No, I'm Not Your Stalker (Part Deux)

Voyeurism: Scopophilia; the tendencies or behavior of a voyeur (an obsessive observer of sordid or sensational subjects).

For those of you who have been around since the beginning, you will remember my earlier entry on Shaun of the Dead... Who is, undoubtedly, unaware of that little post.

And he's not the only subject worthy of obsessive scrutiny... Oh, no.


I think I'm in love.


Meet Jodi of Zanesville, OH. Biggest Def Leppard fan in the universe, kick-ass mother and wife: stalk-worthy.

I bet this woman could drink me under the table while spanking Joe Elliott into submission. Her playlist makes me want to present my wrists, manacle-ring side up.

And she loves

Eddie Izzard as much as I do; seems we like our lovelies as we like our coffee: covered in bees...

Jodi, please come to CA to visit Kevin... I'm sure he would love the chance to make out with you, too.

[UPDATE: THERE'S A BEE IN MY KITCHEN RIGHT NOW - 11:05 PM! It's fate, I tell you!]


Meet Chuck, of Denver, CO. I have no freaking clue who he is, but I knew he was gold when I read his profile on OKCrazy (FYI: 'wooing' = low-grade OKC spam e-mail equivalent of "whuzzup, send me a pic of yo' naked torso"):

"About me:
If you even DARE consider wooing me, I swear to GOD I will find out where you live, break into your home, crap in your kitchen sink, use all your bras and panties in your undies drawer to wipe my butt, and help your cat pile the corpses of every mouse, bird, and squirrel in the neighborhood in the middle of your livingroom floor...and then maybe your cat and I will rent a movie or something. Who knows?

"You should message me if:
Hmmmm. I guess, for one thing, you can write me if you want to engage in some good, creative lunacy for starters. Or brain trading. Or hair sniffing. It'll be fun.

I find I'm instinctively treating this thing more as a message board rather than a vehicle for getting somebody in the sack. (None of you are actually having sex, are you? Admit it.) So please be at liberty to freely spew your vomit into my inbox without the fear that I'll put it into jars and make an altar to you or something. (Unless you want to specifically request something like. I'll fax you the paperwork.)"

Tell me YOU don't want to build him an alter. (you know you do)

Turns out there's more to be enjoyed on Live Journal:

Anyone read about that couple who got in a fight over which gang should initiate their toddler? Chuck did.

I follow his LiveJournal postings, many of which leave me laughing and, sometimes, feeling like an illiterate teenager who plays too much Guitar Hero and can't spell "endometriosis". (How the hell do all you people find the time to do a literary genealogy of Aleister Crowley? I can barely check my seven e-mail accounts and reply to my employer!)

Dying is easy; comedy is hard... And dry wit is priceless.

"Dear Jodi and Chuck,
If you ever need someone to clean your catbox, spit-polish your Docs, wax your sister, or comb the shag in the livingroom: I'm already there. But I don't do toilets.... Or laundry with skidmarks.
Clatto Verata Nicto, baby.
Deep prostration at your feet,
RD"


Okay, maybe I am your stalker...
But at least the high level of American Airlines flight cancellations ensures I'm not in your bushes right now.

(stupid black-out dates)

15 Years From Menopause and My Parents Still Want to Powder My Butt

Dear Birth-Givers,

You need to cut the F-ing cord.

Seriously.

I owe you everything: my life (more than once), my health, my somewhat secure financial state, half the meager possessions in my rat-hole apartment.

However, this does not give you the right to pretend that I am still an accessory in your ecru-drenched, white bread, whites' only, swallow-your-emotions, yuppie universe.


Logging into my AOL account and reading all the subject lines (perhaps more)?

NOT cool.


Calling my banker and asking him to transfer money between my accounts?

NOT cool.


To help you understand exactly how far you've stepped over the line, I've made some signs in big black magic marker, so they'll be easy to spot:





Just so you know: all of the behaviors and life-goals you worked so hard to instill in me have not been a waste.

On my next visit home, I'm bringing a serious, very special someone.

It's a man.
(*whew*)

He's white.
(*gasp! what other choice was there!*)

His family are upper middle class Catholics.
(*well, not Protestant, but at least she got a non-crazy Christian.*)

He's employed as a computer systems analyst with a six-figure salary.
(*Thank god, she came to her senses.*)

He drives a black BMW.
(*Hmmm... What series/model?*)

And he has a great sense of humor.
(*No cursing, we hope.*)


I took this when we were shopping for matching black leather belts with silver spikes:



I know you will give Razor and I your blessing.

If not, that's cool.

We'll just move to Portland with his polyamorous girlfriend and buy a house big enough for his weekend metal band, my wiener dog farm, and Trixzy's pole-dancing workshop.


(Special thanks to L. for passing along the pics. Perfect timing, Puppy.)

Live Long and Hotter

Molly,
I know it's not The Doctor and Captain Jack, but it's still pretty damn

Yaoi

Big thanks to Bunny for this submission...

Hmmmmm, submission....

Excuse me while I hit 'Play' again.