Humiliating Mutant Powers . . .
I was going to post about some really cool dreams I had last night, or ask some questions about bondage porn. But that all comes later. I have something I have to get off my chest.
This is embarrassing. I appear, at the ripe old age of 27, to have developed an incredible mutant ability.
What do I get? Is it the ability to telekinetically manipulate small objects? Pyrokinesis? Control of the weather? The power of flight? The ability to make a creaking sound really slowly, so that it sounds like a door opening in a spooky old house?* The ability to merge with my alien pet, thus becoming a sensory-enhanced superbeing?
No.
My mutant power is this: I have developed the ability to have crushes on imaginary people.
I first realized I might have this power when, at eight years old, I married Dangermouse in my backyard. Rather, I tried to. Alas, he didn't show up and broke my heart, so it was an older and sadder little girl who pressed on through life, emotionally scarred but wiser (yet still vulnerable to men with eyepatches and British accents). This prepared me somewhat for Heath Ledger, so I was able to work through the next attack by watching Knight's Tale repeatedly and . . . well, but we shan't go there. Suffice it to say that I wrote lots of porn to help me cope, and cast him as the hero. (He looks great with armor and dark hair, as this very cool Photoshopped picture proves. This one's for you, bites_the_sun.)
But I digress . . . anyway, after Dangermouse and Heath, I armored myself well, and no further symptoms of my Incredible Mutant Ability (hereafter abbreviated IMA) presented until very recently.
When my IMA struck again, in spades, a double-whammy that has me bewildered and confused.
I'm going to start with the least humiliating of the two, because, well, it's funnier that way.
I got season one of Dark Angel (short-lived sci-fi TV show starring mega-hottie Jessica Alba) and have almost finished watching it. Now, I am not for a moment suggesting that YOU should do this. You are, after all, a person of taste and distinction (you're reading my journal). And this is a Very Bad Show. But the hotness of Jessica Alba would not be denied, so when I ran across season one secondhand, I snatched it up, and discovered a grade-A Guilty Pleasure. And then the thunderbolt struck.
Logan.
Yeah. You got me. The cute geek in the wheelchair. Michael Weatherly. An equal-parts mix of nerd, sensitive guy, snarky jerk, and broody, broken wing, all shaken, not stirred. With really spiky hair, one unruly eyebrow, and the most acidly sarcastic grin ever captured on film. And he cooks. How can I resist?
The character is imaginary, but that doesn't stop me from dropping things, slurring my words, and, once, nearly climbing up the back of my chair, hyperventilating. It was when he did that sheepish back-of-the-neck-rub that guys do when, for instance, you find out that they write poetry. About you. I tell you, that neck-rub is almost as bad as the lip-bite.
My husband teases me about this mercilessly. "I'm sorry I'm not a cute little crippled guy with a bad attitude and really funny hair," he'll say as we climb into bed. To which I respond: "You'd get tired of giving me wheelchair rides anyway. You aren't Logan. Or even Cutter John. And that's okay. But I am sorry I'm not, for instance, Jessica Alba." We both decide that’s all right, and settle down to sleep.
I think I can cope. The guy isn't real, after all. I'll be all right. But my IMA doesn't stop there. Oh, no.
The second person is worse. Completely imaginary as well, but without even the benefit of being relatively unknown. No, he's insanely popular.
I have a crush on
Orlando Bloom.**
I am too old to have a crush on Orly. I know this. I don't go for him as Legolas - too much the blonde archangel-bimbo thing going on. But with his regular hair, I am helpless against his power.
I cannot even tell you if he can act. I strongly suspect not - all evidence points to the contrary. But the truth is that I have not even been able to notice. His eyes, his thick, dark hair, his jawline . . . is he acting? I forgot to check. I've been in the corner, drooling like a masturbating ape on quaaludes.
This is worse, because, while Logan is merely a character portrayed by a reasonably competent actor, Orlando is an imaginary character portraying a reasonably competent actor. Which means I see a lot of him. Orlando is everywhere right now. Tons of exposure. My risk of randomly encountering a picture of his hotness (like this one) on any given day is very high. Legions of teenage girls adore him. He is on magazine covers all over the place, tee shirts, all sorts of tie-in products.*** I could go out right now and get a Will Turner babydoll tee shirt and a Legolas babydoll tee shirt in my size from the same store. And Orly's poor head would be stretched between my boobs all night tonight at dance class.
