So, I am faced with an excruciating dilemma of dire proportions. As many of you know, I lust wholeheartedly after country-music-most-gorgeous-man-who-walks-the-earth-heart-throb Blake Shelton. Not the "real" Blake Shelton mind you, the "for-public-consumption-fantasy" Blake Shelton. The one who looks so finger-lickin' good (that was a country food reference, get it?) in the "Goodbye Time" video. The one who sings "Underneath the Same Moon" while I allow my over-active imagination to wallow, wholeheartedly, in the idea he recorded that one "just for me." Essentially, I want Blake Shelton to be my houseboy. Never mind he's sixteen years younger than I am. I can do the cougar thing, not an issue.
Those who know me know how much an anomaly this is. Blake is not my type by any stretch of the imagination, not even in the fantasy world. Of course, neither is my husband, but that's another story (I love my cute geek anyway, and besides, he takes my incessant Blake Shelton teasing with good humor... usually). Until I married him, I tended to date "sophisticated" men. Architects. Commodities brokers. Heads of international sales. Engineers. Men who would take me to the theatre (see how I spelled "theatre?" That's the "sophisticated" way to spell it), and the Silk Purse for dinner, and would buy me precious gems for no reason whatsoever, and could intelligently discuss current events, politics and recent scientific breakthroughs, and were almost *always* older than me... sometimes *much* older. Ann-Marie, a bud since college who knows my taste in men better than anybody, cannot for the life of her figure out my attraction to Blake and tells me so... often. Oddly enuf, she has never mentioned my choice of husband. Smart gurl.
My fantasy attractions, though rare, were never about down home, country boy personas. Antonio Banderas. Cary Grant. Bogey. Robert Redford. Rod Stewart (especially in his hard rock 'n rollin' Faces days). Steven Tyler and Joe Perry. Axl Rose (I'm guessin' because he's a clone of the first great love in my life... but not nearly as maladjusted). OK, I do have to admit I have a huge crush on Lyle Lovett and his lyric-writing capabilities (and never could understand why HE married HER), but none of these have ever qualified as true take-your-breath-away-ohmigod-you-are-friggin'-gorgeous crushes, with the exception of Rod Stewart... a crush that was in full swing a good 30 years ago. Blake, on the other hand, is yumminess personified in my fully adult awareness.
Now, I understand that the fun of infatuation, especially with a "celebrity," is the image that is projected rather than the reality of the person behind the image. My husband suggested I might enter the "Be Blake's Roadie for a Day" contest (even though he knows I would have entered *him* into the contest and just tagged along for the ride if he won... I don't actually "lift" things, I point at the things I want lifted). I said I had no intention of actually meeting Blake and ruining the illusion. I'm no idiot. I know Blake doesn't stand out in a field singing his heart out about how "if it's too late for love to change your mind, then it's goodbye time." I know he doesn't practically come to tears standing in the middle of the street because he is reminded of a lost love. I know he doesn't sit in an empty farmhouse kitchen crying into a TV dinner. I know he cut off all that gorgeous hair (and frankly, if that wasn't a deal-breaker, nothing is). However, the fact that I know these things consciously does not affect my ability to effectively fantasize Blake into being the perfect object of my dellusionary affection. No, my fantasy world is willingly self-induced with full disclosure and no mental instability, at least no more than a good daily dose of Prozac can handle. Hence, the dilemma.
It just so happens that Blake has a Twitter account. And Blake does all his tweeting himself. So, alas, I find myself torn. Do I follow Blake and risk exposing myself to the real thing? Will it ruin the illusion? I've seen Blake "as Blake' on TV and he's a pretty hilarious guy, which gains tremendous points in my book. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure at this point that Blake is not going to be tweeting about unrest in Iran, who deserves the Tony this year, nor his fondness of the Democratic party (an assumption on my part due to the usual affiliation of musicians in his genre with that "other" party). So, do I *really* want to know what Blake thinks, does, and eats?
Uhhhh... eyup. Apparently I do.
Apparently, Blake drinks a lot. A whole lot. Though I've personally never had alcohol with my corn flakes, I can relate. He drinks beer (though he apparently likes mixed drinks too), I drink wine. No big disclosure here, every other song he cuts has him practically laying in a gutter somewhere. Pass.
