Jon Bon Jovi." Then I describe in detail the poster of him I had on my wall where he's wearing a leather jacket, a horn necklace and a pout. I figure this answer is dorky enough but cool enough to suffice. I mean, Slippery When Wet was kinda awesome back then. And, it's partly honest. I did love Jon Bon. I did have that poster. But, I'm a liar because he was soooo not my first.
My first crush of any sort was Michael Jackson. Yes, that Michael Jackson. Jacko.
It started out with a stack of Jackson 5 records. My parents were really cool and open-minded about music. (I had a record player in my room practically from birth, my first and only Ice-T album by the age of 12 and was jamming out to Depeche Mode by 13. The folks grounded me if I made an 89 but allowed me to listen to gangster rap.) They encouraged my obsession by buying me pretty much any album I wanted, even terrible choices like Sylvia or Starship. But, early on, they steered me toward kid-friendly jams like the good ole' Jackson 5 or The Monkees. When it was obvious I was obsessed, I moved on to the Michael Jackson solo album about a freakin' rat, Ben. Off The Wall followed, then, of course, Thriller. I made up a very awesome dance to The Girl Is Mine, playing the parts of both Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson and using a stuffed bear to represent "the girl." Around this time I had a little bug box, which I filled with three rolly pollies named "Jichael Mackson, Maul PcCarntney and Jillie Bean." They only lived for a few days but I know they appreciated being placed right next to the speakers so they could hear their songs.
I was pretty sure he was the love of my life and that no one could understand Michael Jackson any more than I could. We were two peas in a sparkly pod! One night after Thriller came out, I stayed up listening to the sounds of my parent's dinner party and thinking about my crush. I wandered out in my Smurf nightgown and announced to the gathered adults that I would someday marry Michael Jackson. They laughed at me and then yelled for other people to "come listen to this!" Then they made me repeat myself. I went back to bed thinking I was awesome and hilarious because they'd laughed. I probably would marry the King of Pop someday! I was funny!
In fourth grade, we were given a class project. Each student was to choose a famous person and write them a letter. I chose my guy M.J. I wrote a heartfelt pile of ass-kissing perfection and signed it with lots of hearts. I put stickers on the front of the envelope: a sparkly glove and a photo of Michael in a yellow sweater with his signature underneath. I figured he'd definitely open my letter because of my attention to detail. Over the next month, I watched as my classmates got replies from stupid Crystal Gayle and even Ronald Reagan. But, no word from Mr. Jackson. I would not be his P.Y.T as I'd previously assumed. He didn't care about my love at all. I got over him and moved my attentions to the aforementioned big-haired New Jersey boy.
I told my husband about my obsession one night over a bottle of wine. I thought he'd find it quirky and adorable. His response? "You only like messed up celebrities. Like, full-tilt crazy damaged guys. What is wrong with you?"
He was right, of course. I had it really bad for Robert Downey Jr. back in the day, whom I lovingly referred to as "my coked-up baby." I also nursed a decade-long crush on the troubled lead singer of Stone Temple Pilots, Scott Weiland. I loved him. Even during his Velvet Revolver days, which is saying something. For years, he'd be the first person I'd list when someone asked me my Top 5 crushes or cheats or freebies or whatever. I saw him in concert once at the House of Blues. I elbowed my way to the front and stood squashed against the stage, staring up at his skinny sweaty clearly-railed self, completely enamored. My love, although watered-down, lingered until recently when I clicked on a link of my favorite druggie covering one of my favorite Depeche Mode songs. I figured it was kismet. It wasn't. It was train wreck. Crush gone.
So, Tim had a point. Scott Weiland is easily one of the most jacked up people in rock and roll and maybe planet Earth. There have been others over the years. I can't like someone nice like Matt Damon. I've gotta go River Phoenix or Dennis Rodman. If I liked girls, I'd probably think Lindsay Lohan was the shit. I simply can't help it. If you're crazy and famous, I like totally heart you!!! xoxo!
Don't worry, I'm in therapy. But, I still maintain that Jillie Bean is a killer name for a rolly polly.
*Photo by MeetTheChumbeques.