I rented five movies this weekend.  Well, not all at once.  Three on Friday and two yesterday.  That means, of course, that I have several new crushes.  Because that’s how I roll.  In fact, it’s quite possible there is not a human movie viewer alive more easily manipulated into falling for the leading man (unless the movie is Silence of the Lambs…that would just be weird). 

No need to call the anti-stalking unit of the LAPD.  I don’t actually fall for the actors…I fall for the characters they play.  And I often decide that if only I could find a man just like (insert name of character), I could place the cherry on top of my cake of life.

Take, for example, this past Friday evening.  I did something I rarely do.  I rented a movie I’d never heard of (I’m dangerous like that).  My reasoning may have been a bit skewed (the title was the same name as my cat), but my instincts were dead on.  Bella - an independent film that received oodles of praise at last year’s Toronto International Film Festival - wasn’t your standard, formulaic love story.  It was haunting and real and even a bit unpredictable.  But most importantly, the leading man - Mr. Eduardo Verastegui - is quite possibly the finest male specimen ever created.  And despite the Grizzly Adams beard worn throughout the majority of the film, I was in love and certain that if only I could find myself a passionate - albeit slightly damaged - Latin god, my life would be complete.  Until I slipped Gone Baby Gone into my cheap-ass DVD player and realized I’d been sorely mistaken…I actually needed a mysterious, highly moralistic, private detective and Boston native.  Because a man consistently shot at by drug-dealing, child-stealing maniacs is just the person to build your tomorrows around.

Insert break for Saturday night out on the town - Porch Swing on Washington Ave.  An establishment severely lacking in private detectives from Boston, or even gorgeous Latin ex-futbol studs.  Damn.

Sunday morning:  slightly hungover and working on too little sleep.  A productive day is not in the cards.  Unless you define productive as viewing a marathon of Americas’s Next Top Model followed by a return trip to Blockbuster.  New rentals?  Dan in Real Life and The Jane Austin Book Club.  My exhausted state only allowed me to view one and, based on my latest hope - meeting a witty, widowed writer with three headstrong daughters - you can surely guess which.

My oft-replaced crushes are not a new phenomena and certainly not limited to the movies.  In my teens, a boyfriend introduced me to the music of The Doors - swiftly ensuring his demise and replacement by none other than the late Jim Morrison.  Now, I didn’t bake cakes for each band member’s birthday (as my dear friend Stacey did for Duran Duran), but I did pray to God each night to bring “the lizard king” into my dream.  Just once.  For just one kiss.  But apparently he was a bit busy with more important things.  Like famine and wars and eliminating 80s fashion from the planet.  I was disappointed, but I understood.  And I’m still waiting.

 Tonight, after viewing the highly anticipated “cowboy” episode of The Bachelorette, I will pop in The Jane Austin Book Club and (I’m just guessing here) add “much younger, well-read hottie” to my list of potential suitors.  Unrealistic expectations?  I don’t think so.  I prefer to call it “broadening my options”.  So, if you’re out there my sweet chaser of bad guys or older women or the meaning of life (through song), your fickle little lady exists and, if you time it just perfectly (like right after she’s viewed a movie about exactly the type of person you are) - you just might get the girl.

P.S.  I got my first peek at the new site design and it is FABULOUS…very pink and very fabulous.  I love it, and I think you will, too!

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