When you were added to the Chicago Comic Con lineup at the last minute (as in, less two weeks before Comic Con), it was like someone had been listening to my wishes these past few years for the opportunity to see you.
I purchased tickets to Chicago Comic Con to see CM Punk, however I was ready to put my VIP pass aside to see you should any panels or photo ops overlap. While CM Punk is my current (WWE) love, you have been there since…well…
While the bad boy front is every girl’s dream (and if any are denying it, they’re lying), my attraction to you and your character Jess was because, well, 1. you’re gorgeous and 2. you are/were Rory’s intellectual equal. No one wants a needy pretty boy who won’t let go of high school relationships or a rich snob who doesn’t value her self-worth. SHE NEEDED YOU. I need(ed) you.
My love for you continued. Once your role on Gilmore Girls ended, you began a new journey: Heroes. I watched Heroes because of you. Then, of course, anybody who knows me knows that Rocky is one of my favorite love stories. It was all too perfect that you would play Sylvester Stallone’s son in Rocky Balboa.
Thankfully, at Comic Con, panels, photo ops, autographs—nothing about CM Punk interfered with you, my Milo. I dragged my friend to attend the panel with me and to keep me from fangirling too much. However, I think I was shaking enough that I didn’t need his help. I just sat there smiling until my face hurt and then I smiled some more.
You waltzed right into the panel room without any introductions, like it was no big deal. You smiled, waved and stood there unsure of what you should do.
AND THEN YOU DID THIS (shout out to my friend who instigated it):
Be still, my heart.
Panel ended and you invited fans to follow you out and no one did. Except for me.
You made a remark that you forgot to throw away an empty cup and my friend offered to hold it for you if you hugged me. Without the stipulation, you turned to me and rested your arm around my shoulders. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” you asked. “Mary,” I replied weakly. At this point, I’ve wrapped my arms around your waist. It would’ve taken the Jaws of Life to get me off.
I didn’t get a picture with you, I didn’t ask for your autograph. We were just two people walking and talking, albeit one smiling like The Joker (not as creepy, but just as wide).
You then invited me (and friend) to hang out with you for a bit, but when we reached the end of the hallway I pulled away. You looked at me with disappointed eyes and kept walking. After realizing my stupidity, I tried following you as the rest of your crew, but the security guard wouldn’t let us pass, even though you went into the main convention center floor. My friend and I ran around trying to find you again but you were gone.
I stood around for the next 15 minutes unsure of what had just happened. Hyperventilating. In near tears.
This is what you do to me, Milo, or perhaps this was my first time really being starstruck (sorry, CM Punk).
I already was upset with my lack of interaction with CM Punk earlier that same day so when I saw you standing there the next day, with no line for your autograph, I knew it was my chance to talk to you again. My heart was racing like it was my first time talking to you. You smiled and said you remembered me, and I’m sure I blushed more this time than before. I apologized for crushing your ribs during our lovely stroll however you assured me that it was okay, “I have other ribs. It’s fine.”
What I’m basically saying, Milo, with more than enough words is: come back to Chicago.
PS – We make a cute couple.