Unhealthy obsessions: Celebrity Edition!

Inspired by my apparent ability to treat my body as vessel and not develop feelings for a man who has been in it a couple o times, as well as my undying lust for Jude Law, I downloaded Alfie and watched it last night.

Hubba hubba, Jude Law is just my favorite male famous person… ever.

I know he MIGHT seem like an odd choice for such intense vehement adoration but he just embodies exactly the kind of man who has never been interested in me- extremely good looking with fine, lovely features, able to pull Sienna Miller and various other women with unobtrusive small noses, and cheeky and cocky looking. I have a weakness for men who are bad for me, shallower than I am, and don’t like me very much. (Don’t we all?)

I never snag me any cocky guys, possibly because they are busy pulling Sienna Miller and her petite, delicate nosed friends, possibly because my sleazy energy works best on a different kind of man. I tell myself that very confident men like a conquest, and my overbearing in your faceness appears to be the bait most suited to shy clueless males who aren’t entirely sure your hand on their penis is a come on or maybe you don’t know that’s where penises live and you just wanted to warm your hand in his pants with no ulterior motive?

Actually this might be a load of bullshit too, it’s also entirely possible that the reason I haven’t brought a Jude Law type  back to my place yet is because I never SEE Jude Law types out and about.

Also he might be totally different to his on screen personality. I read an interview with him fairly recently and he seemed really down to earth and nice and it left me thinking, why would anyone want to know what an actor thinks about things anyway? And why are all the photos of him shot against some moody cityscape and he’s wearing winter clothes which obscure pretty much all of the “interview” I was interested in perusing anyway.

I know, he sure can rock a scarf which is something I don’t usually credit to men I am attracted to, for some reason I find it really effeminate to feel the need to cover your neck to protect from draughts. Real men expose the jugular and DARE winter to fuck with them.

This is another problem I have with Italian men. They all wear scarves. I sold a pashmina to a girl the other day as a gift for her BOYFRIEND. A fucking pashmina. In Italy there is this bullshit medical condition they made up called “un colpo di aria” which basically means to get hit by air. I read an article recently by some British expat in Italy talking about this bizzarity so I won’t rant about it to avoid rehashing some other bird’s idea or whatever. I did emit a minor chuckle at the shared observation, and Italian-bashing, but I disagree with her point that there is no equivalent in the UK- in English it’s just “catching a chill” or “a draught” so it’s not totally Italian-unique, but in the UK it is something old people say or worry about and young people do not worry about the dangers of air. It would be hypocritical anyway to be so foolish with alcohol and std prevention and whatnot and then make a big deal about keeping our throats warm. But here in Italy they are convinced that there are pockets of dangerous cold and possibly pointy air that, when a neck is exposed, will latch on like a rabid doberman shake the stuffing out of you. Admittedly I have a sore throat today so I might have been neck raped by some air without realising it.

Anyway… Jude Law… I love his face.

Watching him doing his acting thing (no idea is he an awesome or terrible actor, he’s just Jude Law to me, I can’t see past his cheeky smile… mmm Jude Law…  makes me feel all insecure and depressed about my appearance. Maybe when I move to London I will see him around somewhere and fall into a spiral of despair at my own inadequacy? He could replace the hot barmen in my life, but as a celebrity he would probably identify my behaviour as stalking pretty quickly. The barmen are an easier target because, hello? Who stalks a barman?

It is at times like this, when I watch him on screen with these other women who don’t even appreciate him like I do, that I berate myself angrily about my nose. WHY do I have to have a stupid round nose like this? I seeth at Sienna Miller, and on another occasion Cameron Diaz who I normally like because she is sassy and her tits are small enough that I don’t just flat out hate her. (I feel like her small boobies but otherwise extreme hotness in my opinion makes her a perfect girlfriend. Attractive enough to offer real helpful feedback about what you are going to wear or what makeup and how to deal with a man situation, but not so perfect I just want to scratch her in the face.)

And I am sure it is just my nose that is standing in my way. The colour of my teeth and skin (if only they like, swapped colours it would probably be an improvement) and the general dishevelment and blackheads covered in trowel- loads of makeup, I presume has nothing to do with it. If only my nose was better, Jude Law would be all over me like ingrown hairs a week after I epilated. (amirite? fuck you epilator, painful AND inefficient? bullshiiiit)

Damn them bitches able to be cast opposite Jude Law. I watch them laughing and talking and sometimes getting pissy with him and I think, how superfluous a personality would be, if I was that hot. Nobody needs a real personality when there is that much sex appeal floating around. And like, the girls Jude Law gets with in Alfie only fuck up in two major areas of folly: 1. Being batshit crazy and violent, and 2. Being glaringly needy and relationship crazy.

