Friday, August 10, 2012

Open Forum Friday: The Crush, Take Two

Apparently, when it comes to crushes, I have a type. And that type is big, pretty, and stupid.

Also, it doesn’t hurt if the guy’s a bartender—but perhaps (and I hate to generalize, here, because I know some clever people who work on the opposite side of a sprawling bar) bartending is one of the last refuges of hope for the pretty and stupid. But after the last couple of years, and after the last couple of serious schoolgirl crushes I’ve endured, I’ve come to realize this about myself: take some pretty guy with dark, floppy hair and big brown eyes who’s never finished high school, put him in a tank top, and stick him behind a counter and ask him to make drinks for me, and boom, every night the guy is slinging liquor, you’re sure to find me there gazing at him mutely, with my chin in my hands and little pulsating heart-shapes where my dilated pupils used to be.

I wrote about my last bartender crush while I was still living in Michigan—pretty Lenny, he of the the long brown hair and the big brown eyes and the lanky body. Lenny, king of the vacant expression. Lenny, whom I watched with longing from across the bar on so many nights, and who I was so certain harbored some vibrant inner light that kept his soul nourished—a yen to become a serious artist, or a journalistic photographer. Lenny, who, when I finally sat at the bar and attempted to strike up conversations, stood there clutching a giant Tupperware container of liquid to his chest and spooned it into his mouth. Then who, in the same dopey tone as the abominable snowman in the Bugs Bunny cartoon when he squeezed Bugs hard and said I will name him George and I will hug him and pet him and squeeze him!, said through a mouthful of the stuff, “I like soup! Soup is good!”, forever ruining my vision of his secret artistic and sensitive nature. Because the only thing nourishing that boy was Campbell’s Chicken Noodle.

Sigh.

And now I have a crush on another bartender. Tommy, his name is. Tommy used to be an underwear model. He used to appear on the pages of Men’s Fitness. He’s got that classic combination of enormous brown eyes, sloppy longish hair, and muscles that makes my chest tighten and my heart go pitty-pat; when he slouches around the bar in his ratty jeans and a T-shirt, I stare at his biceps and long for the day when I find them holding me tight around my chest while he whispers the sexier sonnets of Shakespeare into my ears. When he wears a tight tank top and lifts it up to wipe his face and reveal his tanned abs, I’m reduced to a gibbering idiot who can only drool and say ‘Whuh?’ in response to any conversation directed my way.

But Tommy has, I’m not that surprised to have to relate, about the same mental acuity as a soggy baked potato. I kind of became aware of it the first time I asked him to make me one of the speciality drinks listed on the bar’s menu, and I watched him scrunch up his eyebrows and furrow his forehead as he peered at the ingredients and worked his lips as he silently sounded out the words. I haven’t had him tell me in a caveman manner that he likes soup, yet, but our conversations usually run a little something like:
HIM: So I got an audition in the city tomorrow!
ME: That’s fantastic. What’s it for?
HIM: It’s for a movie film.
ME: A movie . . . film?
HIM: Yeah! Like you know, in the movie film theaters. It’s for a Road Warrior movie film. I guess it's supposed to be like Mad Max?
ME: The Road Warrior was a Mad Max movie fil—I mean, movie..
HIM (confused): Nuh-uh?
ME: I’m pretty sure.
HIM: So they like that I got this longish hair so should I like, grease it down or leave it the way it is?
ME: Which is going to look more post-apocalyptic?
HIM (confused again): Apo—?
ME: Apocalyptic.
HIM: Apo—?
ME: Apoca. . .
HIM: Apoca. . .
ME: Lyptic.
HIM: Lyptic.
ME: Apocalyptic.
HIM: Apoppapoptic.
ME: Apocalyptic.
HIM: Apocaclyppic.
ME: Apoppapipp—which is going to look better for the movie film?!
It’s a good thing he’s so pretty.

This week I sat down at the bar and Tommy immediately asked how my week was going and what I’d done that day. I made some small talk. “Ask me how my day is going,” he said.

“How’s your day going?” I replied obediently.