Blake also apparently chews tobacco. I think chewing tobacco is disgusting. On the other hand, I smoke. Many people think smoking is disgusting. All that being said, the next time I am fortunate enuf to dream about kissing Blake's luscious lips, my unconscious mind will hopefully omit the whole chew thing. I hereby give Blake permission not to consider my bad habit next time he dreams about me. All's fair. Pass.
Blake had to paint his own house, which he feels "his people" should have done for him because he's famous. My level of LongLocks celebrity is comparably infinitesimally low and about as niche as it gets, but that doesn't keep me from feeling I should have my own "people." Come to think of it, I'd feel that way regardless of the lack of any celebrity whatsoever. Pass.
Blake hates PETA. Now, I know Blake is either an animal lover or loves his girlfriend (singer Miranda Lambert) enuf to at least donate time to her animal welfare causes. And I have to agree that animal lover that I am, the PETA fanatics have given the whole organization a really horrendous image, and is not among the animal welfare charities worthy of even my support. On the other hand, Blake hunts. I cannot for the life of me wrap my mind around the whole "I enjoy killing things" mindset (I have trouble killing insects). By complete contrast, I wear fur. I can definitely get my mind around the whole "I love my full-length lavender mink coat" mindset. I happen to be one of those twisted animal lovers who enjoys being at the top of the food (and apparel) chain who would become a vegetarian in a heartbeat if I had to kill my own meat (or fashion trend). Pass. And btw, the whole Miranda thing isn't an issue. She's cute, talented, and much more his type than I'd ever be. Besides, fantasies are customizable. Though if I had my druthers, I'd hook him up with LeAnn Rimes. She's on a more even sexual-tension level with Blake, methinks. Now *that* would be watchable. I'm just sayin'.
Blake loves dogs. PASS *plus* extra credit. Though I'm guessin' he doesn't have bichons. His loss.
Blake is perceived as a pervert by many of his followers. I think those followers are clueless and have no sense of humor. Besides, when he posed the question "Were Tinker Bell and Peter Pan dating? If so, how did they mess around?" my response was "I imagine Bell tinkered with Pan's peter." He did not respond to me. I bet he thinks I'm a pervert, which is *definitely* worth a pass.
Blake likes to drive his truck fast. When it comes to driving fast, Blake is an amateur. When it comes to driving fast *everyone* is an amateur, get the fuck out of my way. NOW. Pass. Pass on the left, right, whatever is convenient and not currently occupied by a patrol car.
Blake has never experienced the magic of matzoh ball soup and apparently thinks chicken fried steak is an appropriate meal to request in NY. Blake is obviously uninitiated to the magic of good food made by the hands of Jewish NYers. I reserve judgment until Blake has been fed a proper salt bagel with smoked lox and whipped chive cream cheese and *then* states his preference. I may not be Jewish, but I'm a native NYer and an extravagant cook. I KNOW good food. Luckily for Blake, I'm willing to share.
Blake is friends with Reba. Reba is the personification of "Republican scum" and trashed the Dixie Chicks when they dared to use their constitutional right to voice what the majority of this country felt, thus helping to fuel the downright terrifying fallout the Chicks suffered from right-wing fanatics. Guilt by the inability to recognize the effect of the association. At this point Blake earns his first tentative "Fail." Conversely, I am dying to know the back story behind Blake's "Reba's a robot, a totally wasted robot" tweet. She may even gain some points. Well, mebbe not, but anything trashin' Reba is dirt worth sharin' in my book, even if it's only a suggestion that something may be untoward. OK, I'll give... half a pass for the effort.
Blake is not afraid to suggest liberal use of the "Unfollow" button and has no intention of kowtowing to make himself more popular among his minions. Neither do I. Feel free, you'll find it at the top right in the side bar. Pass.
Blake has mastered a supreme level of sarcasm. Pass. DUH.
Blake can't spell for shit. I am an English language anal-retentive. But on him it's cute. Pass, though admittedly this one pains me.
OK, so Blake is exactly who he *should* be and not exactly who I would build-my-perfect-guy-from-the-ground-up guy would be. But he's pretty damn funny, has more than half a brain, isn't too offensive (in my admittedly-offensive opinion), and is a smokin' hot guy with a drop-dead-sexier-ohmigod-hold-me-back-look than any other human organism. Pretty much what fantasies are made of.
You can follow Blake and find yerself blessed with his BS on Twitter by going to https://twitter.com/blakeshelton or searching for blakeshelton using the Find People function. Just remember, he's MINE. Don't make me come over there.