Freaking Out Squares

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

All Up In MySpace And Shit

I tend to get into things ten years after everyone else (like seeing Ghostbusters for the first time the day before I graduated high school in 1994) so there's no need to break this trend with my new MySpace fixation. Since the only reason I signed up in the first place was to join Ayun Halliday's MySpace group , I didn't feel any particular need to customize my page. I think I may have been completely opposed to the idea at the time, beings that I'd just turned thirty and was not for the first time coming to the realization that I was still an irresponsible fuckup who'd yet to fulfill even a tenth of her much-pimped early promise. Still haven't, but so what! Point is, I didn't really want to meet anybody. Or perhaps I should say I really did NOT want to meet anybody save kick-ass writers who never fail to respond to their fans' sloppy-kissy emails. Anyway.

And then, I don't know what snapped, but last week or so I just started going APE over this MySpace thang. Well, whatever "it" is snapped, let's say, when I clicked "Add Your Schools," or maybe before that, because as you two readers know, I hate(d) my schools. (Oh, and you know what else I hate? People who get all snotty when I'm trying to do my damn job. I have an absolutely dream temp job checking people in at a to-the-trade-only showroom that allows for all the MySpace/AOL/Blogger/Television Without Pity time I care to eat, and this uptight broad got all up on her high horse when I asked for ID because SHE'S here ALL THE TIME. Right, Lady, and I ain't, so give me your fucking driver's license and quitcher bitchin' when, like, um, Darfur. You dig? Oh, well, thus far she's been the only asshole, thank the Good Gourd, and I'd rather the grimy environs of the Garment District than the evil Upper East Side. Well, I'd rather a hot knitting needle with arsenic on the tip than the UES, but I digress--and rhyme, apparently.) And maybe I'm a tad paranoid and self-loathing, but I had nightmarish images of tormentors of yore smacking me with such original missives as "Your a fat ugly bitch cunt fuck off" and since they're doing that in my head almost 24/7, I really don't need to have prophecy coming true online where everyone can see and shrug their shoulders that boys will be boys and um, not to be rude but maybe I should lose some weight or something and then they'd leave me alone.

But I guess unlike me, most people have better things to do, and are in better mental health. Not that I've been emailing former classmates I couldn't stand and telling them to fuck off, mind you. I have, however, been consistently agog at the pages of some of the pituitary cases who are my former classmates (note to those of you I've added as Friends: none of you are pituitary cases, which should be obvious, but sometimes these things bear repeating). And while it doesn't take much to yank me back to that grungy whineland known as High School in the Early '90s, I was not prepared for the full-on ICK immersion in which I found myself not waving, but drowning when I read the profile of a guy from my class who claims to be carrying on the good work of Ronald Reagan. Or something. I swear, reading some of these people's profiles makes me feel like I've gorged on Mountain Dew and Slim Jims and am wedged in the back of an '87 Camaro listening to Pantera. Or something. Must make like Karen Silkwood and take a decontamination shower! (And perhaps administer meself a lifesaving emetic...)

On a more serious note, I've started a fundraising campaign for Heifer International, whose efforts to stomp out world hunger and promote women's lambing programs should go a long way toward Tom's of Maine-ing the Ron Reagan/Slim Jim/DEEEWWWW!!!! residue from our collective mouths, if nothing else. I'm trying to raise $1,000, and honestly, every little bit does help, so please contribute. Just click that there Heifer button on the sidebar and you'll be redirected to my uninspired fundraising page. I promise to add some color tomorrow.

And one last thing: If someone steals your wallet, and then steals $3K from your bank account, do not just assume your bank is going to give it back, especially if you are a poor slob like yours truly. Chances are they'll just give you reason after reason for not paying you what's rightfully yours, including accusing you of perpetrating the theft yourself in order to defraud them. Because they can, and because they are rapists. And that is the moral of the bank story with which I teased you last time.

Visit my MySpace profile at, s'il vous plait. Et de rien!

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Make Me Normal!

More stuff going on with the ID theft, but I can't disclose it until the matter is resolved. Now, that's a tease, innit? As a college classmate remarked when our professor gave him a B-plus-plus on a paper, "Don't bring me to orgasm and then make me finish it off in the men's room!" Oh, yes, lewd did I live, & evil I did dwel.

Turning to non-classified matters, I've been rolling my eyes into my cranium at the whole Ted Haggard affair. I'm of the opinion that trying to "cure" homosexuality is like trying to cure someone of disliking Brussels sprouts--impossible, and thus an utter waste of time, space, and energy. And homophobic, but of course homophobia is a creation of us immoral, mentally ill traitors on the Left as an excuse for us to do whatever the hell we want before we start indulging in hot man-on-dog action under the glare of the eye of Mordor.

Ahem. I'm curious to find out what this allegedly curative process entails. Not that it would work on me--I'm not gay, for starters, and since I suspect it involves something to the effect of straying from Christ and reading that passage in Leviticus until your brain bleeds, it wouldn't take even if I were into "tuna tacos," to put it, um, quaintly--but I can't help but wonder if it's similar to the scenario posited by the great Jon Stewart last night on The Daily Show, wherein he likened the treatment to Dad catching you smoking behind the garage and then forcing you to smoke a whole carton. Hee. Yeah, like, do they stick you in Oz or something? That's not a guarantee, though--I just remembered this little tidbit I read about Lawrence of Arabia, who was raped and beaten by brigands and experienced "a delicious warmth...swelling through [him]." And then--THEN--after that happened, he actually PAID young, hot, swarthy natives to flog his buttocks whilst engaging in gay coitus. Horrors! Point being (other than that the "cure" for homosexuality is elusive and partial and differs with each individual*), I should do some research on this topic--the HomoCure, not gay flog-fucking--and share the info with y'all so you don't have to do it yourselves. Hell, it's not like I have anything better to do right now anyway, other than deal with this ID theft bullshit that I'm not allowed to discuss in any detail but keep bringing up because I'm an evil tease.

I've mentioned on here before that I grew up just 45 minutes from Amish Ground Zero, and the runoff effect into Harrisburg is a whole motherlode of hyperreligious, patriarchal bullshit, including but certainly not limited to fag-bashing. Ironic, perhaps, that three of my very close friends at my immensely gay-loathing high school--two girls and a guy--came out of their respective closets when we were in college. (We all joke that there's something in the water...hey, Three Mile Island is just down the road!) And now that I think about it, while lesbianism is certainly considered immoral in that them thar neck of the woods, I never thought it carried quite the visceral loathing and sense of betrayal that male homosexuality did, or does. So what the hell is that all about? Is this an extreme, Bible-freak example of more typical straight-male homophobia--you know, refusing to see Brokeback Mountain because you might catch gayosity? And could someone please explain to me how gay marriage is a threat to traditional marriage? Or will that just lure me down the rabbit hole of utter ignorance and stupidity, which I'll then end up trying to make sense of and just emerge feeling stupider than I already do?

Oh, yes, would that we could all fit into the traditional bounds of God, country, and family, and that all the therapy and religious training in the world would make that possible. Such a lovely thought, no? Such a lovely, idyllic, frightening, disgusting, Disney-esque, devastating thought.