I would not make those mistakes. I would pretend not to love his bones and I would then get called back repeatedly.

I wish there was less pressure to be a well adjusted and nice person. Sienna Miller in Alfie is mad as a bag of snakes on acid, and he still allows her to squat in his life for several months before ditching her for Susan Sarandon. Because she’s super pretty.

Even Marisa Tomei is Alfie’s example for “looks aren’t everything”. That is what I am up against, or not really because I’m not actually competing for Jude Law in real life. If Jude Law is the Olympic gold in men I want to fuck, then I’m probably just getting the “everyone’s a winner” ribbon for participation.

Look, I’m sleeping with someone because he is willing to and his face doesn’t offend me and he is good in bed. Actually those are good reasons. Sorry Fabio, it’s just that although you are hot in most of your facebook pictures I saw one yesterday while stalking you that was really fucking stupid looking and made me sort of hate you briefly for not being a charming cockney lad.

Anyway I have a plan to get me actual real Jude Law some day, but it goes kind of like, Step one: ????? Step Two: ????? Step 3: PROFIT!

The fourth step is detailed below.

When I become super wealthy I will hire someone to write a script that is arty and raw enough to entice the new serious gritty Jude Law and his new beard (which is not fooling anyone, I know there’s a perfect cleft chin under there… but I guess he wants to be a proper actor and not just someone for me to drool over. He’s so pretty though. You can freeze frame on any facial expression and it works.) to work on the project. The script will be “inspired” by my life, so I will show up all the time to try get it right and coach the female lead. At first the female lead will make some mistakes and just not GET it. So I will be like, director (I hired a director too) do you mind if I step in and show Miss Perfecttits what I mean for this scene? And he will say sure because he is on my payroll. So I will step in and do the scene with Jude.

And I will do this a lot because the actress will be shit and it will start to become clear to Jude that although I have a shit nose, I am a way better lead and have wonderful chemistry with him as well as I pay the lighting guy to make me look awesome. And by this time I am rich too so have someone to brush my hair for me and do good makeup, and stuff. So eventually the director will just flip out at the cold fish we have cast on purpose as the lead and be like, Miss Perfecttits you are fired, and then they will make me stand in because they can’t afford to find another replacement at this stage. And then we will shoot all the scenes with me playing opposite Jude. And he will be very professional and also relieved that he is now working with someone who can play the part properly.

And there will be several hardcore sex scenes in the movie but tastefully done, you know?

And that is how I will get Jude Law to have sex with me.

Otherwise, I just have to wait until I am a cougar.

I am too young right now, I am not wise or worldly or sexually fantastic enough yet to entice a charming hot 20 something year old away from my peers who are in better shape and have better noses than me.

But when I am a bit older, the great equaliser will kick in- gravity, baby. Everyone’s tits are gonna be a bit crap, except for the rich people. I plan on being so rich, every morning when I wake up and remember how rich I am, I will puke with shock and gratitude. Susan Sarandon’s character in Alfie had been married twice and had a succesful company. I think if I just aim for a rich husband number two, I will be fine. I fucked up with the first guy, I realise. I won’t make the same mistake twice however.

And then one day the Alfie types will be all “ahh I’m getting kind of tired of these boring 20 year olds and their stupid bronzed midriffs” and then they will find me intriguing with my mansion and my cellar full of expensive whiskey and wine and leather items and my swimming pool sized bed that takes up a whole room and has a massive chandelier hanging over it that isn’t a light but actually loads of fruit so when you are lying in bed you can reach up and pick a grape off to eat, or some orange segments that have already been peeled by my entourage.

And I will be massively interesting and they will be in awe of me.

I know Susan Sarandon was a hot tamale when she was younger too, but I have decided it’s not all looks with her and she’s just a sexy woman and would have managed to work past a Jessie J nose (I’m sorry Jessie J, your nose is actually nicer than mine but they are quite similar).

I am pretty confident I am not at my peak and am going to be like the blue cheese of women: you know, gets better as they mature, far superior to anything young and mild but not to everyone’s liking. And since I stopped smoking I can start ageing at the proper rate and will hopefully stop looking like a crackhead every day I get less than 7 hours sleep.

Also if I do age prematurely I will just pretend to be 40 when I am 30 and I’m sure that way I will seem really well preserved and still get the hotties.

And I have a card in my wallet that I made which says, if I ever injure my nose but there is no time to ask me shit before the operation, I want them to also take some of the extra cartilage out while they are there and fix it up. I don’t agree with surgery for myself, personally, because I think that as a shallow person, it is immoral to lie about your genes to potential mates.