All I'm saying is that it's hard to maintain one's cool demeanor when, every time you turn around, there he is, staring with those beautiful, depthlessly dark, suspiciously empty eyes.
So my IMA is making my life a living hell. It is of no use, except that it allows me to (in roleplaying game terms) Detect Movie Tie-In Product (LotR) 30%, (PotC) 50%, as well as Speak Language (Teenage Girl) 40%; while providing the following Disadvantages: Suspiciously Intrigued By: (Wheelchairs) 30%, (Glasses) 50%, (Cooking) 60%, (Sound of a Blacksmith's Hammer) 80%.
With powers like that, I'm not going to be saving the world anytime soon.
If I get to be the villainess, though, and Orly is the hero, I forsee some really fun capture and torture sessions from which he will undoubtedly escape to devil me again (CURSE YOU, SPACE RANGER!). But I want Logan as my evil genius henchman whose inevitable attack of conscience leads him to betray me.****
But fear not. My IMA will no doubt ensure my survival well into the next season. Provided Fox doesn't cancel my show.
*****
* I can do that, already, actually. It really annoys people on buses.
** Yes, he's imaginary. No human being that gorgeous is allowed to be real.
*** Really, the whole advertising process is a mystery to me. They have athletes on cereal boxes, which makes no sense to me as I don't want to look at some ugly, grimacing, sweaty guy first thing in the morning over my Wheaties, and yet they do not place pictures of good-looking men on tampon boxes, where they would arguably serve two purposes; namely, moving the product, and improving the mood of cranky women everywhere. They could put different guys on different sizes. You could even have movie tie-in boxes with holographic fronts. This is an inherently amusing idea that I wish I had not had.
**** I also want vampire sharks in the moat of my castle. Like, sharks that have drunk vampire blood and are super-strong, super-smart, and hostile? Ghoul sharks, I guess. I want some.
link
This is embarrassing. I appear, at the ripe old age of 27, to have developed an incredible mutant ability.
What do I get? Is it the ability to telekinetically manipulate small objects? Pyrokinesis? Control of the weather? The power of flight? The ability to make a creaking sound really slowly, so that it sounds like a door opening in a spooky old house?* The ability to merge with my alien pet, thus becoming a sensory-enhanced superbeing?
No.
My mutant power is this: I have developed the ability to have crushes on imaginary people.
I first realized I might have this power when, at eight years old, I married Dangermouse in my backyard. Rather, I tried to. Alas, he didn't show up and broke my heart, so it was an older and sadder little girl who pressed on through life, emotionally scarred but wiser (yet still vulnerable to men with eyepatches and British accents). This prepared me somewhat for Heath Ledger, so I was able to work through the next attack by watching Knight's Tale repeatedly and . . . well, but we shan't go there. Suffice it to say that I wrote lots of porn to help me cope, and cast him as the hero. (He looks great with armor and dark hair, as this very cool Photoshopped picture proves. This one's for you, bites_the_sun.)
But I digress . . . anyway, after Dangermouse and Heath, I armored myself well, and no further symptoms of my Incredible Mutant Ability (hereafter abbreviated IMA) presented until very recently.
When my IMA struck again, in spades, a double-whammy that has me bewildered and confused.
I'm going to start with the least humiliating of the two, because, well, it's funnier that way.
I got season one of Dark Angel (short-lived sci-fi TV show starring mega-hottie Jessica Alba) and have almost finished watching it. Now, I am not for a moment suggesting that YOU should do this. You are, after all, a person of taste and distinction (you're reading my journal). And this is a Very Bad Show. But the hotness of Jessica Alba would not be denied, so when I ran across season one secondhand, I snatched it up, and discovered a grade-A Guilty Pleasure. And then the thunderbolt struck.
Logan.
