On Michael Vartan

I heart Michael Vartan. He's hot, he speaks French, and he's a kickass spy (okay, so the last one is just in the dreamworld where he exists for me). Given my love for Michael Vartan, I was very sad when I saw him on Jimmy Kimmel Live once (which I taped just to see MV, oh yes) and learned he is kind of a ditz. He made Kimmel look like a good conversationalist. It was so bad that I had to rewatch two seasons of Alias to get MV back to the dreamworld state of hotness that I rely on.

The whole incident reminded me of my last crush gone bad. I'm not a crush kind of girl, and I don't get them really ever. But somehow during college I developed a very girlish crush on a guy I knew vaguely--he was a friend my roommate's friends and when some of us started playing four-square in front of Kagin after lunch he joined in once or twice.

At the Alma if you didn't start drinking by at least 2pm on Saturdays you were woefully behind. Not being much of an afternoon drinker, I often got roped into driving drunk people around on Saturday nights--being the only one sober enough to even consider operating machinery.

This is how I came to be driving the object of my crush to a famous (although apparently hard to find) skinny-dipping spot in Minneapolis. He rode in the passenger seat, with a bunch of his drunk-ass friends in the back. Perfect opportunity, right? Not so much--within minutes I realized he was completely uninteresting and unhot. Conversation was painful, which made the 40 minutes of driving around to find the skinny-dipping spot (don't worry, he "totally knew where it was") highly annoying. Needless to say, that was the end of the crush.