Full-on misbehaving is probably off the menu for the next couple of very busy months. Nonetheless, I still engage in willful disregard of responsibilities every Tuesday; at a minimum, I sleep in. That’s right. On a Tuesday. Until 8:30 sometimes.
Unfortunately, even the sleeping in this morning was not quite as satisfying as usual, mostly due to a deeply icky sex dream. The image of doing some one I find unattractive in appearance and odor is tough to shake. (Although, when I was in tenth grade, I had a dream that a boy I liked kissed me and burped in my mouth. 
Not only did the dream thoroughly cure me of my crush, I still remember it twenty years later and think of it every time he pops up on facebook, whereas the image of this morning’s non-amour probably will be gone by tomorrow.)
I suspect that my day started this way due to the way yesterday ended. I have been on an MTX kick on and off for the past six months or so; I was having a rough day yesterday, and just like when I was younger, Dr. Frank took the edge off. Last night I was looking up something or other about the band, linked to Dr. Frank’s facebook page, and there it was. Frank Portman in glasses: black-rimmed, rectangular glasses.
For the record, I think celebrity crushes are stupid. Even when I was in junior high and other girls had pictures from Tiger Beat taped inside their lockers and on their bedroom walls, I didn’t. Well, maybe a few, just to fit in, but I thought it was kind of silly. There were cute boys all around. Why swoon over a piece of paper?
There are two exceptions to this for me: early 90s John Flansburgh, which is really just a wholesome kind of wanting to hang out on South Street all afternoon and then get a big hug at the Gallery before getting on the R3 to go home kind of crush, and Dr. Frank. I dug MTX in a big way long before I ever saw a picture of him, and then I saw a picture, and yowza. In every possible way, my type to a T, if you’ll pardon the pun.
So, last night I saw the picture and my brain stopped working for few minutes. When it resumed operation, I realized that I have a new problem: now that I have seen a picture of Dr. Frank in rectangular, black-rimmed glasses, there is nowhere else for me to go. I will never see anything hotter than that in my life. 
I tried to think of something that reasonably, I might see in the course of my lifetime that would be hotter than that, and came up with nothing. Maybe one or two unreasonable things, but nothing likely. It is the gold medal of hotness in my world.
With nowhere to go but down from that experience, of course an icky sex dream followed. As for the rest of the misbehaving, during my regular errands I lingered in Target longer than necessary and bought some orange underpants to go with my orange pants, and did it all while wearing my misbehaving socks.
Picture is unrelated: Misbehaving of a different sort. At the Smile, Hon reading last Friday.