Yeah. You got me. The cute geek in the wheelchair. Michael Weatherly. An equal-parts mix of nerd, sensitive guy, snarky jerk, and broody, broken wing, all shaken, not stirred. With really spiky hair, one unruly eyebrow, and the most acidly sarcastic grin ever captured on film. And he cooks. How can I resist?
The character is imaginary, but that doesn't stop me from dropping things, slurring my words, and, once, nearly climbing up the back of my chair, hyperventilating. It was when he did that sheepish back-of-the-neck-rub that guys do when, for instance, you find out that they write poetry. About you. I tell you, that neck-rub is almost as bad as the lip-bite.
My husband teases me about this mercilessly. "I'm sorry I'm not a cute little crippled guy with a bad attitude and really funny hair," he'll say as we climb into bed. To which I respond: "You'd get tired of giving me wheelchair rides anyway. You aren't Logan. Or even Cutter John. And that's okay. But I am sorry I'm not, for instance, Jessica Alba." We both decide that’s all right, and settle down to sleep.
I think I can cope. The guy isn't real, after all. I'll be all right. But my IMA doesn't stop there. Oh, no.
The second person is worse. Completely imaginary as well, but without even the benefit of being relatively unknown. No, he's insanely popular.
I have a crush on
Orlando Bloom.**
I am too old to have a crush on Orly. I know this. I don't go for him as Legolas - too much the blonde archangel-bimbo thing going on. But with his regular hair, I am helpless against his power.
I cannot even tell you if he can act. I strongly suspect not - all evidence points to the contrary. But the truth is that I have not even been able to notice. His eyes, his thick, dark hair, his jawline . . . is he acting? I forgot to check. I've been in the corner, drooling like a masturbating ape on quaaludes.
This is worse, because, while Logan is merely a character portrayed by a reasonably competent actor, Orlando is an imaginary character portraying a reasonably competent actor. Which means I see a lot of him. Orlando is everywhere right now. Tons of exposure. My risk of randomly encountering a picture of his hotness (like this one) on any given day is very high. Legions of teenage girls adore him. He is on magazine covers all over the place, tee shirts, all sorts of tie-in products.*** I could go out right now and get a Will Turner babydoll tee shirt and a Legolas babydoll tee shirt in my size from the same store. And Orly's poor head would be stretched between my boobs all night tonight at dance class.
All I'm saying is that it's hard to maintain one's cool demeanor when, every time you turn around, there he is, staring with those beautiful, depthlessly dark, suspiciously empty eyes.
So my IMA is making my life a living hell. It is of no use, except that it allows me to (in roleplaying game terms) Detect Movie Tie-In Product (LotR) 30%, (PotC) 50%, as well as Speak Language (Teenage Girl) 40%; while providing the following Disadvantages: Suspiciously Intrigued By: (Wheelchairs) 30%, (Glasses) 50%, (Cooking) 60%, (Sound of a Blacksmith's Hammer) 80%.
With powers like that, I'm not going to be saving the world anytime soon.
If I get to be the villainess, though, and Orly is the hero, I forsee some really fun capture and torture sessions from which he will undoubtedly escape to devil me again (CURSE YOU, SPACE RANGER!). But I want Logan as my evil genius henchman whose inevitable attack of conscience leads him to betray me.****
But fear not. My IMA will no doubt ensure my survival well into the next season. Provided Fox doesn't cancel my show.
*****
* I can do that, already, actually. It really annoys people on buses.
** Yes, he's imaginary. No human being that gorgeous is allowed to be real.
*** Really, the whole advertising process is a mystery to me. They have athletes on cereal boxes, which makes no sense to me as I don't want to look at some ugly, grimacing, sweaty guy first thing in the morning over my Wheaties, and yet they do not place pictures of good-looking men on tampon boxes, where they would arguably serve two purposes; namely, moving the product, and improving the mood of cranky women everywhere. They could put different guys on different sizes. You could even have movie tie-in boxes with holographic fronts. This is an inherently amusing idea that I wish I had not had.
**** I also want vampire sharks in the moat of my castle. Like, sharks that have drunk vampire blood and are super-strong, super-smart, and hostile? Ghoul sharks, I guess. I want some.
link