Tag Archives: silly

Older Men in the Media :: A Twenty-Two Year Old’s Infatuation

19 Jul

I’ve been meaning to write this entry for a while now; for years, really. I’ve written about it in snippets from time to time, but I’ve never truly delved into the heart of the matter. You see, this is an entry about my infatuation with older men.

Wait, let me correct that statement:

Older male celebrities.

I feel it’s an important distinction to make. There are very few instances in my life where I’ve had crushes on older men that I’ve known personally, all of which were trivial infatuations throughout high school that never lasted long. Of course, I should also make myself clear that when I’m talking about older male celebrities I’m not talking about, y’know, guys in their late 20’s or early 30’s. Heavens no.

I’m talking about how I, a 22 year old girl, have many a crush on celebrities 40 years old… or older.

I’ve been dying to write this entry ever since I saw Seeking a Friend For the End of the World last month. I walked into that movie expecting to like it, which I did, but halfway through the film I started noticing how ridiculously attracted to Steve Carell I suddenly was. This immediately harkened back to when I had a crush on him when I was sixteen and saw Little Miss Sunshine. I think what hooked me first during Seeking a Friend was his arms (that man has been working out, I swear), but it escalated from there. I’m pretty sure the only reason I didn’t cry as much as I should have at the end of the film was because I was too busy drooling over him. When I got home I googled Steve Carell to find out he is, as of right now, 49 years old. This left me thinking about the cumulative of my crushes on older men in the media.

Steve Carell in argyle? My vagina approves!

I’ve always pined after older actors, even as a kid, not to mention ones that are a bit… random. I’ve never really fantasized about the Brad Pitts or Matthew McConaughey’s of the world. I mean, as an example, here are my list of July celebrity crushes:

  • Steve Carell
  • Jason Tam
  • Jonah Hill
  • James Cagney
  • Patton Oswalt

I guess the most normal crush of the group would be Jason Tam; a Broadway actor who’s only 8 years older than myself. Is that a bad thing that that’s enough for me to deem him a “suitably aged” actor to crush on?

Then there’s James Cagney who’s, y’know, dead now.

Jonah Hill’s only six years older than me, but then again, I’m the only person I know of who’s actually got a crush on Jonah Hill (don’t judge me, Zach). The funny thing is that this crush occurred while watching 21 Jump Street. What’s that? I watched a movie starring Channing Tatum and walked away with a crush on Jonah Hill? Yup. Only me.

Last night I watched Young Adult, which was what gave me that final push to write this entry, because it occurred to me that I’ve had a crush on Patton Oswalt since around 2008. Patton’s forty-three years old now, making him basically twice my age. Not only that, but how many people in this world have a crush on Patton Oswalt? I doubt many.

Yup. Both of them. I would.

I’ve always had crushes on older, more obscure actors. I mentioned it in the past, but in the second grade I had a major celebrity crush – my first celebrity crush ever, actually – on Nathan Lane. When he was 41 years old, and I was only seven. Then around the same time I had a crush on David Thomlinson, ie. the grumpy-as-fuck dad in Mary Poppins, who was 47 when they made that movie. Who the fuck crushes on the grumpy dad in Mary Poppins the 3rd grade? Me, that’s who.

Yeah. I don’t understand either.

Other obscure actors I had crushes on before I turned eleven years old are: David Hyde Pierce (Fraiser), John Lithgow (3rd Rock From the Sun), Alfonso Ribeiro (Fresh Prince of Bel Air), William Daniels (1776), Roscoe Orman (Sesame Street), Brad Garrett (Everybody Loves Raymond), and Salem (Sabrina the Teenage Witch).

Yeah. I had a crush on a cat puppet when I was nine. I don’t know what that says about me.

Maybe it was for our mutual adoration of food…?

For my birthday this year, my brother gave me a copy of John Lithgow’s autobiography, which led to me laughing loudly and yelling, “THIS IS THE BEST”. I don’t think he realized I reacted in such a way because of my random John Lithgow crush that still, to this day, exists. (Fact: this entry came dangerously close to being entitled “My Dirty Little Secret: I Would Fuck John Lithgow.”)

As I’m sure you’re all saying, “Yes, yes, Julia, we get it, you’ve had some weird crushes in your life”, let me shove even more evidence in your face. Here follows a list of every male celebrity 43+ years in age that I have: drooled over, crushed on, fantasized about, wanted to marry, and/or been the cause of the exclamation “I WANT TO HAVE HIS BABIES.”

