My Who’s Who List of “What Were You Thinking?”

This blog practically wrote itself this time. I absolutely believe there are no coincidences in life. Pondering just the other day what to write, I thought I had hit a dead-end. No major sporting events, no poorly-written erotica scandalizing decent American homes, and blogging about the Real Housewives or those free-loading Muppets on Sesame Street during an election season just seems irresponsible. As I pondered the idea of changing the direction of this blog to more interesting, relevant issues, I was quickly distracted by a conversation with some friends about our “Top Five” lists; the top five famous people that we could canoodle have dinner with. (Note: In the event Eric Bana should come rat-a-tat-tatting on my door I have this list ready, although not officially laminated). I should also say for the record that Carlos is absolutely allowed to have dinner with Jamie Pressly (fair’s fair). I digress. The signs that led me to write this blog…

THEN a friend sent me a hilarious blog on the top ten guys over fifty to date (Paul McCartney was the blogger’s # 1, which made me forgive her for making Mitt Romney her number # 3.) And THEN, while pulling out my sweaters from storage (because Northerners organize and store clothes by seasons, people), I stumbled across a photo journal that I kept from my pre-teen years til about fifteen, complete with magazine photos and declarations of unending devotion for my childhood crushes (when I say childhood, I mean me, not the crush.) I decided there and then that examining these love interests would be perfect fodder in a public venue, so here we go. I fully encourage you to judge me, because I judge myself. This is not a normal list for a young girl…

Julian Lennon

Doesn’t everything in life come back to the Beatles? For those of you not living in the 80s, the first born Lennon son was a chip off the old beatnik-block, musically speaking. He was my first rock crush and a sensitive soul. I remember making my Grampy listen to “Much too Late for Goodbyes” over and over. Sadly, it WAS much too late for good-byes; I was destined to love another. I will always look back on you fondly, Jude, and will forever be grateful to you for inspiring Paul McCartney.

Tom Cruise (circa Top Gun, not the “Oprah’s couch” era)

Okay, pretty sure everyone (guys and gals) either loved or wanted to be Tom Cruise in the eighties. After seeing Top Gun, I was determined to become a fighter pilot, go to the Top Gun academy and be the best fighter pilot in the Navy, sir. I was so commited, I drew fighter planes incessantly for my loved ones. And built model planes like I worked for Boeing. (No one can say I didn’t commit 100%.) I should note that I was five when Top Gun came out, so it’s safe to say that I started noticing the sillier gender at a young age. Like Maverick, Tom would soon to be replaced in my pint-sized heart, and as we all know, there are no points for second place.

Val Kilmer (The Willow Years)

Mad Mardigan. I mean… enough said. Anti-hero. Long hair, braids, the man had it all and was so swash-buckling, yet sensitive. He’s also the only crush to repeat in my journal over the years, which can only mean one thing – he was my true love. I should note that I saw The Labyrinth around this time and developed a very short-lived crush on David Bowie. I can’t stress how short-lived that was and therefore doesn’t warrant a picture. Too much eye make-up.

Andre Agassi

My father referred to him as Andre Dirtbag-assi during this time period. I love a man with a good mullet hairpiece. I fondly remember shang-hai-ing my neighborhood friends into tennis tournaments (without nets) in the streets of our neighborhood (as only a girl in love can do). I convinced myself that by becoming a professional tennis player, Andre and I would meet, fall in love, and I would be the future Mrs. Dirtbag-assi (not a nice nickname, but still amusing). It was irrelevant that I was absolutely horrible at netless tennis. My family still humoured me and renewed my subscription to a monthly Tennis magazine, just so I could cut out his pictures.

Boy Bander

By far the most age-appropriate of my crushes, I think I just went along with the crowd on Donnie Wahlberg. This is the only boy-bander I have on the list. It was short-lived (like my Hammer pants and wearing two pairs of tube socks), so I won’t dwell on it. Needless to say, I think I was attracted to the rat tail and the bad-boy of Boston attitude.

