Last night I was reminded why I always date awkward dudes who aren't particularly attractive to anyone but me.
It is because I am really awkward around hot people. Hot men especially.
Remember how I lived in the quaint Sydney suburb of Lilyfield, with a flatmate who was a hottie-mchot-hot German guy?
He was so hot, it was awkward for me to live with him. Seriously. I didn't poop for about 6 weeks. I was also really awkward, and since he was mostly studying and not too chatty, we would have sporadic 10-minute conversations where I babbled like an overexcited schoolgirl and he spoke with sharp German efficiency.
One time, I came upstairs and he was in the common area at his computer (per usual), wearing no shirt. I got really flustered and excited, and said, 'Dude, why are you not wearing a shirt? Put on some clothes.'
Unfortunately, he did not know it was Opposite Day, and what I really meant was, 'Dude, can you please take off your pants as well, and spoon me?'
He has the features I have discovered are quite common in the German man: a chiseled jaw and lips like a girl. Seriously, I have been swooning over these strapping lads. I love it!
Anyway, he is back in his homeland and I got to see him last night. I was really excited to hang out, even though we weren't close, mostly because he's just so damn fine, you know?
He suggested we head to a place called Winery, which warmed my heart because he knows I don't like beer, and I know that's all he drinks. It was a cool spot, where you only pay 1 euro for your glass, drink as much as you want, and pay what you feel you should. It might actually have taken the place in my heart that was once reserved for the Bourgie Pig, which has simply become to bourgie for me to afford.
Anyway, we were meeting up with some of his friends, which prevented me from probing deep into his soul as I'd hoped. I was late to our meeting, and being an efficient German, he chastized me thoroughly. I don't know if this is possible, but he was actually hotter than I remembered. This instantly caused me to start rambling about what I'd done so far, and how huge my crush was on Berlin, and my time with the gay mafia (I can't say more about them, for obvious reasons). This ridiculous rambling and interrupting took place whenever we'd start to chat throughout the night.
I was so rude and silly. Of course, because I want him so bad that I can't really think clearly, I have told him about man drama--you know, I'm trying to de-sexualize him and treat him like a gal pal, in hopes of making myself less weird.
It does not work. Now I just feel like this really hot guy knows way too much about me.
Like the fact that I was worried about "my vag hanging out" while riding a bike in a short dress through the streets of Berlin.
I did get to know much more about him, though. Apparently he has siblings, is getting a master's degree (can i call it a 'fuhrer' degree?), and has had his heart broken by a girl. He may have lived on struggle strasse briefly (more on that later). He has a lot of female friends, but not in the sketchy way. He is really funny and we spent an inappropriately long time quoting 'Team America'.
He is certainly a unicorn.
And he lives across 6 times zones.
Clearly this is the safest crush I can have at the moment. Nothing has happened, there is no way he could hurt me, our interactions have only been positive, and he doesn't have red hair! There's no chance in h-e-double-hockey-sticks that he would ever want me, and I can simply think of how pretty his face is.
I think the cold storage shed where my heart used to be can only deal with this much risk at the moment.
Who have I become?
Showing posts with label Hotness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hotness. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Friday, May 16, 2008
The Massa of Morehouse
OMG, guys. This just in:
Morehouse College, an historically black university in Atlanta, Georgia-- and the country's only institution of higher learning dedicated to the education of black men-- just elected a WHITE MAN as the valedictorian of the class of 2008.
I. shit. you. not. Read about it here.
Okay, listen, I'm not gonna get into a whole big affirmative action debate, or start talking separate but equal. But, basically, a black college that's been around for 141 years is pretty much founded on the notion that negroes need a special place to learn and grow and become sponsor-able. Black males are particularly vulnerable, for even in his finest interview suit, a negro gentleman will still prompt an old lady to clutch her purse—just, cause, you know, old habits die hard.
Most of my extended family (the ones who think I “talk White”) have attended Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs for short), and with my degree from Diversity University and my excellent diction, I was the odd blacktress out—the blacktress sheep, if you will (will you??). Growing up, I loved the TV show “A Different World,” so when it came time to go college hunting, I visited Spellman College (Morehouse’s sister school. There is a chapel in the center between the two campuses, so that the black elite can wed quickly and easily—I kid you not) and Clark Atlanta, hoping I’d be able to find sassy friends and a boyfriend on the step team. Alas, the HBCUs acceptance of low SAT scores and the lack of air conditioning in the dorms left little to be desired. Add to that the fact that all those Spellman girls were done up like they were on the catwalk at a hair show, and I knew it wasn’t the place for me.
