||[Nov. 19th, 2005|05:39 pm]
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I love creepy people. I can't deal with the squeaky clean for too long. I must face this fact and accept that those who I love will not always be pretty. They will not always bathe regularly or have perfect teeth. They will not ever be ready for prime time. And that's a good thing.
When I say creepy, I don't mean someone who will harm you. I mean someone who is disarming in that their natural methods and modes for dealing with society are so different that you're thrown into a different dimension when you interact with them. This is why I love Eric. This is why I love my friend T in Chicago. He's a big Polish guy who used to throw me around and wasn't afraid to love me hard. No, not sexually you dirty bastards. He was one of two people who told me: "You would be so smart if you weren't so nice" I was also told, more blunty by Boston Girl (a freak-a-deaky chick I housed for a short time)in her nasally drone: "You're losing IQ points every time you're kind to others for no reason". "Gods damn!" I thought. "I'm a freaking moron!" Well. They should know. They both tested at over 200. Yet they both like me. I was baffled. Then I thought: They are both creepy people. Creepy people like me. I like them. T smiles when he's feeling evil. He reminds me of a smart version of Jayne from the Serenity crew. Gods I love big men. I can't wait to see him when I go down to Chicago for Thanksgiving. He's like part of my family. My mom loves him. He's respectful of her and is fine with not swearing like a sailor around her -- he knows it's not about being a prude. I watch my language around her, too.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I watched "Charlie's Angels Two: Full Throttle". Yes. It was as bad as you might imagine. One scene had my hairs stand up, though. It happened toward the end of the movie. I was like: *Yawn* I love eye-candy as much as anyone, but the only thing I enjoyed so far was Bernie Mack saying: "It's raining skinny white women!" Then came the Thin Man...Oh, yes. I love Crispin Glover. He comes to help out the girls. He and Drew Barrymore have a moment: The Thin Man yanks out a clump of her hair, shrieks like a wounded animal and sniffs it. She yanks out a tuft of his tresses. He is silenced by her audacity. They lock eyes. Drew's mouth curves in a naughty grin. The the Thin Man dies! I was so sad! That was the only moment in the entire movie where I actualy felt something! That moment was *real*! I loved it and wanted more. Bastards. I wanted them to take that somewhere!
Why is it that only people with bright, fresh-from-the-dentist smiles and symetrical faces are portrayed as healthy couples? Eric and I have a healthier relationship than most married people we know. Yet he's got disgusting teeth, smokes like a fiend; he searches for finds in the garbage, we don't have sex, and he's schizophrenic. And I'm short, fat and silent. We've been together, looking after each other, for eight years. No one asks *us* what our secret is for long-lasting friendship. I want to make a movie about people like us. I think I'll start with my idea for a documentary about how people with mental illnesses live in different cultures. Everything I want to do takes money. I hate money. I don't know how to work with it. Apparently I don't know how to raise it. I hate owing it. I need a financial advisor big time. But they cost money...don't they?
Anyway. I want to see more creepy love. That cute little couple smooching and holding hands and coyly glancing around to make sure all eyes are on them? Watch. They'll be toast in a month or two. But that creepy couple who give you no external clue how they got together to begin with, let alone what keeps them that way. The couple who doesn't immediatly strike you as a couple because they aren't glued at the hip yet flash each other knowing looks from across the room. That's the couple I'll see together twenty years from now. I miss sex. If I ever have it again, it'll have to happen naturally, though. I'm not interested in trolling creepy poly groups (That's creepy *bad* in my estimation, not creepy good. But to each her own. You'll learn, Grasshoppers). I'm not looking to be a third. I'm not looking for someone who wants anyone. I'm looking for someone who wouldn't mind being with me. And it won't even be like anything is taken away. Eric will move next door, my new lover would move in. It would all be good. I'm guessing, since it hasn't happened, that this is asking a lot of the Universe. Perhaps there are lots of (good)creepy people who feel that they have to find someone normal to balance things. Who said balance is going to get you anywhere? Gods, this is taking me back to the Fiction Writing program at Columbia College in Chicago. All the writers trying to one-up each other; stories about pedophelia and funny tales of bestiality told for shock value. They just wanted to get in each others' pants. That's fine, but why not be direct about it? Every once in a while, there was a reading of a story that was genuinely creepy. I loved those moments. And it always came from the quietest, creepiest person in the room. And it was always real. You can't fake that. And while the gimmicks are fun, the real stuff is like a good home-cooked meal after microwave dinners for a year. Gimme creepy love anytime. Here's what I want. I'll write you when I get it:
1. A regular sex partner who likes Eric as much as I do
2. To be back in school
3. To make a movie
4. To act in a film
5. To get my magazine going. Finally
6. To live abroad (even if only for a year)
7. To make a decent living
That's all. Doesn't seem like much, eh? I'm working on number two for the Spring. Of course, number 1 is the only one of these I have no control over. What can you do? CREEP LOVE, bitches! You better RECOGNIZE! We are the future. Death to the suburbs. And that's all I've got to say about that.