Example: I meet a hot guy and think he is attractive enough for my dna to get jiggy with his, which is how I excuse my shallowness because hey I’m just defending my genes baby, it’s instinct… anyway all’s well and beautiful until I pop some kiddywinks out of my special purpose (nod to “the Jerk” there) and suddenly, woah oh! Whose chin is that on little Hortensia? (I’m not a maternal person, I haven’t come up with my future babies names so I am calling them Hortensia and Rudiger until some time maybe in the future.) and then he’s like, oh yeah I used to have a massive chin. And oh fuck, now I’m landed with unconditionally loving the freaking lovechild of Demi Moore and Bruce Willis.

It’s dishonest is what it is.

Also, what kind of message is that to your offspring: Sorry mommy couldn’t live with having that awful nose, yep that’s the one.. just like yours! so she hacked it off, but you’re totally beautiful anyway, it’s just a fucking nose, learn to love it…

So I wouldn’t do that shit.

Unless I already injured my nose then that wouldn’t be exactly a cosmetic operation. I think keeping the please operate on my nose while I am unconscious card a secret is more of a white lie.

And it will probably never happen anyway, and probably whoever goes through my wallet and finds the card is just stealing my cash anyway.

And I don’t think that card is valid anyway. I also made an organ donor card which is also probably not legally useful but they are supposed to be making a European one that is valid everywhere here but I can’t find any information on it online. But I think it would be such a pile of shit if I died and nobody got my sexy non smoking lungs, so I made my own card. It says, “in the event of my death I wish to donate all of my usable organs to people who need them OR medical science and research but ABSOLUTELY NOT TO ART SCHOOLS, if that is a thing they do.” (I don’t want some first year hipster bitches laughing at my probably unattractive oesophagus in a jar)

I wonder if that counts as a legal document?

But where were we?

Oh yes, I was inexplicably taking you on a journey into my obsession with Jude Law. It’s not entirely Jude Law-based, this obsession. It’s just a general sort of obsession with anything less mundane than being at work looking for pants to fit over some grouchy heiffer’s rump, after I freaking TOLD HER that the sizes are all “terribly small” when no they are not, they are fucking maternity pants, she is just massively obese and it is not some lifestyle choice, unless leaving your apartment by forklift is a fucking hobby. She whines that the biggest pants I have for sale are “tiny in the waist” and I nod sympathetically but seriously woman, you are that big, you can’t just expect one size fits all to actually fit ALL that. I am surprised she even got her ankle in the waistband. She walked in the door sideways. Yeah, I’m not being an asshole, she is THAT BIG.

My customer so fat, some of the items for sale in my shop began to orbit around her as she waded through the aisle.

My customer so fat, her waist measurement has a superscript “2” after it.

My customer so fat,

Urgh this is not my calling.

I really don’t know what I should do for work when I move to the big shmoke. I definitely don’t want to work with customers of any kind really. I would prefer not to be exposed to idiocy for prolonged periods of time. If there is some kind of high paid job that involves using a computer but does not require great computer skills, and where I don’t have to talk on the phone or in person to anyone, that would be ideal.

I have no education to speak of beyond secondary school and a brief laughable foray into university where I think all I learnt is the locations on campus where most comfortable naps could be taken (the science fiction society- disappointingly it was not a sci fi club. They just called it that to get funding. What it was, was a room on campus where there was a leather couch, a tv and a whole load of dvds.) and where there were blind spots from the security cameras.

I am fluent in 3 languages but in using those languages to get employment, I will be forced to either speak or communicate in writing with people, and that is exactly what I wish to avoid. I know I write here a lot, but this is enjoyable for me because I don’t have to pause in the middle of my soliloquoy on Jude Law to let you interrupt my flow of brilliant ideas or ask you how your day was or if you still have the same number of relatives as last time and if you would like a beverage or something.

If I could do customer service like this, I would be fine.

I’d be all, welcome to the awesomeness emporium, my name is Chesty, how may I be of assistance?

and then before the dickbreath customer has a chance to ruin my peace of mind with their amateur description of some woe or comment, I would launch into a diatribe on something that actually interests ME.

And they could take it or leave it, bitches.

Ugh noo…. real world looming.

What am I gonna doooooo?

I don’t want to go back out there with all the other people, letting my personal comfort be trampled all over by companies and bosses and co workers and designated break times and not eating at your desk or whatever. And no blogging during work hours, probably.

All for some social life? Man I never thought a lone wolf like me would make such massive sacrifices for a social life. It must be done though. The more time I spend talking to myself the less able I become at gauging when I am supposed to speak and when I am supposed to listen in real conversations.

As well as other stuff like remembering to take an interest in the other person and not sharing stuff with strangers about personal hygiene shortcomings etc.


