Thursday, May 31, 2007

BJ and Dirty Love

For a little over a month, my couch has been home to a kid named BJ.

I call him a kid because he is younger than me and has a penchant for cookies and milk. Hailing from Michigan, he has come to California in pursuit of fame, glamour and money. While living with me provides a fair amount of glamour, he is on his own for the rest of it. BJ went to school with JR in Michigan. That's why he's on the couch... Mostly, he watches TV and plays guitar. BJ is a great musician and I like having him around, to discuss songwriting techniques, chord changes and marvel at how differently the world can look through the eyes of someone born in the eighties... He helps with the dishes and takes out the garbage, so it's worked out pretty well so far. Besides, being around a nice, clean cut, straight boy, who is completely devoted to his teenage girlfriend, keeps me relatively level headed in what has shaped up to be a fairly tragic month for me, personally.

Due to said tragedy, I've been quite prolific and will be devoting the next phase of my life to finishing some projects that have been meandering through my subconscious for a while. There is something comforting in the fact that great personal loss can be forged into creative output. Once I have confirmation on the quality of the material, I will unleash it on you. Until then, please feel free to offer me a shoulder to cry on, or any other token gesture of solidarity. I watched that silly Jenny McCarthy movie Dirty Love and found, much to my horror, that I related to it on some deeply disturbing levels. It's not surprising that the film won many Razzie Awards and is regarded as one of the worst films ever made. Half of my DVD collection falls into that category... I really have very bad taste, so if you are like me, rent it. The tagline for the film is "Got Dumped?", so that should clue you in right there. Have I resorted to the same depraved levels of desperation that Miss McCarthy did? Probably, but I haven't been arrested yet.

It's not enough to ask the universe to bring you the perfect mate, because that's exactly what it will do. You have to ask for a perfect match, a perfect fit. You have to ask for your soul mate. If you simply ask for Mr. Right, he will appear, show off how perfect he is for you and then promptly excuse himself because you're not perfect for him. I want to be somebodies Mr. Right. I want to be chosen. I want to be cherished. I don't want to be Jenny McCarthy, not anymore. Is reciprocation too much to ask?

Love is a two-way street. Who's going my way?


Dale said...

If you think you've gone too far toward becoming Jenny, set your sights on Jim Carrey, the money'll temporarily ease the pain.

Saviour Onassis said...

Sage advice, Dale. Let's hope they don't have rubber-faced children...

Holly said...

I have not only a shoulder for you to cry on, but a guest room for you to hang out in--and a box of Pierre Marcolini chocolates that will get eaten if you don't come visit me soon.

But I'm really looking forward to hearing/seeing/enjoying the artistic brilliance your genius has created from the crappy stuff you've dealt with lately.