It's been a while

So, being out in the sticks means far fewer interactions with the Hot Old Men in our working life (even the disappointing ones). But Cutie Patootie came to visit (not us specifically), and, boy, is he adorable!

And chatty.

Which does a lot to explain or "is he, isn't he?" dilemma we had a while back. (Apparently he "isn't", and has a long, long-term girlfriend. Of course.)

I'm not sure what it is: bald head, sparkling eyes, cheeky grin or curiously soothing North American voice. But There's Something About Cutie.

In other news, now that Josh's voice-crush has gone, the new Man-in-Charge has, I think, a much sexier voice. Maybe I like North American voices after all. Who knows. But he looks curiously like one of the characters the Genie in Aladdin morphs into. Freaky. Not-yet-a-hot-old-man.

meeting the One

Turns out Lenny had absolutely nothing to worry about. You know how sometimes you get lucky and meet your fantasy boy/girl, and then the fantasy is broken?

So. For weeks Lenny’s been bugging me to blog about my work date with Hottie McAussie (see below) but something always made me stop short. At first I thought it was work fatigue.

But now I think, maybe, definitely, it’s because the whole experience was a bit um, underwhelming.

Wait wait before you call me ungrateful bitch listen! First, the leadup. On June 4th, Obama addresses Muslim leaders in Cairo and the news is so big that Editor wants me to do a podcast about the significance of this speech.

E: "You should interview our resident expert."

Me: "Oh..who?" (I know the answer already. HM!!! HM!!! I'd dreamt of this day...)

E: "Hottie McAussie*." (my lips tremble) "And do it soon before the news gets too old."

So then I spend the next 3 days hyperventilating and researching who Obama is, where Cairo is, etc. I must NOT sound like an idiot.

The ‘interview’ was set for 10:30am Monday morning, so of course I go in at 9:45am to test all the podcasting equipment 100 times. I'm done by 10am...30 minutes left to potentially faint.

Meanwhile my HM senses tell me he's already in the office, and when I walk around I notice we are in fact the ONLY 2 people in the newsroom (plus recep and an OA). Still, I can’t bring myself to his lair to see if he wants to start early. In fact, I can't really talk. Lenny sms' me telling me to breathe again. I breathe, stop for a couple minutes, breathe again. Spend almost 30 minutes doing this. I know, I know, I’m a grown-up. I’m a REPORTER, for chrissakes.

10:29...I hold my breathe and march over. The marching was overcompensating for nerves. HM looks up and grins, ‘Hullo! Sara, right?’ I squeak “yeah!” and super-casually lead him to the podcast room.

On the way over he asks me how Taipo is and I say something dull like how morale is low.

But but but halfway through talking I can tell he doesn’t care, and suddenly I'm emboldened. Hottie, you may be hot but at least PRETEND to give a damn for 20 seconds.. or don't ask in the first place! HMPH!

10:35...we're settled in the room. I'm not quite as nervous even though he’s sitting right across from me. For the first first time I notice that he is not quite proportionate...his legs are very, very very skinny, his frame is about the size of mine, his head's a bit big. Needs a haircut.

And though Lenny disagrees, I find light grey pinstripe suit/pink shirt combo on a short Asian man a bit too gay.

But hey, not like this is a date, right? I fire away - and by fire away, I mean I barely speak above a whisper as I stare a hole into my page of questions. My voice is so shaky and quiet I actually have to repeat a few times.

Melt a bit when HM reassures, “it’s fine, take your time.” He’d be a great dad.

But then he starts talking and suddenly.....I dunno. Found myself missing Teddy. HM's answers to some basic questions were a bit short and waaay too convoluted for me, let alone a young ESL student, to understand. And he's saying 'um' a lot, and I just feel sorry for CC.

Then when I try to get him to clarify points he looks mildly impatient and I back down. Boring.

10:45am...We’re done, thank god. He runs out before I can pat his head.

So, Teddy and I talked for almost 30 minutes but HM and I are done in 10. That says something. It says that my relationship with HM can never advance past voyeurism.

GASP

RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT, JOSH IS SITTING POSSIBLY LESS THAN A METRE AWAY FROM HOTTIE MCAUSSIE, TALKING WITH HIM, LAUGHING WITH HIM, POSSIBLY CARESSING AND STROKING THAT GORGEOUS HAIR.

Jealousy doesn't even begin to describe it. Although I'd probably either trip and fall or just faint. Maybe it's best she does it.

As long as she keeps her hands to herself.

Or not, I suppose...

Hatred?

I think I hate Josh.

