"I am going to come and burn the house down...but you will blow me first." -Mel Gibson
Questions? Compliments? Concerns? N00dz? theurbanaesthete (AT) gmail.com
This one’s for you, ladies. #hot #men #sexy #discerninggentlemen
30th January 2013
Notes: 2
Always + forever
BECAUSE KATE CARRAWAY IS FUCKING BRILLIANT! SUPER-MELLOW I-COOK-FOR-MY-COMMUNE-ON-MONDAYS MOTHER GAIA LOVE GUY Selfish. A SKATER I loved dating a skater because a) his fat, pristine white shoes looked so dope sitting by the door beside all of the points and straps and complications of my shoes, b) watching skate videos is a legit all-day activity for both of you, c) best taste in obscure movies, generally and d) watching them skate is infinitely better than watching every other guy pretend to skate on his PlayStation. (Seriously: “PlayStation”.) Definitely the least-demanding relationship you’ll encounter is with a guy and his board. Good for transition stages. A GIRL My first real relationship was with a girl, and I’m good with that, because every guy since her has been vanilla cake in comparison. She is now an airline stewardess. (Picture me breathing on my Raybans, wiping them off with my shirt, putting them on real slow-like, and walking away. Stud.) THUG Sorry, received wisdom and my mom and Hollywood movies, but the sweetest, most girlfriendiest guys are also the most questionable thug guys. Nobody buys as many flowers. NERD No BFD, just, if you want to date the only guys totally worth dating you have to get with a nerd. Here’s why: They don’t have the precarious though bouncy-castle-sized inflated egos of cooler dudes; they can talk to you and talk to you and talk to you, which feels as good as a hot bath of liquid gold; they are smart enough not to say or do the stuff that’s so astoundingly dumb that you go back to girls here and there; they tend to be really fucking sharp and sexy and funny and have jobs. Just, put this at the top of the list and cross everything else out, oui? AN OLD GUY The only good reason for dating an old guy is if he’s your teacher (hot) or if he’s married (hot, but only for a limited time). How is it that the older I get, the grosser old guys are? STALKER Definitely date someone who is obsessed with you. It’s not a sustainable relationship but man oh man will he buy you stuff, and drive you places, cry when you hurt his feelings, and generally (this is going to be corny/true/get ready) make you feel like a pretty princess, except one who is just really chill and suddenly has a lot more self-esteem and time to do her work and get dressed properly. Maybe he’ll creepily follow you to your guy friend’s house and park outside and watch for hours and hours? But maybe he’ll be kind of the best boyfriend ever, even if you can’t say that out loud to anyone? FOREIGNER Not just for sex! The relationship between you and a guy who is just visiting is the platonic ideal of relationships for girls who are crazy, because there is a built-in beginning, middle, and end. None of this “What are we? Where is this going? Who am I to you?” because they’re taking off juuuust after you start to figure out that you don’t really like their personality. But, c’mon, getting wrapped up in some tourist’s accent and curious bathroom habits and sock styles for just a week or so is what dating is supposed to be, but all squashed together. FRIEND Obviously, making a guy that you like and respect and know in a regular friend way your boyfriend is the obvious move. The ish with this, supposedly, is that it’s hard to “see” them sexually. The actual ish with this, according to me, is that they’ve seen you in your various bad tempers and bad outfits and saying bad things and it’s more difficult to think of them kissing you than it is to think of you kissing them. A SLUT Like, fumigate that dick first, honeymuffin, but dating a really “experienced” guy can be super-rewarding for two weeks before you release him back into the wild. Do I have to lay it out for you? I do? OK, well, keep an ice pack ready because you won’t be able to sit down at dinner with your mom and dad after getting the largest and most experienced dink inside of you for five hours on a Saturday afternoon. REALLY RICH GUY This is relative. Now, dating a rich guy means car service and hotel rooms you’ll want to take pictures of (don’t) and probably them being not worth it, so much. But, when I was a student I went out with a guy who had a job not unlike Ben Stiller’s in Reality Bites (topical!) and drove a Mustang and was super cute and still young. I took him somewhere in my shitty, studenty scene-circumference and a roach toddled across the wall beside our table and the slow-motion look of “WTF” on his boyface was when I realized that it wasn’t ALL just about me being fun and demanding and guys thinking that was great, that sometimes I was going to have to try. KATE CARRAWAY
Girl News: Girls and Boyfriends
I am dubious about those lists of guys you “should” date before you “get married” or what have you. Not only are they archaic and boring and prescriptive, but they usually have all of these vile options on them like “Nice Guy” and “Bad Boy,” as if either of those exist as subgenres. (“Nice Guys” are the ones who pull out their leather paddles without asking; “Bad Boys” cry into your pussy when they’re supposed to be eating it.) Like, no. Also, since I have tended to date a hilarious variety of mens and my friends tend to date multiple versions of the same guy, who is their “type,” I feel like we need to re-educate on this subject. Oh, this will also double as a list of my boyfriends, because I’m sick with a lazy cold and am wrapped up in a duvet in front of the fireplace at my parent’s house with a hot cup of coffee and I’m feeling very “Memories.”
