My intense, supernova-like interest in Natalie Portman began when I saw a trailer for "Mars Attacks" back when I was 16. I didn't know who she was, but her piercing almond eyes and aquiline nose caught my attention immediately. I did some research and found she had already appeared in a few films. After renting them, I was at an impasse. "Mars Attacks" had not yet been released, and I had exhausted her brief oeuvre.

Around this time the term "world wide web" was becoming a part of the American lexicon. During a visit to my computer equipped mother's, I found that others shared my interest in Natalie, and had built shrines to her on the internet. I read all the interviews I could, and discovered evidence that further fueled my newly forming obsession. Like me, Natalie was a 16-year-old junior in high school, a vegetarian of many years, and found the word "clutter" to be pleasing to the ear. I instantly began to feel a common bond with her. All the older men taking such an interest in a 16-year-old girl sickened me. It was ok for me to be interested in her, in fact if one were to take stock of the evidence, I had many good reasons to be infatuated. She was meant for me, not all the other crazy, creepy guys. I knew what I had to do. I needed to go to New York to meet Natalie.

After coming to a conclusion, I attempted to hatch a plan to get to New York. I had many fantasies about hitch-hiking there, spending a few days with some non-existent artist friends, and just happening to see Natalie at a local pizza parlor. We would hit it off immediately, and she would bring me home to her artist mother and obstetrician father. Initially they would be skeptical of my atheism, yet sensing their daughter's feelings, they would decide to reserve judgment. I would help her rehearse for auditions, and she would provide the muse my inner writer had been searching for all those long years.

But then the reality that I lived 3,000 miles away and could no sooner afford a trip to New York than I could a new pair of shoes sunk in.

A few months later, word came that the pilgrimage might actually come to fruition. My aunt offered to take me to New York City with her during spring break. I jumped at the chance. A quick look at queenamidalasplace.com verified what I had suspected; Natalie would be performing on Broadway in "The Diary of Anne Frank."

I was worried that I wouldn't be able to convince my Aunt to see a play about one of the most tragic and well-known stories ever told, but she was game. And so it was that I ended up sitting 15 feet away from Natalie Portman for over two hours. I couldn't believe my good fortune. After the show I was pleasantly surprised to find out we had chosen the one night when the cast would answer questions from the audience. Initially Natalie didn't appear with the rest of her peers on stage and my heart sank. I was starting to worry that "select members of the cast" did not include her. But then she came out. She was very giggly and acted like the teenage girl she was, yet answered the questions thoughtfully and professionally. My crush reached its highest point.

The next day I resolved to write Natalie a letter expressing how I felt. I tried to formulate the right combination of words that would warrant a response. I cringe now to even think of the specifics of the mash note I later delivered to the play's stage manager. Needless to say, she never replied. But at the time I was convinced she would write me back.

One Saturday, not long after returning home, a hand-written envelope with a New York return address arrived in the mail. I allowed myself to be excited for a few scant seconds, and then, to my great disappointment, ripped open the envelope only to find a brochure from Columbia College that I had requested while in New York.

My disappointment eventually evolved into disinterest. I stopped going to websites dedicated to Natalie, and 1999's "Anywhere But Here" was the last film I saw solely because she was in it. As she and I both began to become adults, my infatuation came to an end. I wanted the cuter, younger version of her, but she was long gone. As that form of her began to mature and change, so did the part of me that was so obsessed with her, until she's left with severely prominent cheekbones and I no longer have the ability to harbor celebrity crushes of such magnitude.