Correcting a misconception.

Blog buddy Karen Zipdrive is the dearest friend of my Other Blog. Today, she speculated that I have a crush on an actress that was on a TV show I hated from the 1990's. I won't even name her, though she is mentioned nearly every week in the tabloids. She is very pretty, but she means nothing to me.

Let me repeat. Nothing.

Who am I mad for? I've made no secret of it.


I am mad for Indira Varma. Anyone who has read my blog for any period of time knows this.

My very first blog post, I had nothing to say. I posted a picture of Indira Varma.

Should the day arrive when I stand in front of her, if she should smile, or even grin, and snap her fingers, I would be on my knees.

I'm old. My knees are crap. That doesn't matter.

I'm mad, I tell you. MAD! MAD!!!!!



Then there's Melissa Theuriau.

And her golden eyes.

I know words. I bet I know... like a hundred. Maybe two hundred.

I look in a picture of her eyes... no words.

I know words in French.

Je n'ai pas des paroles.

Je ne sais rien.

I LOOKED IN A PICTURE OF HER EYES!

I'M LOST!

J'AI BESOIN DE L'AIDE!

She's... purdy.


Julie Newmar.

Words. Wuuuuuuuuuurds.

Carpet.

Rug.

T-t-t-towel.

Liiiiip... lipstick!

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm... lipstick.

Feet.

Arms.

Akimbo.

Okay, the vocabulary's coming back.

I hope I have made myself clear. That's the list. That's my team on the court, as Gene Hackman said in Hoosiers. If the list jumps up to four, I'll certainly let you know.