"I Am Woman. I Am an Idiot."

No, not me, dummies. I'm referring to an e-mail that just made its way to my inbox, one that requires a response from me. Here it is, with my comments in italics;

From: "Danielle Hamilton" dlh71619@hotmail.com
To: dean@deansplanet.com
Sent: Wednesday, March 29, 2006 11:21 PM
Subject: I have a great idea for the Planet!!!


1) Stop showing women depicted as mere sex objects. We are bigger
than you. You came out of one of us.

What's wrong with being a sex object?? Is that offensive to you? Lord knows I wouldn't mind women looking at ME as a mere sex object, but apparently I'm not as uptight as you are. Why don't we get to the real issue here... you're bitter that nobody looks at YOU as a sex object, isn't that right? Don't worry, that's why liquor was invented. Give me a few gallons of vodka and maybe I'll consider banging you. But remember, I said "maybe." I'm not promising anything.

2) Stop obsessing over whatever girl you were talking about on
February 27. It's not love.

"Obsessing?" That's such an ugly word. How about "fixating?" That sounds much better. Besides, I haven't mentioned her in over a month, so it looks as if I HAVE stopped "obsessing" over her. And maybe it isn't love (on her end, anyway), but what the fuck do you know? What I wrote about her is genuine, so there goes your theory that I can only see women as objects of lust. I see women for what they are, on an individual basis. You, for an example, strike me as a fucking moron... and you're probably every bit as attractive as a hippo's ass, which explains your bitchiness. Hey, you should just accept your ugliness... like I have.

You had me thinking for a second that you might have something of depth to say when you started that blog, but my bubble burst pretty quickly.

Oooooh, that hurts my feelings! I don't have enough "depth" for Danielle Hamiliton, whoever the fuck that is. Kinda makes you wonder why she's still here reading my blog, doesn't it? Could it be that she can't get a date? Nahhh... not with a bubbly personality like that.

I bet you really got hurt by some bitch...

Of course I have. Who hasn't? Wow, this chick is a genius, isn't she? She managed to figure out from my subtle hints (*wink wink*) that I got rejected by someone I really cared about! Somebody call Mensa, for Christ's sake!

...which brings me to
3) If you like being a loner, that's cool. I prefer animals to
people. Get a cat. They're good to talk to.

As a matter of fact, I do have a cat. Two of them, to be exact. And yeah, I do like being a loner--but unlike you, I'm a loner by choice. I can just see you, sitting at home, talking to your cats, eating ice cream right out of the carton, watching "The Bachelor" and wondering why your phone isn't ringing. Well, I have some theories about that, if you care to hear them...

But why do that? Obviously, she won't see this because she's too busy searching for blogs with "depth." That's right, blogs with depth. Holy fuck, that's funny.

Oh, and just in case you needed more proof that this chick is an idiot, check out the address she sent her e-mail to... dean@deansplanet.com. What was the logic in doing that? "Hmmmm, this Jeremy the Loner guy is pissing me off. I think I'll write to him at Dean's e-mail address."

Yeah, that makes sense. I'm gonna try something along those lines myself! I can't stand Paris Hilton, so I think I'll send some hate mail to Hulk Hogan. Yep, that'll learn 'er.

Okay. Now I can go to bed.

Fucking Tired

So, I noticed that Dean's Planet now has our very own MySpace account. Personally, I had long avoided that site because it seemed little more than a haven for 13 year girls to get together and discuss... well, whatever the fuck it is 13 year girls talk about. I don't know, American Idol and shit like that. But I started to come around once I realized that;

1) It's a great place to hook up with long lost chicks from high school, hopefully using the value of nostalgia to get laid. Hey, I'm only being honest.

2) Unlike 99.9% of other sites, it's FREE.

So yeah, I finally broke down and got my own account. Don't bother looking for it, though, because you won't find it. I'm ONLY there to stalk... er, connect, with chicks I knew "back in the day." I have no pics on there. And, I'm proud to say, I have absolutely zero friends added to my account. That's right, even in the world of MySpace, Jeremy remains a true loner.

One thing I don't get... why do people thank other people for adding them to their friends list? I see it all over the place... "Thanks for the add, sweetie!"
Think about it--if you called a friend of yours out of the blue and said, "Hey man, I just wanted to say thanks for counting me among your list of friends," they'd think you were sniffing whiteout. But I guess maybe it's kind of a status type thing, as in, "Look at how many friends I have on MY list! I'm more popular than you are!" Yep, you sure are, just like you were in high school. I have no friends, and I like it that way. I like lurking in the shadows, checking out profiles on the D.L. It's kinda like prowling around a woman's house at night, peeking into the... uh, never mind. I'm gonna change the subject now.

