The One About How Hot Jake Gyllenhaal Is
Don't get me wrong; my personal life is still as fucked as all hell. But, thinking journalistically, it's better to stick with the more newsworthy stuff, right now ... the stuff that really isn't fit to print but, nonetheless, makes Janice Min lightheaded. Jake Gyllenhaal, in fact, can make any girl lightheaded. This is a first-hand account, people. I speak from experience.
I saw him, about an hour ago, while cruising the streets of SoHo ... which is funny because I have a running joke with a few of my friends that one of us will eventually bump into him outside of the Apple Store. Somewhat mundane and whimsical events conspired to result in me being in SoHo, however. I was not in front of the Apple Store, at the time. Jake Gyllenhaal, iPods and blog entries were very far from my fucking mind. (I shouldn't even be doing this right now.) So there.
I was coming up Greene from late-nite grocery shopping at the Natural Deli and I was waiting at the corner, on Houston, for the light to change. One block over, I see a group of random people, fucking around. One guy (yeah, it was Jake), in a blue hoodie darts out into the street, leaving his buddies behind and starts laughing. They're all weirded out on the curb - they didn't want to cross until the light changed, despite the fact that no cars were coming. Jake, still alive, proved his point. Pedestrians rule this town.
3 seconds later, the others followed him.
I had already hit the middle of Houston around the same time he did and still didn't know who was lurking under that blue hood.
Then we all got to the other side of the street, directly in front of the Angelika. I started to head east on Houston, while Jake and his crew started to head west and, for two seconds, the boy is right up on me.
Someone over at Gawker once described Jake as "dripping hottitude." This is a disgusting understatement.
He is fucking sex on legs.
And guess what ... I checked out who he was with, before they legged it over to the West Village, and Kirsten Dunst was nowhere in sight.
It's open season, girls.
I saw him, about an hour ago, while cruising the streets of SoHo ... which is funny because I have a running joke with a few of my friends that one of us will eventually bump into him outside of the Apple Store. Somewhat mundane and whimsical events conspired to result in me being in SoHo, however. I was not in front of the Apple Store, at the time. Jake Gyllenhaal, iPods and blog entries were very far from my fucking mind. (I shouldn't even be doing this right now.) So there.
I was coming up Greene from late-nite grocery shopping at the Natural Deli and I was waiting at the corner, on Houston, for the light to change. One block over, I see a group of random people, fucking around. One guy (yeah, it was Jake), in a blue hoodie darts out into the street, leaving his buddies behind and starts laughing. They're all weirded out on the curb - they didn't want to cross until the light changed, despite the fact that no cars were coming. Jake, still alive, proved his point. Pedestrians rule this town.
3 seconds later, the others followed him.
I had already hit the middle of Houston around the same time he did and still didn't know who was lurking under that blue hood.
Then we all got to the other side of the street, directly in front of the Angelika. I started to head east on Houston, while Jake and his crew started to head west and, for two seconds, the boy is right up on me.
Someone over at Gawker once described Jake as "dripping hottitude." This is a disgusting understatement.
He is fucking sex on legs.
And guess what ... I checked out who he was with, before they legged it over to the West Village, and Kirsten Dunst was nowhere in sight.
It's open season, girls.
This entry was posted
on May 01, 2005 at 10:14 PM.
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