Don't Forget About Tilde! (gerry butler is such a small part of it all...)

Many of you have explained that you've come in via search engines because you've queried "Gerry Butler". Welcome & remember that you're currently at a "Category" page. The nonsense below comprises exactly 0.0264% of my actual blog (I did the math because I am a bona fide geek). Please don't let Tilde, the other 99.973%, get lonely. (She can often times be sensitive and you may eventually hear her rave "Who gives a schmoo about Gerry Butler, anyway? He's not half as cute as me. Right?")

I recommend you ogle the right side of your screen, scroll if you must, and check out the 'Most Popular Posts' & most definitely the 'Because I am a Dork' as well as the Relationships Categories where you're guaranteed a laugh.

Naturally, you may always Start on the front page.

Gerry Butler's crotch is on my birthday

Because it's my birthday, here is the guilty pleasure which you must ogle:



Notice how his crotch appears to be screaming with equal vigour and enthusiasm! (Gracias, Zack Snyder.)

I love that his Spartans are hanging out in the back completely chill, like they just had a cigarette and are waiting for their ham and cheese sandwiches.

Find everything you need on this movie here.

Gerry Butler, again

It’s been a while since I last posted about Gerry Butler. This because I got bored and decided to dump his arse from my blog. I thought it would quell the crazies who sent emails my way, but alas, his absence from this blog has only served as fuel to the fires of Pompey.

I wasn’t going to write about this until someone took a screen cap of something which was written at another board and emailed it my way.

Although Gerry Butler possesses some shittastic taste in jewelry and is most likely prone to pouting when he doesn’t get his way, he’s still kind of sexy and until his moobies hang to his knees, he will only be spoken of in good form on this blog.

In August, while SAVING CANADIAN CIVILIANS FROM BOMBS IN BEIRUT, some individual kept emailing me details of her alleged involvement with Gerry Butler. I deleted all of it because I was too busy SAVING CANADIAN CIVILIANS FROM BOMBS IN BEIRUT (being melodramatic is lovely). In some cultures, her timing may be construed as: utterly idiotic.

Worse still, she was convinced that I had his contact information.

So here’s the thing girls: If you do bag Gerry Butler, don’t tell the world about it. If you do, then you’re the definitive ‘Star Fu*ker & Name Dropper’ and that’s not cool for either you or the greater sisterhood, ok? (Have a little class, MOSES, JEESUS, & MOHAMMED (pbu them)!).

And in case you’ve not guessed it, “the world” = “one female canuck (dot) com”. Email that nonsense elsewhere if you must, but never here. Ever.

I’ve blogged about Gerry Butler before; I have ridiculed women who have sent nonsense my way. What would possess you to think I was a worthy confidante of your trysts with Gerry Butler? If you really wish to talk about how so very McHung he is, call your best friend like I did.

I’M KIDDING, don’t shit yourselves. That was a joke. I actually called my mom. KIDDING, AGAIN!

Did you really think you would be secure from my sarcasm because you divulged intimate details that transpired between you and Gerry Butler? For real, yo, read my blog. Nothing on here indicates freedom from sarcasm, most especially not where someone’s contacted me about Gerry Butler. And worse still, why would you assume that I would take you seriously enough to either respond or not ridicule you publicly in front of the seven individuals who read this blog “the world”?

I will close with four bottom lines meant to better the person you are:
(1st) If what you wrote is true: I’m not interested in hearing your sorry tales unless you’re willing to provide photographic evidence to illustrate said affair so please don’t email me. Ultimately, he’s a DUDE and dude’s behave funny. Deal with it.

& frankly, I hope he never sees you again, because you spilled everything to me, a virtual stranger. How uncouth and where is your self-respect? Putting all of that information in an email and sending it to a stranger is like spreading your legs wide open and taking a photo. Heed this advice: Close your legs and tie your knees together with a scarf.

