Category Archives: paul mccartney

To Do List Part 2.

david-bowie-iggy-pop

In 2009, I made a “to do list” — male celebrities I’d like to do. It features some wildcards, like Peter Dinklage. And this was before Game of Thrones. I had worked with him on a film (which is a glorified way of saying I was an extra on his film in his scene), and I put him on the list.

But it’s 2015 now, and so, I feel I should update this list. The last list featured 5 celebs — this features 6. And if that bothers you, well, I’m sorry. There were some people I had to carry over. Some got left behind. But some remained forever glorious.

Here are 6 celebrity dudes on my To Do List.

 

6.) Pharrell Willams

pharrell

I’ve made it clear how much I hate that damn song, “Happy.” I once tweeted, “Someone just cut someone else off while playing ‘Happy’, and it was the first time that song ever made me happy.” It was something like that; this was a while ago. I’ve also joked that the song is so silly, it should include the line, “Clap along if you feel like a shoe without a sock.” But I realize that Pharrell is more than “Happy.” Pharrell has been on my radar for a long time. Mainly for his personal style/fashion, TBH. His music was always secondary to that, for me. But this dude is 41 and looks like a damn giddy 20-something. I’ll clap along for you, Pharrell. My room? It needs a roof. Let’s fix that. Clap along, Pharrell, if you feel like giving me a roof. And uh, really get up there and secure it and, uh, shit, I don’t know much about roofing. All I know is that when Pharrell performs, he has the giddiness of a young man (as well as the face), and it makes me want to be happy. Like, I would even overlook the clusterfuck that is “Blurred Lines” for Pharrell. Because I’m happy. Clap along.

 

5.) Marc Maron

marc-maron

How the hell did this one happen? Well, I Netflix marathoned Maron, that’s how. We all know I love older men, and Marc Maron is that quintessential older man — the one who pretends to hate his life when really, he’s secretly loving life, balls-out. The problem here is that Maron is sober and I am not. My wine glass is only empty because I’m about to fill it. But man, I have a thing for cantankerous older men. Maron seems to have a problem with everything, and I find that insatiable. I’d put up with his bullshit, roll my eyes, and be his forever. I’d listen to all his bullshit records, from those bands that no one’s heard of but he somehow has, and he knows it. Shit.

 

4.) Blake Shelton.

blake-shelton

I guess I’m on a The Voice kick — first Pharrell, now Blake. The Blake one shames me, deeply. I don’t know what it is, but once I saw him on Saturday Night Live, doing his “Wishing Boot”sketch, that’s when something clicked — sweet fancy Moses, I wanna do this man. We have absolutely nothing in common. He’s a country music star and the only country music I like is real old school, like Dolly Parton country. (BTW, I AM AWARE THAT  HE, AND PHARRELL ARE MARRIED. AND I REALIZE I HAVE NO CHANCE WITH THESE PEOPLE. CHILL OUT.) Discovering that I’m attracted to Blake Shelton is like someone telling me I can urinate through my eyeballs — what? How? And why? — that’s how it feels. I feel so…ashamed. Not that he’s not an attractive and talented man — he’s just so not my type. I’m confused. But I’m gonna roll with it.

 

3.) Jon Hamm

Four Seasons Hotel

So on the previous list, I included Don Draper, but not Jon Hamm, and yes, I am aware that Don Draper is fictional, thank you. But this time around, I am including Jon Hamm, the man. Because he’s proved himself to be more than Don Draper. He has a wicked sense of humor and always kills it on SNL. I’ve come to the point where I am able to separate him from Don, and I like what I see. Funny story: I once saw Jon Hamm in person and made an ass of myself, but that’s a story for another time. If you’ve read this far, let me know if you ever want to hear it. Anyway, my point is, he’s come so far. He’s no longer just “Don Draper” to me, and thus, deserves a spot on this list, even though I heard rumors that he picks up random girls and fingers them in his car. What? WHAT??? I’m just being honest. Just being honest.

