est. 1987


I have a confession to make.


I am, and have been, just a little bit obsessed with Conan O’Brian.



I look at that man like a dehydrated desert traveler looks at a bottle of water: with hunger, desperation, and the tiniest bit of lust. I’m fairly sure those three are too similar to disassemble but I find it pertinent to list all of them. My obsession probably isn’t all that glorifying to men, and men, I’m sorry. Women look at you like you’re meat, too. We’re even. My obsession focuses on…a lot of superficial things.


I do find him funny. He’s a very witty and charming and quite delightful. He’s got a fun laugh and a good voice.


It doesn’t hurt that he’s got legs that go on forever (wow; that’s something you usually attribute to chicks eh? Mark another one up for questionable sexuality!), and a beautiful smile.


HE’S THE TANNEST GINGER OF THEM ALL. When he smiles that beautiful smile of his it pops even more (and you know he’s in show business so it’s just a routine to bleach molars more than bones in the Arizona sun) against that tanned skin. Even though I’m positive that it’s stage makeup.


The way he wears a pair of dress pants is also…delightful. His pastel colored button downs. Again, ginger hair that looks like it’s quite soft. Tonight he wears lavender and he makes it look better than it does on my bedroom walls.


Excuse me while my mind goes crawling into the gutter.


Although the singer that’s on is shrill enough that I’m distracted from pining over Conan. Shut up, you wench. (I’m still trying to decide if she’s just old or she’s a 25 year old that has been under the tanning lamp too long.)


No. No wait, there’s CoCo on the screen, reminding me how incredibly tall he is.

[/ending this confession with a classy ‘tall drink of water in that there desert’ analogy]


Comments on: "Gingersnaps." (2)

  1. Wow.
    I mean really.

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