I’m in the café a little while ago, eating lunch by myself like fucking Peter Glandsberg. As I’m walking across the café to my seat I look over to the giant television screen where NESN is on. Don’t ask me what show it was but the screen went from old Red Sox stock footage to Heidi Watney.
I’m no stranger to her beauty and overall bang-ability as she has been the picture in our drink coasters at home since September. What strikes me the most about Heidi Watney is her ability to stop a viewing audience in their tracks. Sitting in the café also was a couple of Hispanic cooks who were either on their lunch break or didn’t give a shit.
The same wave of speechless-ness washed simultaneously over Pablo and myself when Heidi’s face popped up.
Miss Watney right then and there had bridged a cultural divide bringing together a young adolescent Caucasian male and two middle aged Hispanics with one medium shot of her in a green dress.
When Heidi Watney speaks, we almost listen.
Watching a sox game with the roommates (mostly just Dave because Chris is busy) Heidi Watney is bound to have face time on more than several occasions. When the camera cuts to Heidi somewhere in the stands reporting; before her name is even displayed on the lower third graphic every warm-blooded American male lets out an audible moan of just pure excitement and arousal.
I haven’t felt this way about a woman on my television screen since my Alex Mac days.
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