One can imagine my surprise when, in 2006, I began dating Israeli, vegan, investment banker Schmomer Schmohen,* who told me he’d done his SEMESTER ABROAD at Morehouse! Here I was, a flesh and blood blacktress, and this White boy was like a Martian to me. “What was it like?” I asked over drinks (which we had in Harlem—where he lived) “Did you have friends? Did the negroes take you in?” Clearly, he must have had a good time, for he moved to H-town after graduation and found himself in the bosom of a blacktress. It was interesting to hear about his Morehouse experience, and to see the college through the eyes of an outsider.
Perhaps he paved the way for Joshua Packwood. I wonder if they’ve spoken on the phone.
While I totally support Joshua’s learning and growing and exploration, I kinda find it hard to believe that there was no other black male with a 4.0 GPA and important extracurricular activities in the class of 2008—I mean, Morehouse isn’t that hard (yep, I said it!). As the Persian Excursion said, "If a black school can't even elect a black person as it's valedictorian, it's time to throw in the damn towel."
TRUTH.
I think what I love about the article is the following:
When speaking of his experiences in classes as the only White student, he says,
"Sometimes I kind of wanted to hold back," he acknowledged. "A lot of the professors and students have been like, 'No, don't hold back. We want your perspective here. If we're not going to get it from you, it's going to be very difficult for us to get it somewhere else.'"
Um, is it really? Is Massa Packwood the only person who will bring you white truths? You really have a tough time getting the opinion of a White person as you navigate this world? If that’s the case, I need to head down South, where apparently you can still live in a bio dome of foolishness. I find this especially funny if it did indeed come from members of the faculty, some of who were probably on the plantation with Sojo back in the day.
My other favorite excerpt from the article:
It was not as if this was the first time Packwood experienced life in the minority. He was among the few white students in his class at Grandview Senior High School in Kansas City, Mo. He has mixed-race siblings and his mother was married to a black man. Packwood's experiences growing up have helped him navigate black culture while remaining comfortable with his own complexion.
I LOVE IT. HE HAS KNOWN THE OTHER, so Morehouse made sense to him. Um, I must say, his "nagivation" is something that most of the black people I know do every damn day--and what, Packwood gets a cookie?! It’s also kinda curious that, given his upbringing, he felt the need to turn down Columbia and other Ivies, to “get the black experience," when he already had it at home, it would seem.
Josh is just down with the brown (woman), and wanted to be able to dazzle at dinner parties for the rest of his life.
I just love how bourgie black folks talk about keeping in the community, talk about how we need our “safe spaces” and whatnot, but the BMOBC (big man on black campus) for 2008 is none other than a real-life Zach Morris. I mean, look at this pic:
Note that he is surrounded by Negroes. In its original context, the caption under this image reads, "I always kind of gravitated to the black community," says Packwood who immediately fit in at Morehouse.
Dude is Abercrombie-and-Fitch kinda fine. Um, if I knew all the hot white boys were at the HBCUs, I wouldn’t have been so quick to go liberal arts! He even talks about how he dates black girls in the article—um, how can I get him my phone number?!
Actually, I think I’d probably talk too white for him.
But can you imagine our mixie babies?!!! If you can't imagine, here's another pic:
The caption under this pic reads, "His experience was so positive that Packwood's younger brother, John, will attend the college next year."
I can imagine Josh talking to his not-hot brother now: "Dude, don't even worry about it, you will get so much ass at the black school--the ladies will think it's so cute when you try to dance!"
As you can tell, my feelings here are layered. I do not have any negative feelings toward Joshua Packwood (who is fine as the day is long!), and I support the majority getting outside of their bubble and learning a little sumthin' sumthin'--but it's kinda ironic and frustrating to see that at a school that rests its foundation on lifting up the talented tenth, their most talented is a white dude--that's fucking curious as all get out. And I love the way the media is playing it up, for it proves that White is always right--even when it's in a black world, you know?
*names have been changed to protect the Caucasian.
Morehouse College, an historically black university in Atlanta, Georgia-- and the country's only institution of higher learning dedicated to the education of black men-- just elected a WHITE MAN as the valedictorian of the class of 2008.
I. shit. you. not. Read about it here.
Okay, listen, I'm not gonna get into a whole big affirmative action debate, or start talking separate but equal. But, basically, a black college that's been around for 141 years is pretty much founded on the notion that negroes need a special place to learn and grow and become sponsor-able. Black males are particularly vulnerable, for even in his finest interview suit, a negro gentleman will still prompt an old lady to clutch her purse—just, cause, you know, old habits die hard.
Most of my extended family (the ones who think I “talk White”) have attended Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs for short), and with my degree from Diversity University and my excellent diction, I was the odd blacktress out—the blacktress sheep, if you will (will you??). Growing up, I loved the TV show “A Different World,” so when it came time to go college hunting, I visited Spellman College (Morehouse’s sister school. There is a chapel in the center between the two campuses, so that the black elite can wed quickly and easily—I kid you not) and Clark Atlanta, hoping I’d be able to find sassy friends and a boyfriend on the step team. Alas, the HBCUs acceptance of low SAT scores and the lack of air conditioning in the dorms left little to be desired. Add to that the fact that all those Spellman girls were done up like they were on the catwalk at a hair show, and I knew it wasn’t the place for me.
