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06/22/2001
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So what'd you do last week?
Hey, that's great. Whatever. Now lemme tell you what I did.
Three words: Oh my God.
And that's not a bad Oh my God, either.
That's an "I've-just-seen-more-good-looking-women-in-five-days-than-you'll-see-in-the- next-five-years" Oh my God.
Of course my wife is one of them. But she doesn't count.
I see her beautiful face every day of my life. And aren't I the luckiest man on earth?
I love you, honey.
OK, you can leave now. Go wash the floor or something, will you, please?
Anyway, about last week. For those of you who don't know, I write commercials at an advertising agency.
Y'know those commercials where Michael Jordan is flying through the air doing those spectacular dunks? I didn't do those.
Typically, my commercials are more like this:
"Hey…you! Drop what you're doing right now and get your lazy fat ass down to STORE NAME GOES HERE. Because we've got low, low prices on a huge selection of PRODUCT GOES HERE! And if you stop by tonight before TIME GOES HERE, we'll give you an additional PERCENTAGE GOES HERE off our already low, low prices. So come on down to STORE NAME GOES HERE. Today!!!!!!!"
At any rate, the guy I work with -- Steve -- and I, actually had the opportunity last week to go to Toronto to produce four commercials for one of our clients. And one of the commercial required…thank you, Lord…a beautiful woman!
For the first time in 15 years of this crappy job, I had a special purpose in life! Finally! My mission was clear: find that perfect woman to fill the role of a lifetime. A woman who would understand and appreciate the beauty of our ideas…the brilliance of our thoughts…and if that didn't work, we'd let her know that this would be running on network television so she'd be getting more money.
Hey, we're old and married. We'll take our women any way we can get them.
If you haven't been to Toronto recently, my suggestion would be to go. As fast as you freakin' can. And bring some Ben Gay with you. Because you're going to have an extremely sore neck from looking in every direction at every boxola in sight.
Tall. Short. Brunettes. Blondes. Tight clothes. Loose clothes.
Screw that. Tight clothes.
Bottom line: there are more spectacularly amazing looking women in Toronto than any place I've ever been in my life.
Including Parma.
On our first day there, Steve and I went to the production company offices to meet the director who was going to shoot our commercials. We were there approximately 30 seconds and three beautiful women walk by.
In order:
#1: Flowered skirt, tight shirt, long black hair.
#2: Tight black pants. Don't know about the shirt. Never got any higher than the ass.
#3: Long jean skirt, slit in the middle. Wavy blonde hair. Excuse me, I love you.
Not that I was looking or anything.
Sadly, amid the distractions around us, we eventually had to leave the production company to go over to the casting agency to "audition" our girls.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. oh Dear Lord, thank you.
We got there. We all sat down. We each had a plate of food in front of us. We leaned back. And for one hour, one glorious hour, heaven stepped before us.
One by one, these goddesses stepped into the room. One out-topping the next. And since they knew they were auditioning to play the role of a temptress, they all dressed to fit the part.
Darn. I hate when that happens.
Now, I would say that these women were every shape and size, but that would be a lie.
Because they were all exactly the same. Hot. And the shape was drool-worthy.
Why hello, Miss dark-haired angel in the short red dress.
Shannon. What a lovely name you have.
Shannon Strauss has a nice ring to it. Don't you think?
And Shannon, have I ever told you about my appreciation for your stilettos?
Oh, you're such a nice girl, Shannon. Now sit on that blanket over there and pretend you're having a picnic with our male talent for the commercial.
Like anyone gives a rat's ass about that guy.
Good. Now flirt with him. Tease him. Make him think you really like him.
Even though everyone in this room knows you really like me.
Feed him a grape. Oh you naughty girl, did you pull that grape away from his mouth?
You're a bad girl. A very bad girl.
Steve looked at me. I looked at him.
For two old pathetic guys, this was the greatest moment of our lives.
Bye-bye Shannon, we love your ass so much.
I mean, nice job.
After we completed the difficult task of seeing a dozen women, we unanimously decided that Shannon was the girl.
So the next day, we brought her back to the production company.
I'm sure you're wondering. In order:
#1: White pants, tight shirt, long black hair. Today, you're the one I love.
#2: Slit black skirt. Don't know about the shirt. Never got any higher than the ass.
#3: Capri pants, tight white t-shirt. Damn. Can someone turn on the a/c?
Not that I was looking or anything.
The reason that we brought Shannon, dear sweet Shannon, back to the production company was so we could perform the arduous task of deciding what she was going to wear in the commercial.
Somebody kill me, please. It's all downhill from here.
So for the next half hour, Shannon paraded in and out of the bathroom in some of the greatest summer dresses known to man.
Our male talent was there trying on his wardrobe, too. Not surprisingly, everyone looked at the first thing he tried on and said, "Fine. Whatever."
Eventually, after struggling to watch her in 10 or 12 dresses, we settled on a tight blue silky thing. Shannon thanked everybody and gave Steve a hug.
Steve liked being hugged.
Steve later said to me, "Shannon hugged me."
I said, "I know."
Steve said, "Shannon hugged me."
He also said, "I have reason to believe she wasn't wearing any panties or underwear."
I said, "How do you know?"
He said, "When the guy went into the bathroom to try on his clothes, he said, 'Oops, can't go in there. There's a bra and panties lying on the floor.'"
I said, "Shannon hugged you."
Steve said, "I know."
On the day of the shoot, Shannon showed up as spectacular as ever in her blue dress. She was so nice and friendly to everyone.
Although the tension between the two of us was almost unbearable.
Truth is, Shannon is one of those gorgeous women who are so nice and flirty with everyone that every guy thinks he's got a shot.
Even though he's got no shot.
Except me. I had a shot. And I would've had a better shot, too, if it wasn't for that damn wedding ring on her finger.
I mean, hey, I had the decency to throw mine away. You would think she would've done the same.
It was a really warm day while we were shooting. In between shots, Shannon got up from her blanket and said, "Can somebody please help me? My boobs are all sweaty."
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. oh Dear Lord, thank you.
When I got back to the hotel that night, my wife asked me how the shoot went.
I said, "Fine." What I really meant to say was "Um honey, this thing between you and I, it's kinda not working out anymore. There's somebody else. And while she doesn't know it yet, she will soon."
For some strange reason, those words didn't come out, though. Don't know why.
Oh, yeah. There's that whole I'd-like-to-have-sex-again-my-lifetime thing.
Anyway, that was my week. How was yours?
Oh that's right. I already asked.
Whatever.
Wanna hear about mine again?
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