And the winner isn't

I'll admit, this whole sleeping with a celebrity has me flummoxed. I'll also admit that I only wrote the previous sentence to transmit to all of you the universal joy of pronouncing the word "flummoxed" in your pop-culture addled brains (yes, a universal pleasure-screw your cultural relativism).

Honestly, though, there is only one celebrity I've ever had a crush on deep emotional connection to. It carried me through puberty, and he's still the only celebrity I want to critique architecture and parking ramp placement with (yeah I'm gay). Unfortunately though, I hope to be entering into a business relationship with this, my one true celebrity, in the not too distant future. I'd hate for explicit sexual details to stated on this blog to make their way to his desk and sour the deal.

This love, which is best described thusly: close your eyes. Pick up the cheeseburger. Enjoy its warmth, the weight in your hand. Oops, that bit of stout sauce and onion on your hand. Move it closer to your mouth. Feel the saliva flood your mouth, the aroma assault your nostrils. Take a bite. WHAM. Punch in the face. Yep, someone just full on punched you. Right in the face. That's love, and that joy right there is mine alone, ladies and gentleman.

But, after much deliberation, there are a number of obvious and largely uninspired (but extremely attractive) celebrities I would certainly have meaningful one-night stands or 3-day-weekends with. Just to be clear, we'd warm up with some gay pornography and press banter, follow with blow jobs (which I definitely did not learn how to perform by reading a dictionary) and proceed to the main course. These lucky men are: Leonardo DiCaprio, for his panache and ability to pull off facial hair no one else can; Clive Owen, for the his inhuman ability to wear a suit; Daniel Craig, for his panache and Chris Pine, because he is the hottest white man I've ever seen.

Enough. Get me a glass of scotchka.

Also, photo copyright Jana Voigt