My show opens this Friday night. Yikes. That means that all this week I'll be working during the day and going to rehearsal at night. I still can't believe that I'm doing a show that's opening in three days. But at least I have an excuse for not writing much lately... I mean, I have an excuse other than alcohol. I have a feeling that I'll be seeing more than a few of my readers at the show this weekend... but I doubt it will help me get laid. See, I think I look somewhat ridiculous in my costume. I was supposed to wear a hat, but they couldn't find one big enough to fit my basketball-sized cranium. They've got me wearing a bandana instead, and more than one person has told me I look like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Another person took one look at the funky, tooth necklace that I wear in the show and told me I looked "like Fred Flintstone." Strangely, I didn't hear one person say, "You look hot!" Go figure.

Well, gotta get ready for work. I hope I can contain my excitement.

Mail. Thoughts. Whatever.

While I have a few minutes before I go to one of the jobs that I despise so much, I figured I'd update this lonely, lonely blog. I feel bad for this blog, because lately it's been even more neglected than me. Or maybe not. I guess that's arguable. Hell, even my readers have been neglecting me, just because I haven't been writing any new columns for a few weeks. Pricks. But since I have so many columns on this site, e-mail still comes in about old columns;

Date: Sat, 11 Mar 2006 16:15:45 -0800 (PST)
From: "hi ytui"
Subject: brooke shields-pretty baby
To: goodnight_tonight@yahoo.com

hi there, if not mistaken brooke was much more than only topless in pretty baby, there was 3 mins deleted but i think the dvd is complete, but yeah it seems sick that they ever made the flick and seems even sicker that it still is available.. lol.. thanks,


At first, I read this e-mail and went, "Huh?" But then I remembered how I wrote a Classic Broad column about Brooke some time ago, in which I talked about her appearing topless in the movie Pretty Baby when she was only 12 years old. I can't say I've ever seen the movie (although it would have been thrilling for me when I, myself, was 12), because there are already plenty of negative adjectives that one could use to describe me. No need to throw "pedophile" into the mix, is there?

Personally, I think this guy has a copy of the movie and feels bad about it. Hey man, I sure as hell don't feel bad when I see Thora Birch's underage topless scene in American Beauty. I mean, I know it's supposed to be an "artistic" scene and all that shit, but when I watch it all I can think is, "Holy fuck, look at those jugs!!!"

I feel no shame. None whatsoever.

Date: Mon, 20 Mar 2006 14:33:48 -0800 (PST)
From: "Pawel Styrna" pawpolusa@yahoo.com
Subject: Great article on Trump !
To: goodnight_tonight@yahoo.com

Hi,

I just read your article about Donald Trump and must say that I agree almost everything you write ! I think Trump is an cocky, arrogant windbag who thinks he's some sort of god and I hate him for that. It's not about his money. Trump represents everything that's wrong with the neveau riche of the late 20th and early 21st century. Even the rich and powerful should restrain themselves and show some humility ... in fact, they should show even more than the common man.

Respectfully,

Pawel Styrna (Chicago, IL)


I wish Trump would just keel over and fucking die. No offense, I'm just tired of hearing about him. The press made a big deal about his new baby... well, they should have made a big deal about how that piece of ass wife of his wouldn't even touch that dipshit if he didn't have more money than God. And then when Martha Stewart's Apprentice show was canceled recently, he was a giant dick about that, talking about she should "take responsibility" for the failure.
Yeah, well, who's going to "take responsibility" for that bird's nest on top of your nappy head, Trump? Whoever lets you out the door every day with your hair looking like Fabio's armpit should be "fired," you fucking pompous dildo. I'd rather look at Martha Stewart (who is dangerously close to being a piece of ass, despite being over 60) any old day of the fucking week before I'd watch your dumb show, you asshole.

Ahem.

Aw shit... I was going to write more, but it looks like I've gotta go to work.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck...

Coming Clean

What a week.

I know I've been slacking here on the Planet, not only with this blog, but also with my column--which hasn't had a new addition in a month. Hell, Dean sent me a DVD to review the other day, and I haven't even gotten around to taking it out of the shipping envelope. That's the kind of week it's been. In addition to Dean's Planet, I also work two jobs and I... well, I wasn't going to say anything about this, but since I tell you guys everything anyway...

