Horrifying the Masses since 1971

What a reputation I have built for myself. If I think someone is cute, I voice it. Married, unmarried, gay, straight, bi – it don’t matter – if they’re hot than I’m going to say it. I mean come on, I’m not blind.

Now I admit that maybe I shouldn’t call the hot married guys my future husbands or my future boyfriends, or my future lovers. I get that, okay. I by no means live in that place called Fantasyland. I know that Vadim isn’t going to leave his wife for me. That fact had never even crossed my mind; I just find him smoking hot. Same goes with Wil Wheaton whose Twitter Feeds I am obsessed with. Again, come on people. I’m not going to try to win Wil away from his family. I just think he is hilarious, I mean hello have you read his book. The man can write and I appreciate that.

I am far from a home wreaking tramp. When I say someone is my future husband I say it in jest. I say it because I admire something they do or something they say or sometimes I just admire that they are pretty. I’m joking around. I’m not sitting at home wishing they were mine, writing in my top secret diary that I *heart* them forever. PLEASE. I’m getting my MBA here, I don’t have that kind of time.

Here’s the thing. I grew out of that wishing and hoping stage long ago. Yes, when I was 15 I thought that Corey Haim was the best thing ever. And I really did wish he was mine, and write in my top secret diary about how I’d *heart* him forever. But guess what? I grew up, I heard he tried to sell one of his teeth on EBay for drug money and I thought – thank God for unfulfilled dreams.

CW