 

2.) David Bowie

david-bowie

I mean, this one is a given, if you even know me at all. David Bowie is one of my true loves. But the thing about Bowie, and the reason why he’s not number one, is that I believe you should never meet your heroes, even just for one day. (HA! SEE WHAT I DID THERE?). He just means too much to me. So much that I don’t even think I can say anymore. Just know that I love him, and will forever, but hope to never actually be anywhere near him. I saw him in concert twice, and bawled both times. So any interaction between me and Bowie would be bad news. But I can’t not include him on the list. So here he is. Ziggy played guitar…

 

1.) Paul McCartney

paul-mccartney

Paul McCartney is my EVERYTHING. You know, I have a boyfriend, so this list is all fun and games — except for Paul McCartney. My boyfriend understands that if I were offered an evening with Sir Paul, I would take it (to the limit) (one more time). And he accepts that. We both know it’s never going to happen, but so help me God, if it does, I am IN IT to WIN IT. I don’t fucking care that he’s old. People are like, “Oh ew, imagine his 72-year-old body on you” and I’m like, “I am, and it’s FANTASTIC.” I will want Paul McCartney forever and always. He is the one for me. He just doesn’t realize it. Try to see it my way, Paul. We can work it out. We can work it out! P.S. I love you. You, you, you!

 

Who is on YOUR “To Do” list? DON’T BE SHY!

david-bowie-iggy-popFollow me on Twitter | Facebook

Share

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

If I had a time machine.

david bowie and john lennon

Considering that I spend most of my time sighing girlishly over photos of young David Bowie, Paul McCartney, and Jarvis Cocker, it makes sense that my friend Tony made this observation:

“God help us all if you ever get your hands on a time machine and some roofies.” – Tony Archer
Oh ha ha Tony. No. I would use it for great things like saving John Lennon and Kennedy.

But first I would have so much Bowie sex. No, sorry, Paul sex first. Then time machine. Then Bowie sex. Then time machine. Then save John Lennon. Then time machine. Then Jarvis Cocker. Then back home for a nice cup of tea and wait for this whole thing to blow over.

Oh crap, I forgot to save JFK.

Whatever, worth it. But if I did remember to save JFK, and I don’t believe it’s a conspiracy, I think Oswald acted alone, I think I could have stopped him if I went up to him that day, punched him in the balls and said, “Stop being a dick” then handcuffed him to a streetlamp, called the police anonymously, then time traveled my sexy ass back to 2012. This is also the same thing I would do with Mark David Chapman. Or maybe I would instead try to be their friends, because friends don’t let friends assassinate presidents and musical geniuses.

“I guess I just wasn’t made for these times.” – Brian Wilson

Share

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

This Is It.

Photobucket
Sweet fancy fuck.

Yesterday I went to a fashion show where I met three foreign boys who were cute but were also dumber than a box of cats. (“Do you know where there is a taco truck around here?” “No?” “Oh so you are not local?” “I am, but I don’t know where there is a taco truck.” “So you’re not local?”) This is when I realized that sadly being foreign no longer automatically = hot and desirable.
So foreign boys, here’s my new criteria. If you don’t get it then don’t worry, I’m not the girl for you, and you’re not the guy for me.
1.) Be smart. I don’t just mean book smart, you need to be culturally aware.
2.) You need to have a knowledge of film. You can’t count on me to explain to you who that guy is, or what stuff that other guy has directed, or why that film is exciting to me.
3.) I find arguing really sexy. I like to argue.
4.) You need to have a good sense of style. Sorry but baggy jeans and wearing your button-up as a scarf is not going to do it for anyone. Get thee to an H&M or even a thrift store. I once went thrift store shopping with a boy — let’s call him Bob Dylan, who was a friend and then had a crush on me and then I had a crush on him but then he got aloof and turned into a bisexual drug addict, oh college — who bought a Gap shirt despite there being a Gap across the street. “Ew,” said I, “Please don’t buy an old Gap shirt. Please. I will buy a new one for you right now.” I begged him but he really liked the style of the used Gap shirt and it looked good on him. That kid had great style. I wonder where he is now. I hope he’s not dead.
5.) Don’t be a date rapist. Really, you think this would go without saying. I don’t know if you assholes are getting the wrong idea from all those vampire movies out there or what but don’t be fucking creepy.
6.) The Who. I don’t know how to elaborate on this one, something about The Who. Just fill in whatever you want to.
7.) Don’t make me do all the work. Get off your fucking Blackberry and approach me.
8.) Don’t be Jude Law.
There’s my new criteria. Not that it matters anyway. I am currently not accepting any new applicants. Unless you meet every point on this list. In that case though I’d still be wary. “I wouldn’t want to be a part of any club that would have me as a member,” said Groucho Marx. It’s that old thing, you know?
I mean, this is pretty much it because as far as dating goes, I’m fucking spent. I really am. I have to focus on my anemic career. I’m a young smart woman and I’m sick of constantly thinking about and/or looking for men. I am not Carrie Fucking Bradshaw. Carrie was fun in the first two seasons, maybe three, but then she got annoying and clingy and sad. And I don’t know what the hell she was complaining about because she always had sexy successful men who were always after her anyway. She just could never pick one. It’s like models who complain how hard their careers are. You’re essentially being paid to walk. Fuck all of you. Shut up, pick one, and sit down. Then find something new to do with your life.
Share

