I'm searching for the perfect song about my obsession with Justin. Problems are, most songs assume a real relationship and others are inappropriately grabby.

Whilst looking last night, I made some observations about videos in general. First of all, one of my pet peeves with mainstream rock and roll early on was the repetitiveness. I noticed a lot of the videos were similarly repetitive. It seemed common to film "live" footage from two concert dates with the musicians changing clothes back and forth. Such things would only be a problem with one like me who has difficulty suspending my disbelief. It's another of my psychosis. I couldn't stand as a child how people in musicals would spontaneously break into choreographed song and dance. I also did not like how cartoon characters hit each other over the head. Not understanding the animation process, I thought those images were somehow derived from real people.

Back to repetition in videos, I saw a lot of footage recycled. Every time the singer would sing the same thing, the moves, camera angle and focal length, everything was exactly the same. So, watching some of these things became tedious. We can use as a case study Donna Summer. I was Googling songs about obsession, and "This Time I Know It's for Real" came up. It's a nice sentiment, and I recalled the chord progression was great, so I checked it out. Besides the part I remembered, which repeated and repeated and repeated, there wasn't much to the song. Observe:

So, I went on to "Hot Stuff," as Justin is surely that, but the words are rather rude. There wasn't much to the video. Donna was there in a weird outfit that looked like she was trying to hide weight gain, whether she was or not, and she looked like she didn't want to be there, and the footage kept repeating. It was so bad, I will not link to it.

The moral of the story is, the Moodies spoiled me in my MTV/VHS days with high-quality videos.

Do you think Moodies fans are driven by hormones? Some of the biggest Moodies fans I've met have been men. They don't show up on the boards, but on occasion I'll sit next to one of them, up in the front rows. I'll find out they've been to more shows than me. I know there are many reasons for liking the Moodies and Justin, but I think a lot of people in my experience are there for something spiritual, for lack of a better word. The band is the handsome prince that pulled the [20 million in my case] thorn[s] out of the lion's paw, or the music has a healing, transcendental power.

What I don't like about so many love songs is they speak of controlling the other person or they're piggishly into self-gratification and sort of sociopathically blind to the needs and wishes of the object of their affection. In falling for a big star, one problem is the illusion of acquaintance because we can watch on TV or from an audience and read up and feel like we know the person better than the guy next door. Another problem is while a dork such as I feels a pseudo? kinship, there is a tendency to dehumanize the person and say rude things online that one wouldn't say about the next-door neighbor. Justin is very real to me, but there's this glass curtain ....

Please go clinical. It's why I started the thread.

Do you want the cabin to yourself for the cruise, or shall I start looking for somebody who wants to go all-expenses paid?

I am a very, very sick adulterous whore. Thanks for helping me.

You are correct. I lied. There is not enough money or plastic surgery in the world to make it possible.

I had to throw a temper tantrum. I struggle. My favorite thing in the world to do is to go see Justin, but if it annoys him that I do it, then I should stop being so selfish and stay home.

I read into your comments something I have heard before, that I am incapable of human thought and instead bound by my limbic system. It happened when I started attending city council meetings. I wanted to cover national policy, but I got demoted to the local level. There were a couple councilors with whom I much agreed, and I appealed to both for tutoring/mentoring. One set me up with a life coach who told me I was too stupid to understand the Constitution and I only went to city council to XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.

I wonder what it is like to have a brain, to be able to process information, read books, understand process, appreciate music, when all I am is a lust machine.

Back when I taught junior high school, I would say a simple sentence, and the kids would start giggling because I had just said the latest wordy-dirty. I could never keep up with it. I feel like posting here, I'm saying words like "something," and because I don't watch sitcoms, I don't realize that that "something" now means I want to commit sick, perverted acts, and Sigmoid Fraud is trolling me. It is like racism. I don't feel like a racist, but lots and lots of people assure me I am. Who am I to know?

I was mad at myself for not having the courage to send myself to h### and give the devil a run for his money. I'd leave a note to let my dad know what a putrid pervert I am. Before I could dwell on the thought, a robin started singing outside the window reminding me of the last time I tried. Magical-thinking fool that I be, I took it as a "sign."

But still, I was a wretch, a predator, a narcissistic hedonist revving full-throttle on the seven deadly sins. People could smell my evil across state lines. The day was just awful with everything breaking, getting lost, taking too long. When I took The EVO! for her evening walk, she was bopping along in the car to whatever was on the radio. I switched stations and then JT came on singing, "Whenever I see your smiling face, I have to smile myself because I love you ... No one can tell me that I'm doin' wrong today. Whenever I see you smile at me. (Even though you're in the computer and you can't see me.)"

Then, I read a quote from Lisa Simone about her mom, whose birth house is back in the news, "Standing for something one believes in often requires great courage in the face of harsh criticism and judgment." So, my brave fingers will type in the privacy of the office here:

Justin is leagues better than a mere primal urge.

Ah.

I was sitting in the back corner of the council chambers and that was construed as poised for rape.

I disagree on the first part. Even though Justin is everything to fall for, he is married, and to me, Marie Hayward is a very real person, with feelings that can be hurt, etc. Suppose I were righteous/intelligent/intentional/productive/etc. enough to merit a husband or even a boyfriend. How would I feel if a group of girls online started talking about how chivalrous he was, how compassionate he was, what a sensitive guy he was, what a beautiful person he was, how he was the best in his line of work? I think I would say to myself, "Yep. He's the best." It would make me happy.

Now, what if they started talking about stalking him and taking indecent liberties and other lewd things? I would consider it rude and crude. It wouldn't be my place to prevent my husband from pursuing them if he wanted (I think Justin has more class than that.), but I'd probably be sulky and heartbroken. I think in general the bulk of people outside Hollywood still respect marriage as a barrier that means one does not even think of certain things.

I hope it is safe to say, "Justin makes me so happy, I get butterflies in my stomach." I would wholly place the blame on the autonomic nervous system, as I am not thinking the butterflies to be; but I consider it a thing of joy, of good love, not smut and unrighteous dominion.

I think people, no matter how hot and sexy, Justin and Marie included, should be treated with respect, even though I lose my temper easily as I did yesterday.

Lastly, I don't want to be analyzing my every emotion to the point I can't feel happy anymore. "Ah! A beautiful sunset!" "No. That's a 37% increase in dopamine and 4% increase in epinephrine." Why is love one of the most over-analyzed things in the world with so many meanings? Maybe because forces of evil really do exist in places beside my wee, empty skull, and they want to destroy everything good and kindly because they're irrational.

There's your scherzophonic babble for today.

Consider these. Rather than talking about possessing somebody and self-gratification, they show an interest in giving to/for the object of their interest.

This one, I didn't pay much attention to the lyrics until, whilst still young, I had a dream about it. Whereas the intentions of love and help are great, my dream had the guy playing doormat; and people wickedly taking advantage of his good nature. It was one of those dreams I have that causes me to wake up and remain nauseously disturbed for the rest of the day and anytime I care to remember the dream. (He was laying down, over wet, cold, muddy water so people could cross; and people were actually taking advantage of him. It's like 'The Giving Tree.')