(2nd) If what you wrote is false: Don’t make up stories. If you have an active imagination, get a blog but don’t tell fibs about people in order to up your own sense of self. Besides, you may want to choose someone other than Gerry Butler at the mo. Frankly, he's not appearing very stable these days and is quite clearly in need of a spiritual anchor as he wages some sort of inner jihad. I recommend working with babies who have AIDS and are in a location far far far away from Hollywood.

But I digress, wee one, so back to you; There’s self-help groups for your type of personality. Message boards too.

(3rd) I genuinely enjoyed meeting Gerry Butler at TIFF. Even with his bad jewelry and wig, neurotic sense of self, overall hysterics, confusion and inability to slow the eff down. Don’t send me mean things about him because (a) I’m a stranger, and (b) I like Gerry Butler in a leather speedo.

(4th) Ladies don’t kiss and tell, sweetheart. You’ve reached a fork in the road; you’re either a lady or Christian Troy. Now’s the time to take your pick and then go get tested for hep.

xo
Maha

That Gerry Butler Thing

I’ve already shared with you a variation of the conversation Gerry Butler and I had while at TIFF. After that blog entry, I received an even more entertaining influx of emails; I never responded to any of them and the last one, is posted here (minus a few words I'm not prepared to share):

so u r ignoring my emails probably because u have nothing to say? i think not but i think u r ignoring my emails because u know im right!

i KNOW that u were at toronto festival and i KNOW that Gerry liked u. i KNOW he kept looking at u. i KNOW that u 2 were cozy everyone there saw and that he whispered 2 u alot.

and u r always in montrael? i don't think this is coincidence. or that u were recently in NEW YORK WHILE GERRY THERE? coincidence? NOT!!!!

u r a bitch anyway. f#$k u.

Mary Larry

I'm having mixed feelings about this entire situation and thought perhaps you could help me sort it out. Although, you know, as usual, most of my feelings land in the pit of comedy.

Gerry Butler is somewhat of a public figure. Let's play devil's advocate and go with the more illicit scenario (they're the most fun, anyway) of what could be running through this woman's head. Let's say: I bagged Gerry Butler. What then? What does a woman such as this expect?

I think she expects me to blog about the faux scenario she seems to have concocted and so...
I'm going to appease this weirdo's needs and offer that faux and sacrificial blog entry.

Title: "I Bagged Gerry Butler and Just Found Out About It!!"

Body of Text: Dear Diary. OH MY GOD, I BAGGED GERRY BUTLER!!!!!!! I did it behind my own back and just found out about it this morning! He's really tall and has great hair. It was, like, something really important. Almost as important as, like, in those AWESOME Scottish Highlander Romance Novels and the guy's name is Girth McHung. Only in this case it was Gerry Butler (without the Mc, diary).

I don't know why no one's asked me for the gritty details because I really want the world to know that he's the size of a Tsunami. Heh. You don’t think anyone's going to think I'm dirty, do you diary? Gosh, I hope not, 'cus I really really really like Gerry Butler and I think we totally connected. I saw how he looked at me. He was SO INTENSE, like, with his eyes and stuff, and it couldn't have been because he was drunk, 'cus he doesn't drink. Maybe he was high and staring at me and wondering where he could find some peanuts? Or maybe drywall and cardboard 'cus I think that's all they were allowed to eat in Hollywood. To stay thin, you know? I dunno. It's cool, anyway, I could totally tell he was into me. Did I already mention that we had a connection? I totally felt it when he grabbed my boob. TOTALLY. We're soul mates. SQUEE. I BAGGED GERRY BUTLER!!!!!!!!!!

I think he feels the same way, too. He told me so! And you know that Gerry Butler, like because he's a GOD, would, like, never lie, diary. You know, 'cus that would make him some kind of gigantic asshole, and we already know that the 'gigantic' part belongs elsewhere. Get it? I mean, like he's Gerry Butler McHUNG. I mean he has a huge hoo hoo. HA HA HA!!!