MUSICIAN
What do you call a drummer without a girlfriend? Homeless! Ha, ha.
Dating a musician is trouble. They’re hysterically selfish and genuinely narcissistic and volatile and are primarily concerned with giving their beautifully wrought crowns of emotional jewels to the girls who stand at the front at shows worshiping them and the outline of their penis while you make use of the drink tickets at the very back of the bar, miserable… all of which will still give you a super-soaker when you’re still a baby retard. This is all probably also true of artists, fiction writers, and (the worst!) actors, but I can’t even with them. At least a musician has good records.
CLUB PROMOTER
Nope.
ACADEMIC
I put down “academic!” a week ago and now I’ve forgotten why? They work 80 hours a week at something that is more important than you and then still can’t spring for dinner. Cool, dudes. Still, the brain is the sexiest organ and all of that, and I can’t pretend that sleeping with someone who is a “doctor” of whatever isn’t one of the six times in 30 years that I’ve ever felt really adult (pro) and the only instance when I’ve been with a dude because he has something that I lost somewhere along the way (“intelligence”) (con). PLUS: their layereddishabille, the light bedhead, and those glasses and hand-me-down plaid and stuff, is the authentic version of what everyone else wants to look like. Dreamy! OK: That’s why I put it down.
JOCK
Dating a jock is essentially voyeurism. Jocks are what normal girls date, like, all the time. Crucially, I mean a jock-jock, not a guy who likes bands but also plays soccer. I mean a guy who calls himself a jock, who is quick to align himself with jock culture, who cares about sports.
You’re their fetish, too. Your alt-hosiery, your vocabulary, your most basic moves—like, buying him a little present, or making a joke—will shock and awe a jock boyfriend, because the girls that jocks date do not buy their boyfriends presents, except for things that aren’t so much presents as upgrades (watches; pants).
Jocks can and will do all the hardcore sex stuff that basically everyone else on this list has emotional and political problems with. They are remarkably simple and direct and, TWIST, extremely loving. A guy who grew up slapping asses and doing hugs in locker rooms with men is going to be able to cuddle his girlfriend after he fucks her weird.
Boring, though.
Cont’d
I SWEAR TO GOD THIS WOMAN ONLY SPEAKS THE GOSPEL TRUTH (well, 99.9% of the time).
Reblogged From vicemag
Because, you know, you care.
James Franco
I fell off the Franco train at the onset of 2011 because he’s started to look sort of wine stained and bloated lately. Plus, “Eat Pray Love”. God, why?! However, in his heyday, this dude could pretty much just show up and have panties at his feet. Mine would be there.
Jared Leto
Yeah-NOT into Christian Bale or Brad Pitt, but into Jared Leto? I know, it makes no sense. Still, this fuck has one of the most amazingly gorgeous man-faces I’ve ever seen, period, peace out, end of story. Par usual, he seems like an incredible douchebag. Aren’t they always?
Hugh Jackman
Buff. Hairy. Maybe gay. Good daddy. I’d sit on his face.
Harry (Harrison) Ford
Um, my dad looks like Harry Ford. True to Freud, I’m into Harry. Thanks, psychology!
Pierce Brosnan
You know, fuck people who say Pierce was a shitty James Bond. No, motherfucker. Pierce Brosnan is the Bond-est of all Bonds, even Bond-er than Sean Connery, because he’s smooth as silk and quietly handsome.
Viggo Mortensen
You know when you see a dude on screen, and you’re convinced he’s like 6’5” and 250 pounds of muscle and will whisper French sonnets into your ear all night while giving you hours of cunnilingus? Yeah, that’s Viggo for me, even though I know he’s short as fuck and probably boring.
