so many cute boys, so little time

Just for the record, I do not have a crush on Andy*. I do, however, have a great big fat throbbing sort of crush on this boy. I link you to his blog, not because he's actually blogging, but so that you can see his picture. His don't I look all grown up in my tie picture. If you knew him, you'd know why this makes me giggle.


Since you don't know him, let me tell you a little bit about him. He is really cute, and he smells fantastic. A long time ago, when I used to get his key to his apartment occasionally to feed his fish while he was out of town, I would be known to open his door just a crack (cause going all the way in would be creepy and rude and shit, yo), just far enough to get my nose in, and take a big sniff. Boy smells yummy. He really likes Kip Dynamite, and though he acts like he's only pretending that he wishes he was Kip, I know and he knows and now you know that he kinda really wishes he was more like Kip. He is super smart. He reads books whose titles I cannot pronouce, I think he speaks some other dead language, he knows all the answers on the crossword puzzle but still lets me get a few so I feel like I'm doing well. He is equally as loving to my dog as he is to me, which either speaks volumes for his capacity to love or makes him a big fat jerk who treats me like a dog. He really, truly loves my kids. No doubt. He would stand in traffic for them, he would give up a Friday night out picking up chicks to play Scrabble with them. He buys them the f'ing coolest presents on Earth. He cooks, and he loves green chili powder. He drinks PBR and sleeps on his tummy when he's drunk. Maybe he just passes out on his tummy, I've never stuck around long enough to find out. He plays the bass, the guitar, the piano, the drums and the XBox. He is really self-conscious about his hair, but he shouldn't be - it is totally his best feature. He likes things clean but doesn't require that they always be. He hangs his clothes on the hangers in the opposite direction I do and it drives me nuts. He gives a banging good neckrub. He likes to work out, and wants to eat heathly, but doesn't. Sorry baby, living solely on chips and salsa is not eating heathly, no matter how organic they say those chips are. Eat a burger, man. He has good, kind, interesting, respectful friends, like Eddie, who totally wants to make out with me but has never ever once tried. Respectful. Or maybe slow. He is thoughtful. One time, he showed me this card he had bought me because he thought I'd like it. He never got around to actually mailing said card, but he thought about me and what else matters? He doesn't call often, but I have saved damn near every message he's left me because they are flipping hilarious. He makes me laugh, sometimes makes me cry, always makes me think. He is the kind of man who makes me want to be a good woman, just to make him proud. A dress and high heels and apron in the kitchen cooking dinner type of woman. He likes intelligent woman, but really really likes women with bright red lipstick and stilletos. He loves his family, and they love him. I love his family, too. His mother is my daily dose of strength, his sister is, well, amazing in every fucking way, his brother in law is funny and clever and talented and super nice and looks hot in those pants, and if he ends up even half as hot as his dad, watch out. Seriously. Yikes.

Today is Chris' birthday. Last year, he got all of this out of me. And then we all had dinner. This year, it's just the blog thing. You know, Canada kind of happened in between birthdays. So anyway, happy birthday, darling. I wish you an amazing birthday. I love you and I am lucky you call me your friend.

*maybe I do a little, but don't tell him.