I'm in a play right now. That's right, a play. And not just any kind of a play, either--I'm doing a fucking musical. Now, now, I know what some of you must be thinking. I mean, considering some of the shit I write, this DOES seem a bit "against type" for a guy like me, especially since;

1) I'm heterosexual.
2) I frequently talk about how irritating I find "theatre people."
3) Usually, getting me to "dance" in any way, shape or form requires amounts of alcohol that would put an average person into a coma.

I honestly don't know why the hell I decided to do this, although I think part of it must be an ego thing. You see, once upon a time (before I became such an angry prick), I used to really love performing on stage. And I was good at it, too... not GREAT, mind you, but good enough. I justified it at the time by talking about how doing theatre was an excellent way to meet girls; and believe me, it was! Hell, for me it was like a gold mine. Theatre girls tend to be flaky, insecure and they're basically misfits. (Just like me.) Plus, most of the dudes running around doing theatre are gay! Don't you see what I'm getting at?? A guy like me could really clean up in a situation like that.

But that was a long, long time ago. I'm not 19 anymore, and I haven't been in a play since, oh, 1994. I can't use the "I'm just here for the chicks" excuse, either--there are maybe two women that are worth dating in the cast, but one is FAR TOO YOUNG for me and the other is so religious that I half expect to burst into flames every time I touch her. Seriously, I must seem like Satan himself compared to this girl. That's why I can't believe that I decided to take on a featured role in a musical, despite having two jobs and grave doubts as to whether or not I can still pull this off. I mean, is this going to work, or am I going to look fucking ridiculous? I really don't know, but I guess I'll find out... in two weeks, to be exact. Let the countdown begin...

Oh, and on an unrelated note, I may yet get that cool interview I was talking about a couple of weeks ago. I'll let you guys know when I get something more definite.

Overkill

Why can't I sleep???

It's been three nights now, and I've maybe slept a grand total of three hours. It's driving me fucking insane. I haven't been around this week, but that will change starting today--seeing as how I can't sleep anyway.

Here's something suitably cryptic for you... anyone remember that old Men At Work tune called Overkill? That sums up my feelings at the moment quite nicely. I know song lyrics are a cop out, but it's been a rough few weeks;

"I can't get to sleep
I think about the implications
Of diving in too deep
And possibly the complications

Especially at night
I worry over situations
I know will be all right
Perhaps it's just imagination

Day after day, it reappears
Night after night, my heartbeat shows the fear
Ghosts appear and fade away

Alone between the sheets
Only brings exasperation
It's time to walk the streets
Smell the desperation

At least there's pretty lights
And though there's little variation
It nullifies the night
From overkill

Day after day, it reappears
Night after night, my heartbeat shows the fear
Ghosts appear and fade away
Come back another day

I can't get to sleep
I think about the implications
Of diving in too deep
And possibly the complications

Especially at night
I worry over situations that
I know will be all right
It's just overkill

Day after day, it reappears
Night after night, my heartbeat shows the fear
Ghosts appear and fade away
Ghosts appear and fade away
Ghosts appear and fade away."

WAY Behind...

I finally have a couple of days off, so I'm gonna try and catch up on e-mail and maybe even write a column--if I can keep my hands off that bottle of Mohawk chillin' in the freezer, that is. I don't know what I have to mix it with, but that doesn't mean shit to me. As long as it's sweet and has carbonation, it works as a mixer for me. Dr. Pepper, Mountain Dew, Faygo Fruit Punch... you name it. Lushes don't have discriminating tastes.

I have to make a conscious effort to keep my hands off the phone, though. I got drunk last week and started making random phone calls; and that's news for me, because I never call anybody. I don't even know why I have a fucking phone, to be brutally honest with you. But I started making calls to friends of mine while intoxicated (sorry, Andrea), babbling on about all kinds of shit. Just be thankful I didn't call any of you guys. I used to do that, you know--I used to call readers of mine if they sent along their phone numbers in e-mail. It doesn't happen a lot, mind you, but it does happen. One reader of mine who lives about ten miles from me invited me to his Super Bowl party. I didn't go, but it was nice of him to ask. And sometimes, female readers send me their numbers... God only knows why. Maybe I appeal to their maternal instincts or something. But the last time I called a female reader of mine (which was last summer), it was a wild scene. She said she was 27 in her e-mail, but she sounded a good ten years younger than that. There was a lot of giggling and passing the phone around to another chick that was there. I started getting paranoid that they were laughing at me, so I hung up. Haven't called a reader since.

Speaking of phones, I could tell that my day was going to suck when the first thing that happened this morning was the phone ringing and waking me up--and when I answered it, the base of the phone dropped directly on my big toe. Hurt like a mofo. Now, I've been stumbling around with a limp all damn day...

Bah. See you assholes later.