Today is already annoying the shit out of me. I believe it is almost time for it to be that time of the month again, I think. I should start keeping track of that shit again, I am really bad at it.

Also: this flight of fancy and nose hatred is brought to you by the fine folks at, I had a really horrible argument with my dad yesterday.

He is kind of my hero but also kind of a dick sometimes.

Yesterday I sensed him being in a particularly belligerent mood and I said I would go home because I had defrosted some salmon, which I thouhgt was a pretty airtight reason to get home and not stay for dinner, but he just said, ah come on stay for dinner, you can eat your salmon afterwards.

And I was like yeah but I’m on a diet.

And he was like, it’s just a bowl of pasta..

So I was like, fine, because it was ravioli and my dad buys good fresh ravioli and not those Buitoni condom shapes filled with uht cheese that I usually buy for my depressing alone person dinners.

So I stayed and the pasta was really good but before it was ready we had a huge and upsetting fight which I’m not sure if we were both right about or if I was just being a dick because I knew my dad was in a foul mood so I expected him to be in the wrong and fought my stupid corner with extra vehemence and indignation.

I don’t wanna talk about it actually, I would prefer to tell you about how I like Jude Law’s face.

So that’s why I wrote this post instead of another post about my fight with my dad and how sad it made me.

And then I spoke to my colleague and she also had a fight with my dad yesterday and I think maybe he was just being a really angry boss man on a crusade to upset everyone around him. But still, he was mean. He also said I couldn’t have any wine because I was being argumentative. Then later I really wanted wine so I was like, “it’s ok dad I forgive you” and then I took some wine, and he was kind of pissy and the argument threatened to kick off again but I just started making jokes and playing rock paper scissors worm hair fire rain magnet lettuce thumb pacman with my sister which is an improvement on rock paper scissors and involves a lot of reasoning and imagination. It is pretty fun actually, she is only 6 and she is already really good at cheating by waiting to decide on being worm until the second she sees me bring out my lettuce, and also she calls me on my bullshit when I try pretend lettuce is actually paper and anyway worm also beats paper so I haven’t a leg to stand on.

And yes, I ate my salmon as well as the pasta.

I also didn’t sleep enough last night because I was so full and uncomfortable from eating the salmon and the pasta and then half a loaf of banana bread that I just lay in bed and hated myself and thought about Alfie and how I’m not good enough for him.

So there you are, up to speed.

I should do some work now.

Sorry about this post.

But not enough to not post it…


PS: I am getting heartily sick of the stupid hyperlinked spam comments about ugg boots. I do not want to sell or buy ugg boots, I think ugg boots are fucking hideous. They are of course lovely slippers, but I can’t deal with wearing something that unattractive outside the house. I’m sure if I wore ugg boots once in public I would run into someone hot.  So please stop with the spam about uggs it is not appropriate. Bring back the hippie spam, where someone called Brett Bretterson would comment “Awesome read, bra” and link to a site about top china export import justin bieber selena gomez nipple slip. I miss those, at least they made an effort to get past my spam filter by complimenting me.

3 responses to “Unhealthy obsessions: Celebrity Edition!

  1. “hai preso troppo vento!!!” You took too much wind! Ya.. no kidding, wtf? I was like “uh no. was walking on dodgy pavement and threw my back out. hopefully we will never need major surgery in this country.

    btw… I met Jude Law. seriously. I worked in a hotel, it was like 2am and his ex was caiing him about the kids and he wouldn’t answer the phone, she was freaking… soooooo, I had to let myself in his room to wake him up. HAHAHAHA! He walked out of the bedroom in his underwear… Calvin Klein tight spandex boxer thingies. pretty cute. (he’s quite short though.) At that time I was foaming at the mouth for Gavin Rossdale of ‘Bush’ so i didn’t pass out or anything over Jude.

    • http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-15987082 There’s the article for ya… oh Italians, when I’m in a good mood they really crack me up. Other times, they just make me angry. I can’t believe you saw Jude Law in his undies. You have no idea how jealous… if it had been me… well the hotel people wouldn’t have let me in his room that’s for sure because they would know me and they would know how I felt about Jude Law. I just wish you could email me the mental image…. And I don’t want to hear about him being short, I really don’t want to know that. Damn Hollywood, EVERYONE in movies is short.

      • ya EVERYONE. i met VanDamme as well. He’s almost the same height as me like 5’5″ and I was talking to an American dude recently and he told me his friend ( a very tall athelete) met Arnold Schwarzenegger and Arnold refused to stand anywhere near this dude because of his height in fear of looking like a shrimp. The list goes on… Pacino, DeNiro… Damn them… wtf? especially when women have to be invisible sideways and min 5’10.”
        and ya… still got that JL mental image in the vault. ;)

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