Fantastic,” he told me. “You know why? Because I’m an ideas man. I got all kinds of ideas just like, coming out of my brain! Because you know what the brain is, right? It’s spirits! And once you got those spirits in you, it’s like a genie in a bottle! You rub it, and rub it, and rub it—“ And here, to demonstrate what the word rub meant in case I wasn’t clear, he started moving his palms all over his chest, so that his tank top revealed his nipples and navel. I’d been carrying a copy of Next Magazine in my hands, but at the sight of what typically one has to pay a monthly subscription to see streamed live from LiveJockFratDorm.com, it slipped out of my hands and onto the floor, along with my jaw and my dignity. “Then you rub it right and make your wish and boom! It might not come right away but it comes on its own time and when it does it rushes all through you and outside of you and it feels like a goddamn orgasm, that’s what it feels like.”

Well. I basically stood there slack-jawed, having heard only one word of that entire speech (I’ll let you guess which one). He went to take someone's drink order; I stared and stammered until someone jostled me into a seat. Tommy came back over after a moment. “It’s like when I was a dancer,” he said earnestly to me. “There were dancers, and then there was me. I’d give ‘em a little of this—“ Here he held his hands on his abs and bit his lower lip and did some sexy little thrusting motions with his hips. “And a little of this—“ He put his hands behind his head, sneered, and ground his package at the freezer. “And I’d be thinkin’ outside the box with each and every client because I’m an ideas man, and that’s why they kept comin’ back to me instead of to those other dancers. Because I think outside the box!

My throat was dry. I couldn’t speak. Somehow I got the impression that his dancing career had not been in the New York City Ballet. I was having ideas. Most of them were dirty. I noticed he was looking at me expectantly for some kind of reply. I tried to work my lips, but all I could do was look in those big brown eyes and at those bulging biceps and stutter out, “Um . . . huuuh . . . whuh?”

Which frankly makes I like soup! seem like a quip worthy of the Algonquin Round Table, in comparison.

So you know the kind of guy that makes me go moony, speechless, and head over heels. This is a Friday open forum, though. What about yours? Do you have a type for which you have a perpetual weakness—not so much as an object of sexual desire, but more for an unrequited schoolkid crush or a serious case of puppy love? Or have you had a thing for a dumb but pretty bartender, too? Let’s hear about it in the comments!

29 comments:

  1. My partner says I go for the big and dumd too. He excludes himself from that, of course. But what really makes me break my neck from double-take whiplash and trip over level sidewalks is a muscle bear with a nice chest and big arms. Throw I some fur and scruff on the face and he could easily rob me and have me in a daze for two hours before I realize what happened. And even after I came to, I'd be more likely to post in the missed encounters section of Craigslist than call the cops!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. At least your partner is generous to exclude himself from the big and dumb category. :-)

      And how many missed encounters ads have you posted, exactly?

      Delete
    2. Not many... Just a couple thousand or so. :-)

      Delete
  2. "and little pulsating heart-shapes where my dilated pupils used to be."

    LOL. This made me spit out my coffee. Thanks, Rob.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Aren't all unrequited crushes cartoonish?

      Delete
  3. I recently descovered two which can be listed very quickly: tall, dark skin, amazing smile and short, lanky, nerdy. Attention from those two (though the first one wins by a mile) and I'm not really gooey and flustered so much as I suddenly want to make them incredibly happy. And then make them happy with my penis.

    -Ace

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Nerdy pushes one of my buttons, too. Usually they're the opposite of big and dumb, though. I wonder why the disparity?

      Delete
    2. I have no idea. But this small nerdy guy used to come by my work all the time and I wanted to spend hours with my mouth eitheron his or on his hole from the first moment I saw him. It helped that he was nerdy and a bit of punk.

      What I find most strange is I don't go crazy over guys with ripped, toned, gym-perfected bodies.

      -Ace

      Delete
  4. Dark brown hair and eyes, wrestlers build and quick witted for me. Loved your story!!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I want to know where you're finding these quick-witted wrestlers!

