Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Oh, alright. I'll take it.

So. Mr. Clooney is once again People's choice for sexiest man alive.


OK. I get it. He's been in my top 5 for a looooooong time. He's charming and unapologetic and can smell a dumbass from a mile away through that perfect little nose of his that rests on top of a manly chiseled chin which rounds out his handsome, always slightly smirking face. But come on. People totally launched a soggy softball with this one. I can think of quite a few others a tad more deserving of this completely vapid yet entertaining contest.

For example:

Patrick Dempsey. Who , by the miracle of time and good genes went from this:


To this:


I'm pissed like a wet cat that I didn't get on the Grey's Anatomy bandwagon and now I'm desperately out of the loop and refuse to watch any episodes from this year until I borrow the first 2 seasons on DVD from my friend and park my tryptophan-ladened ass in front of the TV over the 4 day Thanksgiving weekend and get at least caught up until I can watch reruns of the news ones in the Spring. Doctor McDreamy and a pumpkin cheesecake all to myself? Talk about multiple orgasms.

And what about this guy?


He a man. He a real man. He real dirty man, but no bother. He's fricken hot! And funny! And manly. I would have liked to see Mike Rowe grace the cover of People with a tuxedo and a pile of dead fish. So he hasn't started a global campaign to fight a deadly disease, he's still hot. He'd make you laugh until you peed then he'd clean you up because he it not afraid of a little pee. He's not afraid of a giant elephant-sized tidlewave of pee. You just know all of his t-shirts smell like sweet sweat and expensive cologne. (And hopefuly not pee.)

Of course the editors of People could never, never, ever, EVER go wrong with the one and only numero uno crush of my life (besides whitey) beautiful perfect talented smoldering could sip hot soup from my bare hands man. ~sigh~ Hi, Johnny! Need I say more? No, I needn't.


Even though I'm not jumping for joy over the choice of The Clooney, I'll put on a brave face and gently finger through the magazine when it gets here on Friday and give every single male on every single page my utmost attention. It's the least I can do. Right? Right.

Speaking of crushes...I've had my fair share. I appreciate a nice face, a thick pair of thighs, and a kick'n personality, as we all do. Whitey has his porn girls and I have my entertainers. Occasionally I'll foray into another medium, like reality TV stars. Mark from the original Road Rules still blows my dress up even though he's probably working at Home Depot when he's not on some ridiculous MTV challenge, he's still fair game for the inner teenager who runs at least half of my brain.

Most of the time I have good taste. Make rational choices. Pine over decent people. All perfectly innocent, mind you, since it's all fake, daydreamy stuff anyway that we all do. We admire Brad Pitt with long hair or short, Matthew McConaughey playing bongos in the nude, and Taye Digs with his rock-hard abs. All good, yes?

Well, sometimes I, um, lose my mind a little. I get a teeny, tiny bit crazed over a questionable icon. A very, small, miniscule, hardly noticeable obession. Now and then I might pay a lot of money to get as close as possible to a very embarassing person I have, for reasons unknown to me or anyone else on the planet except elderly ladies, those from the South or gay men, a microscopic adoration for.

And perhaps, once in awhile I might purchase a t-shirt and a poster then wait outside a venue until the special person finally comes out 2 hours later to ask for an autograph I don't even want watching him scribble the wrong name because I couldn't form a coherent sentence when they asked me, on the aforementioned poster just so I can come within a few scant feet of the person.

Occasionally, I'm insane.

But I get over it! OK! I GET OVER IT!


I totally got over it.

Shut up.


"Keep on dancin', Buddy"

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