An Open Letter to Jason Segel

Dear Jason,

Can I call you Jason? I think, considering our complicated and enduring past, I can. I could also call you one of the many nicknames I’ve given you over the past. J-babe. Jace. Seegs. Marshmallow (Yeah, I snagged that one from HIMYM, but I didn’t think you’d mind.) You can choose, but in the meantime, I’m good with Jason.  I’m writing this to thank you. To thank you for acting as a (handsome) beacon of hope and humor for the past 17 years for me, and for women and men all over the place. The women and men who can recognize the beauty of the Ian Somerhalders, the Brad Pitts, the Ryan Goslings and the Channing Tatums, and find themselves aching for more. You are so much more than a pretty face (though your face is quite lovely).

I can't even.

I can’t even.

For those of us who yearned for more air-headed stoners in pop culture, or those of us who mourned the lack of male full-frontal nudity, you were there. For us Amazon women who couldn’t help but notice the fact that Jonathan Taylor Thomas, Tom Cruise, Seth Green, and Scott Caan are all shorter than 5’8″, you stand proudly at 6’4″, a gangly bean pole of arms and legs, just begging to be climbed. (That’s what you do with bean poles, right? I don’t know, I’m not an expert. But that’s definitely what I’d like to do with you.)

I remember when I first saw you. Our eyes connected (well, my eyes connected to the pixels of your eyes) during the cult classic, Can’t Hardly Wait (one of the greatest examples of campy teen party flicks) and, as you described Preston, I knew you had a way with words. It’s only upon reviewing the clip as a grown woman that I noticed the way you worked that watermelon. My goodness, the things you were doing with your hands and mouth….

Let me be your watermelon, Jason.

Let me be your watermelon, Jason.

It wasn’t until my 8th grade English class that my heart really started to flutter. See, my teacher, whose name is escaping me, liked to show episodes of the all-too-short-lived Freaks and Geeks when he didn’t wanna teach. Or like, we finished tests early. I don’t know, like I said, I don’t really remember much of that time.  But I do remember you, Jason.

It is love.

It is love.

You were the star of that show, Nick Andopolis. And the star of my 8th-grade fantasies. I’ve re-watched the entire series so much, I feel like I could disco dance with you with my eyes closed. I’d happily listen to you bang the drums, certain that they couldn’t overpower the drumming of my heart. I know you used to play basketball, so did I! But that’s not where our similarities stop.

First of all, the easy one. Your middle name is Jordan. It’s like your parents were ASKING you to meet me. (Yes, I recognized that your mother’s maiden name was Jordan. Don’t hit me on semantics here, a woman in love isn’t always the most logical human.) You grew up Jewish, thanks to your daddy. I LOVE Bar Mitzvahs (and Bat Mitzvahs, I’m an equal opportunity Jewish Party hound). We’ve both struggled with our weight over the years, a challenge for any particularly tall individual. I feel your pain, man. But we both got through it, hard work and determination and all.

You like to work out? ME TOO!!

You like to work out? ME TOO!!

You’re hilarious. We all know it. And, real talk, I think you’d find me pretty funny too. I’m not certain of this, but I feel confident. We’re both very tall, and I’d look great on your arm (or you on mine, rah rah gender equality and all.)

Your joy in The Muppets was palpable, and I wanted to climb through the screen and kiss your face. This makes me think that, if you can interact so well with puppets, you’d make a great father. Which is good because, as the eldest of 5 kids, I’m looking for baby daddy material. Also, you do well with nudity.

Hello, there.

Hello, there.

I know you said you did it for the laughs, but it takes a big man (#notaeuphemism) to embrace “dudity” in an industry where the nude female body is glorified and the nude male body generally receives shudders. Well, can I just tell you that in college, going streaking might as well have been an extracurricular activity for me. We could traipse around the world, flashing our goodies at onlookers and bringing smiles to the faces of all (for any reason they choose to smile).

Most of all, though, you’re patient. And I wanna thank you for that. Because, that one time that I hunted stalked found you walking around on Bourbon Street, my heart jumped out of my throat. You were alone, enjoying your night. And, chances are, with my wild excitement and rapture (and kind of loud tendencies), I maybe ruined it by drawing attention to your existence. Within minutes, drunken sorority girls were begging you to sing them a Dracula song and bros were high fiving you as they nabbed some selfies.

Your patience allowed me to get maybe the coolest picture I’ve ever had of me in my entire life.

This is totally real, y'all.

This is totally real, y’all.

Admittedly, at the time, I was in NOLA with my former partner. So I didn’t throw myself at you in the manner which I may have under other circumstances. But it’s obvious here we’d make a cute couple. (I promise, I don’t always wear beads.)

I heard about your semi-recent breakup with Michelle Williams. I am sorry to hear about that, I know y’all had something good going for you. But I wanted to let you know that if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, a lady to grab a beer with, or a plus one for any event where leaning over for photo-ops sounds miserable, I’m your gal.

If I never see you again, know that our brief encounter was more than enough to fuel countless daydreams the world over. And if I do…. well, I’m just saying, I may not practice the same self-control I once did.

Yours (seriously.),

Jordan Price

 

She Likes Me, She REALLY Likes Me!!

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, but, most of the time, being a long-distance relationship is tough.  You miss your loved one, you wait anxiously for the next visit, you get confused over word choices in texts or emails, you have flights canceled, you might even be in different time zones.  No matter what the situation, LDRs often follow Murphy’s Law: “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong”.

A lot can get lost in those 400 miles... Including me!

I’m in the 3rd long distance year of a 4 year relationship, so I kind of feel like I’ve become accustomed to the ups and downs. You never really get used to saying goodbye, but you develop a slightly thicker skin (for me, that means not weeping for an hour and a half before he heads off, maybe limiting it to 20 minutes).

You know what else helps?

Romantic Valentine’s Day packages from someone else.  Especially if that someone knows the way to your heart:

You're reading that correctly, do not adjust your computer.

Bacon, toffee, and brownies (if you’re interested in ordering some, ask the baker!)

Cate from Running Foodie and Cate’s Bites packed me the most gorgeous, decadent Valentine’s Day package I could imagine.  It was part of Christina’s brain child: The Valentine’s Day Blogger Swap! Since my regular Valentine was stuck working in a lab, playing with rats and such all day, Cate thoughtfully sent me some goodies to make the day a lot less lonely.

JACKPOT!

I’ll admit, I snuck her a few hints, but she really took the idea and transformed a blogger swap package into a box of joy and rapture!

Cate included a Yuengling, her favorite beer, as she’s been stockpiling it in Boston, unable to get it unless she’s in PA!!  That already touched my heart (and, soon, my liver!)

She remembered my love of not smelling like a locker room and included coconut bath gel (Wish I’d opened it up before my shower!!)

She ALSO remembered my fondness for crazy flavor combinations, and treated me to these gems:

Worth their weight in gold!

Theo dark chocolate with coconut and Hachez featuring Mango Chili flavors.

Holy shit.

Sorry, literally couldn’t contain that expletive, because that was my exact reaction to seeing these two bars.  The hungry beast inside of me wanted to lash out and wolf the entire box in one gulp, but I practiced self control… in the sense that I ate only one bacon toffee brownie.  I’ll save the other two to share with my beau when I see him this weekend, I wouldn’t want him to get jealous of my new blogging friend, Cate, and all the love I have for her.

No need to be jealous, Ry, I still only have eyes for you.

My stomach, however… that belongs to Cate for a little while.