WWF Wrestlers

Apparently I loved brunette mullets. Marty Jannetty, you were perfection, a better-looking version of Wayne Campbell. I loved everything about you. The body slam. The mullet. The neon. The mid-driffs. Forget the Ultimate Warrior. Give me a man WITHOUT the face paint. I remember play wrestling with friends as a kid – I didn’t want to participate unless I could be one of the Rockers…

Kevin Costner

Okay, folks. Here’s where it gets a little weird, age-wise. I saw Kevin Costner in Robin Hood, and it was all downhill (or over the hill, pun intended) from there. Now that I’m not 12, the age difference doesn’t seem that huge, but looking back, it was WEIRD for a fifth grader to have a crush on Kevin Costner. I remember going to my friend’s house as a ten year-old and talking to her MOTHER about my love of Kevin Costner (because she, too, found him attractive). As a result of my blind devotion, I was able to overlook the fact that he didn’t bother to use an English accent in a British period piece. Fool me once, Kevin… I eventually got bored with his serious roles in movies like JFK, Tin Cup and Waterworld, and pretty soon, I was on to stranger pastures.

Steven Tyler

Yeah, I think this one really alarmed my parents, but he still makes me smile… mostly because this man is bat-shit crazy. This 4’11” ball of sexual energy revolutionized my early teen years, even before he started toppling off the stage. Aerosmith’s album Get a Grip blew my mind, and soon after buying it, I was spending all my allowance on Aerosmith cassettes because I could buy two for the price of one CD. There was something wildly attractive about Steven Tyler, although it’s fair to say that NO ONE in my seventh grade circle could see that. And when I graduated from 8th grade, I wrote a letter to myself as a school project detailing where I thought I’d be at 22. I wrote I’d be married to Steven Tyler, and we’d have a set of twins. What the hell was I thinking?! I have no idea. Well before I started high school Steven and I parted ways, and I continued down my spiralling rabbit-hole of weirdly unattractive love interests.

Tommy Lee Jones

Okay, this one hurts, and I’m not really sure how this happened, but I blame all the John Grisham books I read that summer (I often think if only I’d read Interview with the Vampire that summer, this could have been avoided. I would’ve skipped right to Antonio Banderas). I digress. Somewhere between Steven Tyler and Val Kilmer Part Deux, I saw The Fugitive and read The Client, and I totally fell for that cowboy of a police officer, Sam Gerard. Thanks to my short attention span though, this phase didn’t last long either. I quickly snapped out of my TLJ-mania when I watched The Fugitive with my Nana…and she told me how handsome she thought Tommy Lee Jones was. Game over.

Val Kilmer (Part Deux)

I loved him in the Batsuit, even though he was the worst Batman ever. In fact, he and Tommy Lee overlapped in that horrible Batman Forever. But I loved him as Doc Holiday. I loved him right up through the Saint. And then he fell off the face of the Earth.

So that’s it. All the men (literally) I adored in my teens. And while I’m sure I worried my family with my choices, they let me be who I was, weird crushes and all. Plus, I eventually noticed real boys and stopped reading so much (take that women’s empowerment… totally kidding. I still love to read). Thankfully, since those hazy tween years my tastes have only improved and, in most cases, now require a passport. Long gone are the days of mullets, neon spandex, merry men, and pilot jargon. Give me giggling silver foxes or dark hair, a brooding disposition, and an exotic accent any day. Unless, of course, Val Kilmer can muster a comeback…

A Day in the Life… Or How I Fell Three Times in One Night.

As I sit here watching Tombstone and reflecting on my weekend thusfar, I’m both surprised and proud to admit I’ve done a whole lot of nothing. And it’s been fantastic. People-watching, playing games that include trying to make a meal from all the leftover vegetables in my fridge, and watching as many Val Kilmer pre-At First Site movies as possible have been just a couple of things I’m proud to say I’ve “accomplished”.

It all started with Friday night shenanigans after a ballbuster of a week. Like the Hells Angels we are, Carlos and I decided to welcome the long weekend with a homemade barbeque pizza (I feel the need to confess that I also had Barbeque pizza for lunch), and decided to watch The Fab Four on PBS. No, not the actual Fab Four – a documentary on the Beatles would’ve been perfectly acceptable for a Friday evening-in. I’m talking about the tribute band “The Fab Four” and their PBS concert that we DVRed… PBS. Friday Night. Beatles cover band. Homemade pizza. Welcome to your thirties. After a riveting rendition of Sargeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, we called it a night. At 11. On a Friday. Again, welcome to your thirties.

