…Cusack, that is

K–so everyone that knows me, knows how much I love John Cusack. While everyone was mooning over Jon Bon Jovi and Scott Baio in the early 80’s, I was hot for John. Everyone thought I was nuts, but his wise ass, laid back, “tude” had me from HOLA. He’s not a pretty boy by any stretch of the imagination. I’ve never been a big supporter of guys who need more mirror time than I do. I don’t like suave. I like flaws, I LOVE humor (soooo goes without saying) and I like guys who aren’t rippled, sculpted perfection. They’re peachy to eyeball, but I can’t summon up the energy to remind them to take their protein shakes and steroids at regular intervals. I don’t want to share my hair gel and I will NOT sit by my man whilst he has his toes prettied up. It’s wrong on more levels than I care to count. Thus, men like John make me verklempt.

In essence–I LOVE JOHN.

I first saw him in a movie called Say Anything and I fell in total love. Oy–he makes my heart do a half gainer off the back wall with his one liners. I love him, I adore him, I’d leave my children, family, house, and yes, my brand new boyfriend for him.

As matter of fact, we have an exclusionary clause in our relationship, the B/F and I–should John show up and wish to whisk Dakota away for 24 hours–I can go. Free and clear–no questions asked. Carnal pleasures of the flesh for 24 hours abound, baby.The boyfriend has this clause too. Should Shania Twain arrive on his doorstep, hair extensions flowing over her pert hooters, leather pants sprayed on, perfection personified–the boyfriend has every right to put his boots under her bed, he can make her feel like a woman, win her love, and impress her much for twenty four hours and I’ll ship him off with a smile on my face and a go get yer woman attitude.

Hoo rah, baby

yes, you’ve now seen this HERE–it’s documented in the written word. No backing out. NONE. I can take my licks with the best of them and if giving the boyfriend to Ms. I have no flaws Twain is the way to have John OMG Cusack–I’m going to see if I can’t find out who her hairdresser is–connect–make friends with the Goddess via product and work him into her schedule between flawless classes 101 and how can we make my ass tighter? 222.

So, John has a new movie, which the boyfriend has dutifully said he’ll take me to. He made this promise before we did this walk down B-F/G-F road. We were due to go on Friday, but he had a late conference call and he was tired. So, being the good girfriend I am, I told him we’d skip and just hangout at my house, she said between clenched teeth as she gnawed her tongue to a bloody stump. LOLLOL. I did have an inane moment where I thought I might ditch his ass and go see it myself, but I figured that would be bad girlfriend ettiquite in light of the fact that we haven’t even had a one month anniversary. So, I passed and watched Hitch instead with him. Cute flick with Will Smith, but NOT JOHN.

John is EVERYTHING I’d want in a character in one of my books. He’s A-#1 on my list of possible actors to play a hero in one of my books. He’s funny, flawed, a smart ass, quick, smokin’ hot in a very goofy way. He’s not chiseled or overly buff. He’s not smooth in the typical leading man way. That’s just what makes him SO FRICKEN’ HOT.

I’m going to see his new movie Must Love Dogs with that ‘ho, Diane Lane. LMAO. I’m willing to watch him slurp her just to see him too. I can overlook his temporary insanity at not choosing ME to light up the big screen with him. I don’t know what my agent was thinking when she choose to ignore his calls. LOLLOL The movie is about online dating–the way the B/F and I met. Of which, I too, wrote a book about and thought I was an utter genius with my fresh, original ideas. I’ve gotten past the heartbreak in finding I wasn’t alone in my genius and someone beat me to the punch. I wasn’t even writing when this chick wrote the book, Must Love Dogs. I was writing a hella grocery list, though. I’m going to let it slide and forgive and forget. I’m also going to forgive John for starring in this traitorous movie– because he knows not what he does. He knows not Dakota and the magic that is HERS ALONE. It’s okay. I can live with his choices. Had he known I, the one liner queen to his king existed, I feel sure as I do of the nose on my face, he’d have come through for me and offered to like help me sample the hot scenes in MY BOOK in an effort to be sure we were on point. A test run so to speak on my 24 hour exclusion

Nonetheless, if the B/F breaks a leg–hurts himself in a tragic Walmart, fish and game aisle accident–needs a lung transplant–I don’t CARE. I’m going to see John Cusack tonight. With or without his ass. Tee hee I can love whatever John wants me too, too. Dogs, reptiles, liver and onions.

I’m THERE and I intend to spend every one of those 90 or so minutes soaking up the eyeball candy that John IS, while I curse the idea that this writer beat me to the online dating book finish and that John is going to paw Diane Lane.

