To prove that all I really want in a woman is boobs and permission to laugh at poop jokes

Sometimes I think about how my life would be if things were, for a lack of a better word, different -- if I was six inches taller, if I had grown up in some far away place like The Congo, if I liked the taste of beets, if I had not spent every day after school in my parents' music shop during my formative years...

If I liked women instead of men...

After some serious thought, I came up with this list of famous women I would want to be with if I were gay. Some of them, I have to admit, are so yummy I would jump right out of the closet for if they gave me the "come hither" eyes. That is, if I were so inclined.

Jennifer Aniston



I once read in GQ that she has a house in Malibu and the writer described it so beautifully that I envisioned myself spending many a quaint Saturday morning reading the paper, drawing moustaches on the pictures while sipping my green tea with no sugar. She'd be reading the entertainment section, scoffing at Lindsey Lohan's latest drunken display because we both hate her and her publicist's abuse of the media in an effort to get her name out there. Then she'd take off her white bikini top and let me play with her boobs for the rest of the morning. I've always kind of wondered what her boobs were like.

Scarlett Johanssen



Again, boobs. If I were gay, I would be a boob gal. And she's got some big ones. Not to mention that there's a mature, sultry woman behind that sweet smile. Her smoky voice would perforate the night air with conversations about Chekhov's seemingly trite, plotless stories over a bottle of Merlot.

She'd be the kind of girlfriend who would be happy watching old episodes of "I Love Lucy" or glamming it up on a Wednesday night and hitting the hottest clubs in our matching blue babydoll dresses, flirting with guys all night and smiling at each other all night knowing we're going home to our king-sized love cloud we call a bed in our black-and-white-themed bedroom and totally doing it.



Milla Jovovich



Milla is probably the first woman I’ve ever thought was worthy of being gay with. When I saw her on “The Fifth Element,” I wanted to dye my hair orange and talk funny. Multi-pass…

Our relationship would be the kind where I would constantly feel inferior and not worthy because she’s so tall and gorgeous and thin that I would feel like the elephant man next to her. This would wreak havoc on my insecurities, paralyzing me from sitting next to her on the couch in our lounge clothes (she in lingerie and me in my Man Show t-shirt and boxer shorts -- totally looking like a slob who's unworthy of being in the presence of such decadent beauty)



to going out to a random bar (once getting to the bar and meeting her fabulous friends -- and by 'fabulous' I mean people who may not be necessarily famous, but nonetheless people with foreign accents who have slept or done coke with famous people, which in my book qualifies them as 'fabulous' -- while I go to the ladies room and check my teeth for spinach because I ordered the appetizer with the lowest carbs because she's only 1% fat body content and I am 3% and my fat ass can't risk embarassing her because she's got an image and her girlfriend slash life partner HAS to be almost as hot her if not AS hot...). I would be the butch by default, only because my boobs are bigger, I'm slightly hairier and I'm more ethnic. This relationship would eventually end because I couldn't handle being the butch. Moving on.

Shane on "The L Word" (Katherine Moennig)



This woman is hot. She’s the perfect mix between being mannish and pretty and when I find myself lusting after her when I get my Sunday night fix watching “The L Word” (not to ever, EVER be compared to my Sunday night fix of yesteryear, “Sex and the City.” Nothing can replace my SATC.), I feel like I have a crush on the cutest, most untouchable bad boy in high school...you know, the one who smiled at you once in the hallway, but never did it again and you forgave him because you felt lucky enough to have had his attention for two seconds. Shane is that boy to me: she is aloof, but has the capacity for passion, comfortable in her skin and so, so sexy. If Shane asked me to drop everything and run away to lesbianland with her and frolic up and down the corridors of Lowe’s with her holding hands on a Saturday afternoon, I would. No question – except I’d ask her to take me to her friend Kit’s way awesome LA café, The Planet, instead so I could meet Foxy Brown. Shane would be fun to shower with and for some reason I want her to carry me around on her back, piggy-back style.

Sarah Silverman



Ms. Silverman said (at the end credits of the Independent Spirit Awards, which she hosted), "if I hear the word 'independent' one more time, I'm gonna shit myself...then eat it...(eats a couple of popcorn kernels and thinks for a second) then digest it, then shit it again. Then I'll eat that, puke it up and...(ponders for long time) shit on that. And then that's it. We can all go home then." If Sarah will have me, I will take her hand and we will giggle forever, out-doing eachother's shit/fart/molestation and other inappropriate jokes till we are side by side, six feet under and worms are crawling in and out of our wrinkled, grey, dead cooters. It would be my absolute pleasure to grow old with such a deliciously sick individual. Plus, she plays the guitar and sings songs about how people of all colors fart.

Be still, my heart.