I don't know when this juncture in my life occurred, but there was a time when I had a chance to marry someone who could have been Liz Hurley. Now that I've gotten through those issues, let me just say--I should have married Liz Hurley.
Alas, I am heartbroken.
Not only has Martha Stewart invoked the law to turn me away (her "people" have told me that I am simply not wealthy enough to be considered her new boy toy, but they were pleased with the photos I sent of my naked calf muscles being flexed in the gym while Peej doused me with baby oil), but now Blake Lively has married someone or other who pretends to be a film star.
Blake Lively is a woman who can wear clothes. That is all I had better say.
Age is but a number, and love is rarely forever.
As I return to blogging, I am reminded of the first rule of exchanging information across the Internet--never exaggerate or lie. This weakness will draw enemies and detractors. The people who love you will love you for speaking the truth.
Yes, I would bang Martha Stewart.
Would I ruin a pair of pants for her? Sure. I'm wealthy, but I don't have her kind of money. I would snuggle with her, up to a point. At midnight, I am usually up, chasing dogs around the house, or turning off the television after Byron falls asleep watching speed metal on Palladia.
Would I introduce her to my Father? No. My Father would slap her for not leaving America when they put her on trial for insider trading. Anyone who is convicted and then goes to jail for insider trading gets a slap from Father. I got two slaps from him, and one knocked me off my crutches.
Would I call her back? Would I put up with her nonsense? I probably would, for a while, and then it would get old. I'm old. She's old. She is, in fact, slightly older than myself, but I would still tolerate having her spend money on me.