Did I tell you we had a connection? He stared me in the eyes (and I'm pretty sure he wasn’t thinking about peanuts).

I wrote a poem for him, diary. I'll find him and impale him on it give it to him even if he's lying because I'll totally be cool with JUST the memory that we connected. Totally. And I know Gerry Butler thinks about me every day.

Ok, so here's my poem:
I love you Gerry Butler
You make me feel like a piece of melted butter

i luv u Gerry Butler And you're totally intense

i heart Gerry ButlerAnd you should change your last name to McHung
Especially if the Hollywood thing
Gerry Butler ROCKSdoesn't
that's Mr. Gerry Butler to you!work out
And you have to do porn instead

we'll make pretty babies Gerry Butler and II love you
but we won't let their last name be McHungI love you Gerry Butler

...wait, diary. Maybe that's not a poem. Maybe it's a haiku? Don't you totally dig the way the lines aren't lined up? I hear that poets who do that are really smart. I don't know what it means, but that's okay cus I'm pretty sure Gerry Butler won't know either. He'll just stare at it and wonder where I've hidden all of the peanuts. But he'll have to highlight it to find the hidden poem in the empty spaces! I'm so smart, aren't I, diary?

I'm so happy I have you to write to, diary. Even if you're on-line and not password protected and my picture's on the side, I think this is the place and safest place to be discreet.

I have to go now, diary. I love you almost as much as I love GERRY BUTLER!
Xoxo
Maha

For the record:
Gerry Butler didn't "like" me in the McHung sort of way, he was merely pleasant and gracious because we met through a special individual.
Gerry Butler didn't have the time to look at me. Besides, this is a man constantly surrounded by stunning women; if he glanced at me more than once it was probably while he was thinking "...she looks like someone who carries peanuts...".
Gerry Butler didn't whisper to me.
Gerry Butler and I were anything but cozy.

I really wish I could say 'that's all folks', but I have a feeling there's more to come, so stay tuned!

& p.s. because I've not done this in a while: Download B.B. King's entire album Makin’ Love Is Good For You. Although released only a few years ago, it's vintage.

The Gerry Butler Saga Continues

I've received some very interesting emails over the last couple of weeks, since having posted 'Gerry Butler's Secret'. I can't get into it at the moment, but I promise to come back and blog about it after Thursday evening (my paper's due then). You shall be fascinated. I promise!

Gerry Butler's Secret

Since posting Gerry Butler vs Bob there's been an interesting influx of emails to my .Mac account. I never responded and didn't think much of them, until this morning.

I woke to find 32 emails, all of which were from the same person and had the same text. There was no Subject and the query (if I can call it that) reads: "WHY WON'T YOU TELL ME ABOUT WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO MEET GERRY BUTLER? WHAT ARE YOU HIDING? DID SOMETHING HAPPEN BETWEEN YOU TWO??????"

I started writing an email, and then decided that I would rather respond to this on my blog and put it out in the open. If any of you are interested in adding your two cents, please feel free to do so.

Usually, I am very diplomatic and gracious to anyone who sends me anything pertaining to my blog, because I greatly appreciate that someone, anyone, would take the time to read anything I have to write. If today I falter and am rude, forgive me.

The assumptions in this email are numbered 1-3 and my responses lettered A-C:
.1. That because I'm not sharing, it inherently means that I'm hiding something.
.A. I'm not sharing anything because there's nothing to share, and not because there's something to hide. Meeting Gerry Butler at the Toronto International Film Festival was uneventful. (Sorry!)

.2. Whatever I'm hiding is either 'gossipy' or relatively illicit.
.B. Since I'm not hiding anything, there's nothing illicit or 'gossipy' to share. Nothing happened between us outside of a normal interaction that went a little like:

Gerry Butler: Hi.
Maha: Hey.

