by Viv Sade
I continue to stand by my claim that the vast majority of males and females have “A List.” I have always had one, although the listed names tend to change from time to time. My siblings, co-workers, in-laws, neighbors and friends have A List, which is never written down or documented and cannot be proven in a court of law. It lives only in the smoky, debased corners of the minds and libidos of the Listers.
Simply put, it’s The List of Who-You-Would-Throw-Your-Significant-Other-Overboard-For-In-A-Heartbeat. The List is not limited by geography, ethnicities, cultures or — and I cannot emphasize this enough— morals.
Chance encounters include scenarios such as:
• You’re stranded on a desert island for a week with Brad Pitt, a single cot mattress and a Parcheesi board game — what will you do?;
• You’re traveling in another country, far away from anyone who knows you, the hotel has overbooked and you are forced to share a room with Channing Tatum and Denzel Washington;
• You live in India and somehow get stuck in an elevator for three days with three bottles of water (hydration is important) and actor Hrithik Roshan, who was on his way to a photo shoot;
• You live in Iran and super model Omar Borkan Al Gala has unexpectedly shown up at your parents’ dinner party. He sits next to you and although you are dressed modestly and have covered your hair, you feel naked. Yikes!
• You’ve been hired to pull a rickshaw in Taiwan to earn credit toward your Ph.D in
Taiwanese Transportation Engineering when model/actor Godfrey Gao climbs into your rickshaw and you find yourself wanting to do a lot more with your loins than just pull him.
• On a business trip, while staying at the Holiday Inn Express and watching reruns of “Dexter,” Jennifer Aniston knocks on the door and asks if you have any Aveeno hand lotion she can borrow to lubricate her hands and your body (my hubby’s favorite scenario).
Anyway, high on My List was John Corbett. You know — Aidan, Carrie Bradshaw’s boyfriend on “Sex and the City” and Ian Miller, the betrothed of Nia Vardalos in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.”
The main reason people have A List is because they will never, ever, in their lifetime, run into the celebrities on The List. That is the whole point of the list. It’s harmless because it is unattainable.
Oh yeah, I’ve heard Jimmy Carter’s (a fine man by anyone’s standard’s) whole “Lust in Your Heart is still a sin” argument, but I think, well, I think that’s bull$#*! (probably because I am not a fine woman by anyone’s standards).
So, imagine my surprise some years ago when I was assigned by my editor to write a story on John Corbett who, it turns out, was not only an actor, but a musician, and was performing at a concert at the Auburn Street Fair in northeast Indiana.
Professionally, I thought: Maybe I should ask for a more powerful camera strobe in order to get some clear night shots.
Personally I thought: Bonus! He’s on My List.
Lindsay and Jenny, two younger reporters, immediately volunteered to go along and “help.”
Later — after the three of us had made a fast trip home, changed our clothes and re-applied our make-up and perfume— we made our way to the street stage to write an unbiased, ethical and judicious story on John Corbett that would involve no personal feelings about how super hot he was.
It was a dark and stormy night.
It was a dark and stormy night.
It was pouring down rain and the concert crowd was dismal, sullen and drenched.
A group of women had gathered at the bottom of the stage to take photos and throw their scarves and hats on stage. Or was it their panties and bras? It was hard to see without a strobe on my camera, which I had neglected to ask for.
Since we were professionals and there was a job to do, we hardly noticed Corbett’s ripped triceps and 6-pack abs that bulged through his form-fitting shirt or the tight jeans that embraced his tight, muscular thighs. Well, I hardly noticed, anyway.
After the concert, we ran through the downpour to a city hall room across the street, where I interviewed John Corbett with Jenny and Lindsay at my side. While asking questions, I ignored his twinkling eyes, dazzling smile and absolutely charming cowboy hat, which was tilted at a sexy angle over … have I mentioned his eyes?
Despite the wet, chilly weather outside, I had to stop a couple of times and use my reporter notebook to fan myself. I knew the HVAC system was out of whack because Lindsay and Jenny were doing the same with their notebooks.
Trying to maintain my journalistic professionalism as Lindsay and Jenny stared at John’s belt buckle — or maybe that was me — I asked if he preferred acting or music. He answered something, I think. I neglected to write it down. I was lost in thought watching his perfect mouth form words through those perfect teeth. I’ll bet he paid some cosmetic dentist a fortune for those teeth. How much would a set of teeth like that cost? Maybe if I got a second job …
… The charming, tall, handsome guy with the body of a Greek god and Jared Leto eyes was asking me something.
“Are you writing down everything I say in shorthand?” Corbett asked while peering at my notes.
“Uh,” I stuttered, “yes, I am.”
“Read it back to me,” he commanded with that smile while pointing to the last sentence I had written.
“OK,” I said, “It says, ‘Well anyone can act but I’ve always had a passion for music.’ ”
(What I had actually written was, “This guy is so hot my joints have fused together and my overheated thighs have created enough friction to launch a NASA space shuttle.”)
He laughed. “Wow. Shorthand. That is so cool. But, how do I know that’s what it really says?”
“You just have to trust me,” I said.
The interview drew to a close, only because I could not think of one more thing to ask that would drag it out any longer, when John asked, “Hey, want to join us at the hotel? There will be chow and we can hang out.”
I thought I had imagined that invitation, except there were two witnesses, both of whom emitted audible gasps.
Did I want to join him?! Did I want to wrap my arms and legs around his beautiful
torso, swing on vines and play Tarzan and Jane? Did I want to play wannabe Beauty and to his sultry Beast? Did I want to be Marie Curie and rendezvous in the laboratory with my Pierre? Oh My God. Yes! Yes! YES!
Instead, I blurted out the only thing that came to mind: “Thanks, that would be fun, but I have a deadline to meet.”
I felt Lindsay and Jenny kick me in the kidneys. Hard.
I was 51 and feeling it. All I could think was that, as far as I knew, John Corbett still lived with Bo Derek — a f*^%$#! Ten.
I realized that he had only asked us to join him for chow, but I had no intention of going up against a Ten, even for chow (something I happen to excel at).
So we left. My younger co-workers chastised me all the way back to the news office. What was I thinking? Was I crazy?! Was I suffering from dementia?! Had I done LSD in my younger hippie days?!
I really was not sure what I was thinking. After all, he was on The List.
When I got home later that night, I was so excited that I told my significant other every detail of the evening. He was less thrilled, although I could not, for the life of me, understand why. I would have shown him some empathy and support had Jennifer Aniston showed up with a bottle of Aveeno on our doorstep.
The stars had aligned and along with bad weather, a dismally low turnout and low lighting, had greatly increased the chances of John Corbett inviting us to “hang out” with him. I know those factors played very heavily in my favor. But, I’ll take it.
I’ll take it all the way to my grave with a smile on my face.
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