Exotic, familiar

I ran into Leif Ericson on Saturday. It was inevitable but traumatic, and I'm so glad that my friend M. was with me when it happened. He looked the same but even skinnier, still like a cross between the David statue and Gumby but a bit more on the Gumby side on that particular day, and still beautiful. He came over and talked to me graciously and pretended not to notice that I initially tried to hide behind my hat and sunglasses to avoid him. It made me really sad to see him, and I thought about him a lot all weekend.

Seeing him reminded me of how much I liked his exoticness. I've always had a thing for exotic men, ever since I was five and fell for the son of my soccer captain, who had olive skin and sleepy dark eyes that were constantly half-closed. (These days, we're Facebook friends and it appears that he works in the porn industry.)  I loved how Leif looked so exotic, almost like he wasn't really human, like a character from the film Avatar. I loved how his parents were from two different continents, neither of them North America. I loved how his house didn't follow any of the normal rules of a house, like having rooms and ceilings and doors.

But there's something to be said for the familiar, too. And that's where the Young Hottie lands: squarely in familiar terrain. There's especially something to be said for familiar when Familiar likes you and wants to see you two nights in a row and stops by to bring bubble wrap, because even though you didn't tell him you needed it, he figured it out when you told him about the huge pottery order you received. And when Familiar doesn't have weird relationship issues (at least that you know about so far).

I don't have butterflies yet, but I do have a solid, warm feeling when I think about Young Hottie. So, I think he may be in need of a new blog name, something less objectifying. Suggestions?