Maha: You're tall.
Gerry Butler: Thank you. I also have nice hair. MY GOD, just LOOK AT IT!

Gerry Butler: You have a weird name.
Maha: I do. Why didn't your mother name you Gerald? It's what everyone calls you, anyway, Gary.

Gerry Butler: MY GOD, have you NOTICED my hair?
Maha: You're tall.

Maha: Wait a second. I LIKE my name!
Gerry Butler: It's weird. Your mother should've named you 'Maria'. God DAMN IT, I'm sexy.

Maha: Your friend's cute.
Gerry Butler: His hair's not as nice as mine. Besides, I have a secret.

Maha: Is your secret's name 'Maria'?
Gerry Butler: Oh my GOD. I can't STAND how smokin' I am! Whose Maria?
Maha: Your secret?
Gerry Butler: No, she's not my secret. But I do like her name. But not as much as my hair. MY GOD I have great hair.
Maha: Tell me your secret, please.
Gerry Butler: Promise not to tell anyone? But you can tell them I'm FOXY.
Maha: I may blog about it.
Gerry Butler: What's a blawgh?
Maha: It's something akin to smoke signals.
Gerry Butler: Did you say SMOKIN'? Like ME?
Maha: No.
Gerry: HA HA. Just KIDDING. We're cool - but I'm HOT, YIKES, HA HA. So we're fine, then. You can blagh it.
Maha: Good. So, then, what's your secret?

Gerry Butler leans in to me and whispers: I'm wearing a wig.

.3. A sense of entitlement to information about 'celebrity' that overrides my 'normal' preference for privacy.
.C. You need both medication and therapy. That therapy should have at its epicenter your fucked up sense of entitlement to the life of any 'celebrity' at large, Gerry Butler specifically.

Good Luck & thanks for your email!

xo
Maha

Gerry Butler Would Have Done Well To Carry Elastoplast(s) In His Purse

While at dinner in Montreal on Friday, two of the women at the table proceeded to empty the contents of their purses on to the table. It was an awesomely fun show & tell and although I wanted to do it (because I love games), I didn't want to appear a follower and so chose to keep my personals personal and inside of my purse. (But when I got home, I emptied the contents of my purse and ogled the pretties.)

Earlier this week, Coquette did it on her blog and *baaaaaa* I decided to follow her blogsteps.

In my purse there are the following items:
- 2004 / 2005 & 2006 leather Agenda (my life for the last three years is in here)
- Moleskin address book in black (I've even dated when I've added new people; a sort of diary/phone book, really)
- 1 pen
- 1 permanent marker (for people who want my autograph)
- box of Elastoplast Heavy Fabric bandages (hello summer shoes)
- sunglasses
- MAC tinted lip conditioner in pink
- MAC clear lipglass
- MAC lip liner chestnut
- Rosebud strawberry lip balm (smells & tastes like strawberry shortcake)
- a mirror
- wallet
- two hair elastics (black, please)
- a small jewelery bag filled with bobby pins
- mobile
- extra battery for mobile
- pocket pack Kleenex
- GoC taxi chits
- iShuffle
- Advil extra strength gel caps
- writing book



Tag, you're it.

Oh! Also while at dinner, we were chatting about celebrities. One of the women mentioned how she adored the Pitt. Said I didn't fancy him at all, think his face somewhat repulsive.

She challenged (her word not mine) me to "name one man better looking than Brad the Pitt". I said: Gerry Butler. All but one at the table asked "Who?" Turns out, the lone person who knew him had served as a Spartan extra on the set of 300. (How interesting.) Naturally, I enquired about the size and comfort of the leather Speedo (but only because I care about Gerry Butler's comfort, you see). Surprisingly, the leather Speedos were quite comfortable. It was the sandals on the feet of the Spartans that gave rise to the pains in their ass (asses?). Apparently, the sandals were "pieces of wood with some leather used to tie them on". (Ouch.) They sound like the way my summer shoes feel.