      Delete
  5. """""....you’re sure to find me there gazing at him mutely, with my chin in my hands and little pulsating heart-shapes where my dilated pupils used to be."""""

    That is so Betty and Veronica.....I love it!

    I don't have a type, but I'm not swayed about the young smooth pointed hair types.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm always the Betty and never the Veronica.

      Delete
  6. Clearly the problem is that they are so attracted to you that they get tongue tied. They aren't stupid. They are so darn turned on by you that they can't focus on the conversation.

    This is perfect! ;)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Saab,

      YES. That is ABSOLUTELY IT. How blind of me not to SEE IT BEFORE!

      Delete
  7. I know a few clunk-headed-looking but absolutely brilliant guys you might be able to turn out. But you gotta get through me, first. ;)

    ReplyDelete
  8. This summmer I am crushing on our lifeguard who is practically a child:) I always wear sunglasses so as to lust after him as discreetly as possible. I have no real idea of his personality because when I have a crush my extrovert self goes on vacation and I do my best to act as if the person is invisible.

    Wondering when he is going back to school--college? high school?

    Steph

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You know, Steph, I tend to be the same way around my crushes. Ordinarily I'm fine with striking up conversations with people, but man. Around one of my secret crushes? I clam up.

      I'm a little convinced it's because I know they'll say something like 'I LIKE SOUP' to mess up my fantasy world.

      Delete
  9. I call my type, Beardy McFuckme-Face (trademarked).

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That's an evocative description! I want me some of that.

      Delete
  10. Taller than me, Latin with great hair, a killer smile and a libido that won't quit.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. How can you tell a libido from across a crowded room, though?

      Delete
  11. Your type does it for me, too, as well as swimmers, lifeguards, lumberjacks, blondes, gingers, tall dark handsome. You understand! So much beauty and so little time and then tongue-tied. Enjoyed your posting. Lol and oh so true.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Aw, thank you, sc57! I see a lot of the other types...but I don't often spy many lumberjacks in this part of the country.

      Delete
  12. This is my current crush, despite the fact that I have a serious boyfriend... His name? Tommy.

    [IMG]http://i721.photobucket.com/albums/ww214/logancodymedia/Tommy.jpg[/IMG]

    ReplyDelete
  13. Much like the landscaper feels toward you.. Your act hides your intellectual underpinning.

    How are things going with him.. Don't want that reporting to fade into the sunset. :)

    Beardedtop

    ReplyDelete
  14. I have many types but I do have one dancer exp. My roommate liked going to the DC dick bars but he would also drive back drunk so my other roommate and I took turns going with him. The bars are fun but not really my thing. Anyway, on this night he was off doing his thing and I noticed this one dancer. He had the best body, hung pretty well and was by far the best dancer in the club but no one was paying him any attention. I felt bad and went over to give him an audience and a fiver. He was very appreciative and surprisingly sober. He was super nice but also very dim. I was having a good time, a really good time. I guess he was too cause he asked me take him home. I didn't know what to say. You see, the reason no one was watching him dance (but me) was that he was one of the ugliest men you will ever see. He had good skin but was just plain ugly. I told him I had to see about my friend and that I'd be back. While I looked for my friend, I had an inspiration. I found my friend and gave him cab fare. I told Scott (the dancer) that I'd love to go home with him. I couldn't believe how happy his this made him. As we left the club, I told him to wait outside as I had to buy something and wanted to surprise him. I made my purchase and we had a great night! The first of several and not only that, but suggested my he use my inspiration when he danced. He started raking it in. My inspiration? A leather hood mask. We added a harness and a few other things to both our acts - it was fun while it lasted and he never knew why I made the suggestion.

    ReplyDelete
  15. Great story, beautifully written as always.

    As crushes go, I would put forward the man in the June 2 post on treasure trail blog -- http://thetreasuretrail.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2012-06-09T14:50:00-07:00&max-results=15&start=30&by-date=false.

    That his conversational skills may be less than stunning does not concern me. I know that mine would totally disappear in his company.

    ReplyDelete