Nobody, but I mean nobody, floats my boat these days. Except maybe Edward Burns. Something about his voice gets to me. Same with Josh Hartnett's smoldering eyes. But if his acting gets any worse, I'm ready to take a pass. Russell Crowe in LA Confidential and Gladiator can still fog my reading glasses, but nothing in real life makes me salivate lately.
To be perfectly fair, the lack of interest usually goes both ways. Chalk it up to old age. Like I care. On the other hand, one of my cousins said I don't look too bad sitting down -- because when I'm seated people can't see me trying to walk. It would be sad if it weren't so damn funny.
But I may be alone in my lack of interest in objets masculins. I was talking to one of my best girlfriends and she was almost apoplectic after a Bill Maher show that discussed Eliot Spitzer's escapades. I guess ol' Bill [who, last I heard, has never been married and can't seem to keep a girlfriend] was complaining that after twenty years of marriage the sex is pretty much over. So why wouldn't a guy seek alternatives.
My pissed off girlfriend wanted Bill to know that she and her husband, both over sixty, were still doing nasty things twice a week, na na na na na. So as a public service I am telling Mr. Maher that those two are not only at it way more than the national average, they've been together way past twenty years, so there.
She also mentioned commitment and other warm and fuzzy things that married people enjoy and the Bill Mahers of the world can only imagine, but I forget that part.
However, it's nice that a blog can come in handy. Bill Maher will get home some night, Google himself, like I'm sure he does on a daily basis, and find this entry. He should be aware that he ticked off my girlfriend. It's good that I can help.
Another one of my best girlfriends has reconnected with a football player that she [and me, too] dated in college. Her first husband was another guy I dated. Actually, I thought I was still dating him, when they started going out. But I digress.
I was going to say my girlfriend and football guy "hooked up", instead of "reconnected," but that has a new meaning. Wait a minute, that meaning also applies to them. They sound like they're having the kind of fun usually reserved for Spring Break. It helps that she looks at least fifteen years younger than she has any right to, and he looks like he could still be playing linebacker for the Baltimore Colts which he used to. If either of them reads this and allows me, I'll post a YouTube link about him so women of all ages can eat their hearts out.
Meanwhile, in the midst of all my friends getting noogie well past their expiration dates, I went to a party over the weekend. A younger female friend of mine met some guy online and now they both have stars in their eyes. So she wanted some of her friends to do the up close and personals while he was in town.
Who should be at this gathering but a guy I liked looking at, who liked looking back at me, despite watching me gimp into the room. Even better, he could speak in complete sentences. Then he did something I usually do, which was to tell me a detail about myself that I sure didn't expect him to know. Usually I can tell a guy what kind of dog he has and the car he drives. I can also tell him what sports he plays as well as what position he takes on the field. This guy, who had never met me before, took one look and told ME where I went to high school and what sports I played. He even guessed my ethnicity. Regardless, when he had to leave, I turned into a pumpkin again. Ten years ago I would have worn the glass slipper. Now my feet are too swollen to bother trying it on.
Ah, but for one brief shining moment, I could swear my boat was starting to float. Hmmm, I wonder if the engine works anymore.