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Older Men.

I just want to make one thing perfectly clear:

I would hit it so hard. I would wreck him. He would need to go to the hospital. He would probably sprain various body parts. I know his bones are getting weak, so this is just a fair warning. You think you’ve had heart problems in the past, Macca? Yeah, nothing compared to what I would do to you. But guess what? It would be so worth it. I’ll elaborate more later. Oh, you think there’s no more I can say? How wrong you are. Oh, you don’t want me to elaborate? Get a ticket to ride, cuz I don’t care.

Photobucket

A lot of younger women seem to go for older men. This isn’t a fad, this is because men in their twenties are like Elmo. They’re fun and cute but they’re kind of annoying and ultimately confused. I’m sorry, are you bothered by my generalization? THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP MAKING IT TRUE.

I’ll be kind and say that you guys probably have good intentions but you always wind up in the failboat. (Note: I realize that not all guys in their 20s are like this. If you’re not like this, you’re of a dying breed! Thank you for existing!) The worst is when you act immature and we’re surprised. I’m sure we do a lot of bitchy things that you hate but one thing that we don’t do is leave you hanging. We don’t randomly stop texting you. (Also, we don’t think of watching you and your bros play Guitar Hero as a date.)

This is why I need to marry Paul McCartney.

Yeah, specious logic on my part. Really I’ve always wanted to marry Paul McCartney. And although he’s aging much like Judy Dench, I still think he’s handsome as fuck. He’s smart and funny and creative and kind. At 60-whatever he’s still the cute Beatle…well…I mean I know half of them are dead, but you know what I mean. Paul McCartney is cheeky enough to get away with dating someone like me, by which I mean, someone with a 4 decade age difference. No one thinks Macca is gross. Were he to date me I’m sure most people would find it charming. I know I would. He’s younger than my dad! (OK by like a year or two, shhh.)

Photobucket

Look at that face. Fucking look at it! I would hit it so hard that he would time travel, back to the date where this photo was taken, stop and pose just like this, and then time travel back to his current sexy self. We would have amazing kinky Beatles sex. I would be the walrus. He could goo-goo-gajoob whatever he wanted.

The oldest man I ever dated was 36. I was 20. And by dated I mean sleep with after a night of drug induced madness. Since then I’ve managed to stay within my age bracket but it’s not really by choice. I just haven’t met anyone older who wants to date me. Or I don’t want to date them. We’re like those boats at the end of The Great Gatsby, floating carelessly into the past, scoping out the bar at Bardot for better looking people to hit on. It’s a love story of the saddest kind. The kind without any love. Or story, for that matter.


Hmmm…maybe his bones aren’t so weak after all! Maybe I’m amazed.

I don’t think Macca will risk another marriage. Maybe he’ll never find another love like the one he found in Linda. Maybe he just hasn’t met me yet and therefore hasn’t decided. Maybe I’m living in a dream world. Maybe we all are. Maybe this is all a dream inside Ringo Starr’s head. Maybe I am Ringo Starr. Who can say, really?

Paul McCartney — Scissor Sisters
Nod Your Head — Paul McCartney

Share

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook