Dear Emma (Watson),
Sorry I had to put your last name in parentheses. I started a new blog with my buddy Tommy D, so some of our new readers might not know the long history you and I share. I apologize for not having written since October 7, 2009. A lot has changed since 2009. Back then I was dominating beer pong at Boston University. These days I live in Los Angeles and get a raging, two-day hangover if I play more than one game of beer pong. It’s fucking awful.
How’s it going with you? I saw The Bling Ring last weekend. You were phenomenal, but overall I thought the movie lacked any narrative structure and was a total waste of my time. Except the scenes with you in it – I mentioned you were awesome, right?
You’ve been pretty amazing in every movie you’ve been in since the Harry Potter magic came to an end. Your performances in The Perks of Being a Wallflower, My Week With Marilyn, and This Is The End were all Academy Award-worthy in my book. Freaking Meryl Streep keeps hording all the Oscars. They should just rename the damn thing after her already.
Enough of the small talk. As you know, I’ve been in love with you since I was 12 and saw you in Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone. Not many people knew how beautiful you’d become, but I did. I’ve written to you in various publications since then in an attempt to reach you and try to get a date. We’ve both been in and out of relationships for years, but the word on the street is that you’re single now, and frankly, I’m not getting any younger.
That’s why I’ve decided to write you a weekly letter on The Millennial Man to sway you to finally give me a shot. Thanks to Twitter and various other social media outlets, I might have a chance at actually reaching you. It’s a slim chance, but it’s better odds than I had writing in my journal (not diary – those are for girls) back in 2001. I hope you never see those entries. I’m pretty sure I still thought I was going to be in a band and I wrote you some songs. Yikes.
Shit. I’m supposed to be selling myself as a viable date option. Not some prepubescent Chicago kid with a crush on a British actress who might as well be royalty. If only my Dating Machine was built to give good advice in this situation.
I grow pretty good facial hair these days and have finally figured out what haircut to order every time I stop at the haircut store. I mean beauty salon. Shit, I mean barbershop. Yeah, that’s it. Sorry, I’m a little nervous. I can’t believe it’s been over four years since I’ve written you a letter. I mentioned I think you’re world-shakingly hot, right?
I’m just going to come out and say it: I think you should come to Los Angeles. You don’t have to move here, I just thought maybe it’d be easier for you to come here for our first date because you could afford a private plane and all. I’ll pay for everything once you’re here… unless you’d want to split it? I’d be down for that. I mean you do make millions and I make, uh… well, not millions. Either way, I’ll plan an awesome date and if things go well you might even get lucky. But don’t come in assuming anything. I’m not that kind of guy.
I’ve heard the rumblings that you might be dating some famous British rugby player or something. My little sister sent me a link. I read the first line of the article and quickly closed it. I can’t accept that. I think it’s time you stop dating these famous dudes who break your heart and don’t fulfill your needs.
Give a salt of the earth guy like me a chance. You might just be pleasantly surprised. I’m not sure what kinds of stories you Brits like – although I know we share a love for Harry Potter – but here in America we love an underdog story. Have you ever seen Rocky? Or the rest of the Rocky movies? Rocky is a guy everyone thinks is a joke until he takes Apollo Creed the distance.
Put me in a ring with this rugby dude. I don’t have the divine boxing skills that Sly Stallone has, but I can take a punch. And I would take hundreds of punches for you. I’d punch back too, though I can’t promise I’d land a single one. My friend Jack recently gave me an awesome boxing lesson, so you never know.
Emma, I’ll write as many letters as I need to, but I hope this one is enough. I don’t want to have to pull an Aladdin and have to pretend to be Prince Ali Ababwa to get your attention. I hope I can pique your interest as the street rat that I am.
Hope you’re having a good week. Let me know if you want to come to my flag football game on Saturday. I’ll save you a seat.
PS: I was just kidding about splitting the bill on the date. I’ll pay.
This article was written by Billy Kirland, co-founder of The Millennial Man.