*Welcome back to our regularly occurring post we have called “How I fell for Rob” where LTR readers write Rob a letter explaining how they fell for him. Today, Heathcliff writes a hilarious letter for us*
Where it all starts for Heathcliff
Well, by now you know but perhaps you still don’t fully understand the mania. You’re wondering… What is it about you that makes you so irresistible and addictive? I’ve heard you say in interviews that you don’t get it, and I have friends on the “outside” who share your opinion. I don’t say this to insult your intelligence, Rob, but those “friends” of mine? They’re idiots. So I’ll try to explain it to you, just like I try to explain it to them. It’s kind of like explaining what a sunset looks like to a blind man, or what a comb looks like to Kristen Stewart… but I’ll try.
Like everyone else, I wasn’t always obsessed with you. I saw you in The Goblet of Fire. You were hot, in a wonderfully Cedric sort of way.
But the first time I looked at you and felt my girly bits get tingly was the profile shot of you from the kissing scene in Twilight. I guess you don’t get much of an opportunity to see your sideburns, your hairline, or the wonderfully lickable mole that skirts along it. So I’m here to tell you– you look hot from the side. Well, it soon became apparent to me that you look hot from every angle, but this was the first one in a long line of them that “did it” for me. But I wasn’t obsessed yet.
God bless this scene
I read Twilight the week before the movie came out. I didn’t plan it that way, it just sort of fatefully happened. I finished the book on Thursday and went to see the movie the next day– the premiere day– by myself on a cold, dreary November day. I still barely knew your name, and when you walked into the cafeteria to the sound of Lizzie’s voice, the girl behind me kicked my chair and squealed. Literally… squealed. I scoffed and rolled my eyes at her and the rest of the teenagers in the theater. I felt a little out of my element there, being 27 and the oldest person in front of the screen. Before the movie even started, I heard a girl telling the mortifying story of having her dad overhear her conversation about birth control pills. Yep, I was definitely feeling too old for this.
What happened afterwards was sort of a blur, but I’ll try to recount. I saw the movie in the theater four more times. I maniacally looked for pirated, low-quality YouTube clips of it and tried to string them all together into a playlist so I could “watch” at home. I watched you eye fuck Kristen as you talked about being “frustraTed” and told her how watching her sleep was kind of fascinating to you. I watched your lips curve up into that adorable half-smirk as you murmured to her, “Well, I could always make you” in Edward’s bedroom. I did all of these things multiple times a day, with the repetitive obsession of a twelve-year-old boy who has just discovered Internet porn.
Read the rest after the jump
Oh hey heeeey heeeey
Yep, I was definitely developing an obsession with you, what I would later learn is professionally termed a Robsession. I heard lots of talk about how people only liked you because you played Edward. Well, I admit there was huge appeal in that. If I wasn’t drooling over your sex hair or your one vamptastic tooth in the theater, I was, in fact, losing sleep over Edward’s love notes and leg hitches. But to say that my obsession with Edward and my obsession with you are inextricably intwined, I’m afraid, would be a falsehood.
Because the moment when I realized I was in love with Robert Pattinson, completely separate and apart from Edward Cullen? Well, if I had to pinpoint it, I would say it was the cumulative effect of watching every single interview or press junket you ever did that is available on YouTube. Chief in my memory are the MTV ones with Kristen, where you joked so lightheartedly (and dorkily) about “Chilean kisses” (a joke which nobody got… yes, it was that bad, Rob); the one where you talked about how you hated your name and preferred to be called Spunk Ransom; or the one where you were baffled over people’s obsession with your hair, imitating their wonderings with, “It must be mousse!”
And then, as more and more people started to pay attention to you, and after my friend sent me a link to a little site called robsessedpattinson.com
, I started getting multiple daily (and by that, I mean hourly) glimpses into Robert Pattinson, the man. The dingy, devil-may-care, hobotastic clothes he wore. The sexy way he stroked his hands through his hair. The beautiful way he pronounced his T’s and the adorable way his eyebrows would scrunch together when he was thinking really hard about a question.
Just a big tool... yup
You know, Rob, on paper, you should be an absolute tool. Honestly. You seem too good to be true. You play music– brilliantly, I might add– you have a perfect London accent that has been melting panties worldwide since you spoke your first words on screen; you are utterly fucking beautiful, from your cheekbones to your steely blue-gray-green eyes, to your lithe, tall body; you are “mysterious” and quirky and indie and educated and a wonderful actor.
Some people might claim that you are TOO perfect because of all of this, and in that way, I think a lot of people are blind to who you really are. Ergo, they are jealous, they think a package like that MUST make you egotistical, they think you are just like every other Hollywood tool trying to get a piece of stardom. Clearly, they haven’t watched your interview videos enough.
Because what I see when I watch them? I see a man who is, yes, perfect in all of those ways listed above, but who has SO much more than that underneath the surface. It bubbles up in you every time you laugh that big, hearty guffaw, every time you break into that brilliant smile, every time you tell a story about sleeping in the dog’s bed and then spending three days apologizing to her for it.
You’re not a non-conformist because you are TRYING to be. I genuinely do not believe you wash your hair and your clothes so seldomly because you believe it’s going to help your image, because you think it’s going to fool someone into believing you are cool. The reason? You know you don’t need to convince anyone of anything, Rob, and in so doing, you simply ARE cool. And with that comes one of the healthiest doses of true modesty, humility and graciousness I’ve ever seen in a celebrity. Truly, you are sexy and you don’t even know it. And that spells the difference between simple adoration and obsession. The difference between a passing admiration and a full blown ignore-your-husband, waste-half-your-days-at-work, tie-me-to-your-messy-hotel-bed and fuck-me-in-Edward’s-Volvo Robsession.
No cure needed thankyouverymuch
I have no desire to be cured, and you shouldn’t be surprised to know I have had no trouble finding a healthy pool of enablers and cohorts. Because honestly, Rob? The best thing to come out of my addiction to you? The wonderful family of Twihards and Robsessors who share their fantasies about you with me through amazingly written fan fiction and emails and forums and blogs. Who make me laugh so hard some days that my sides hurt and my co-workers wonder what the hell is wrong with me. Who make me turn red and blush so much at my desk on other days that I attack my husband the moment I get home. But most importantly, and less frequently, the ones who have become dear and true lifelong friends to me through the paradoxically impersonal computer screen…. friends who I share more with through this medium than people I have known for years and see in the flesh on a daily basis.
So in that way, I feel very grateful to you, Rob. Not just for the beauty you add to the world (in more ways than one); or the increased quality of my sexual fantasies; or the full blown laughter and amusement I get. But for the meaningful things, like these friendships, that have added a quantifiable depth and value to my life. What a powerful thing you have done, to have an effect like that on not just one person, but thousands, perhaps millions. You have truly found your calling in life, and I can’t think of anyone who could do a better job at it than you. I hope perhaps I’ll get the chance to one day tell you that in person.
Until then, please keep on keeping on, by doing the adorable things you do– fondling microphones and water bottles, lifting your eyebrow with your finger, sewing up the holes in your clothes with the wrong color thread, and being absolutely incompetent at that great American pastime of driving a car. And if you ever need someone to oh, I don’t know, run lines with, play the guitar with (or simply for), go to a KOL concert, or watch NC-17 rated movies? Well, keep in mind that you do have more than one option, and she’s waiting patiently right here.
Love and Hot Pockets,
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