I have a lot of strange conversations in my head, partially because I'm strange and partially because Captain America works at night and so there's no one at home for me to talk to. Also, there's no one at home to tell me I shouldn't post things like this.
At work today, I accidentally asked excel to calculate a fuck-ton of data, when I only wanted a shit-ton calculated. And so the whirly blue circle of aggrevation whirled and whirled and whirled for over an hour. And while all of this was going on, I caught up on my bloggess reading. And so I read her bit about the death of Alan Rickman, which still cracks my heart just a little every time I think about it.
And in it, her husband reminds her that she had sort of created an Alan Rickman fan club, and also included him on a list of hot men that husbands don't understand why women think they're hot. So of course I HAD to go find this list, but unfortunately she wrote it for her sex blog, which is some sort of community publication for a sex toy company.
All of which is fine with me. I don't care what two (or more) consulting adults do. But I'm at work, and so I'm blocked. (Sometimes the things that are blocked are so random. I was totally able to see nudy pics of people that were part of an artistic project a photographer friend was working on, and it wasn't like some of the pics were nude and some were not. FULL FRONTAL OF EVERYONE! But to see a list of hot men, that's a problem? Corporate America is so weird sometimes.)
And so I came home and searched for it on our home computer, and it was still a bit of a struggle to find, but I managed. But I'm now working on my work computer and so I can't find it again. But there was also a list of people who men assume women will have sex with but women don't actually want to, like Tom Cruise.
And this reminded me of a Tom Cruise-ish conversation I had with a guy friend who insisted that every woman on the planet wanted to have sex with Nicole Kidman's new husband (is he still her new husband? I can't even keep track any more)--the one who is from Australia but is a country music star. As if that makes any sense.
And the coversation went something like this:
Friend: Chicks dig [whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is]
Me: Nope. I can't handle that terrible hair.
Friend: Chicks dig the hair.
Me: He does have amazing blue eyes, but that haircut is awful.
Friend: You don't know what you're talking about.
Me: He has terrible hair. And he's kind of skinny. I do not want to have sex with him.
Friend: You're wrong.
Me: The only vagina in this conversation is mine!
Friend: Then why is he so popular with the ladies?
Me: I can't fucking figure it out either. Maybe because he has a shit-ton of money?
Friend: Women want to do him.
Me: You're fired.
And as I was reliving this conversation, I was growing increasingly annoyed that some guy thought he could tell me who I was and was not attracted to. And then I remembered that I rarely see this friend anymore (not entirely because of this conversation), and then I wondered if my husband would care at all that I totally want to join the Team Rickman fan club.
Probably not. He's probably worried about what my company is going to do when they realize what's in my search history.