Five Famous Celebrities I Dated And The Reasons It Didn’t Work Out
My doctor recently told me that, to move ahead in my life, I actually need to look backwards a bit. He told me that the only way one can truly progress is if they acknowledge some of the things they have been through. You cannot truly to come to terms with anything if you don’t atleast admit that it exists. And I realized he was right. Hearing that connected some loose wires in my brain, and I realized a big part of this is mourning. Accepting the deaths of certain things and being able to move beyond them. A good way for me to deal with my life, as a whole, is dealing with my past, and a huge part of that past is dating beautiful, famous woman who have no idea we dated. Truth be told, I don’t even have a doctor. Some homeless guy yelled all that to me when I was walking by him one day. Ah, love is a strange thing, indeed. Natalie Portman
I bought her that weird purple thing she is wearing here. It is a bullet-proof fanny pack for all the traveling she does.
She was in Boston going to Harvard, I was in Plymouth. We met at a Black Eyed Peas show (don’t laugh, it was pre-Fergie) in Harvard square. I was smitten as a small child, but played it really cool at first. The trick was acting like you have never seen a movie. Not just her movies, but any movie in general. Alright, I’ll admit it. I knew she had a good heart, so just sat there, in the corner, and acted retarded. Eventually, she came up to me to wipe the drool. Bam, she was in my web.
I thought I got her because I acted like she was just another girl, but it might have been more of the “retarded” angle, Either way, win for me. I kept calling her Nalatie, just to keep her humble. She would wipe my drool, and I would call her by the wrong name. A more pure love I have never known.
So why didn’t we work out? Well, the “I’m retarded” angle wore itself thin pretty quickly, in retrospect. Also, at one point, I broke character to yell at her about the Star Wars prequels. I think that is what really ruined it, actually. I still miss listening to The Shins with her, though. Wait, am I confusing my life with Garden State again?
(Young) Jennifer Connelly
We ate a lot of fast food back then, and it ALL went to her busom. Sadly, it did the same with me.
Listen, you need to understand the timeline I am talking about here. This is that elusive period in between Labyrinth and Requiem for a Dream, when she was staying under the radar. I found out where she lived, and moved into a bush on her property. After about a week, she came outside and asked me to leave. When I told her I would only leave if she went to Friendly’s to have an ice cream with me, she said she would, and from there, ours was a whirlwind romance.
So we are at Friendly’s, and she keeps asking me why I am doing this to her and her family, and then she stops talking and orders a Fribble. And I look at the menu and am all like: A FIVE DOLLAR SHAKE? IS THIS SOME KIND OF FUCKING JOKE??! SO WHAT, YOU THINK I AM IN YOUR INCOME BRACKET???!!! To which she responded by slapping me in the face while weeping, and then running off. I moved back into her bush a day later, and her Dad came out and shot me in the thigh within a week, and I left. Still have the scars to prove it.
See, I told you, whirlwind romance.
Fact: You untie that ribbon and her head comes off. Fact!
Don’t judge me, alright. This wasn’t so much us dating as meeting her after a show, her drugging me with roofies, and then letting her roadies have their way with me, sexually. At one point, she branded her name into my back with a hot curler. Pretty sure she injected heroine into my eyeballs while I was sleeping at one point, too, but can’t confirm. Also, I learned the hard way, you DON’T bring up Kurt Cobain to Courtney Love. She literally has a venom pouch under her tongue that fires burning hot tar heroine in your eyes if you do. You guys all think my eyes are blue, but they are gray, and have been since that day.
In many ways, those few days with Courtney Love was my most stable relationship up to that point.
She didn’t fully appreciate how I was always weeping at her feet.
Alright, this is another example where it wasn’t so much “dating” as “blackmailing her into taking a photo with me”, but still, to me, it counts. You see, I found out Salma Hayek was an illegal immigrant before most of you did. I found this out because I know people who know people who are slightly aware of other people who may know OF people who have talked to people who have taken cabs with people whose cousin’s are very, very powerful people. So you see, I knew that gave me some leverage.
So I find out, fly out to L.A, and tell her I will have her deported if she doesn’t get jiggy with me. There is little about it I DON’T regret, actually, but we need to learn from our own mistakes.
And so our sordid romance begins. By romance, I mean the photo of us in the back of my old Kia. That was pretty much it. Thing is, I was so bad at taking photos, I didn’t realize she wasn’t even in the shot until it was too late. So basically, I have a nude pic of me in the back of my old Kia, if anyone is interested. Sorry Salma, I would’ve handled that one with a little more grace if I could, in hindsight.
The freaky thing is, and I am NOT kidding, she is seventy-six years old in this picture.
Alright, as amazing as this woman was to me, it dawned on me, after a week with her, that she was a vampire. No, seriously, when I was dating her, I was under the assumption she was in her twenties. Then, I saw this:
Wow, she looks the exact same.
And then I saw this:
Wow, she looks the exact same.
And now, I shall show a picture of her currently:
Wow, she looks the exact same.
Now, I don’t know how good you are at “monster math”, but:
Ageless Beauty+ Timeless Relevance = Succubus Illuminati Vampire from Hell.
I mean, I adored her, I would sit there and look into her eyes for hours, but then I caught myself, and I would scream: WITCHCRAFT! At which point, she would hiss like a cat at me, grow wings, and fly into the village to go feast on more babies. It became a cycle. And I had to break it.
So one night, I just left. I upped and left our Romanian village we lived in. We only lived there because it was easier for her to “feed” off those who don’t recognize her. Her words, not mine. There is only so many times you can walk in on the woman you love, hunched over a plate of babies, before you say: Enough! I deserve better than this! So I left and never looked back. I swear, though, sometimes at night I can still hear the flapping of her leathery wings outside my window, as she watches me dance-sexy for her.