Paolo Nutini. Oddly, I get this vibe that he might be a little too wishy washy and it might be a wan experience, but I would definitely like to be proven wrong. And look at that hair. He is just rife with youthfulness. And his lyrics are so tender. Sigh.
Jake Gyllenhaal. I hope that's how his last name is spelled. His posture isn't so great in this picture but I'm willing to look past that. Also, he has apparently split from Reese Witherspoon because he was just so hot that she couldn't handle it.
I can handle it. Adeptly.
Gord Downie. His lyrics are obscure and often apparently nonsensical and his sweaty, writhing on stage persona makes me want to spend One Night in Copenhagen with him. Maybe we can visit Chagrin Falls. Plus? I am all over his jaunty chapeaus which he wears to conceal the fact that he's balding which, personally, I still find sexy cause... it's Gord Downie.
Woody Allen (circa Annie Hall). Like running 26.2 miles: if I have to explain it to you, you just wouldn't understand. I would invite him over on the pretense that there is a large spider in my tub that he has to kill. Then we can go to therapy together. And maybe listen to some jazz and watch Ingmar Bergman films (of which I have seen none). Getting Even is my touchstone.
Tiger Woods. Fourteen (?) waitresses and hostesses and porn stars can't be wrong. I keep waiting for his saucy text. I wouldn't sell him out or write a tell-all book about it. And maybe he could help me with my drive.
Thus concludes my rampant sexual desires for the year.
Ha.
Honorable mentions to the guy that ran the Vegas marathon in some snug briefs (only), Dave Matthews, and the guy that lives in my building that is smokin' hot but probably gay.
4 comments:
Jake!
I'm with Big D... Jake the Snake!
Yeah.
Ohhhhhh.... Donnie Darko.
He's so good, I couldn't watch him in Brokeback Mountain afraid it would ruin it for me.
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