My name is Chelsea. 22, post-collegiate life. My weaknesses include craft beers, bearded men, and the Oxford comma.

I don’t believe in meeting my heros.

My mother is one of those people who, upon finding out there’s a celebrity in the area, will drop everything in a wholehearted attempt to hunt them down. She doesn’t care who it is, necessarily, and I don’t really know what her goal is when finding them. I’ve asked her about it in the past, when she’s tried to drag me into a comic book store in University Heights to meet Chris Daughtry, or to the restricted area of a tennis arena in Cincinnati to chase after Roger Federer, or some similar situation. “It’s fun.” She tells me, trying to use the prospect of meeting so-and-so name in such-and-such place to tug at me like a leash. “It’s fun.” It’s fun?

To me, it’s just uncomfortable. The very process of going up to another person and gushing the “I’m a fan” expletive establishes this bizarre hierarchy which I don’t care to be a part of. “I put you on a pedestal, but I know far more about you than you know about me, so really, I have the advantage here.” I don’t want an awkwardly stoic and invasive photo or an indecipherable scab of ink on the back of a restaurant receipt or concert ticket. I don’t want acknowledgement. I don’t want anything.

But maybe that’s just a coverup. Maybe I’m afraid of being met by disappointment. Maybe I build these people up in my mind to be tragic heros, and lovable losers. They’re characters. And I love characters. Hell, I’m a writer. I make people up in my mind all the time. I assign personalities and play with names. I give adoration and hate, fear and faith. I make them dependent on me. Breathe for me. Maybe I don’t want to ruin that. Maybe it would break my heart to find out that real humans are only human.

(Source: postbluebeats)

I’m pretty sure Andrew Garfield’s Peter Parker is the sexiest awkward outcast superhero there ever was.

I meannnn,

I can’t be the only one addicted to his tendency to repeat his words, his love of skipping from time to time, and his unnatural connection to his skateboard.

Am I right?

I invented a superhero

Last night I watched both Iron Man’s and Thor and when I was in the shower today I invented a superhero complete with a name, back story, nemesis, a mission and even a brilliant woman associate with whom he exchanges witty, flirtatious banter.

This is what normal people think of in the shower, right?