Flying Solo…
Hawaiian is a little bit lonely.
So tonight, the Project Runway kids get paired up for a challenge, and I’m secretly praying that Santino gets stuck with Diana. I don’t think he’ll get eliminated that way — I just want him to suffer a little bit. He needs to suffer. Someone recently asked me if I thought Santino was gay, and all I could say is that there are certain things I simply try very hard to not think about. The softer side of Santino Rice is definitely one of them.
Frankly, Diana could probably use some male attention this week even if it is from Santino. After all, losing Guadalupe was probably hard on her, and anyone who didn’t catch the look exchanged between those two during the lingerie episode is as blind as I am single. That look wasn’t just editting, people. That look marked the beginning of Diana’s descent into a lifestyle of vegetarian potlucks and unflattering fabrics. Just wait and see.
Not that I begrude those two girls their bit of fun, mind you. I’m fully in support of whatever form of comfort they choose to seek, but until Tim Gunn or Heidi tells me that I’ll be starting a long-term project with Daniel Vosovic (I seriously can’t explain the attraction), I’m not going to be cheerleading for anyone else anytime soon.
Of course, part of the problem is that I don’t even know what kind of partner-in-crime I should be seeking these days. The guys I tend to like fall in two distinct physical categories which, years ago, a friend and I determined to be The Pilot and The Co-Pilot after just such a pair attempted a divide-and-conquer maneuver on us at Pizza Orgasmica somewhere on the wrong side of 2am. It was clear that these two thought of themselves as Wingmen(and had even attended some military flight school together) but it was also clear that they had very different roles.
One was tall, lean, and definitely at the helm while the other was short, wide, clearly there to handle the heavy lifting. There were Brains and Brawn in two different bodies. The Pilot and Co-Pilot. For every Bo Duke there is a Luke, apparently. For every Holmes there is a Watson. And I like them both.
Unfortunately, my recent attempts at dating a Co-Pilot have proven disastrous. Despite possessing a great education and shoulders so broad they barely fit through my door, the guy seems to have some problems when it comes to communicating. He speaks five languages and toys with a few others, but after standing me up on Sunday with no explanation for like the sixth time in recent memory, it’s painfully clear that his language skills are never going to help him become fluent in Hawaiian.
And the Pilots before that weren’t much better. There was the tall ad guy who spent hours talking about his Scrabble prowess and obsession, and then weeks insisting he was smarter than I am because he beat me by one point. There was the lawyer with great hands who didn’t like being touched because it confused him, and insisted we sit on different pieces of furniture in his living room in order to avoid contact. And there was the banker in his mid-thirties — my personal favorite — who said “I wish I could just crawl back into my mother’s womb” every time he got stressed.
Clearly, there is something wrong with my system. Maybe it’s because I’m too bulky and short to be a real Pilot, but too smart and tall to be a classic Co-Pilot. I’m somewhere right in the middle, which makes it really hard to figure out who should be sharing the controls with me.
My first instinct here is to think that maybe I should just give up on air travel altogether. But on second thought, maybe I should be smarter about this and just step out of the cockpit. That way the Pilot and Co-Pilot can have each other.
And I can find one of those quiet cute guys in a cashmere overcoat who always seem to be traveling alone in First Class.
January 11th, 2006 at 6:12 pm
This shit is fantastic. Keep it coming 5-0.