Tonight my friend Dave was over. This was our conversation:
Dave: What are you doing?
Me: Kicking everyone’s ass in the Dazzle Awards
Dave: What are the Dazzle Awards?
Me: We’re up for an award for our site about Robert Pattinson
Dave: What site? (seriously, Dave? Where the H have you been? Haven’t you wondered where I’ve been for the past few months?)
Dave: Who’s Rob?
Me: (blank stare)
Dave: Is he the one who wrote your vampire book?
Oh the stuff guys say about you! On to your mailbag! Read NOW!
Seriously yesterday you guys BLEW OUR MINDS with the support on the Dazzle Awards. Let’s keep it up! We’re gonna win this one! Vote for us NOW!
After patiently crossing off the calendar days leading up to March 24, I arrive at CVS to get a copy of the April GQ. You already know I’m not buying this mag for my husband. Scanning the readers’ aisle, I suddenly see GQ… Justin Timberlake on the cover? NO!! Wait, it’s only the March issue. But where is the one with the Hottest Man On The Planet gracing the cover?
A nice guy behind the counter looks up as I casually mention,”One of your magazines (I refrain from saying which one) is supposed to hit the stands today, and I was wondering when it’s gonna be in your store?” Innocent enough. He pauses. Then he looks me up and down once, stopping at my eyes. His face now adopts an earnest, sympathetic look, for he already knows which mag I want. He has detected the feverish craving beneath my mask of casual calm – he’s seen it before. He tells me, in a voice like a therapist,”Our truck (or possibly an armored car?) is guaranteed to deliver that issue tomorrow. You can get it then.” Tomorrow comes, and my hyperventilating is mostly manageable as I acquire my hard copy, and it’s all there: the photos, up close & personal, of this gorgeous, sensitive, sexy man…his eyes, lips, hair (and a package to die for, right?)…OH MY ROB!
Last month I was getting hot and heavy on the couch with a very eligible young bachelor, but cut him off cold and sent him packing halfway through because I wanted to watch you on my grainy, dodgy version of Twilight that I stole from my housemate who bought it off the black market whilst in Fiji.
I have turned down two dates from very handsome young men in the last month because I felt that neither of them could live up to the incredibly high physical standards I now expect in a man, as set by yourself. This is very concerning to both myself and my friends as I have been single for coming up to 8 months now (which may not be unusual to some, but really is when it comes to me, I mean honestly, I’m quite a catch.), and for the last two months it has been by choice due to the below detailed new mental checklist.
New mental checklist when checking out a guy:
- Does he have a carefree/starving artist unshaven vibe going on?
- Is he wearing either a) a Dolce Gabbana tux or b) grubby clothes that he’s worn for the last three days straight?
- Does he have incredibly long fingers?
- Does he have floppy, untidy looking golden brown hair that looks as though it hasn’t been washed in about 6 months? (admittedly this is very hard look for any other mortal man to pull off, but you do it so well)
- Does he use said fingers to constantly comb through said unwashed hair?
- Does he have piercing green/blue/grey eyes that scream “Do me, do me now. I don’t care that we’re in the middle of the Post Office, rip my clothes off and do me in front of the little old lady arguing about the price of sending a set of encyclopedias to her grand daughter in Japan”?
Sadly, none of them did.
But you do, Rob. You do.
Oh Rob. Why do I love you when you torture me so with your un-attainablility?
Desperate and Dateless (thanks to you),
UC note: Carrie told us that this letter was inspired by “your site (and of course by our Lord above, below and in between [the sheets] Robert Pattinson).”
Read more from Rob’s Mailbag, after the jump Continue…
Tags: , GQ, Rob in Vancouver, Rob Pattinson date, robert pattinson, stuff guys say about Rob, The Robertson-Patman Act, the RobQ, the statue of david, The United States of Roberica, the world's most perfect man