It’s a story as old as time. Girl watches t.v. show featuring boy. Girl stalks boy on the Internet. Girl finds a photo of boy in hot red pants straddling a bike looking fresh to death on Tumblr.
Girl goes gaga.
My one sided love affair with Donald Glover began with his role as Troy on Community and honeymooned with his alter ego Childish Gambino and his first self titled E.P. Name dropping e e cummings and Adele in the same track on “Freaks and Geeks” did some things to me that are best not mentioned in mixed company. We hit a rough patch when Community went on seemingly endless hiatus, but Donald — that prince of a man, kept the love alive with his witty Twitter feed, stand up specials, and dropping two full length Childish Gambino’s albums.
And then there was the red pants and bicycle photo. I don’t know where it came from or what it was for. I don’t know if he was trying to sell me tight red pants, fashionably nerdy black rimmed glasses or a hideous sweater vest that really only works on hot black dudes. I don’t know what the point of it was, but if the purpose was to sell me something I would have bought anything he wanted me to. You want me to buy obnoxious colored skinny jeans, Donald? Sure. Oh, I need to own at least six vintage fixed gear bikes. Word, I’m all about it. I know I live in Alaska and can only ride it three months out of the year assuming it’s not raining cats and dogs. Don’t care, my boo Donald told me to buy them. I will buy them all. I would have bought the trees and the wall in the background.
Donald Glover could sell me anything, anytime, anywhere. So what if I make peanuts because I chose a career in print media after the Internet ate everything. Donald could ask me to buy a helicopter and a McMansion in the middle of the desert and I would do it. I have absolutely no interest in any of those things, but if he pouted those luscious lips at me, batted those big eyes and smiled that half-cocked, sorta smirk thing he has going on… done. Signed, sealed and delivered. I’ll sell a kidney if I have to. You don’t need kidneys when you’re in love. (I’m pretty sure that’s a medical fact. Look it up.)
Our romance was rekindled a few weeks ago while I was half paying attention to the season two premiere of Girls. It was on in the background but I was on deadline for an article I was writing and was just kind of waiting for Jessa to say something witty and soul crushing so my attention wasn’t totally focused. Then what do I spy out of the corner of my little eye?
Half naked Donald Glover. Hark! God has answered my prayers! Here is my Adonis, my angel in a faded tee shirt! And what is he doing? He’s totally running around a book store with a boner chasing my body double Lena Dunham. Miracles happen, folks. Deadlines be damned, I am now glued to my television. It has been so long since Community went on break and I have been deprived on my sweet angel baby and his superior acting skills.
And by acting skills I mean rock hard pectorals and puppy dog eyes. Obvi.
The second episode of Girls gets even better. Sex scene. Awesome, sexy sexy sex scene. Except I can’t stop comparing Lena’s boobs to my own, which are strangely similar and is hugely distracting. But I don’t care, I’m just going to mentally paste my head on Lena’s body and we are going to ride Donald to completion because this may be our only chance.
Sure enough, it is. And my heart breaks when stupid Hannah screws this up for us. I turn the episode off in disgust. I scroll through my iPod until I find my Gambino tracks and that sweet buttered biscuit of a voice washes over me.
It’ll be okay, Donald. We’ll get through this. Hannah is an idiot, but I still love you.