Rob Lowe
I don’t need to explain this.
David Duchovny
My middle school crush is still going on. No shame.
Zac Efron
This is against everything I stand for, but if I was at a Hollywood party and Zac Efron came up and started talking to me, I’d pretend to be interested in whatever he was yapping about. That says something.
Tom Cruise
I AM ON CRUISE CONTROL! I don’t give a FUCK! I love Tom Cruise! He’s hot, he’s short, he’s crazy, and he’s rich! Yes yes yes yes!
Jonathan Rhys Meyers
Oh shit. This man looks like he’d do some FILTHY ASS fucked up shit to a bitch; like the type of dude who’d pick you up in a chauffeured car, take you out somewhere fancy, fuck you in public, then dump your ass on a street corner only to do it all again next weekend. He’s a perfect combo of androgynous yet still masculine sexy-skanky and I’m into that.
Orlando Bloom
ONLY as Legolas.
Robert Downey, Jr.
I consider RDJ to be my Male Holy Grail because no matter what he’s doing (coke, getting arrested, winning awards, being cool), where he’s at or what he’s wearing, he’s fucking fine. FINE. Yeah, like YOU ARE ONE FINE ASS BITCH. Hot. Sexy. Magical. Handsome. UNF OH GOD he’s got this “thing” about him, you know? This indescribable THING which takes him from just another handsome guy to INSANELY HOT, TOO HOT, I CAN’T HANDLE IT WHY ARE YOU MARRIED HOT. Yep. #1 fan.
Shemar Moore
Once, I ran into him in the CBS cafeteria and almost peed my pants. This mofo is FIIIIINE! Oh, so fine. Delicious, even. The asshole who broke my heart when I was 22 (or 23? Whatever) was the white version of this dude, so I’m semi-projecting emotion, but still. Dude is hot.
Ryan Gosling
He looks like an asshole. I know, everyone says he’s SOOOO NICEEEEE but those arrogant eyes tell me something else. Plus, I’m not into blondes.
Brad Pitt
I see the allure, but he’s not for me.
Leonardo DiCaprio
No. Never.
Joseph Gordon-Levitt
I was pretty down with this guy when I was running into him at Canter’s post “3rd Rock from the Sun” days (he had long hair back then), but since he’s become the indie poster child for pre-teens, I’m over it. His face: I’d like to punch it.
George Clooney
What? No. How?
Clive Owen
Gross.
Russell Crowe
Dough-face.
Christian Bale
Too plastic looking. And cunty.
Matt Damon
I momentarily dated a dude who looked exactly like Matt Damon once. Bitches were freaking out, telling me how amazingly hot he was. I couldn’t even bring myself to bone him. Case closed.
I saw him as I exited the post office; he was at the crosswalk waiting as I would be in 3 seconds.
Jeans, running shoes, track shirt. Average build. Brown hair. Stupid sunglasses.
Blue man means walk; I paced so as to be as far behind him as possible, so as not to tempt the fates. By tempting the fates I mean give this dude any indication I wanted to talk to him.
As luck would have it, we caught up to each other on the next crosswalk. “I really like your bracelet,” he said. I had zoned out and was startled by this admission out of my reverie. “This? Thanks.”
“Yeah. You accessorize really well.”
I laughed.
I fell behind him again and at the third crosswalk we stood together for the second time. He told me about his day in brief, asked about mine; I kept it to a sentence and he kept talking. I reached my building and said goodbye.
“Let’s get a drink,” he said. “Not now, obviously, but soon?”
I laughed again and started up the stairs.
“No number?” he called.
“No number,” I said.
Incidences concerning guys thinking I look like unsavory celebrities:
Age 15- The drama club lead. Kyle is chubby, effeminate, has little sausage fingers that he uses to play keyboard for his modern church worship band. I liked him for a hot [mess] second, oh god, what was I thinking?
The play is called Chickenheart, and it’s dumb as shit, a medieval romantic romp. I have been cast as a nun, Sister Agatha. He is playing Sir Cutbert Cleever. Kyle fancies himself a photographer- he’s the only person I know in 2000 with a digital camera. He wants to take promotional photos of the cast for the playbill. He has me pose in my habit on a little set he has constructed by draping choir robes over music stands.