One can imagine my surprise when, in 2006, I began dating Israeli, vegan, investment banker Schmomer Schmohen,* who told me he’d done his SEMESTER ABROAD at Morehouse! Here I was, a flesh and blood blacktress, and this White boy was like a Martian to me. “What was it like?” I asked over drinks (which we had in Harlem—where he lived) “Did you have friends? Did the negroes take you in?” Clearly, he must have had a good time, for he moved to H-town after graduation and found himself in the bosom of a blacktress. It was interesting to hear about his Morehouse experience, and to see the college through the eyes of an outsider.
Perhaps he paved the way for Joshua Packwood. I wonder if they’ve spoken on the phone.
While I totally support Joshua’s learning and growing and exploration, I kinda find it hard to believe that there was no other black male with a 4.0 GPA and important extracurricular activities in the class of 2008—I mean, Morehouse isn’t that hard (yep, I said it!). As the Persian Excursion said, "If a black school can't even elect a black person as it's valedictorian, it's time to throw in the damn towel."
TRUTH.
I think what I love about the article is the following:
When speaking of his experiences in classes as the only White student, he says,
"Sometimes I kind of wanted to hold back," he acknowledged. "A lot of the professors and students have been like, 'No, don't hold back. We want your perspective here. If we're not going to get it from you, it's going to be very difficult for us to get it somewhere else.'"
Um, is it really? Is Massa Packwood the only person who will bring you white truths? You really have a tough time getting the opinion of a White person as you navigate this world? If that’s the case, I need to head down South, where apparently you can still live in a bio dome of foolishness. I find this especially funny if it did indeed come from members of the faculty, some of who were probably on the plantation with Sojo back in the day.
My other favorite excerpt from the article:
It was not as if this was the first time Packwood experienced life in the minority. He was among the few white students in his class at Grandview Senior High School in Kansas City, Mo. He has mixed-race siblings and his mother was married to a black man. Packwood's experiences growing up have helped him navigate black culture while remaining comfortable with his own complexion.
I LOVE IT. HE HAS KNOWN THE OTHER, so Morehouse made sense to him. Um, I must say, his "nagivation" is something that most of the black people I know do every damn day--and what, Packwood gets a cookie?! It’s also kinda curious that, given his upbringing, he felt the need to turn down Columbia and other Ivies, to “get the black experience," when he already had it at home, it would seem.
Josh is just down with the brown (woman), and wanted to be able to dazzle at dinner parties for the rest of his life.
I just love how bourgie black folks talk about keeping in the community, talk about how we need our “safe spaces” and whatnot, but the BMOBC (big man on black campus) for 2008 is none other than a real-life Zach Morris. I mean, look at this pic:
Note that he is surrounded by Negroes. In its original context, the caption under this image reads, "I always kind of gravitated to the black community," says Packwood who immediately fit in at Morehouse.Dude is Abercrombie-and-Fitch kinda fine. Um, if I knew all the hot white boys were at the HBCUs, I wouldn’t have been so quick to go liberal arts! He even talks about how he dates black girls in the article—um, how can I get him my phone number?!
Actually, I think I’d probably talk too white for him.
But can you imagine our mixie babies?!!! If you can't imagine, here's another pic:
The caption under this pic reads, "His experience was so positive that Packwood's younger brother, John, will attend the college next year." I can imagine Josh talking to his not-hot brother now: "Dude, don't even worry about it, you will get so much ass at the black school--the ladies will think it's so cute when you try to dance!"
As you can tell, my feelings here are layered. I do not have any negative feelings toward Joshua Packwood (who is fine as the day is long!), and I support the majority getting outside of their bubble and learning a little sumthin' sumthin'--but it's kinda ironic and frustrating to see that at a school that rests its foundation on lifting up the talented tenth, their most talented is a white dude--that's fucking curious as all get out. And I love the way the media is playing it up, for it proves that White is always right--even when it's in a black world, you know?
*names have been changed to protect the Caucasian.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
He's So Hot-- BOOM!
OH. MY. GOD.
So, I had my date with the Greek man last night, guys.
I am still swooning.
Ok, seriously: Is it wrong to want to marry someone simply because they are hotter than Sanaa Lathan making out with Halle Berry while Denzel Washington watches? (That’s a triple threat of hotness, in case you didn't get that)
He is classically handsome. So hot, he probably shouldn’t be allowed to walk around normal society. I think I want to put him in a cage and just poke him. And take him out for feedings.... OF SEX.He's so hot, he could be a part-time model (and you know how I love those). He could be a gigolo-- and with that accent?! He could make many unhappily married moneyed wives very satisfied.
