My Defective Life

Excerpts from Recent Emails, Part Something

I've not been feeling very prolific in the blogging department as of late, and the posts here have reflected as much, no doubt.

So, yet again, I rely on exchanges with my friends (and the deep, prolific thoughts within) to fill the hole where the heart of my blog once was:

No, you're thinking of the song Viking in My Yacht Club.
They also did Coco Butter Can't Ease the Pain of my Broken Heart, But it Sure Smells Nice

I have attached one of my very favorite songs of the year, and the moment. It makes me so happy to hear it, I begin to feel slightly homosexual.

Hooray for nipples!!

ever have one of those weeks where... whereas the week before you were all sorts of pin-stripe suit, cane, wine-glass, and cigarette holder, suddenly you're all accidental-inside-out underwear and pants that you suddenly realize have a hole in the crotch-seam? it's one of those kind of weeks.

I got the fucking Hubble up my snatch. Takes great bird's-eye shots.

i just ate your mom's nipples off of YOUR nipples. they were so-so.

i'll still love you even if you become a cyclops with cum in his ear, promise.

Maybe they just want some hominy. that's what I always want when my face is between large breasts. I guess it's a guy thing.

T E S T E S
that fits. not the best of words, but not the worst.

like the time i ate a vegan ice-cream cone out of naomi's p00ter. that was GREAT.

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"She did not repent her past, she did not repent her years. She did not repent her gold, she did not repent the getting of it. She did not repent her lust for young men, her contempt for older ones. She did not repent her sex."

--from Jeanette Winterson's Art & Lies

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Little-Known Lindy Loo Fact

I went out on a date with a star football player in high school once. His mom drove us to the movies. We saw The People Under the Stairs. We held hands. He was seriously the nicest guy. And that was the end of that.

I don't know why, but that popped into my head this weekend, as a lost relic of memory that I had almost completely forgotten about.

I also used to wear a biker ring on my thumb that had a vulture holding a skull in its talons. I remember the aforementioned fella sitting next to me on the bus one time and spinning it slowly around my thumb between his thumb and forefinger.

I don't know why, but the memory strikes me as terribly tender.

Ah, mush.

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Idea

So last night, while my electricity (and consequently heat) were out for a few hours, I got to thinking that it just isn't right that anyone should have to suffer through a power outtage without having someone around to makeout with to pass the time.

So my idea is this: the Electric Company really needs to buddy up with the p0rn industry already, so that right before there's gonna be a lengthy power outtage, they can distribute some "electricians/cable-repair-people/mechanics/plumbers" around to the single-folks in the affected neighborhoods, that way once the outtage hits, there'll be someone there to turn to us and say, overdramatically, "Baby, it looks like, if we wanna make it through all this alive, we'd better take off all our clothes and start sharing some body heat, otherwise we may very well freeze to death."

People would undoubtedly be a *lot* less disgruntled with the Electric Company if they enacted a policy such as this, instead of forcing us to be stuck at home for three hours, trying to read by candelight some article written by some asshole in a scientific magazine who thinks he's really funny and original in cracking jokes about how shocking it is that English majors get paid to study the useless things they study (as if he's the first person to ever make that joke before) and then lusting after Dr. House **even more** than usual after the electricity goes back on since there wasn't anyone around to satiate these sexy outtage urges.

Not that I was *doing* any of that, mind you. But for those that were.

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Excerpts from the Last Few Weeks of Emails

This week's edition comes with the realization that I am apparently a 12-year old boy in nearly every email conversation I have.

Enjoy...

i will send my merry fat man and his reindeers to pick you up. he owes me one. (a little drunken tryst we had in acupulca back in the 80s. he's into that weird "dressing up as a baby and being fed baby food and then being burped"-type shit.)

Oh it's cool sweethaht. I had you pegged for a penguin juggling ice cream thief as soon as I saw you. That's why I don't bring my penguins anywhere near this place.

i was making my seventh trip to the water cooler today when what should pop in my head but "I did it all for the nookie, the NOOKIE." damn you.

