Sexytime

Apparently, I don't think about sex enough. I had a hard time with this one, for two reasons.

1. I cannot buy into the school of thought that I should pick my three based primarily on sex, rather than what other qualities these men can bring to my island. I'm with Loud: if I knew who was that good in bed, I'd probably already be sleeping with him. I hold as an eternal truth that many times the amazing looks are accompanied by an amazing ego that produces a self-involved, lazy partner, which of course leads to less-than-sexy sexytime. So, just picking some hot guys doesn't work for me.


2. I am potentially quite unobservant and/or asexual, as I would be hard-pressed to name five men in the public eye that make me woozy via their hotness. I don't follow sports or movies or music or TV that closely, nor do I read magazines that have pictures of pretty people, so I guess I'm just short on material. I prefer intermittent crushes on our building's handyman and the weird guy at the Thai place.

So, I approached this category by waiting until three somewhat attractive men crossed my field of attention who were both somewhat attractive and who would bring many other offerings to our island society. Four short weeks later, this is what I came up with:


1. Doug Fine. Who is Doug? Author, Journalist, Adventurer, Goat-Herder, per his website. He was an international reporter, working for NPR and others, before he decided to give it all up and try to live off the grid on a ranch in New Mexico. Through this, he's learned how to build stuff, raise and preserve food, tend goats, and many other useful-for-survival skills that will greatly enhance our island infrastructure. Then, he wrote a book about it. Kind of sounds like my dream life; therefore, I'm already partially in love with the man. Doug may not be the best-looking out of the crew, but I have a feeling we will have so much in common that we will keep each other entertained for hours. I'm going to get my hands on his book as soon as the library has it. If you know me at all, you probably know how I feel about goats. Doug, you had me at "goat-herder."


2. Lenny Kravitz.

I require someone who can play music on my island. Two years in Nowhere, Bolivia taught me the incalcuable value of living with someone who can pick up an instrument and learn or invent a song on the spot. Priceless. My first thought was Ben Harper, as I like his music, find him attractive, and heard he's a good dad (also key for corraling the inevitable island babies after the prophylactics run out). However, Darcy beat me to it. Lenny is a runner-up. I don't like his music nearly as well. In fact, the songs I've heard from his current album are cheesy, electric guitar crap. But, I like some of his old stuff, and he will only have access to acoustics on the island. He has amazing abs and bone structure. Our children will be beautiful. Also, as playing with hair is one of my favorite pastimes, I will enjoy having several different textures of man-hair to aimlessly caress as we wile away time on my island. Since Trinidad, I'm a very big fan of a good 'fro. Lenny can rock the 'fro, and maybe he can advise me if I decide to throw in the personal hygiene towel and go for white girl dreads. In addition, he was profiled in the June/July issue of Plenty magazine. He has a 1,000-acre, completely self-sufficient organic farm in Brazil and defined the Topic that occupies way too much of his brain as "Finding a wife." Lenny, I'm there for you, babe.


3. George Clooney.

Old. Boring. Actor of questionable abilities. Complete cop-out. I know. He's middle-aged and dating a Vegas cocktail waitress (last I heard?). I think he will be bored silly on the island, and I have no idea if he can add any useful skills to our little family. Doesn't sound like the best choice. However, I had a crush on him when we used to watch ER on Thursday nights in college. I need to bring something of sentimental value to the island. In addition, he has fabulous hair that I will enjoy running my fingers through, and maybe he can offer me some pole-dancing (palm-tree-dancing?) pointers he's picked up from his girlfriend. I don't mind a few grays, George.