Ladies, gentlemen, football lovers of the world: I'm having a moment. A lady moment. A moment that can only be encapsulated by the "Oh my god, Josh?!" fountain-explosion sequence of Clueless, and not just because I had a weird dream that I had a hot step-brother last night.
I have a thing for Nick Kroll.
I've seen his pouty face and puppy eyes for years, sure, but after listening to him on this episode of the Nerdist podcast, I'm kind of obsessed. Like, Tumblr photo-searching, teenage wall-postering, "Nick Kroll Girlfriend" Google-searching obsessed. But...why now? Did he get a tan? Did he read "The Secret"? Is it that he figured out button-downs look way better on him than t-shirts? And then, it hit me: It's me. I said it last week on the social networks, but it still stands: nothing makes you feel more like coming into your own as a Jewish woman than finding yourself sexually attracted to Nick Kroll. And holy Jew christ, I'm having a second coming as a Bat Mitzvah-ed, Passover-celebrating, Christmas-envying Hebrew lady.
It's two-fold, really. One one hand, it's a bit of Stockholm Syndrome, like you've stared at his stubbly, hot turtle-y face so long that you kind of just want to eat it. But then there's the part of you — ahem, the "future suburban mom" part — that recognizes success and compatibility by way of insane humor and wants to be aligned with it. Is it in our physical nature to play into the "Oh, well my son Schmoile is top of his class at Hah-Vahd! How's Sam-my doin'?" conver-argu-sations that preside over most congregation chit-chats on the High Holidays? Maybe, or perhaps I'm just trying to make up for my earlier lack of bragging rights, as I once overheard myself and my brother described as, "Steve is doing incredible in school! And Carlye, well, Carlye loves dancing."
(My mother swears this isn't true, but the facts check out so the story stands. I did in fact love dancing.)
But, above all, I think his new found hotness is situational. On The League, he's suffering from total Diamond In The Rough status by surrounding himself with a steady flow of endlessly attractive friends. (What, you think I watch this show for the sports humor? Negatron.) Case in point: plop Nick Kroll between a hot terrorist like Jason Mantzoukas as Rafi and never-ending cutie pie Mark Duplass, and he disappears:
That beard just draws you in!
But on Kroll Show, next to more hideous versions of himself, he flips it around and shines bright like an expensive, light-catching marriage mineral. In most sketches, he's dressed like a albino dinosaur of a woman who's the last person on earth still wearing stockings or playing your Staten Island Sharpie-goateed, gelled-out nightmare, but in the stand-up segments?
Hot as shit. I mean, it's all there: That tiny pursed-lip smile he does when he finishes a joke and thinks its just as funny as you do. The obsession with football that gives you an excuse to eat tiny pieces of bone-in chicken for free every weekend. The nerd glasses that turn him into a humorous Clark Kent who can save you from stale conversations at a work function but not from being thrown out of a building. He's everything a girl could want, and more. Oh, scratch that, I forgot — he loves Take 5 candy bars.
He is everything a girl could want.