Tag Archives: Justin Long

Ms. Lap Sitter

It’s that time of year again.  The Christmas season.  Time to go sit on some pervy Santa’s lap and ask him for random stuff.

Like the rest of the masses, I figured that I should take the time to put in my order with Papa Christmas.

Papa Christmas.  Is it just me, or does that sound dirty?

Ah, who the hell cares?  I’m already sitting on his lap at this point.  No turning back now.

So, Santa, let me get all nestled in here.  Why is it so comfy?  This is more than a little disturbing.

Anyway, listen up, Père Noël.  Here is what I want — nay, NEED — this Christmas:

  • MATCHING UNDERWEAR SETS.  As racy and frilly as they come.  Why?  A girl’s got to be able to compete on this lacy Parisian scene.  Besides, Santa, I know that you enjoy picking out lingerie, you pervy cad, you.  (Ms. Victoria’s Secret Angel)
  • MORE PANTS.  I tend to lose them when I drink.  And not in a good way.  (Ms. One Night Stand)
  • And last, but not least, please send me JUSTIN LONG for Christmas.  Please wrap him up in a snuggly sweater.  No need to tie him up with ribbon.  I’ve got plenty of ribbon and accoutrements at my place.

Please deliver all gifts to the family compound in California, and I will arrange for transport back to Paris.  My stocking is the one with the obese snowman on.  Do NOT, under any circumstances, give Justin Long to either of my sisters.  As God is my witness, I will hunt you down and beat you with a stocking full of fruitcake-shaped rocks.

That is all.

Joyeux Noël.

Wait, why am I still on your lap?



Filed under Misses

Mssrs. Crushes

Even though I have made a conscious choice to take a break from dating, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have crushes.  I firmly believe that crushes are essential to a woman’s survival.  Without them, I would probably wander around in public in my pyjamas, relegate showering to the category of unnecessary luxuries, and permanently lose my eyebrow tweezers.  In my eyes, if it ever comes to that, I might as well be dead.

So in order to maintain a healthy emotional state, as well as a presentable public persona, I try to have at least several crushes at any given time.  Currently, I have three….

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mr. Tall Dark Delicious

He is tall.  He is dark.  He is positively delicious.  He is like a cross between Lenny Kravitz, Vin Diesel and a Greek god.  And lord, did I mention that he is TALL??  I’m not necessarily into really tall guys, but he’s just so tall that I’m fascinated by the novelty of it.  Especially since I live in Paris and don’t often see such hearty, broad-shouldered specimens of manhood.  There is just SO much of him!  So.  Much.  Man.

He also rocks these great running shoes with bright yellow accents.  I’m a simple creature sometimes, drawn to bright colors and shiny objects.  His shoes, as well as his entire hotness, is just so shiny.

The man is so gorgeous that I can’t even fathom interacting with him on any normal human level.  In fact, I’m pretty sure that if he were to talk to me, his voice could not be heard by us mere mortals.  To us, the less godly-beautiful, it would just sound like thunder and fury.

Besides, we all know that such absurdly beautiful gods have almost no chance of having any measurable personality or sense of humor.

Right.  That’s what I’m going to tell myself.

Mr. Justin Long

The real Justin Long is the love of my life.  He and Drew Barrymore don’t know it yet, but I am going to marry him.

So since I laid eyes on this Justin Long lookalike, I haven’t stopped drooling.

And even though he is a wispy wisp of a Frenchman whose ass is approximately the size of my fist, I’ve been drooling for approximately four months now.  (That, people, is the kind of power that the real Justin Long has over me.)

The problem is, I’m drooling so consistently and so profusely that it has clearly blocked all high level brain functions in his presence.  Walking AND breathing at the same time?  Forget about it.  Stringing together complete sentences AND avoiding moving obstacles?  So far, no success.

He is just so adorable that I can’t contain myself.  It’s shameful.

To avoid humiliation, I just flee whenever I see him.

Mr. Chicken Legs

Okay, so his legs obviously aren’t very impressive, but who cares?  I think that it’s endearing that his legs are skinny.  I’m not saying that he’s a wispy willow-twig-boy.  Despite his skinny legs, the man is in great physical shape and his legs are stronger than they look.

One problem: he is the ringleader of my rockclimbing group.  And we all know that we shouldn’t shit where we eat.  I do not want to lose a climbing partner to stupid crush shenanigans.

So alas, I’m just going to pretend that I’m his platonic climbing buddy and attempt to belay him safely while staring at his ass (which is a decent size and very perky!).

Clearly, this is not going to end well.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

What is that old saying?  ‘Variety is the spice of life’?  Well, that’s bollocks.  Crushes are the spice of life.  ESPECIALLY if they never lead to anything.  Honestly, the moment that a crush from afar transitions into some tangible romantical entanglement, all the fun is lost.  All the suspense, the fantasy, the shininess….  Blown to bits by the unforgiving reality of his douche-toolery.

Winter is coming to Paris, the skies are getting greyer, and the outfits are getting greyer.  But I refuse to allow my mood to get any greyer.

So even as I say ‘Next!’, my crushes will keep me sane and smiling.



Filed under Misters