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According to Myspace, Jesus Christ has a crush on me. Would someone please tell him I'm not into guys with beards? (Unless they're named Brian Thomas and went to NYU film school. The one that got away - he made me laugh. A lot.) And that shroud thingy; a little high waisted don't you think? They do make low rise shrouds these days, geeeeeeze Jesus, get with it!
Can you imagine dating Jesus Christ? Holy shit (literally), you'd never win a fight cuz he'd be all martyring and victimy, and he'd get blood on everything with those stigmatas. Who's gonna clean that shit up? Pas Moi! I can tell you right now that I would be talking through clenched teeth all the time about the differences in musical taste. I hates Christian rock (yes "hates", as in Yosemite Sam types of hatin'), and just the very thought of it makes me do the backwards hiss thing one does when one witnesses an epic fingernail break (the kind that involves the bending back first, then the rip to the nail bed, blood, and an endless run of expletives).
You notice that most Christian rock is Metal? I wonder if that's why beards and long hair are so prevalent in that world. I also wonder if Jesus' stig's count as the first body piercing, and is that what awaits us in the near fashionable future? Stig piercing?
Regardless, I think it's tacky of Jesus to be taking out ads on Myspace, claiming his love for me, when we haven't even kissed. Too smothering for my taste.
Myspace is insane. They try to customize the ads from your profile info, as you can see in the "sponsored links" below your inbox message area. Apparently, being single and agnostic has generated the computer to digitally insult my intelligence. I don't need any suggestions when it comes to shopping for beliefs, thanks so much, I can pick em out all by my lonesome.
In my "Who You'd Like to Meet" section, I put a "Giant Panda", so I get bombarded with ads for Panda singles chat groups, Panda anti-virus programs, and "Panda Ringtones". I haven't a clue what a Panda sounds like, but I'm reasonably sure it wouldn't suit my cellular needs.
Were I to have a proclivity for "Barely Legal Rocker Boys" and put that instead of "Panda", I wonder what the computer would surmise of that? Would I be showered with invitations to join NAMBLA? (Or NAWBLA since I'm a chick…is there? Oh wait no I think that's some sort of Teacher's association.)
I've seen worse on other sites, particularly one where I googled advice on my slightly underweight cat. I was deeply concerned for my furry snookiecookie-puss and the site popped up "dying cat ringtones". WTF? Is there a market for such a thing? I don't even want to participate in gaining the insight on that one. Right below it was some sort of feedback you could fill in for the "ad", if you can call it that. Oh yeah, I filled it out. My cat told me what to put, and it's much too controversial to repeat here. Suffice it to say, we got our point across.
I'd be curious to know if the people that are marked as "in a relationship" or "married" get a different barrage of ads. Well, maybe I wouldn't. =)
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Some of you may think that this post ensures my ticket to Hell.
What makes you think we aren't already there?
Currently listening :
Nine in the Afternoon
Release date: 2008-06-17
I taught myself how to read when I was three years old. By four I could read and write at a second grade level but no public school would take me. A brand new Baptist Christian Academy would, and did. They accepted grades K-12 with many seats to fill and promised my mom they would let me excel at my own pace. (They failed to mention that I would be excelling whilst alone locked in a dark kitchen, but that's a story for my future shrink.)
The school had an interesting reward system that suited me perfectly. Each Friday, if your grades were at a certain level, you got to leave school before lunch for a pre-arranged activity. The activity depended on how many kids had the right grades. A lot of kids meant roller or ice skating, season permitting, but once or twice I was the only one with the optimal grades, and I received an afternoon with an ass-breathed vice principal trolling local train and farm museums, followed by an awkward gorge-fest at an "old time" ice cream parlor.
One of the better outings was McDonalds and an afternoon tour of the local firehouse. Our guide was Mr. Nail, and no, this is not the beginning of a porn script, he really was "Mr. Nail". I don't remember his rank or first name; I just knew that my five year old heart was completely taken with him. Not because of his looks, or uniform necessarily, but because he only allowed one person on the fire truck, and that person was moi. Yes, being a Shorty McShrimpy had its perks for once. I stood out for being so little and he just felt sorry for me, I'm sure, but I got to do everything from get behind all the steering wheels to sliding down the infamous "pole".
To a kid this is amazing shit, to a female it's mind blowing. The only pole we get to option is that which accompanies sticky floors and lap dances. It's funny how physicality determines jobs with poles. Braun is the obvious choice for a firefighter, it just has to be. Whereas "bounce" is the likely status of those that slither up and down the poles in dark clubs that change their names every four months or so.
The firehouse pole was enough cylindrical metal for me in this lifetime, as I'm so not, or ever was, stripper material. (I've never even been in a strip club - such a sheltered life).
Mr. Nail was a volunteer firefighter; he was also a police officer. I found that out after writing him some retarded love letter that my father mailed for me. My family was out for pizza one night and of course, Mr. Nail in full uniform with his partner, appeared and was seated at the booth next to us. My father and sister humiliated me till I slid under the table where I stayed for what seemed like hours. I contemplated severing their carotid arteries when they slept that evening, but I thought that would complicate things further with Mr. Nail as he, himself, may have to arrest me, and I imagined he would take a dim view of the whole murdering thing, thus restraining myself.
I downloaded the first season of the show "Rescue Me" with Denis Leary, whom I adore (and always will), to watch on the plane when I went to New Mexico recently. That show is crazy and hilarious and it made me think of my first crush on Mr. Nail, who I never did see again.
I'm not into that sort of "man's man" kind of guy like I was when I was 5, I much prefer the metro-sexuals of today, but you really have to admire the types of people that do these insane jobs (especially when your own house is on fire - I was 9 when we lost EVERYTHING). Leary's show portrays them as repressed, sexist, bigots, and you have to have some thick skin to get it, but I found it highly entertaining and thought provoking.
The theme song for the show is the Von Bondies' "C'Mon C'Mon" (Detroit in the house!), which gives you a peek at what sort of music will be floating in and out of every episode. From John McRae to The Brian Jonestown Massacre, the music is a primary cast member of this quirky, but raw drama.
I don't love a man in a uniform, but I'll watch anything with Leary in it. He looks pretty awesome for an old guy, but I likes 'em all wiry like that. Kind of like Mr. Nail. =)
Currently listening : Rescue Me By Various Artists Release date: 2006-05-30
