A Little Salt For Your Fresh Wound, Mam?

My friend Rosie rocks. We met 11 years ago when we lived in the same dorm (yay Virgin Vault!) at Purdue. She was a super shy chick who used to let her hair hang in her face and spoke in monosyllables. All I saw when I looked at her was raw potential: I just knew there was a wild bitch within waiting to break loose. She just needed someone to corrupt her a little.

Rosie didn't disappoint. We have jumped out of an airplane, hosted a radio show, danced on bars and drank our way across most of the South (New Orleans, Memphis, Pensacola, Norfolk, Richmond, Louisville and Myrtle Beach). Her sense of adventure and dry, biting humor carries us through any mayhem we get involved in.

But this...

Not funny, Rosie!!!!

Just wait... her 30th is less than a year away!

Does this make me a pinko communist?

I have to own up to being completely underwhelmed with the Olympics. In fact, I haven't actually watched a single event. I see the medal count whenever I go on Yahoo. I might catch the occasional clip or two watching the news.

How very unpatriotic of me, I know.

In my defense, I've just never been much of a sports fan. Sports is the one section of the newspaper that I toss to the side without even opening. Fanatical sports fans who paint their faces and get in to bar fights over team rivalries are like aliens to me. I managed not to attend a single sporting event at Purdue during my time there. Pre-game parties? Yes. Tailgating? Sure. Big Victory Celebration or We Lost Now Let's Drown Our Misery parties? Absolutely! The actual game itself? Not a chance in hell.

In an effort to get more rah-rah for Team USA, I dedicated a whopping ten minutes to watching Olympics-only news.

Members of the New Zealand soccer/football/whatever-the-hell-you-call-it team take off their shirts and perform some kind of mating ritual even after getting their asses handed to them by Belgium. That's kinda hot actually... maybe sports aren't so bad.


Hey... weightlifting. That could be cool! I like it when muscular men make funny grunting noises.


Oh sweet Jeebus! Is his elbow really supposed to bend in that direction?!?!? It's friggin' backwards! OUCH OUCH OUCH!!!

Screw this... I am going back to watching Bravo. Nobody gets hurt on Project Runway or Shear Genius.

An Introduction to the Russell-Pfau-Lannon Island Theorem

Anyone who has ever hung out with Rosie and I (and, if you were lucky, Andrea Lannon... RIP) may have wondered why we shout "That man is SO on the island!" upon seeing a hot guy. To understand this, one needs to trace the roots of the Russell-Pfau-Lannon Island Theorem back to our crazed college days.

I really miss college sometimes. Not all that pesky studying or having to sneak food out of the cafeteria in order to stock your fridge. But I do get nostalgic for those nights where everyone would sit around the dorm room and have the most nonsensical, vodka-fueled conversations about off-the-wall subjects. Themes of socialism in Dr. Seuss books? Check. The heavy use of phallic symbols in architecture as a latent reminder of male dominance? Done that. But our finest moment: the creation of a Utopian society located on a fantasy island where my friends and I would turn men in to our sex-slaves. Ching-ching! We have a winner!

This island theory was simple. Andrea, Rosie and I ruled it as a triumvirate. Each of us chose a man to be our king-escort who was our primary companion (sometimes the king-escorts were off-limits to the other friends, other times we would loan them out. No true consensus was ever reached on that topic.) The rest of the island consisted of man-candy ripe for the picking.

Rosie has consistently had Val Kilmer on her throne for 10 years now.

Sadly, Val doesn't quite look like Iceman anymore...


prompting us to add this addendum: All men on the island will be from the stage in their lives where the 3 queens find them the most desirable... even if that was several decades ago.

My king-escort throne has been a revolving door over the years. First it was Peter Wingfield from the TV show Highlander. Past occupants include Russell Crowe, Dave Navarro, Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson and, for a brief moment, even a Backstreet Boy (shut up!)

My current?

All hail Richard Armitage!

What? You don't know who he is? Shame! Get on Netflix this instant and move BBC's production of "North & South" to the top of your queue. Prepare to swoon with his depiction of John Thornton, a mill owner from the north who is love with a preacher's daughter from the south. Or turn on BBC America for Robin Hood and watch him smolder as Guy of Gisbourne.

Just be careful googling him. My beloved shares a name with Bush's former Deputy Secretary of State who is nowhere near as attractive.