In honor of my recent foray into straight world, I thought I would start a regular thing: a list of dudes that make my lady parts happy and would drag me deeper into the underbelly of non-gayness. It's pretty fucked up.
At the very top of my list there is one. There has always been one, ever since my poor, confused hormones starting cart-wheeling up and down my body. And that dude is Heath Ledger.
|Pretty much, all captions for his pictures should be: "kjhszmq;lmubecojihlkdjsh, ow my ovaries".|
Ever since I randomly caught 10 Things I Hate About You on cable, my heart flips every time I see his beautiful, beautiful face. This was the beginning of my bad boy (and girl) syndrome. Fret not, I also fantasized plenty about Julia Stiles. I printed tens of pictures of the both of them and covered my closet door with them (sign number 768 for my mother of my budding bisexualism).
But Heath was special. He was so hot and devilish. This was also the time I began to understand and speak English in ernest; I began to distinguish accents. And holy crap, his accent! His voice! Uggggghhhhhhhhh.
|Yes, yes I have.|
Then, I watched every Heath Ledger movie I could get my hands on: I scoured the TV guide and the internet. I watched Two Hands, an Australian crime movie he did before he was famous in the States (I actually highly recommend it, it's really good). I watched A Knight's Tale, which I kind of recommend, if only to watch two of the most beautiful people in the world together (Hello, Shannyn Sossamon).
|(Also, fun fact, that movie introduced me to David Bowie. No joke. Also, Paul Bethanny and Whedonite Alan Tudyk are in it).|
I watched Candy, with Geoffrey Rush and Abbie Cornish, a depressing story about a once-lovely heroin-addicted couple. I watched Brokeback Mountain. No explanation needed. If you haven't watched that film, you should. Now. Like, literally, stop reading and go watch it. It's gorgeous. And it's also the film with which I realized the Academy Awards are full of shit – it lost best picture to fucking Crash.
|Jack Fucking Twist, you sonofabitch.|
I watched I'm Not There and The Something or Another of Doctor Parnassus (I cannot be bothered to look up the name – the movie was ruined by the other actors who tried to act like him).
And I watched The Motherfucking Dark Knight. FACKEN WHATTTTTT. He was a genius. Homie literally never picked a lame project. I read that his first job was in an Australian soap opera (bear with me) playing an openly gay teen. He was 16 at the time.
And then he up and died. I remember I was on vacation from my first year in college, watching TV at home when the news came up that he had died. I actually cried. And I cried again when his father accepted his Oscar the following year. I honestly think about his death regularly, and get legitimately bummed out. What a fucking loss.
THE LESBIAN APPEAL:
Well, when I first saw him he had longish hair, so there's that. He kind of dressed like a boi would. His name is really cool, albeit a little fake-sounding. Dimples. He also was pro-gay (I'm assuming, given his choices in characters), which is a turn-on. He liked strong, intelligent, awesome ladies (Naomi Watts and Michelle Williams are living proof... I am hoping the Mary-Kate Olsen rumors are not true). And this:
WHAT I WOULD LIKE TO DO WITH (TO?) HIM:
Provided he weren't dead, I would like to go camping with him to Montana in the summer. He could be the Ennis to my Jack. We would make love and I'd make him eggs in the morning. We could wear matching plaid shirts. Then we would get back to the city cause I can't take that shit for long. We would live in a swanky loft apartment in the LES and be friends with Vivianne Westwood and Michael Stipe.
Heath, I wish I knew how to quit you.