Friday Night Special

Saturday morning was glorious. We slept in and then decided to grab some breakfast. As we walked down Peachtree, I noticed a couple of girls dressed like Japanese animation. And then I remembered – Dragon Con! As I explained to Carlos that no, there isn’t a fetish conference in town (in so many words), a gaggle of pirate wenches walked by, completely negating my defense of the Anime-girls. I was literally busting with excitement at the prospect of people-watching at the Dragon Con parade, while Carlos was just confused as to why grown adults would dress up in full costume and body paint in the blistering sun. I explained that I don’t really care why – they’re here now for our viewing pleasure. And Lou Ferrigno, I repeat, the Incredible Hulk was a guest of honor. (I loved him in I Love You, Man.) So we ate breakfast next to a leprechaun and the Lorax (duh), and enjoyed a morning of ogling people wearing their underwear outside their clothes. I have to admit that I do find the whole costume-on-a-90-degree-day scenario a little gross. People who were sweating balls at 10 am in full-costume were going to remain in that get-up and crowd into packed halls all day long together. I’m sure that smelled fantastic.

The Knights Templar arming themselves from the back of their Toyota Prius.

After breakfast, Carlos and I went our separate ways, and I decided to have an extended people-watching session. I grabbed my camera and headed back to the action, deterimined to get great portraits of people in full action poses. Unfortunately, I’m a baby (cue Avatar scene) when it comes to asking strangers for pictures, so I settled for being a creeper who shot from behind. I still got some gems though…

I actually think the first two work best from behind, yes? As for the Mayan Chief, I pretended to take a picture of the buildings in the background. So sly.

After I got bored people watching (ladies, there are more options out there than pirate wench, 19th century slutty courtesan and naked Avatar), I decided to head down Auburn Ave. and see what’s going on in MLK’s part of town. Turns out, not a whole helluva lot. The streets were ridiculously quiet (I think all the locals got the hell out of Dodge with the prospect of so many crazies running around in costume), so I took advantage and got some great pictures of one of my favorite streets.

After some serious walking, I knew my Tom’s were going to stink about as much as the Dragon Con convention center, so I headed home. Upon eating the rest of the pizza, I stretched out on the sofa, did a little kitty snuggling (much to their dismay), and proceeded to watch Thunderheart – movie 1 of 3 in the Val Kilmer “when he was hot” trilogy. Thunderheart led to a glorious nap, and all in all, I felt incredibly relaxed. Upon waking up from said siesta, Top Gun was on, and I decided it only fair to watch up until the volleyball scene… you know, the one where Val Kilmer spins the volleyball with such ease. You’re lying if you say you don’t.

Please and thank you.

I should mention at this juncture that I’m planning on running my first 5K in almost twenty years on Monday (meaning I was twelve when I ran my first and only…), so, as all serious athletes would deduce, my relaxation regimen was in preparation for “the big race”. Now for you normal people and for those friends who have run marathons, you’ll probably read this (assuming you actually read my blog) and think, “What? She’s training for a 5K? I run that sitting on the toilet in the morning.” And you’d be right. It’s still a big deal for me – my family is so excited for me, you’d think I just qualified for the Olympics.

My parents, Nana and friends have all called to wish me luck – and I’m going to need it. To be perfectly honest, movement in any direction is not my strong suit. I fell three times in a pair of wedges on Saturday night (after my incredibly relaxing day). Holy hell – three times! The first and the third I didn’t actually hit the floor, just a graceful stumble that ended with me posing like a gymnast who just dismounted after an embarrassing ass-plant. What the hell else do you do in these situations? The second fall I actually hit the ground like a sack of flour. It was incredibly classy – no stumbling, no kicking my legs up over my head. Just boom. As I popped back up, I thought “I definitely just broke my ankle”, but no such luck. Which means I am most definitely running tomorrow morning at 8 a.m.

In preparation for this milestone in my life, I had every intention of properly preparing – huge carb dinner including spaghetti with homemade sauce and lots of water. Sub pasta for homemade nachos at lunch and a disgustingly full feeling for the rest of the day, and I’d say I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. In between stuffing my face with nachos, tortilla soup and a bowl of Bear Claw ice cream (truly a model of athletic prowess), I managed to squeeze in the last hour and a half of Tombstone, thus completing my “Hot-Kilmer” trifecta. Basically, this weekend has been full of nothing productive, but I’ve enjoyed every second of it (except fall number 2, that one was no bueno). I’ve realized that it’s important to not only savor these weekends when they happen but to make sure I pencil them in. That’s just a Day (or two Days) in the Life of someone trying to master the art of doing nothing. See how I just brought that Beatles thing around full circle? You’re welcome.

Wish me luck tomorrow… I’ll most likely need it, especially if I end up running in wedges…