I pretty much knew it was love, oh so many years ago while I was watching Adult Swim. It was late at night, I may or may not have been drinking, and this beautiful gem of a man was channeling Masterpiece Theatre. He was seated in a home library, surrounded by shelves of old books on mahogany shelves, fireplace cracking behind him. His rumbly voice a sweet, soft growl as he sat in a high backed leather chair, tucked in a silk smoking jacket and a pipe resting between his soft lips.
The connection I felt was instant. Pure and primal, and went way beyond the previous one-sided, childish sexual feelings I felt for Zach Braff and Chuck D. This time, the feelings tore through my body and fractured my foundation. I vowed to have him.
Up until recently, I didn’t have much of a plan. Honestly, I still don’t have a plan, but I’m more hoping that I’ll get lucky and fall into spending eternity with him without having to do much work to get there.
The other idea is to find out if he’s already married, in which case I can just abandon the whole thing.
I actually had my chance to ensnare him across a crowded ComiCon. He was sitting at the Adult Swim table signing an autograph for a woman twice his age. I stood idly watching from about 30 feet away, silently breathing in his magnificence. I considered my plan of attack. Would I continually walk past his table until he asked me if I was lost? Perhaps. But that would run the risk of him finding me retarded. Would I ask to borrow a pen. Or maybe his cell phone? That way I could dial my own number on it, having his number show up on mine, and cementing my number into his call history? Better still, I could accidentally pour a bottle of water on my shirt and ask if he had a clothes dryer. Or maybe he would let me borrow the shirt he was wearing, and I could absorb his smell in its fabric, admiring his soft, pale skin as we stood alone, right in the middle of the convention center.
As I pondered my options and gazed longingly at him, he looked over at me. And I froze, paralyzed that I had been caught drinking him in with every ounce of my being.
Unable to look away, I waited for a glimmer of secret understanding between us. And moments later, he gently raised his palms and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Okay, dumbass, don’t stand there like a mongoloid. I’m sitting right here, so just come over and say hi. You’re obviously smitten with me.”
I did what any reasonable woman in my position would do: I ran away.
I look back now and realize I should have pulled the wet shirt stunt. But I can’t turn back time, and I can’t deny that my chance may never come again. But this post is a vow to myself, and all of you reading, that I can overcome fate. If my destiny won’t put him in my path again, I will put myself in his. I will seek out that which was meant for me and only me. And I will not let any obstacle get in my way. And I will also bring a smoking jacket with me in case he doesn’t own one, because having him wear nothing but that would be super hot.
I don’t know how, or when, but he will be mine. And if I should fail, I can always try and marry Todd McFarlane – he would be a decent runner up due to his similar last name and that he also has ties to the animation community.
If anyone can help me with my charge, please reach out to me. I accept paypal for those who wish to donate to the cause, and I would welcome any contacts that may be childhood friends or babysitters or anyone who might have spare keys to his apartment. And my law enforcement connections (*coughjenniferaaronandbeccacough*), if you guys could run a clear and list, a criminal history, and check counties in Los Angeles for locals on him, I would appreciate it.
Until then, I am going to brush up on stalker How-Tos and dream of that honey-voiced demigod, his silk covered arm reaching out to me from across a geek-filled ocean of comic book collectors.