Crushing It

I’ve always had crushes. I mean always. Not just when I was a preteen. I. Mean. Always. I think I may have come out of the womb crushing on the doctor.  If he had some big blue eyes and played guitar, I definitely had a crush on him.

I embarked on my crushing lifestyle with Johnny Cage (AKA Randolph Mantooth) from the 1970s show “Emergency”. I was four. In fact, I have a vivid memory of being furious at my parents when my younger brother was born because: A. He was a boy and B. After the slap-in-the-face no little sister, they had the audacity of of not naming him after my favorite make-believe paramedic. They named him after my Uncle Bill who just had open heart surgery. Those cruel tyrants.

And I was four was Bill was born. So before I could spell my name without a cheat sheet, I was attracted to a man. This is one girl who has never doubted her sexuality. (Not that there is anything wrong with that.)

Once I hit five and had the spelling of my name down pat, I discovered music and the beautiful, addictive world of musicians. I started with Davy Jones (so the whole “musician” thing is kind of argumentative). Then proceeded with the obvious, Paul McCartney. Although I had to conceal that. My two older sisters, Liz and Mary, and cousin, Jeannie had a rule that since I was the youngest, I got last pick of The Beatles. When we played Haunted Honeymoon, Liz got Paul and I was stuck with Ringo. There was also another rule when I played dolls with Mary that I had to be the boy, since – as Mary said – I had a deeper voice. I think my sisters may have been taking advantage of me.

My path through the forest of celebrity crushes took me to the age and era appropriate: Sting, ages 14-16, the mid-eighties. Then there was the age and era greatly inappropriate: Pete Townsend, ages 12-13, early eighties. (What?!!? Quadrophenia is genius.) I also flirted (in my dreams) with Harrison Ford and there were brief imaginary interludes with other 1980s New Wave/Alternative music icons such as John Taylor, Bono, and Peter Gabriel.

As I matured, so did my musical tastes and my crushes began to be based on talent, not just good looks. Thus began the era of average looking fellas such as Robyn Hitchcock and Peter Buck. Average looking, but brilliant musicians and/or songwriters. This carried me through college and into adulthood.

During that time, I had crushes on men that I had actually met, but had the same chances as I did with say, Davy Jones. There were those guys who were waaaayyyyyyy outta my league. Then there was the occasional attractive executive I’d see across the room, but never met. Then of course the obligatory married guy. But most of these were not reciprocated. So I would fall back on my celebrity crushes. How could a guy I never met reject me?

The most current musician crush has been Jeff Tweedy. Never heard of him? Oh, he is only this generation’s greatest songwriter. Gorgeous voice, too, and pretty darn good at that guitaring thing. Unfortunately, my dear Jeffy has let himself go over the past few years. This came crashing down on me when I attended a small concert of just about 30 people. There he was, singing his heart out about a foot away from me. But, slightly tubby with a shaggy beard and a stained t-shirt. I was left with the horrible realization that I was not physically attracted to him. When he’s onstage, he’s a cross between Han Solo, Indiana Jones and Eric from True Blood. Up close, not so much.

All this celebrity crushing has me wondering What the What!?!??! Here I am, a 45-year old woman, barreling down on 46, yet I still get these crazy crushes on dudes that I’ve a snowball’s chance in Hell with. Shouldn’t this have stopped when my teens years ended? What is the psychology that drives me to this?

I’ve been contemplating this a bit with my current celebrity crush, Raúl Espraza, the green-eyed, Cuban-American el tipo* who portrays ADA Barba on Law & Order: SVU. I blame this on my current status as unemployed. Why, you ask. Well, as you may know, binge TV is the unemployed girl’s best friend and worst enemy. I plowed through SVU’s seasons 15-17 in two weeks. Followed by three seasons of Hannibal in just over a week. (A disturbing show, but totally kept me on my diet.) I was keeping it all in check, when a Google search revealed that Mr. Espraza sings. Good God, acts AND sings, I was doomed to crushing.

All this bingeing and Google searches compound the fact that, being among the non-working population, there’s just not a lot going on in my brain. I have all this free mental space that’s occupied by inappropriate thoughts of the ADA.

Back to the psychology of all these pointless crushes. We have the first factor of excess mental space filled with images of Raúl Esparza singing a sexy, salsa version of “O Holy Night”. (Is it a sin to think “O Holy Night” is sexy?)  The second factor may be the huge disappointment of what has been my romantic history. Long story short, lots and lots of rejection. Maybe celebrity crushes are my defense mechanism against getting hurt again. Maybe it’s about maintaining my independence and not have to be accountable to anyone else. Maybe I just have way to high standards.

Who knows? I’ll think on this more as I set up my Google Alert for “Raúl Esparza”.

*El Tipo is Spanish for “Hunk”.