Saturday, December 10, 2005

Is this wrong?

I know this boy -- he's a man, but I'll call him boy because he's pretty like that. He would be in the Johnny Depp, Orlando Blume-ish category. Good looking without being too pretty, not rugged, but a little dirty (in a, used some product to achieve it, way), slightly chiseled, but not enough to be a soap star. He's the type who can do funky things with his facial hair and it doesn't look like a stupid attempt to be cool -- he is the cool that is followed, to the detriment of many a regular face. Whenever I see him a soundtrack of Joan Jett wondering about touch begins to play ("...Whaaa-ayre? Thaaa-ayre! -- yeaaaah, oh yeaaah!").

Not only niiiiiice to look at, but funny, and smart. His wife is crack up too, that is why it is such a bummer that they are parting ways. I don't care what personal issues these two have that is causing this split -- it's screwing up my party plans for the both of them to be here working the crowd.

I was talking to a friend about it being a tough call for who to have to the party, she interrupted in a no-brainer tone, "Trevin, then we can look at him." It was never a real question anyway because the wife is the one who stepped out of bounds and he was in the circle first and some people are angry with her and blah, blah blah -- that's a story of compassion for another time -- I'm here to share my Trevin induced drool.

Now, I know I've mentioned cute boys before -- it's not a wandering eye thing, nor is it a thing where I want to touch myself over every good looking guy I see. This mention is because he is exceptional and the other mention was to take my mind off of the four thousand dollars it was going to cost me to have that cute guy survey my land.

I'll tell you one of my happy Trevin watching memories -- it was Trevin with bonus -- the second cutest boy I know, Ben. Here is how our circle of friends happened to bring me a week of aesthetic joy in my miserable state of being nine months pregnant (nothing like having someone squirm their head on your bladder from the inside, and kicking your lungs while they're at it).

...I was nanny to my best friend's kids, Trevin and Ben were doing ordinary house painting together at the time (Trevin is now a modern day Davinci doing church murals with his company and Ben is a fireman -- if I wrote them as characters in a book, you would pitch the book across the room for being full a crappy romance novel hero's). You see where this went -- my one friend hired our other friends to paint three rooms in her house.

I didn't care how pregnant and dumbstruck by their collective hotness I was. I was a happily married woman -- go ahead and think I'm creepy for staring at you for days on end --I'm good just sitting here.

And I was.

They both might be at the party too, still waiting for an RSVP from Ben, ("Do you wanna touch? YEAH! Do you wanna touch? YEAH!...).


Blogger kim said...

He didn't show up -- no Trevin.

When the person he was supposed to carpool with showed up without him, we women who know of what he looks like, looked at each other to share a collective shot of disapointment.

10:41 AM  

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