In Praise of Eyeliner
Hello all. Three cheers for my computer which has again given me access to the i, k, 8, and , keys!
It's a good thing too, because I've got stuff to discuss. Mainly, it is my realization that I love men in eyeliner. Seriously. Love it. For example, today I was walking down the miniscule hall in my apartment, and saw a copy of International Superhits (the Green Day cd, for those of you who are too indie to care). Being as how I am so currently obsessed with Billie Joe that I can no longer function in the real world, I picked it up and leaf through the liner notes. Ahhh, there's Billy...ahh, there's Billie in a dress...ahh, there's Billy looking like a human/toad hybrid...wtf? Seriously. So I run over to the computer, needing the internet to convince me that my taste in men is not that incredibly bad...and it does. Ahh, there's my Billie Joe, kissing that other guy in that clip that I found and THAT IS SO INCREDIBLY HOT THAT IT CAN NOT BE DESCRIBED IN WORDS BUT MAYBE IN GROANS (seriously, it is hot...guy on guy action is the new girl on girl if you ask me). And I realize that it's only Billie Joe in the black eyeliner that I like, that turns me into an oozing pot of horniness (wretched image I know, but so incredibly real). And, even more interestingly, it was Johnny Depp's gay pirate look that turned me onto him. So I'm left realizing that I'm attracted to men in make-up, which is odd and makes me kind of wonder about myself. I mean, I am fast realizing that my dream man is a midget who shops at M.A.C. and protests the war while working on his Ph.D.
Or, I could just go with Matt, who is not that tall really, is blazingly smart, and can play Nintendo with his feet. And really, that's just peachy keen with me, because he's pretty hot himself, he's got good taste in jewelry, and he doesn't kiss other guys, which you know, might be hot for the first week or so, but might be worrisome in the long run.
In other, non-Billie-Joe related news, which is actually coming a lot slower lately, the Spederlines have bought the Vegas hotel room where they conceived their spawn. I think this is a big lie on their part, and they're just saying Vegas hotel room because the Indian guy who works at the 7-11 where fetus Spears was really brought into being won't let them buy out the men's room. Just a guess. I guess they'll have to settle for a Vegas room and a Big Gulp like everyone else.
Tomorrow is my last day of classes as an undergrad. Awwww....
Also, I have applied for a shit load of jobs in San Fran over the last two days, the coolest of which is for the Commonwealth Club and involves inviting famous people to do famous things. It's doubtful I get it, but hey, it was worth the try. I also applied to be a courthouse reporter, hoping to channel my love for Law and Order and sticking my nose in other people's business into a career. I'm really trying this job thing as we need rent money and I need something to keep me from chasing around the Berkeley hills looking for black BMW convertibles and broken eyeliner pencils. Matt assures me that it's quite possible that in the next 7-8 years I will see him once or twice, and probably don't need to actually hunt him, as in with binoculars and cheap disguises. Having a fun job will hopefully keep me to this idea of accidental meeting, and keep me away from the stalking that I so love to do and actually have quite a knack for (although I would imagine that it's a lot easier to hunt people down when they work at BAM than when they play guitar and moan for a living).
I should go. I need to write some cover letters to apply for mo' jobs so I can get mo' money and mo' bottles of wine and mo' cute outfits with jangly earrings. Wish me luck. Because the more I work, the less chance I have of turning into the sad sack of obsession that I am currently.
It's a good thing too, because I've got stuff to discuss. Mainly, it is my realization that I love men in eyeliner. Seriously. Love it. For example, today I was walking down the miniscule hall in my apartment, and saw a copy of International Superhits (the Green Day cd, for those of you who are too indie to care). Being as how I am so currently obsessed with Billie Joe that I can no longer function in the real world, I picked it up and leaf through the liner notes. Ahhh, there's Billy...ahh, there's Billie in a dress...ahh, there's Billy looking like a human/toad hybrid...wtf? Seriously. So I run over to the computer, needing the internet to convince me that my taste in men is not that incredibly bad...and it does. Ahh, there's my Billie Joe, kissing that other guy in that clip that I found and THAT IS SO INCREDIBLY HOT THAT IT CAN NOT BE DESCRIBED IN WORDS BUT MAYBE IN GROANS (seriously, it is hot...guy on guy action is the new girl on girl if you ask me). And I realize that it's only Billie Joe in the black eyeliner that I like, that turns me into an oozing pot of horniness (wretched image I know, but so incredibly real). And, even more interestingly, it was Johnny Depp's gay pirate look that turned me onto him. So I'm left realizing that I'm attracted to men in make-up, which is odd and makes me kind of wonder about myself. I mean, I am fast realizing that my dream man is a midget who shops at M.A.C. and protests the war while working on his Ph.D.
Or, I could just go with Matt, who is not that tall really, is blazingly smart, and can play Nintendo with his feet. And really, that's just peachy keen with me, because he's pretty hot himself, he's got good taste in jewelry, and he doesn't kiss other guys, which you know, might be hot for the first week or so, but might be worrisome in the long run.
In other, non-Billie-Joe related news, which is actually coming a lot slower lately, the Spederlines have bought the Vegas hotel room where they conceived their spawn. I think this is a big lie on their part, and they're just saying Vegas hotel room because the Indian guy who works at the 7-11 where fetus Spears was really brought into being won't let them buy out the men's room. Just a guess. I guess they'll have to settle for a Vegas room and a Big Gulp like everyone else.
Tomorrow is my last day of classes as an undergrad. Awwww....
Also, I have applied for a shit load of jobs in San Fran over the last two days, the coolest of which is for the Commonwealth Club and involves inviting famous people to do famous things. It's doubtful I get it, but hey, it was worth the try. I also applied to be a courthouse reporter, hoping to channel my love for Law and Order and sticking my nose in other people's business into a career. I'm really trying this job thing as we need rent money and I need something to keep me from chasing around the Berkeley hills looking for black BMW convertibles and broken eyeliner pencils. Matt assures me that it's quite possible that in the next 7-8 years I will see him once or twice, and probably don't need to actually hunt him, as in with binoculars and cheap disguises. Having a fun job will hopefully keep me to this idea of accidental meeting, and keep me away from the stalking that I so love to do and actually have quite a knack for (although I would imagine that it's a lot easier to hunt people down when they work at BAM than when they play guitar and moan for a living).
I should go. I need to write some cover letters to apply for mo' jobs so I can get mo' money and mo' bottles of wine and mo' cute outfits with jangly earrings. Wish me luck. Because the more I work, the less chance I have of turning into the sad sack of obsession that I am currently.
posted by Southern Belle at 8:20 PM
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