Wednesday, April 05, 2006

It's All This Man's Fault

Damn Thorsten Kaye. If he would stop appearing on ABC soaps, I wouldn't have to freaking watch him every day. First One Life to Live, then Port Charles, now my beloved All My Children.

I swear. It's like he's following me. Thank the gods I have TiVO, so I'm only wasting ten minutes a day on his scenes.

He's a rugby player with an Irish accent, reminding me way too much of my infamous Glastonbury sojourn. Oh! Oh!! Even worse, he didn't just play irresistable poet Professor Patrick Thornhart for three years on OLTL, saving feisty Marty after she was gang raped...he's a poet in real life and donated the book proceeds to children's charities. Rides a motorcyle. AND has a master's degree in theater and theater history.

He's gotta be gay. Right?

I'm telling you IMDB, AMC and an overactive, fevered imagination at 3 am is better than porn. Especially when it's so easy to imagine I'm Kendall Hart and Thorston loves ME, DAMMIT. I mean ZACH loves me...I mean...

Oh my god, somebody shoot me. I don't want to have the flu anymore. I want to go out on dates and see movies and have someone who I like who really really likes me read poetry to me and say pretty things to me while he strokes my hair and we donate canned food to orphans. *Hack Hack Cough.*

UPDATE: I just HAD to keep reading to find some pictures and oh great, he's married with a FREAKING Marty no less. No wonder I bought into that chemistry. Oh, they're so happy and cute together. *Cough cough hack hack.*

Fuckers. Someone bring me some TheraFlu and Vodka.

I'm so depressed now there's ONLY ONE THING that can possibly make me feel better about life again. Anna, this is for you:

*Sniff sniff.* I feel a little better.


Bill Cunningham said...

You are making me repeat myself:


Make the call.
Get doped up.
Get the massage.
Go back home.

American Knight said...

This beauty is soft -- as if music and wood, agate, cloth, wheat, peaches the light shines through
had made an ephemeral statue.
And now she sends her freshness out, against the waves.

The sea dabbles at those tanned feet, repeating their shape, just imprinted in the sand.
And now she is the womanly fire of a rose, the only bubble the sun and the sea contend against.

Oh, may nothing touch you but the chilly salt!
May not even love disturb that unbroken springtime!
Beautiful woman, echo of the endless foam, may your statuesque hips in the water make a new measure -- a swan, a lily -- as you float your form through that eternal crystal.
-- Pablo Neruda

Christina said...

Honey, that flu is really getting to ya. After my class if you need somethin, give a call after 8pm. Sounds like and EMERGENCY!

MIMBlogger said...

OK, sounds like you need some Mrs. Fields' airlifted over, girl...


Kid Sis said...

BC, do they do
If so, I'm there!
Unless I aspirate on the table...

Damn. That's some purty poetry. What's your stance on orphans?

Christina, MIM,
Yes, Yes and Yes! When is all this help arriving????

American Knight said...

Well I did use to work at a Boys and Girls Club not so long ago, helping children from various economic and social "backgrounds"... and I currently tutor as well. :)