Most of the famous people I find attractive live in far off places like Hollywood and appear to me only on t.v. or in magazines. But Heath Ledger was different. He lived in my neighborhood up until a few months ago, when he split up with his girlfriend. I have seen him walking down Smith Street and pushing his kid in a stroller down Hoyt. I knew which house was his and he was an actual real person. Which somehow makes it even sadder that he died yesterday. I think there was a part of me that thought that we would really hit it off if he took the time to get to know me. We could go get a beer at The Boat, which I've heard was one of his hangouts in the neighborhood. Or get the cheese plate at Robin Des Bois, another place he frequented. He would have seen that I am more than just a chunky middle aged woman who is destined to live in her parent's basement with 14 rescued cats. He would have seen that inside, I am every bit as fun and interesting as Mary Kate Olsen. But I missed my chance. He moved into the city a few months ago and started hanging out with models and druggies, apparently. And since I am neither, he probably wouldn't have been interested in me. But somehow, when he was strolling around Brooklyn, I felt like he was just a normal, super hot guy who I maybe could have made out with at the bar. And now I'll never have that chance.
No comments:
Post a Comment