Addicted To Love: That Time I Dated A Celebrity

We all fantasize about dating famous people: they’re hot, rich, good-looking, have a lot of money, have pretty faces, their bodies are sculpted out of marble, they’re hot and they’re rich.

After briefly dating a moderately famous actor a few summers ago, I quickly discovered dating way way up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Fun, but not all it’s cracked up to be.

I met him at a bar while he was living in Toronto shooting a TV show. He is ridiculously good-looking, so clearly I was going to go out with him, despite having met him in a bar, because normally I hate doing that. But hey, it’s made a fantastic story.

Side note, I 100% knew what the parameters of the situation were: he’s famous, primarily lives in LA, and is likely enjoying the fact that he can basically get any girl he wants. I was by no means expecting it to go past a first night out, so everything that came after was just a bonus.

We texted non-stop for about a week after we met, trying to set up a day to go out, but our schedules kept conflicting. He was super texty, and I would wake up to a message from him literally every morning. That behaviour was shocking to me because he was a guy, let alone a celebrity. I enjoyed it for what it was.

Finally, at about 11 o’clock one Friday night, he invited me out to meet up with him and his friends at a bar. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten ready/shaved as fast as I did at that moment. I was also on the verge of throwing up from anxiety the entire time. About 5 minutes away from the bar, I texted him and told him I was almost there, and to meet me outside, to which he responded “My friend will be out to get you”. I showed up to a bar with a line up down the street, so I waited by the door anxiously chain smoking. I have to admit, I felt pretty cool.

His friend emerged and took me inside, and brought me over to his table. I’m pretty sure he actually turned around in slow motion, and a choir of angels may or may not have been singing while it happened. He greeted me with a kiss and said “Hey babe!”

I died.

The entire night there were countless girls coming up to him asking for pictures, and he graciously obliged every time. I was in awe of how sweet he was to the extremely irritating fans. It amazed me how quickly I grew tired of our conversation being interrupted, but I obviously felt pretty great about the situation at the same time. Whenever a girl would drunkenly come up to us, tits up to her chin in some skin tight dress and slur about how big of a fan she was, he would always engage, but kept his arm firmly around my waist the entire time. He had this amazing way of making me feel like I was the only girl he was interested in getting attention from. Eventually we left this obnoxious bar and went somewhere a little less populated with idiots. Obviously, he paid for everything, and obviously I ended up completely hammered. He was clearly charmed by how hilarious and nonchalant I was; at one point one of his friends said “I like her”, to which he replied “I do too.”

I died again.

At the end of the night, we obviously ended up back at his place (hey, I was dying to see what his apartment was like). My clearest memory is marveling at his stellar body: I’ve never in my life been impressed by a man’s ass other than that night. But actually, it was ridiculous. I didn’t want to look directly at it, for fear of blinding myself. The next morning I had to get up early, so I left, and he was super texty the next couple of days, which I was pretty into. But I was also confused, since I assumed I would just never hear from him again.

He took me to a movie a few days later, and it was such an adorable hand-holding in the theatre type date. He was super affectionate, and sweet and funny, and I was pretty into it. But again, it was odd, since I was assuming I was going to be a one two night stand, and was completely okay with that. We stayed at his place again that night, but once we got back to his place it was a little different. He was ever so slightly less sweet than before (not not sweet, just less sweet), and as soon as he started mentioning that he would be leaving Toronto soon I immediately thought, “Okay, there it is!”. I left the next morning, kissed him goodbye, and that was that.

I figured I wouldn’t be seeing him again, and I was cool with it. We lived two completely different lives, and even in some hypothetical scenario where it worked out, neither of us should be expected to change our lives so drastically as to make it work. I also don’t know if I would be able to become okay with our picture being taken constantly, or our inevitable break up popping up in some magazine.

After recently telling this story to a friend, she said this:
“He treated you like a princess, and was unbelievably sweet to you. If this was a story about some random guy you met, it would be a great story. But it also happens to be [his name].” After thinking about that for a minute, I realized that not only had I acquired a great story about a really hot/nice guy who took me on really adorable dates, but I also acquired a great story about a really hot/nice/famous guy who took me on really adorable dates. The whole thing was such a confidence boost.

I just don’t understand why he tried so hard. I would have slept with him regardless.

Alex Payne

Alex Payne

Contributor at Addicted
Alex Payne is a writer/editor/blogger living in Toronto, and a complete pop culture junkie, writing about music, dating, and whatever else she wants to rant about. She's obsessed with cupcakes, Kate Spade and The Simpsons. Oh, and vodka.
Alex Payne