Oh, and I’ll hold hands with the B/F while I do it because I’m all comitted and stuff. LOLLOL

I’ll let you know how it is and if that tramp Diane Lane can hold up her end of the John Cusack bargain. LMAO

Dakota

Hookay, the smart ass has his own op. being the fairminded woman I am, I let him. LMAO

From the er, CHAMP. LOLLOLLOLLOL

…Well, here I am. Spending another night IM-ing away all my free time with that “someone”. But this time things are different. “Why”, you ask? Because this entry is from a completely different perspective. Because, this isn’t Dakota. No… this is “R”, otherwise known as The Champ. Yes… I’ve requested the opportunity to guest blog, and Dakota was kind enough to allow me the rope I need to hang myself publicly.

So, how this all got started was after our big showdown in front of B&N. D forgot that she had told me about her blog and during her cosmic meltdown, her chee was all off kilter, and she let it slip that she blogged about it… a bad play if there ever was one. So, much to her dismay, there I was reading about all her semi-secret thoughts about what had transpired. The craziest thing started happening. I started to feel, dare I say it… guilty. Like I was reading her diary. Sure, she posted it on the Internet, and you kind of get what you deserve when you do that, but… her chee was all fucked up. She just didn’t know any better. So, in an effort to balance the scales of over-exposure, I offer my own little diary.

So let’s stop looking at it, and poke it with a stick, shall we?

Let’s go back to the whole friends-to- more- than friends thing. Here’s the thing, during our whole friend time, she speaks the truth– that we laughed and giggled like nobody’s business. I believe it was the great american philosopher, Forrest Gump, who said “We were like peas and carrots.” It was almost bizarre actually. There was almost no time spent NOT laughing. So, when she said “Look dammit… we’re not going to screw this up!!!”, I’ll admit that a) she had a point and b) she can be pretty scary when she puts her mind to it! But, I couldn’t help it, and my reason is this: Even though great friends are extremely hard to come by, someone you completely click with from the get-go is even more rare. I mean, if you value a dear friend because they are good people inside and out, and have good moral fiber and all that, that’s fine. But, if you find a friend of the opposite sex who has all that, AND you have that “share the same brain” kind of chemistry, what the hell more are you looking for???? I mean, really!!?? “Oh… we’ll mess it all up… ” wah, wah, wah. What the hell do you want?!!?? What is it going to take before you’re willing to risk it??? A signed invitation from the president, Santa and Mrs. Claus, and the Easter Bunny????

I sound pretty tough, don’t I??? LOLOL Well… I will share a little something too. The night of the showdown At The B&N Corral, I had the misfortune of NOT hitting all the usual traffic I was expecting. There I was, ten minutes early to my own execution. Damn. Well… Mr. Confident was a wee bit worried he’d bitten off a little more than he could chew. I mean, lets face it… we all THINK we’re good kissers. But, if you had to lay it all on the line, would you bet you could hit one out of the park? I mean, Ted Williams was the best there ever was, and he only hit four out of ten, right? So, the longer I’m sitting, the more I want to find my happy place. I’ve got the iPod going, the seat reclined… and well, I just wasn’t getting there. I was nervous like a 9 year old at Neverland (before the wine). Well, Dakota pulls up, and storms out of her car like I owed her money, and that’s what did it. She was determined, dare I say, hell bent on pressin’ some lips so she could just yell at me about how wrong I was. And while I should have been terrified, it made me take the approach that, good or bad, we’re doing this. So, quit being a Mary. It was such a relief, when the kiss was finished, to hear those words every guy longs for…. “I fucking HATE you.”. Yes… those were the words. She’s a professional writer, who’s just had “THE kiss”, and I get “I fucking hate you”. That’s a bit like seeing Led Zeppelin play “Row, row, row your boat”, isn’t it? (okay… I had to get a little jab in there. Sorry, D.) For the record though, it really was THAT good. I’ll admit it…

But fear not, all is not completely askew. Little by little, she’s getting her swagger back. The chee is coming back around, and she’ll be back to her old self soon enough. The super hero we all know and adore… able to crush a man’s dignity without breaking a sweat, and able to talk you into a corner with one brain tied behind her back.

And I just want to finish up by adding, any of you wishing to kick my ass if I make her shed a tear will have to take a number and get in line. We’re up to #71, and we’re not even serving #1 yet. Trust me… I get it. She’s blessed with many friends willing to make me a new episode of CSI, but I have the feeling she won’t need the help. I think she can tear me up all by her ferocious little self.

And there you have it. A very small glimpse from the other side.

~R
The New Champ