But is there such a thing as too hot? As I’ve said in previous posts, being too hot can be dangerous. When we were walking together I felt fear—I mean, more than just the general, Oh-lord-some-black-man-is-going-to-give-me-dagger-eyes-for-dating-this-white-boy fear. I was worried that pretty girls would come up to me and punch me, steal my wallet, then use my money to take the Greek god out to dinner.
Is that silly?
The only thing that made me feel superior to (and thereby good enough for) him is the fact that English is his second language. His linguistic foibles are so endearing. When he was trying to impress me with the books he likes to read (philosophy, religion, the classics—YAWN!), I responded with: So, you’re no fun and don’t like laughter?
To which he replied, “No, I’m just trying to impress you. I like to joke around. I have a very black sense of humor.” Huh? By “black humor,” does he mean like Sanford & Son or Def Comedy Jam?
OH! He means “dark humor,” like sarcastic and morbid—teehee, oh foreign man!
Every now and then he’d grasp for a word, and I would feel like a secret genius, ready to aid his foreign mind with my knowledge of complex adjectives.
But language can be learned. Sayings and turns of phrase can be placed in context.
But hotness is a gift. A genetic gift. Despite his euro jacket (very…. 80s MJ, circa "Thriller"), his hotness was clear as day—and even more so without the fedora (see previous post). His hotness reminded me of this song I love, by Flight of the Conchords. It’s called “She’s So Hot…BOOM!” In the first line, singer Bret Mackenzie says, “She’s so hot, she’s like a curry. If I tell her she’s hot, will she think I’m sexist? She’s so hot she’s making me sexist. Bitch.” See for yourself.
I know exactly how he feels. Who's the Boom King? Greek God is the Boom King!
So, date #1 ended with plans for date #2, which will take place on Saturday. What to wear?! What to do?!
Did I also mention that he doesn’t drink alcohol and DOESN’T OWN A CELL PHONE? He’s my very own Antiques Roadshow. A foreign, ridiculously good looking episode of Antiques Roadshow.
So, I had my date with the Greek man last night, guys.
I am still swooning.
Ok, seriously: Is it wrong to want to marry someone simply because they are hotter than Sanaa Lathan making out with Halle Berry while Denzel Washington watches? (That’s a triple threat of hotness, in case you didn't get that)
He is classically handsome. So hot, he probably shouldn’t be allowed to walk around normal society. I think I want to put him in a cage and just poke him. And take him out for feedings.... OF SEX.He's so hot, he could be a part-time model (and you know how I love those). He could be a gigolo-- and with that accent?! He could make many unhappily married moneyed wives very satisfied.
But is there such a thing as too hot? As I’ve said in previous posts, being too hot can be dangerous. When we were walking together I felt fear—I mean, more than just the general, Oh-lord-some-black-man-is-going-to-give-me-dagger-eyes-for-dating-this-white-boy fear. I was worried that pretty girls would come up to me and punch me, steal my wallet, then use my money to take the Greek god out to dinner.
Is that silly?
The only thing that made me feel superior to (and thereby good enough for) him is the fact that English is his second language. His linguistic foibles are so endearing. When he was trying to impress me with the books he likes to read (philosophy, religion, the classics—YAWN!), I responded with: So, you’re no fun and don’t like laughter?
To which he replied, “No, I’m just trying to impress you. I like to joke around. I have a very black sense of humor.” Huh? By “black humor,” does he mean like Sanford & Son or Def Comedy Jam?
OH! He means “dark humor,” like sarcastic and morbid—teehee, oh foreign man!
Every now and then he’d grasp for a word, and I would feel like a secret genius, ready to aid his foreign mind with my knowledge of complex adjectives.
But language can be learned. Sayings and turns of phrase can be placed in context.
But hotness is a gift. A genetic gift. Despite his euro jacket (very…. 80s MJ, circa "Thriller"), his hotness was clear as day—and even more so without the fedora (see previous post). His hotness reminded me of this song I love, by Flight of the Conchords. It’s called “She’s So Hot…BOOM!” In the first line, singer Bret Mackenzie says, “She’s so hot, she’s like a curry. If I tell her she’s hot, will she think I’m sexist? She’s so hot she’s making me sexist. Bitch.” See for yourself.
I know exactly how he feels. Who's the Boom King? Greek God is the Boom King!
So, date #1 ended with plans for date #2, which will take place on Saturday. What to wear?! What to do?!
Did I also mention that he doesn’t drink alcohol and DOESN’T OWN A CELL PHONE? He’s my very own Antiques Roadshow. A foreign, ridiculously good looking episode of Antiques Roadshow.
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