I pwn fandom.

 

Norlando Bloom

I am having great difficulty understanding the complete, utter pandemonium that seems to surround that there guy in the picture lately. all because he’s in a film about a vampire who falls in love with a human (hm, where have I heard something like that before?). I mean, I would definitely understand the hype, as any ex-fangirl would, if Robert Pattinson were in any way hot, but look at him, people! His eyebrows are too bushy, his chin is too square, his hair is too messy… Even his pout is too surly! I swear, all this crazy Pattinson Luv is surely a bad sign for fandom as we know it. This is what teenage girls of today have to make do with? In my day, even vampires weren’t as stereotypically, well, shit. I worry that these kids don’t even know what they’re missing out on.

Despite my confusion concerning ol’ R-Patt, I do, naturally, understand the craze to a certain extent. I was the queen of fangirly lust back in my day — the object of my affections being this man:

 

Squee, indeed.

Look at him there, in all his half-naked manly glory. Yes, Orlando Bloom was my slighty girlish with a hint of danger, yet oh-so-chaste, crush of choice. This was all many moons ago, of course, and for the last five years or so, I definitely considered myself to be over both him and embarrassing fangirl infatuation. In fact, I was over both him and embarrassing fangirl infatuation! Now, let me briefly rewind nine months, to the 2008 BAFTA ceremony. I hadn’t even planned to go. Himself and myself just so happened to be strolling through London when we came upon the crowds. And what fun we had, pointing excitedly at such amazing celebrities as Nicky Clarke, Hairdresser to the Stars, and none other than Sting’s wife, Trudi What’shername! Himself kept asking me if I wanted to go up on his shoulders. and I kept refusing, because I’m desperately afraid of any type of heights, and also, I’m not a big losehead. So anyway, about thirty seconds later, a new car rolls up, and someone gets out. I can’t see who it is from where I’m standing, so I try to make out what other people are saying. Martin Coombe? Temple of Doom? Setanta Womb?

Oh. My. God. 

Orlando Bloom! The next few moments are a bit of a blur, but they went something like this:

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, Orlando Bloom. IT’S ORLANDO BLOOM!!! Let me up on your shoulders, your shoulders… Now! LET ME UP ON YOUR GODDAMN SHOULDERS, YOU PRICK!!! *punch* OH MY GOD!! ORLANDO! OVER HERE!!! Oh my god, he looked at me, he saw me, he definitely saw me, oh my god, oh my god…!”

So you see, when it’s a battle between my morbid fear of heights and Orlando Bloom, Orlando wins. And when it comes to twenty-something mental stability and maturity, and teenage derangement and insanity, well, you’ve been reading this post. 

I don’t know. I guess they just don’t make pretty-boy actors like they used to. However, fangirls definitely haven’t changed. I just really hope that one day, in about five years, when Robert Pattinson is just another, hairy, slightly bloated, washed-up actor, he’ll go to the BAFTAs and inspire a similar reaction to my Blooming ridiculous one this year in a twenty-one year old young woman who really should know better, but fuck it, she hasn’t changed that much. 

So yeah, my fifteen year old self can pwn my twenty-one year old self any day of the week. But those R-Patt fans will never, ever pwn the Orli fans of my teenage years. Bah — I’d like to see them try!

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