I was struck again last night. It’s an obvious, but (for me) eternally-profound observation – being human is one fucked-up-weird adventure.
As long-time pals o’ the Mule will know, I have a chequered history with the fairer sex. I’m prone to . . . overcommitment to those who make my winkle stiff. I marry readily, divorce too-easily, divorce too-slowly; I’m pretty much a fucking mess. I have no claim to equilibrium.
But I don’t get all giddy over every broad that I like, or who likes me. I’m not a chippy-chaser who wants to bag everything on two legs with a nice set o’ headlamps. Not that I’d be ashamed if I were. It’s just that I can see even see a good-looking broad and yawn, or can watch my pals go all goofy-batshit, and stand back saying I don’t get it.
I’ve also been largely immune to lusting after young starlets and actresses and hotties, finding it amusing. I can appreciate them, and will be quick to say she works for me. I have noted those that capture my fancy. I’ve devoted many a blog post to “Starlets I’d Like To Ball,” and Kathryn Morris has graced many a MulePage. Long-time sufferers will remember I admired Dana Delaney. Whatever. I lay this out to offer my bona fides as a man, but not a dimwit. I had fun with the idea that I get revved up for a good-looking damsel known to me only through popular entertainment.
So the part about the weird adventure: an actress has gotten under my skin. Under my skin understating a very complicated, deep set of reactions that confuse and baffle me (and yes, the two are decidedly different). And that bafflement accounts for today’s post.
I am smitten by this actress. Deeply moved. In love. All three are, of course, hogwash and bullshit. We reserve those feelings for people that we see and know and seek, and this actress is none of those things.
As a rationalist, a secular humanist, a Darwinist, and an atheistic lover o’ science, I am pretty committed to the idea that ANY of those feelings and emotions are all just manifestations of biochemical/bioelectrical responses in my [decidedly-fat-and-fucked-up] body. That neither removes the wonder and mystery of the feelings, nor denigrates their vitality in my spirit or existence. In my book, everything about my existence has to, by definition, be biochemical/bioelectrical responses in my [decidedly-fat-and-fucked-up] body.
What *I* don’t get is why or how I would get these responses, muted as they might be, to some actress. One who I don’t know, who has never portrayed a character I liked, one who has never been seen by me outside a screen role. An actress I wouldn’t want to date, or marry, or necessarily talk to. an actress I don’t lust after, and who doesn’t peg anybody’s sexpot meter. In other words, somebody who I can’t imagine “wanting,” yet find provoking those feelings (admittedly muted feelings).
Which prompted me to write this.
Which now prompts me to ask: what the fuck am I thinking? I mentally beat off and ejaculate these posts, usually from my hidden office here at the Bailey Building and Loan, with neither the time nor the inclination to really explore these inchoate thoughts, nor the time, patience, or skill to write meaningfully anyway.Well, what the hell -- I figure that you, too, have been in love at some time. If you discount a cherub with bow and angel being involved, you’ve probably wondered what all the factors are that went into your feelings. I do too. Having those feelings from left field just makes me wonder that much more.
I guess you can tell I have too much time on my hands. . . .
ps I pride myself on never editing these posts, so I've got that going for me too. DISHISDISCHE!
I'm not surprised that I couldn't convey my idea, question, theme, etc.
when I sat down to write, I could tell the bunny was scurrying down the hole before I could grab it
I don't have the hots for an actress. Not that there's anything wrongetc.
I'm perfectly capable of iT, I guess, although it's not really my thing.
I think I was trying to talk about how weird it is that I could have all of the powerful emotions and feelings [yes, there's a difference!] roil, and have them associated with a person and face i don't know.
Kinda like getting car sick when seated in a red rocking chair at the local VFW; you know the feeling, but it's out of place.