He is really into the angles and is directing my movements. I feel particularly close to him when he wraps his hand around my wrist and positions it. He looks at me for a few seconds, tilts his head in consideration. I am pretty sure he is contemplating, perhaps only now recognizing, my pristine beauty.
“Oh my god,” he says and starts laughing in his gay little giggle. [Oh god.] “You know who you look like right now, like EXACTLY?” He snaps a picture, looks at the screen, giggles uncontrollably.
“Oh my god, who?” I say, distressed.
“Here, I’ll show you,” he says between gobs of laughter. He brings the camera over to me. Yup. Oh shit, it’s exact.
Age 13- The Hardee’s cashier. I am on the road with the stupid marching band, on our way to march in some stupid county parade. We stop at Hardee’s for lunch. The band conductor, who is a supreme dork, thinks it will be fun if we order our food in order of size of instrument, smallest to largest. Being the only piccolo player, I am going first.
Usually everyone would be so loud, the cashier would be unable to hear my order. But we have been unruly the entire trip, so anyone who speaks before they get their food is going to be sent to the back of the line. All are silent, except for muffled laughter.
It isn’t unusual that I take forever to decide what I want to order. I’ve got 70 teenagers behind me, so I know I have to hurry. But everyone, everyone is watching me. And listening. I feel 140 eyes on the back of my head. Everyone but the cashier, who is switching out drawers, getting more cash for the ensuing onslaught of crinkled up on fives and tens from the instrument cases of my comrades.
I really really want a fish sandwich. But I realize that it’s, somehow, the most make-funable thing I could possibly order. I decide a burger is probably safe. The cashier has finished stocking the register. “Can I take your order?” he says, finally looking up at me as he closes the register drawer.
“Yes,” I say. A squeak. Who’s voice is this? God, everyone is listening, this is so unfair and like childhood. I wonder how long it would take to recover from making a mistake here. Pronouncing something wrong, fumbling with my money, dropping a quarter. Anything could open barrels of laughter from the boys and girls behind me, who have been quiet too long to let any excuse for losing it pass.
“Oh. My. God,” the cashier says. “Oh my god!” He is staring at me and saying it over and over again. I am freaking out. “What?” I shout. “What is it, what’s wrong?”
“Guys!” The cashier calls to the kitchen workers. “Guys, you have to see this.”
What is happening? Do I have a nosebleed? Is it this stupid hat? I feel like I’m going to faint. Nothing I imagined could have been more detrimental than what was about to happen.
All the employees of Hardee’s are gathered around me. Most everyone I know from school is behind me. They’re all listening and waiting for what is undoubtedly going to be something good.
“You look just like her!” “My god, it’s uncanny.”
“Who?” I ask.
“You mean to tell me no one has ever told you that you look JUST like Monica Lewinsky?”
You can imagine the fit of laughter that followed. Even the band conductor. It was 1998, the scandal was fresh, our president was on trial. All you heard anywhere was blue dress this, Kenneth Starr, blue dress that, and how the most powerful man in the free world chose his chubby intern, out of everyone.
And apparently I looked like the most notorious cocksucker of all time. This was not real, this was something that could only happen on The Wonder Years. They called me Monica until I moved away. For once in my life, I was grateful for my mother’s habit of taking up with men in the next town over.
Honorable mention: Age 22. Rosie O’Donnell. By a blow-hard amateur writer.
THIS. IS. FUCKING. AMAZING.
Dear JMarie…
Stefan is 100% Polish…which I find interesting because NO ONE these days is 100% anything. But he is. He’s TALL, has natural musculature, and the MOST RIDICULOUS BABY FACE you will ever see! I’m talking dimples, curls in the back of his hair, beautiful squinty eyes and THE most fucking amazing nose IN THE WORLD. It is so tiny, that nose. Tiny and perfect. My nose is weird so I extra appreciate lovely noses. His baby face and body don’t go together but he makes it work.
And now EVERYONE CAN VOMIT.
Anyway, every man I have ever dated has been, to me, beautiful. Like, exquisitely so…and some of them have been really weird looking. Whatever. I’d rather have dated an entire gamut of manhood than one “type”…like blonde and buff. Pass.
I did date an Armenian guy, once, named Narbeh. I still have mad love for him because he’s an amazing person, all in all. But Armenian culture really isn’t into the “sure, date a white girl” thing. We were really young, but I remember his list of requirements for us to get married. PASS.
xoxoxo
