That’s all sorts of crazy. Our office exploded with a resounding “WHAT” when the news broke. One girl screamed “but he’s so cute.” Like attractiveness is factored into the mix when the Grim Reaper’s walking around picking his victims; I really don’t think death is reserved for the ugly (or esthetically challenged, to be PC about it). Otherwise Noam Chomsky and Brad Garrett might have had to kick their marathon training into high gear to avoid that swinging sickle.
Other than the loss of one of the hottest men in Hollywood today has been fairly uneventful. I haven’t showered in two and a half days and I’m dangerously close to offending the whole of my office (I haven’t heard complaints but the looks are worth a thousand words). Save for some extra deodorant and a healthy dose of Pink Sugar perfume, I am getting a bit ripe. I just can’t motivate to do anything good for me right now. Showering? Not right now. Eating? I could hold off. Moving from the Deanna-shaped hallow that has formed in my couch cushions? I’m good right here.
However, if you need a drinking buddy or someone to dance around the living room with while you practice air guitar (I’m always the air drummer) for an air rock band [I’m still kicking around names but I’m pretty fond of AIRythmics. Or Earth, AIR and Fire. Air Supply would be perfect but it’s already taken], I’m so your guy. Right now my song of choice is “Your Love” by The Outfield. There are some choice downbeats in that one.
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