She's going to be shut up in a room with Hottie McAussie for, well, as long as it takes to discuss Obama's mid-east speech. (There's another oldmancrush I could go on about...). I really think I might have to ignore her for a while, get my emotions in check.

So much for missing him. Sly girl.

But at least it's one of us, I guess. Now she just has to work on not throwing herself at him. Very BJD2.

i especially like old men who eat

I'm dying. Teddy has come over 3 times to grab a sammy and fake sausage roll from our leaving "party"...I want to poke his tummy so badly it pains me a little.

not-a-stalker-no

Is today the last day I'll ever see hottie mcaussie? I mean, he doesn't appear to hang out in any of my second homes (notably LKF). I don't fish, nor do I ever go shopping for crisp white men's shirts.

Anyone have his residential address?

In defence of older men

Josh is being wooed by a very persistent co-worker, a very surprisingly forward local co-worker, who is probably her age. I'm impressed, actually, by his nerve. Apparently that makes me hateful.

So, as a reminder of why we ogle the older guys:

1. They're less likely to stalk
2. They're more likely to be married already, so you know it's truly fantasy
3. They've probably had years of being ogled, so our attention is like water off the proverbial.
4. Less likely to tell stories about our crushes to put us off them (take note, Young Saboteur).
5. Men of the world don't need to pretend to "fix someone's computer" so they can ogle us!

if you close your eyes...

Are we allowed to crush on Calvin? I mean, he sorta belongs to a colleague. And he desperately needs a new barber, tailor, speechwriter. Not sure if he's above 45 either.

But fack it, he has a sexy voice.

ps. The other day I heard Josh's maybe-gay old man crush say he's from the south! He-ell-O!

Another conspiracy theory

We have been told that Hottie McAussie likes to go fishing. Yes, in a boat, with a long pole, flies, net, probably a dodgy, floppy hat. Apparently his wife goes with him. Bit of a turn-off.

Then the same, heretofore assumed-to-be-reliable source told us he over heard The Cowboy talking about YouTube porn.

These "facts" were more than enough to put us off.

But then we thought harder: this source was rather put out when he heard the cut-off age for Oldmancrush was 45. So we're deciding, for now, to ignore the rumours and enjoy ogling for the remaining week and a half we have in the same office as our Oldmancrushes.

Source is just jealous, no doubt, and trying to sabotage. Bless.

Besides, Teddy called me by name AGAIN. You can't just give up on that sort of attention.

Cutie Patootie

I am seriously crushing on Cutie Patootie today. The laidback, probably Canadian editor of the supposedly most advanced desk is just adorable when he's excited about something. He was chatting to his staff about...something, and he has a very lovely laugh. He's a bit of a dork, which is cute, too. Makes me want to go "aaawww" and stroke his shaved head.

I think it's also due to the fact that Hottie McAussie is STILL away. Maybe he's realised he shouldn't be seen in public until his hair grows out a bit. Still in mourning.

HALLELUJAH

The Teddy Bear knows my NAME!

*swoon*

(Hottie McAussie is absent, hence overjoy at this occurence.)

On a separate note, much has yet to be blogged on the French Photog. Fotog?! And the "oh no he didn't" incident(s). More anon.

RIP Hair

I wonder how many women in the office are silently mourning the bad haircut.

Thanks a lot McAussie's barber, you just made this week a bit more unbearable. *sob*




ps. has bad haircut affected his trademark stride? and is it just a mean visual illusion that his crisp pink shirt suddenly looks a little...dorky?

Cuckoo

If I Twittered or Tweeted or whatever bird call one is meant to make these days, I'd have done so yesterday to say "It's just too short". Hottie McAussie has done the dirty - on his lovely, luscious locks.

I feel betrayed.

Realised...

I've literally just worked out part of the Hottie McAussie charm as he was walking in the direction of our desk (unfortunately he didn't make it all the way over) - he's quite short, but he has this incredibly manly walk. He STRIDES, in quite a Mr Darcy way, with purpose, with direction.

Mmmmm.

Seen

It's a public holiday, so even the higher-ups are dressed down. Hottie McAussie was just seen sporting a rather hip, youthful (but not mutton-as-lamb, or whatever the male equivalent is) get-up of jeans and top-button-undone shirt. Weely says it's lilac. I'd prefer a more manly description, but pastel is pastel is pastel. But it was all good.

My favourite dressed-down oldie isn't in. The cutie patootie leader of the (online) pack doesn't have to work public holidays, but I'm fairly sure his jeans/probably-black shirt combo will be worthy of note tomorrow, bless him. Something about shaved heads, too, that just... OOH.

