I would marry them both.

The Wilson brothers, that is. I just read Liz’s blog, and her passing reference to Owen Wilson produced a flood of love and longing in my soul. I can could give you a lengthy description of the quirks and charms that endear those men to me, but really they can all be summed up with one single, beautiful word, “Bottlerocket.”
Ca-caw! Ca-caw!
The thing is, they are just perfect compliments to each other. I can never really pick a favorite, because they are so nice as a pair. Luke, Luke, Luke. Steady as a rock. And oh oh, Owen. Such a lady killer! Just slaying them! If they both proposed to me on the very same day, but the offers expired at midnight and I had to choose, I would pick Luke. Because I am pretty sure he would make a better husband- do the dishes, paint the fence. Owen would be awfully fun, but he might just be a cheater. He’s sneaky, you know? And while I would like to make sweet love to him, I think he would be an excellent brother-in-law. He’d bring the beer at the 4th of July BBQ, and who knows? Maybe a joint, too.
There was a time, after Rushmore but before Royal Tenenbaums, when I was convinced that if I crafted the PERFECT letter to Wes Anderson (I mean really perfect) he would fall half in love with me and put me in a movie. I would play a returning astronaut with a crippling case of Vertigo who rides a bike barefoot and always wears short-shorts. My leading man? Insert Wilson brother here.
Sigh. Gweneth Paltrow stole my thunder, and my chances of lasting love with Dignan or Anthony were dashed forever. Ugh! “I want to hug him!”