Does INXS need a tambourine player?
My mobile says: You have 17 Missed Calls. Seventeen. A friend leaves a message on my voicemail that says: Oi, woman! Do we have to go through a JD Fortune message board to get through to you? Another friend has given up on trying to call me and just shows up at my doorstep unannounced. He finds me in my pajamas (at 12 noon), crusty-eyed, glued to my laptop with a JD Fortune website clearly on display. Keep in mind that this is a very good friend of mine whom I haven’t seen since February this year. Keep in mind that he’s only back in town for a week and today is his last day here. And all I can manage to mutter is an embarrassed ‘Hi! Why didn’t you tell me you were dropping by?” but what I really meant to say was, Geez, if I knew you were coming, I would have gone in search of my mind and stuffed it back into my head, in place of all this JD-obsessed nonsense. He asked me out to lunch with him and his mom (what do you mean lunch - I haven’t even had breakfast yet!). I say no, mainly because I maintain a policy of generally avoiding or at least, limiting face to face contact with all mothers, including my own, my mother’s mother, my friends’ mothers, mothers of baby animals and random ladies on the streets that look like they could be somebody’s mother, and also because I still had some online JD-googling business to sort out. I tell him I’ll call him tonight. That’s what I said last night. And the night before. But I have JD on the brain, and this friend of mine, he doesn’t know who the hell JD is (ah, a crime in itself!). When I say JD, he’ll probably think Jack Daniels – the whisky or Jual Dadah (English translation: Sell Drugs). So I don’t call. Then I feel bad. And I know I’ve completely gone off the deep end of the fan pool and it makes me feel worse. So I switch on my laptop and watch a whole succession of JD performance videos. It’s a vicious cycle.
A different friend of mine, she has an idea of how I can cure myself of my JDiction (see also: JDelusions, Janic Depressive Disorder, JDsistic Personality JDisorder, JDizophrenia, OtherthanJDnesia, Dissociative Personality JDisorder, JDementia). Her idea is that I’m obsessed with JD because I have too much free time on my hands, (since I’m on a sabbatical of sort from my studies). The obvious solution is for me to get myself a job.
In theory, she’s right. I’m less nutty when I’m suffering from work-related stress, believe it or not. I’m less nutty when I have to wash my hair on top of having a 1000 word essay on the intercultural relevance of a Tom Cruise film plus a 12 pages-long dissertation on rock music in Latin America and how it relates with the continent’s socio-political climate to hand in, chemistry equations to balance, an autobiographical student project to film, a speech opposing police-state like government policies to give, a psych 101 pop quiz to sit for all in one day. I bitch about work not because it drives me crazy but because I’m a lazy little fucker that doesn’t enjoy most aspects of sanity. Extended holidays drive me crazy, and not in a good, tequila-shooting, breast-baring Spring Break kind of way. And so I ask her…..
Do you know if INXS needs a tambourine player?
And yet another friend of mine, she tells me that I should just get laid. And so I say….
Why, does JD want to consummate our love?
The answer is not likely. Parts of my gums have been hurting for the past few days (despite me maintaining an acceptable standard of dental hygiene, I swear).The dentist says it’s nothing, probably just my sinuses but I’m starting to suspect that I have some mysterious, unconventionally diagnosable, nasty gum disease. How will JD ever love me now? I have gum disease!
I think it’s one of those unwritten Laws of Love of the world – Thou shalt not love someone with gum disease along with Thou shalt not love someone who taketh his wife’s pubic hair shavings, sticks it on his chin and calls it a goatee (Dave Navarro, yes son, I’m talking to you) and Thou shalt not love someone with what looks like a spare butt for a chin, Thou shalt not love someone who has starred in one too many stage musicals, Thou shalt not love someone with a mullet, Thou shalt not love someone who suffers from intense paranoia about privacy invasion yet still keeps a very public online blog of social commentary and then goes mad when “society” decides to read it (Alia, take note, that dude is not worth your time, effort and being) and most importantly, Thou shalt not love someone who makes thou not want to change out of your very worn pajamas for two days running.
Oh, and the final unwritten law we all love to give a miss: Thou shalt not love someone. Something. Anything. Period. Full Stop. Testify! Amen.
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Edit: Two hours after writing this entry, I managed to temporarily suppress the symptoms of my JD-obsession, enough to rejoin human society, meet up with long lost friends for a JD-free hour out in the equally long lost purple haze. Ah, honey, I’m home!
A different friend of mine, she has an idea of how I can cure myself of my JDiction (see also: JDelusions, Janic Depressive Disorder, JDsistic Personality JDisorder, JDizophrenia, OtherthanJDnesia, Dissociative Personality JDisorder, JDementia). Her idea is that I’m obsessed with JD because I have too much free time on my hands, (since I’m on a sabbatical of sort from my studies). The obvious solution is for me to get myself a job.
In theory, she’s right. I’m less nutty when I’m suffering from work-related stress, believe it or not. I’m less nutty when I have to wash my hair on top of having a 1000 word essay on the intercultural relevance of a Tom Cruise film plus a 12 pages-long dissertation on rock music in Latin America and how it relates with the continent’s socio-political climate to hand in, chemistry equations to balance, an autobiographical student project to film, a speech opposing police-state like government policies to give, a psych 101 pop quiz to sit for all in one day. I bitch about work not because it drives me crazy but because I’m a lazy little fucker that doesn’t enjoy most aspects of sanity. Extended holidays drive me crazy, and not in a good, tequila-shooting, breast-baring Spring Break kind of way. And so I ask her…..
Do you know if INXS needs a tambourine player?
And yet another friend of mine, she tells me that I should just get laid. And so I say….
Why, does JD want to consummate our love?
The answer is not likely. Parts of my gums have been hurting for the past few days (despite me maintaining an acceptable standard of dental hygiene, I swear).The dentist says it’s nothing, probably just my sinuses but I’m starting to suspect that I have some mysterious, unconventionally diagnosable, nasty gum disease. How will JD ever love me now? I have gum disease!
I think it’s one of those unwritten Laws of Love of the world – Thou shalt not love someone with gum disease along with Thou shalt not love someone who taketh his wife’s pubic hair shavings, sticks it on his chin and calls it a goatee (Dave Navarro, yes son, I’m talking to you) and Thou shalt not love someone with what looks like a spare butt for a chin, Thou shalt not love someone who has starred in one too many stage musicals, Thou shalt not love someone with a mullet, Thou shalt not love someone who suffers from intense paranoia about privacy invasion yet still keeps a very public online blog of social commentary and then goes mad when “society” decides to read it (Alia, take note, that dude is not worth your time, effort and being) and most importantly, Thou shalt not love someone who makes thou not want to change out of your very worn pajamas for two days running.
Oh, and the final unwritten law we all love to give a miss: Thou shalt not love someone. Something. Anything. Period. Full Stop. Testify! Amen.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Edit: Two hours after writing this entry, I managed to temporarily suppress the symptoms of my JD-obsession, enough to rejoin human society, meet up with long lost friends for a JD-free hour out in the equally long lost purple haze. Ah, honey, I’m home!
