"Ain’t good looking, but you know I ain’t shy"

Dear Readers, let’s think back to that moment when I saw our friend Sarcastro for the first time:

And last, but not least, of the new folks I met and ended up talking to for a long time, is Sarcastro. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but he was both exactly what I thought he’d be like and not at all. He has dimples and a kind of cocky way about him and I kept having to check and make sure I wasn’t touching myself while I talked to him. Towards the end of the evening, he was surrounded by the three hottest girls in the room and I knew, out of all of us there that evening, he’d be the one most likely to get three people to come home with him.

And, as long as I’ve known him, my opinion hasn’t changed. He remains one of the sexiest motherfuckers I’ve ever met.

And yet, after I wrote that paragraph above, many of you asked me if he was cute and I said, as you can attest, “I don’t know.” Because, frankly, I didn’t. He’s attractive, in my opinion, in a way that totally bypasses any rational part of my brain and just plugs right into something primal, where you’d not be surprised to find yourself touching yourself in front of him.

So, he has this bullshit idea that he’s like something out of a Bob Seger song, that women want him because he’s not “afraid to look a girl in the eye” and I went along with it because I couldn’t tell.

Last week, I was standing on one side of his truck bed and he was across from me, leaning over a jackhammer. I said something, he looked up at me, and I was like “My god. Is Sarcastro cute?” But I was a little drunk, so I chalked it up to the tequila.

But yesterday, I was bloated and crampy and tender and grouchy and unsettled and sober. In other words, I was as far away from thinking about sex as a primate can be. And I came out of my office building, looked across the parking lot, and there, sitting in the truck, was a good looking man.

I got in the truck. I checked him out again.

Have you ever had this moment? When you finally see someone the way everyone else in the world must see them?

I can remember when this happened with the recalcitrant brother. He came to my college graduation and I saw him from across the room and my first thought was “God damn, that’s a boy who looks like he could show you a thing or two about being up to no good” and then, when I realized it was him, I was like, “Yep, I’m officially grossing myself out.”

Well, that was me again yesterday–looking at this guy who had, up until that moment, looked just like Sarcastro looks, which is to say, like himself, and realizing that I finally had an answer to y’all’s question.

Yes, he’s good looking. Maybe not “cute” exactly, at least not all the time. But worth your while to look at. . . if you don’t mind looking at old men.

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The Thrill is Gone

Yesterday, when the Butcher took me to work, we were both just sitting there silently at the stoplight and I said to him, after long, quiet minutes.

“I feel like the magic has gone out of our relationship.”

“You’re just now noticing? I haven’t loved you since I was seven.”

“Is this the point where we start looking for outside siblings?”

“Well, my brother is coming over on Christmas Eve and I don’t want you to be a bitch about it.”

I laughed long and hard then and I laughed again when I was thinking about it while walking the dog. I know I complain a lot about him, and rightfully so, but I hope y’all also get a flavor for just how fucking funny the dude is, constantly.

And, he’s growing a beard, which makes him look like an overly earnest Presbyterian minister, and every time I get in the car with him, I look over and invariably he’s got a little piece of green fuzz stuck in it. I used to do him the favor of pulling it off, but now, with Christmas being so close, I leave it there like a little decoration.