Carlsberg Crouch

Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart

~ Kahlil Gibran~

Beauty is in the eyes of the beer-holder

Why do I have to make my life difficult? I can’t even have a normal crush. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But when it’s an obsessive celebrity crush (i.e someone in the limelight and media glare) should I not pick someone obvious like Brad (cheated on his wife) or Jude (slept with his children’s nanny) or even Wills (God, he dumped Kate? Shocking!)

I realise I must come across as shallow in this blog. Dr. Dish, as his name suggests, is undoubtedly, a looker. Chappie, by anyone’s standards, (except my cynic of a sister!) is yummy. Add to that, charm and personality, and you’ve got another winner.(If one can forget that he’s just another ass under that flashy veneer). But yet, when it comes to my own personal fantasies … who do I pick?

Not Orli (though I did love him as Will Turner). Forget movie stars. Or even pop stars. As for sports hero’s … I never fancied David Beckham. HONESTLY. But I loved the way he used to take free kicks and how he used to run roughshod round the opposition in midfield, but I never really fancied him.

Jamie Redknapp, I adored. Matt Jansen (remember him?) too. Raul and Maldini fuelled some very delicious dreams. These are football players one fancies. Even Lampard. I’ve actually met Lampard in person (stood next to me in line at my local kebab stall in Kensington, no joke). He’s lovely – if a little shorter in person than one would imagine. But too much of a London lad type for my tastes.

Not that I’m a great one for good tastes, as my (horrified) friends would attest to. I mean, of all people, Peter Crouch? Not even Stevie G. Not Owen either. (I did like Macca in his time … but people failed to understand that one too. What can I say, he was tall enough, right? And he played a good game.) But I maintain that taste is personal. Individual. Mine.

It started off innocent enough ...though Pete's apparently too tall and gangly and freakish (I would never use this word. I think he's lovely) looking, I’d always liked him as a PLAYER. I NEVER fancied him. Then that hat-trick last weekend (despite the fact it was against my 2nd team of Arsenal) then immediately after that, the Eindhoven bashing, my heart (or various other body parts) was in danger. I thought phoarr! Especially when I saw him in a suit for the first time.

I confessed all to my mate Miller this morning on the IM. He was horrified. He’s no longer worried about how my 12 year old self used to dream of being Mrs. Jordan Knight. He thinks I’ve gone bonkers. I don’t blame him. Who fancies Peter Crouch?

Actually, turns out, a lot of people. I am not alone in this. I’ve spent days googling him to be sure. And how about that page 3 "stunna" who is waiting for her half a million pound diamond rock any day now from the sexy beanpole? (Don’t do it, Crouchy. The moment you get put out to pasture/ get injured / get sold to QPR again – she’ll be off with the first one that would have her.)

Am I just mental? No one would call Mr. Darcy really that good looking either. Like my good friend Maverix said (affectionately I thought!) – "take away the car, the surname and the suit, and all you’d get is another Malaysian man on the street." My sister said something a little less kind – alluding to the sanitation department type lookers, amongst others, but I digress.

Rex was definitely not conventionally good looking. In fact, my first observation of him was "A great laugh, but not very physically appealing. I can see us being good mates, though." He actually later read this same line in my journal, and could not stop quoting it. I think he took it well enough … particularly since I later left him in no doubt of my regard for him. (Enthusiastically jumping him helped. I definitely grew to fancy the pants off him. Literally :P)

I have to admit Rex bears a resemblance to Crouchy. Especially when looking at these posted photos. (Of course I picked the best!) The sheer height, for one. Rex towered above everyone we knew. I used to call him my sexy beanpole. (the shame of it!) His sticking up fair-ish hair (though Rex wasn’t as blonde) was the same kind of awkward mess that never seem to do anything. It was not curly, not straight, not thick, just … hair that refused to be styled. The nose, the spindly legs that go on for miles, the spidery arms, the gawkiness (which I still find endearing), and strangely enough, the eyes that are too familiar for comfort.

My friend, H, observed that I have a huge thing for eyes. I always thought it was the height, but it has struck me as very true. Height attracts me, but it’s the eyes that get me. After all, eyes are the window to the soul.

Sigh, I do need help.

Mr. Perfect is probably the best looking man I know. He had the kindest, sweetest eyes. Not all-knowing, and somewhat lacking in confidence, but always inherently good.

The Aging Lothario stood out in any crowd, and not just because of his above-than-average-Malaysian height. He had come-to-bed eyes, no doubt about it! He was a simple man, with one simple, obvious desire. The desire to get into one’s pants. You can’t hold that against him when he’s honest about it from the start.

Anyway, what I mean to say is that, even in real life, I’ve sampled some definite lookers. Most turned out to be frogs, but I’ve known some with Prince Potential. However, I somehow lost the Princes by not recognising what they were, or having the inability to hold on to a good thing.

So I’ll go back to dreaming … and hey, you can judge me, but Peter Crouch puts a smile on my face. (more like a goofy grin). So this Vixen’s going to keep at it for a while. And when he helps Liverpool win the European Cup Final in Athens, Greece, I’ll see who’s laughing then!

Go get ‘em, Crouchy!

A soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone.

~Johann von Goeth ~