Hugh Jackman (43), Peter Dinklage (43), Sam Rockwell (43), Patton Oswalt (43), Mark Ruffalo (44), Peter Linz (45), Robert Downey Jr. (47), Rob Lowe (48), Stephen Colbert (48), Steve Carell (49), Ralph Fiennes (49), Greg Kinnear (49), Conan O’Brien (49), Jon Stewart (49), John Slattery (49), George Clooney (51), Stanley Tucci (51), Michael Cerveris (51), Colin Firth (51), Ricky Gervais (51), Steve Whitmire (52), Dylan Baker (52), David Hyde Pierce (53), Brian Stokes Mitchell (54), Christoph Waltz (55), Alan Ruck (56), Michael Emerson (57), Dan Aykroyd (60), Geoffrey Rush (61), Bill Murray (61), Bill Nighy (62), Tom Wilkinson (64), Richard Jenkins (65), John Lithgow (66), Donald Sutherland (77).

What a list.

Of course, many of these are still deemed highly appropriate to crush on. George Clooney. Rob Lowe. Ralph Fiennes. I mean, what human isn’t in love with Colin Firth? And ever since The Avengers it seems like everyone wants in Robert Downey Jr.’s pants…  but it’s impossible to deny that there are some strange crushes on my list.

This, however, should not be one of them. Look at that face. I would lick that face.

I could go in depth analyzing my infatuation of the older male (the first person who says I have an Elektra complex will get shanked), but, quite honestly, there’s just something… nice about men. There’s an air of sophistication and maturity to them. They have family values. They know who they are. They have mature tastes and interests. They’re like good wine, aged to a perfect year. I’ve dealt with my share of boys, and they always leave me feeling like shit, so maybe there’s some inner desire to grow the fuck up and settle down. What’s strange though is that, while I spend plenty of time fantasizing about all the men I’ve just listed, I have no desire to actually be involved with any older man at my current age. I just like looking at them is all.

Do I have normal celebrity crushes? Of course. Chris Evans, Aaron Paul, Josh Hutchinson, Ryan Reynolds, Ryan Gosling, Jason Segel, Darren Criss, they’re all welcome to the party in my pants as well.

Conan, Colbert, and Stewart all have VIP access to my pants party though.

Is this a weird thing to write a blog entry about? Most definitely. But the likelihood of me actually meeting any of these men and getting in a situation where my pants party theory could actually happen is highly unlikely, so for now just let me dream. There’s a pants party and all the men mentioned above are welcome.

(Except you, Channing Tatum. Go the hell away.)

nineteen months in counting.

9 Jun

We were playing with rakes. It wasn’t my idea, but my job is, after all, to serve his every whim, so when he handed me that giant green rake I took hold of it from him. Both our rakes were plastic, so I figured no harm would come from letting him play with one. Besides, I had my eye trained on the little bugger. Nothing was gonna happen to him. Not on my watch.

I went about attempting to show him how to rake, which I think he began to get the hang of. We then raked a corner of the yard… and we raked… and we raked… and we raked. How long can this kid rake the fucking grass? I thought to myself, sneakily checking the facebook app on my phone for the millionth time. I took a break, leaning on my rake and watching him go at it. The shape of his rake, the same as mine, gave me an idea. The next time he lifted his big eyes up towards me I shifted the rake so that its body leaned against my abdomen. Holding it with my left hand, I began to fake-strum the plastic fingers while scatting the Sanford & Son theme song.

“Bow Bow BWA NAH! Bow Bow BWA NAH BWA NAH Bwow!”

After a good ten or twelve seconds of this, I glanced back down at him. His naive eyes held so much confusion in them. What was I doing? I heaved a sigh.

“Right. You’re a baby. You don’t know what a guitar is. Sorry.”

I do that all the time; apologize to him when I say something or do something that he doesn’t understand. The irony is that he doesn’t comprehend why I’m saying “sorry” in the first place, and yet I find I can’t stop for the life of me.

I then went back to raking, hoping that no one staying at the B&B noticed my foolish attempt to seem cool to a nineteen month old. Hoping maybe by now he had tired of this raking business, I looked back down at him to ask if he wanted to go back in the tent to drink the strawberry-blueberry-raspberry-every kind of berry smoothie has mom had made for him. And what did I see?

He was strumming his rake; a big smile stretched across his pudgy face.

I was stunned.

I wish I could remember what it’s like to be his age. The age where you think that you water the leaves of plants because you can’t comprehend the concept of roots. The age where the simple task of someone picking you up by the hands and spinning you around and around in circles solves every skinned knee and fall down. The age where bugs are mysterious and dogs are ginormous. The age where someone playing peek-a-book with you is the most enjoyable past time in your entire life.

The age where you see your twenty-one year old babysitter being goofy by using a rake as a faux guitar and, even though you have no idea what she’s doing, you mimic her every move.

Seeing that he was copying me, a similar grin to his crossed my face and I began to play along with him. “You go! You’re gonna be a rock star someday! The next Mic Jagger!” I told him as we continued playing. He continued smiling at me, never having any clue what a Mic Jagger is/was.

Oh to be a child again.

The Imagination is a Dangergous Weapon

10 May

Today, instead of paying attention in Technical Writing, I spent the majority of the class period fantasizing about me and Robert Downey Jr. trapped alone on a desert island due to a plane wreck that killed all the other passengers and burned up all of RDJ’s shirts.