Yeah, not so much with the inspiring work tasks today.

teddy bear

You know there’s hot man drought when you start crushing on old-man-personalities.

Take Graham. He’s (oh, how should America put it) big-boned. Chubby. Could probably eat me and Wee alive (plus a few ginger snaps). Apparently not very generous with his cookies but would probably eat Wee's fishy bits any day (wow, I'm shocking).

But lately I find myself obsessively thinking “aaaawww” at every bumbling thing he does and says. I mean, can’t you see him aged 5, hiding in the corner? Awww..

Or maybe my maternal clock's just ticking.

Lust is...

So I'm sitting at my desk, listening to Lionel Richie's All Night Long (possibly one of the greatest ever party tracks. Ever. Hmm, also by an older guy, there appears to be a theme ...), and Weely sends an urgent MSN: "Hottie McAussie - he sounds like that Paul Hogan".

I see what she means. Very strong Aussie accent. Which, on Paul Hogan, is quite gross and turn-offish.

Somehow it doesn't make Hottie McAussie - who, incidentally, is wearing a very hot black pinstripe suit today with a crisp white shirt and wide black tie, which really shouldn't work, but DOES - any less hot.

Saving grace

Stuck at work until late last night, the only thing that kept me going was the possibility of an Hot Old Man (HMO) sighting. Just as I was giving up all hope - and fending off attacks on the snack basket by the wannabe office stud (do your shirt up, I don't need to see your chest toupee), there he was: Hottie McAussie (who, Dolly has been told, has a stutter - even cuter), like a vision from a better place. Then he got closer, so his body was no longer hidden by stacks of paper on desks - and he was in a burnt orange V-neck sweater. Asian + orange, even of the burnt variety, is never a good mix.

Luckily he was wearing really, REALLY good jeans. Mmmm.

where did all the old men go?

11:45am and not a single old man crush sighting. They’re probably all at Wanchai attending some conference on being hot. Sigh. Friday or not, it has been a rather dull morning.

It's just a little crush

I realise that at nearly 30, I should be able to refrain from bumping into the office stud and then running back to tell my gal pals about it. But in this case, an up-close-and-personal encounter with the 40-something Asian Aussie with the ridiculously thick, hand-run-through-able hair is cause for celebration.

It’s not often you find a guy – especially in our office – who quite so perfectly fits his suit jacket, yet manages to be totally unaware of just how good he looks (or are we biased?).

He must know something’s up – the number of times Dolly has messaged “HELLOOOO” and I’ve SNAPPED my head up is getting a little embarrassing. We’ve managed, on a number of occasions, to be looking at something really fascinating on someone else’s desk so that we can stare longingly towards his desk... It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that we’re not freshly hormonal tweens. Or pregnant.

The other day I went into the pantry to wash my mug. Hottie McAussie was in there, heating up his homecooked lunch (hate his wife). I needed paper towels, but there were none left in the dispenser, so, hero that he is, he grabbed the spare roll from on top of the microwave. And pulled off a sheet for me. SWOON.

Granted, I read this back and realise quite how pathetic I sound. But then I play back the memory and I really don’t care.

Right, I’m off to see if he has the charcoal grey suit pinstripes on today...

He's on to me.

The other day Paul Newman, a very distinguished and truly old (looks 70?) old man who sits several feet across from me was looking ESPECIALLY dapper. And I think he knew it. He had on a skinny blue tie and his usual crisp white shirt that illuminates wrinkles and baby blues. It was all very nice.

So nice that without realizing it, I was staring. Suddenly he looked up, but by now it was too awkward for me to look away. So I kept staring. He kept staring back. I think we stared at each other for a good 3 seconds (half a lifetime) before my youth caved. I have not really looked at him since, even though I have to go out of my way not to look at him again. Sad.

Talent scouting

Sometimes a girl's just gotta perve. And, if she's stuck in the office for nine hours a day, the only way this is possible is to talent scout at work.

Believe me, this is harder than it should be.

Far from a newspaper office being full of luscious lovelies, hot bods and gorgeous-but-geekies, we have a choice of loud, annoying, pot-bellied, balding, fatally dull and inappropriate.

That is, until we realised the Mature Gent potential.

This blog is testament to the unexpected hotness of the over-40s, and the inappropriate ogling we manage to get done on a daily basis. (Or hourly.) And the unnecessary tizzies we get into when one of them holds the door open for us...

Watch this space if you, too, spend your working day in wonderment over the attractiveness of men not-quite-old-enough to be your dad, but nonetheless too old to really be poster boys.

Maybe this is just a sign we're actually old enough for real men.