I'll briing an extra pair of thick knee socks and a shirt (though I'll arrive shirtless, in chaps) so you can help me practice stuffing.

Email 1: "yeah, is a very cool site. you can send HUGE files."
Email 2: "good. *in deep, fake-frat-boy voice* then i can send pics of my c0ck."

most people would agree the i'm six cups montana, two and a half cups sweden. Or vice versa depending on my mood.

moustache is angry!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh, that reminds me: i once had a dream in which i woke up and tried to take a dump only to discover that somehow my asscrack hair had been braided together over night. so the poop wouldn't come out. i think i may have turned red and nearly exploded or something, but i don't remember that. but still, what a weird dream.

james spader WISHES he was lurking in pooters!

that's why i like to bake small children into pies and other bakery and then feed them to people unknowingly at work... that's why.

I think I need to move down there. I bet you just show up and hang out, and that's why you make everyone cookies, so they don't blow your cover. A little bribery never hurt no one. That's your motto ain't sweet cheeks? Well, come out with. You might as well fess up. You got a nice little racket going on there don't ya doll? well the gig is up. You, Legs Malone, Tiny, and Lips McGee are all going downtown see, to the big house see, where you'll spend the rest of your days digging. I'm not sure what you'll be digging for, but that's what everyone seems to do, and by golly your gonna dig.....

i feel no shame in the picture of me giving sweet mouth love to your intenstine, though, for the record. actually i'm planning a nice evening tonight around that picture; it involves silk shorts, pierogies, milk of magnesia, and one of those pop-bottle-volcanoes.

no crotch grabbing or fellatio to speak of...I have to have all that vicariously thru you...

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Boredom: How to Cope

Tracking down individual songs from The Darjeeling Limited because Wes Anderson has the best taste in movie-music *ever*.

Staring at the Eagle of Patriotism.

Forcing myself to take a vitamin.

Thinking of what else I could look up on seeqpod.

Staring at my World's Ugliest Mom award.

Thinking about which actors and actresses are best. Right now: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Patricia Clarkson, Ryan Gosling, Isabelle Huppert.

Referring to my Netflix account to figure out the actors and actresses left off my list: Arno Frisch, Cate Blanchett.

Thinking of this boy.

Thinking of that boy.

Debating in my head whether Jason Schwartzman and Rosario Dawson are harem-worthy.

Avoiding posting a recipe on my vegan food blog because I'm not feeling funny.

Looking up a picture of an angler fish and musing over how cool-looking they are.

Thinking about wanting to plant a fat wet one on Tarantino for writing such bad-ass female characters.

Registering for my benefits for next year.

Wishing I was born with a soundtrack. Wishing that Wes Anderson had been in charge of selecting the songs for it prior to my birth.

Realizing I need to find some sad sap who enjoys shooting pool cuz it's been too fricking long.

Realizing the last item sounds like a euphemism for naughty things, when really it wasn't supposed to. Realizing perhaps it's doing double-duty as a Freudian slip.

Debating whether I should start writing out dates with periods (11.01.2007) instead of slashes (11/01/2007) because it looks cooler.

Ending this list and making plans to start a list of excerpts from the last few week's emails.

Oh, also: Forest Whitaker.

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I am pretty certain that the only person in the whole entire world able to pull off the solo-moustache and look all the hotter for it is Jason Schwartzman.

Everyone else really needs to just give up trying already.

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Just One More Reason to Heart Angler Fish

"Angler fish males exist, but they are tiny and are called "dwarf males." These angler fish males are incapable of independent existence. They have large nostrils for homing in on perfumes released by the females and pinchers, instead of teeth, to grasp little projections on the female. After a male attaches to the back or side of a female, their epidermal tissues fuse and their circulatory systems unite, and the male becomes an organ of the female... They thereby turn into two or more genetically distinct individuals in one body, a colony." (44)
[Emphasis WAY the hell mine]

(from Joan Roughgarden's Evolution's Rainbow: Diversity, Gender, and Sexuality
in Nature and People)

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