Right now, at work, for the last half hour, instead of doing homework, I’ve fantasized about Darren Criss and what’d it be like to be his girlfriend.

When I flunk out of college I’m blaming my imagination (and sexy, sexy male celebrities).

Pen Thievery

7 Apr

Over the years something has become abundantly apparent to me. It’s not necessarily something you can say that I’m proud of, but it’s a truth that I’ve learned to accept.

I would be a really great thief.

Let me make it clear that I’ve never actually stolen anything. Well, anything of value. Nothing anyone would miss. The things that I steal… well, okay, here’s the thing about the things that I steal:


I love stealing pens. I live for stealing pens. At first it was a bad habit. I’d borrow a pen, pocket it, and realize later that I had accidentally taken someone else’s writing utensil. I’d feel bad for a stint, but would never seem to motivate myself enough to return the stolen property. This actually started with my parents back when I was a kid. My dad would get angry at with me because I’d often forget to return his fancy blue pens. So, I guess this problem’s been with me ever since I could write. So I went about my days accidentally stealing other people’s pens, and then, suddenly, I became aware of this misconduct and purposefully pocket the pens. I’d tell people I’d give them their pen back once done, and (unless they personally reminded me) I never did. And it felt good.

I then kicked it up a notch. I began taking pens that weren’t given to me in the first place. I’m sure an earlier occurrence exists, but the first memory that springs to mind is back during my sophomore year when a friend had me stop in an office on campus with her so she could talk with someone about studying abroad for a couple months. She was led to the back and I was left in the waiting room. Minutes ticked by. I looked at the pictures on the wall, flipped through the (dull) academic magazines on the table, checked my text message inbox, and sat… and sat… and sat… until I noticed the mug of pens on the absent secretary’s desk. I approached. They were red with black writing; Southern Oregon University pens. They were all identical. They were there to be taken. No one else was in the room with me. I’m sure it was encouraged that people only take one pen; so, naturally, I pocketed them all. When my friend reemerged I smiled and left with her, leaving no suspicions that my purse was filled with newly acquired pens (fact: I still have most of those pens to this day).

Over the years this has been a continuing trait of mine. I have become the pen stealer, and by becoming a stealer of pens I’ve picked up a few tricks of the trade. For example, I know when you take something that you don’t make a show of it. Just pick it up and keep walking. Of course, this works best if no one’s looking at the precise moment your thievery is taking place. Like today when I stole the pen from my college’s gym. I was using it to sign out and the second the girl behind the desk was looking down at her magazine I straightened up and pocketed the pen, all in one smooth move. She didn’t even notice.

Now, some of you might be thinking about how this is sure to lead to major thievery in the future. No. Trust me. It’s not. I like stealing pens because, even if you’re caught, there’s no repercussions. No one’s gonna throw you in jail over stealing a pen; it won’t end your life. Plus I think I’m only able to steal something as inconsequential as a pen because it’s the most valuable thing my moral compass can deal with me stealing. I have stolen a few other things other than pens, but never anything valuable. I stole a ton of pads of post-it notes when I had my sucky on campus job, since I saw that as my way of rebelling, and I stole a roll of toilet paper from my current job once.

Is stealing pens morally wrong? Probably. Am I going to stop doing it? Probably not. It keeps life interesting. Keeps it fun. And, sure, I may have four pencil cases of pens in my room, but why stop there?

More proof that I am the most AWKWARD human ever

17 Mar

It’s another awkward story that takes place at work.

The motel closes at 10pm every night, so when people have yet to check in I call them a half hour beforehand to let them know our policy about late check ins. And there was one tonight which is usually, y’know, not a big deal. Except I know this name. It is the name of an actor who used to perform over at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival here in Ashland, and I may or may not have had a massive crush on him a couple years ago. So, I pick up the courage and give him a call, and am relieved when it goes to voice mail. I ten proceeded to leave the most awkward message of my life. It included a lot of “um”s, ridiculously long pauses, repeating information, and, oh god, it was just bad. I ended the message by saying, “So that’s that and I hope everything… is… fine… Goodbye.”

But the message has been left and I’m calming down, since I wont have to interact with him and make an even bigger fool of myself. Then the phone rings. It’s him, of course, and he’s about five minutes away. I then get to be even more ridiculously awkward via the phone, which he didn’t seem to notice. Thank goodness.

Five minutes later he comes into the office and, oh god, he’s even more gorgeous than I remembered (y’know, I wasn’t gonna identify him, but here’s a picture. He’s done some TV/movies as well as theatre). It only then occurs to me that my hair is atrocious from going to the gym, I’m wearing no make up, and I’m wearing my dorky Doctor Who T-shirt. So I then get to check him in while diverting my gaze the entire time. After he was all checked in I then got to bury my face in my hands and commend myself for sinking to new lows of awkwardness.