It’s About Time

You wouldn’t know it by looking at me, but I’m gorgeous.

Please don’t feel bad if you’ve gone all this time without realizing it. I actually had no idea, either.

Not until the insightful gals over at “Hot Blogger Calendar” saw something in me that no one else has…that my scruffy face and Body by Pillsbury physique combine to showcase some of God’s finest work.

I applaud Sarah Morgan and Jane Couto for shelving the mainstream media’s definition of male beauty and recognizing that blogalicious male bloggers are everywhere. All the George Clooneys, Johnny Depps, and Brad Pitts of the world get enough attention. It’s time that talentless people who just plain look hot get their dues.

I just wish I had been notified that I was nominated.

Usually those up for an award are alerted of the accolade. Have you ever heard of an actor winning an Oscar and only becoming aware of it because he was watching from home?

How can I rally for votes if no one knows I’m a hottie?

I only found out about this honor when Cat from 3 Kids and Us posted that she had voted for me as one of the Hottest Male Bloggers. I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about but it was too fitting a nomination for me not to believe her.

Apparently, if enough people vote for me (hint, hint), they’ll be forced to include me in their upcoming 2011 Hottest Blogger calendar. Just think of it…people will have to stare at my mug for an entire month. Something only my family is currently forced to endure.

The only hesitation I have is that the purpose of this calendar is to raise money for the American Red Cross. Considering half the people who buy this thing are going to need the American Red Cross when they turn to February (I assume I’ll be given the shortest month), I had to think about my inclusion.

I can only hurt sales. Unless, of course, I win them over with a transformation of my appearance. I needed to get Hollywood. I needed to emulate and exude a rockstar quality. I needed to be someone other than me.

Ultimately, I decided that the American Red Cross needs me. How many bandages could this face pay for? How many blankets could my bare chest secure? How many cots could these biceps provide? It was Hollywood time.

First, we started with the photo I was originally going to submit to the calendar…

But, the “convicted felon” look just wasn’t going to sell calendars. A middle-aged balding guy isn’t Hollywood enough. Hollywood guys have hair. Lots of it. Styled, messy, whatever. If I was going to win the hearts, minds, and burning loins of America, I needed a well-covered noggin.

And stylish sunglasses. Hollywood heartthrobs never wear Lenscrafters twofer frames.

So we bought some hair and specs. I was mackin’ it hard.

Hmmm. Better. But Hollywood people like to acknowledge their fans. Girls swoon and scream and faint when Hollywood types point their way. I wondered, could this phenomenon be carried through to the calendar?

We were getting close. But one thing I’ve noticed after visiting Perez Hilton and viewing the candid shots in People Magazine…Hollywood players wear suit jackets. No matter what. They go to dinners wearing a suit coat. They go to nightclubs in suit coats. They run 5K’s in suit coats.

That was the missing ingredient. Like the sun over the Sahara, I was getting hotter by the minute.

Heather spent the next ten minutes groping me but managed to compose herself in the face of such sex appeal. I knew we could push it further but she feared that any more zest and the American Red Cross would be owing me money. But we needed more.

Hollywood folks like to party. While we didn’t have any Crystal or Dom Perignon left in our crib, I did manage to find a fine specimen in our recyclables drawer. It would have to do, and as you can clearly see, it did just fine.

You ladies may want to step away from the computer right about now and dab some cold water on your forehead. Ignore the thermostat. Your furnace isn’t overheating…you are.

But I’m not done.

I needed the pièce de résistance. Something that would really bring the heat.

Chest fuzz.

Hollywood playboys love to have their shirts unbuttoned so that their burgeoning chest hair teases the ladies.

Sadly, I had to buy this, too. But the results are undeniable. I warn you, you’re about to sweat.

I thought we had the perfect shot. Mr. February in the flesh. But you couldn’t see the booze. Where’s the devil may care playboy if he isn’t clutching a bottle of liquid gold? It was time to bring everything I had.

It was time for the grand finale. A Hollywood hottie with Hollywood hair wearing Hollywood shades in a Hollywood suit coat with Hollywood man fuzz getting his Hollywood drink on.

There you have it, ladies. February. My wife doesn’t think the American Red Cross is going to want a shot of me drinking in the calendar so I want the judges to know that I’m totally willing to replace it with bottled water. Hollywood types love to pretend they drink a lot of water.

I must say that even if I don’t win, just being nominated has boosted my self confidence. I walk with a confident swagger now. I see the world differently because I now know that the world sees me differently than I see myself.

I now realize that mothers only pull their children closer to them when I pass because they need to brace themselves from fainting.

I now realize that all those dateless nights were due to intimidation, not repulsion.

And I now realize that my wife has probably never loved me for who I am…she is probably only in love with my exterior.

And now that I’m justifiably narcissistic? Who can blame her?

So thank you Hot Blogger Calendar, the website where people can visit and choose Telling Dad in the radio button voting area to launch him into the world of supermodels if they’re so inclined.

I appreciate the nomination. I just wish I had more notice to garner some love!

On a completely unrelated note, how do you remove Super Glue from human skin?