Waking Up to The Man

He looked so peaceful and serene next to me this morning. I always loved watching him asleep. Even with a hint of sexy grunts when he was having a dream, he still looked so angelic to me. The sun was up, it was already late. His schedule was packed for the rest of the day. Softly I touched his forehead and rustled his soft hair, “Wakey wakey hunny bun, it’s seven thirty already”.

He mumbled another grunt and turned his face to the other side. There, facing him, I previously laid a cup’o piping hot black coffee on our nightstand. "Do you know where you're going to?" was softly moaned by Diana Ross at the back ground. That rich aroma always got him in the mood for the day. Slowly he woke up, with a grin on his face, he extended his arms shoulder-width “Where’s my baby, I miss him already!” And then he grabbed and pinned me. There we cuddled for some time. Then while putting on a very naughty look he murmured something sweet to my ears, “Babe, ehm, I dunno how to put this in a gentler way, but I am so gawd-dang horny…”



BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

It’s that damn, digital alarm clock! God, I was having the nicest dream ever: Waking up to the man on the cover of DaMan, Mr. Mario Lawalata (and there he was supposedly horny for me). Damn that alarm! Damn that morning meeting! It turned out that I was the one who was in trance prior to being slapped from my beautiful hallucination.

You see, Mario, pictured here, and I had some kind of history, if you can even call it that way. Maybe I was the one who had a long history, make that a very very long history of having a crush on this evercute dude called Mario. And only by the power of God, we happened to bump into each other in many occasions.

The trunk show surprise collision was nice. Then on another day I stopped accepting calls while my greedy eyes were fixed on a tv channel. There he was performing his Celeb Dance reality show with Kinaryosih (?). Unbeknownst to me, the next day God would send me to a deserted shopping mall. There I was to fetch some beauty supplement (I swear it was for my cousin!) where I saw him sweating in his tees, practicing a dance number for the next performance on the same tv channel.


And hoping for another chance meeting, the next week I returned to the same deserted building. I was of course disappointed. He wasn’t the one who was dancing. Then le grumbles in my stomach forced me to eat in some food court upstairs where I could also hear balls bouncing on the floor. Inquisitively after that I then searched for the basketball court. There he was drenching in sweat. Only in his shorts, practicing his moves with his basketball buddies.

This then would lead to a very stupid conversation with him about a month later. I was panting and puffing at my gym after the 15 minutes cardio (yes, I pant easily!). God knew I wasn’t pretty with all the sweats dripping off my forehead. Then he came in his all-white gym outfit. I was like: “O.M.G, I am in the same gym with Yourhotness ML?” (stands for Mario Lawalata of korz). Resuming my routines I then sat on the flat bench while he was flicking the TV onto some sport channel. A basketball game emerged. He started to open his mouth to ask me something. And I started to feel faint: “O.M.G, Hishotness is speaking to moi!”

“Do you know the score of last Saturday’s game?” he asked briskly.

Finally, my dream came true. My fantasy knight in a dashingly matching Nike-armor was speaking to me. Oh Lord, thank you for answering my prayers. That was only if, and that’s a big if, I knew the answer to that question. Damn. Why didn’t he just ask a normal question, like who did Penelope Cruz wear at the Oscars! I would be happy to even drop some names on the makeup, the jewelry, the shoes and her delicate little purse.

So back to recent happenings, I was passing this magazine rack at Periplus Senayan. The only thing that crossed my mind was, “Hey the cover guy looks cute, I’ll get the mag later lah”. Only when I was making a left turn on Sudirman later during the day, there was this blowup gigantic advertisement of the same exact issue of the magazine. And it said: March Madness. Mario Lawalata.



Arghh. How could I fail to recognize the man of my dream?

He looked so model-ish there. I missed the beefcaked-goofy Mario that had been embedded in my brain for so long. Digital manipulations? One might ponder.

From the boxer-only scene at “They Call Me Monkey” indie flick. And his glisteningly raising himself from the Jacuzzi pool at the locker room. And the lovely shape of his celtic-cross tattoo on his arm. Or the dark horns settling on the nape of his neck through his strong back. I knew that I photographically memorized him in details. And I would never miss any sightings of him! Ever.

Again, how could I fail to recognize the man of my dream?

Now this looks more real to me.

But anyway, he is still cute as ever.




Forever hopeful,






Prof. Utonium.

End note: Well, if ya can’t get this Mario, I guess I might try the other Mario from the English Service church. A very friendly bear he was indeed.

All photographs courtesy of DaMan © 2008.