had. Maybe. I mean, I don't know. It looked cold out there. Odds are, once I got on the damn thing, no. I probably wouldn't have wanted to get off of it. But look — we can't ever be sure until it happens. Sometimes I drag a wardrobe door out to the waterfall Leo now insists on showering under in case he wants to test me.
He does not.
Ultimately, he's finding himself on the same path as my other celebrity crushes: the JTTs, the Devon Sawas, the Elijah Woods, Ethan Embry from '92-'99 respectively. I wish them well. But now we are adults. And it's humiliating to cling to some delusion that these famouses will ever find themselves in a relationship with you.
Which is what I tell Leo everyday. "Leo," I say. "I'm too famous. Your too obscure. Soon Prince Harry and I will be together, and I'm sorry: it will be over between us."
He doesn't respond. He doesn't have a history binder anymore. But he does have his watergun, and a t-ball trophy he keeps calling his Oscar.
Bless his heart.