jacked up blog

What is it about Michael Cera that is so awesome? Or better, what is it about Michael Cera that ISN’T awesome? He plays the same awkward, goofy, self-confidence lacking character, yet I would watch him in anything. He had me in Superbad, which I watched 3 times opening weekend. I fell for him as soon as he sang “These Eyes.” That was it- he sang, I melted.

In Juno, he was Paulie Bleaker, the sweet baby daddy that was torn between being with the girl he loved, or doing what he thought she wanted him to do. And lastly, I’ve been watching him in Arrested Development as George Michael. He’s trying to live up to his dad’s standards while pursuing the love of his life, Maeby, who also happens to be his cousin. He’s on my short list of “Guys to Have an Affair With”. And if you don’t think he’s worthy, all I have to say is: These eyes, cry every night for you…

I am, by no means, a fashionista. I wear the same thing everyday. Khakis, gray hoodie, black shoes. I have so many work shirts, that I wear them on my days off. However, I am enamored, no, obsessed with Project Runway. I love everything about it. I made a survey that I e-mailed my fellow PR-heads about their favorite designers, favorite challenges, and even favorite Tim Gunn-ism. And like loyal viewers they actually filled them out and sent them back!

Unlike American Idol, Project Runway showcases talent without humiliation. The judges are fair and their criticisms are meant to help in future challenges, not make me cringe with embarassment. I love Tim Gunn’s advice, Michael Kors inflection, and the most arrogant designers with talent to back it up. It’s the kind of show that I would watch a marathon of, even if I’ve seen every episode 10 times.

I don’t know what first attracted me to this Japanese monster that hatched from an egg, all I know is that I’ve wanted him since the moment I saw him. My sister thinks I’m crazy, she told me he looks like a turd. To which I replied, “Yeah, a turd with teeth!” My sweeter-than-yours husband bought me an awesome Domo for V-day. I’ve started to fantasize about pictures of Domo trying to eat my dog, stealing the remote, or practicing his best Tim Gunn impersonation in the bathroom mirror. But I can only picture him talking in third person “This concerns Domo.” I guess that would work better as a short movie, rather than a picture. Either way, it’s still totally sweet.

I don’t know if I love my husband more for hearing me mention Domo, then buying him for me, or indulging me in my weird Domo fantasies. Whatever it is, I don’t care, because he’s Domoriffic.