Just ate lunch: Half a pita stuffed with mixed field greens and herbs, swiss cheese, prosciutto, roasted red peppers and a cranberry mustard dressing. Bottle of ginger ale.
So I think I met my husband this week.
He has a great head of hair and a bank account, the only trouble is he's like 60 years old (62 on May 31st, but who's counting?)
Broadway Joe was a guest on my morning show Tuesday to talk about osteoarthritis not quite a selling point where dating is concerned. I knew about his prolific career as a football player for some team some years ago playing some position, but I didn't really know much about him. The AM crew filled me in on all I needed to know: Joe has a thing for the ladies.
I was bound and determined to get my picture taken with him so I could put it on my Wall of Fame (so far only a pic with Cookie Monster's up there) to remember the moment for years to come. I packed my digital camera in my purse the night before, ensuring the I'd get to mug for the camera with the legend.
I wish I had put as much planning into my wardrobe selection.
Banana Republic has become my store of choice over the past few months, with my latest addition being a cute, pink top with a boatneck front and a scoop in the back. If that's greek to you, basically it has a high neckline in front and shows off my back, freckles and all. It's a lycra mix meaning it's got some stretch to it (translation: it's very, uh, fitted).
Now, form fitting tops look great on me. For better or worse, God gave me a big rack, so anything fitted makes me look pretty much like a porn star. That's not always a bad thing, but it's probably not the right image to portray at work. Especially when you're going to meet a man known for soliciting kisses and such from women in broadcasting.
I raced downstairs after the interview segment (I sit in Studio Control during my newscasts. It's kind of like "mission control" during the show, and it sits upstairs at our station. The studios are downstairs) to make sure I didn't miss J.N. and his entourage before they slipped out the door. I stood patiently as his posse started walking by me, with Joe putting on these crazy ass, big yellow sunglasses on as he walked by.
I was kind of flustered during the approach:
Me: "Hi, Mister Namath? I'm the producer of the show, my name's Kate, and I was wondering if I, um, could get a picture of you?"
JN: with a swagger "Well, only if you're in it."
He took off the God forsaken glasses and slung his arm over my shoulders. A pretty girl (of course) from the entourage snapped the camera.
Me: "Oh, thank you so much!"
JN: as he takes a long look over me from head to toe, and back up to the top "YOU have a nice day".
I couldn't tell whether he was playing Humphrey Bogart or Pacino, but he was certainly living up the the whole womanizer thing. And I don't think the pink top went lost on him.
And so, for just a minute, Joe Namath could have been mine.
But even with all that great hair and that fat bank account, let's not forget he has osteoarthritis. Five minutes with me, and all his bones would be broken before I'd even get to my g-string.
Namath's great. His mid-90s Nike commercials were hilarious: "We beat the Colts!" In college, the crew (spydrz, Shamrock, KPMD) got me a Joe Namath Christmas ornament. It's the pride of my collection, aside from the one of a grill, which is super heavy and tends to topple Christmas trees over.
Last year he drunkenly hit on a female sportscaster while on the air. There has to be a video of that on the internet somewhere.
Heh, happy hunting M'lady. He'd be a hell of a catch.
Saipan is cool, and Bali even more fun.
I'll update the ol' blog as soon as I have a chance.
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