Gerry Butler vs Bob

My friend Sim Sim has dropped in and asked me a question re the measure of female fantasy. That he would think I can provide an answer to female anything flatters me. And I don’t mean that in The Crying Game sense, but rather in the ‘no one should take anything I say seriously’ sense.

Anyway. In the comments section of Meet Tyler Durden, Sami asked: "I got a question for you, well maybe something for all women in general. I find, in my experience, that most women refer to fictional characters, movies and books, when describing their dream boys, why is that?

It is rarely that names out of reality are referred to when talking about their tall, dark and handsome. Is it the fantasy factor again? Or is it more the packages on TV and the movies are sexier than reality? "

Again, please understand that my response is solely my own > I would love it if you all weighed in and provided your own perspectives on this issue.

(1) Why do women refer to fictional characters when describing their dream boy?
(a) The short personal answer is: When talking to a general audience it's much easier to tap into the Tyler Durden than it is to one of the two men I know personally. If I were to have written about either of the two men I reference, the reality is that no one on this blog knows them. They may have a general idea of one of them...but not on a personal level. And so, I chose to instead discuss a character in popular culture and to whom others may recognise / understand / relate.

(b) The more deep-rooted answer is: The reason I’m using the Tyler Durden character to describe one facet of my ideal mate is because I’m still single. I am a foolishly hopeless romantic and have deluded myself into believing that once I am firmly entrenched in a relationship, I will look at my significant other and think him my ideal. Always. And forever.

At that point, my writing would be along the lines of “…and my gorgeous alpha male husband…” or “H.O.T. = my husband” or “…my husband can kick your husband’s ass. Nya! Nya!” You get the point…

The bottom line is I’ve still not found what I’m looking for (thanks Bono!). In my mind’s eye, I have the measure of the man I want to hand myself over to. Referencing a character from a book or a movie provides some sense of tangibility.

When married, I will still reference general characters when speaking to an audience of people who know nothing about my partner; but in my head and heart, he is it. If he’s not, then I’ll walk. Actually, I just won’t get involved to begin with…

Clear as mud? Now, let’s get to the heart of the question…

(2) ...is film / the fantasy sexier than reality?

First, it’s critical we define fantasy because I believe there is a chasm between how men and women define this term. Men and women speak different languages and think in different ways. I think the trick is to bridge that gap without judging one another (or perceiving it as a threat to the femininity / masculinity of each another).

I’ve had this discussion with my male friends and asked “…do you fantasize?” The most honest answer I received was “Nah. We just masturbate. And besides. Why fixate on something that’s not real. If I can’t do it, I don’t want to think about it.”

Most of the women I know both believe and give in to the indulgence of fantasy. We define fantasy as an extension of our own reality. It’s our lives on steroids, magic mushrooms, heroin and cocaine. In fantasy, there is no disease, vice or regulation to possibility.

Is this because men and women are hardwired differently (nature)? Is it because men have been taught that nothing is beyond their reach, while societal constraints are placed on women (nurture)? I don’t know…but there’s probably some study out there that discusses this, just like there’s men out there who imagine the impossible, for the sheer pleasure of imagination.

Also, it is important to note that ‘fantasy’ is not just about the potential sexuality in any imagined situation, but rather the heightened super-human perfection of the self. And so ‘fantasy’ means being the world’s best writer, funniest comedienne, prettiest girl, the fourth member of The Power Puff Girls, kindest soul, fastest runner, sharpest strategist, strongest opponent, most vulnerable female, Oscar winning actress, rock-your-world girlfriend, prettiest crier, most nurturing mum, bestest friend in the whole wide world, able to leap over buildings, etc.

Not to mention the different layers of fantasy: (1) Fantasy With Potential (e.g. I want to walk on the moon); and, (2) Fantasy Without Potential (e.g. I want to leap over tall buildings).

But the original question posed fixates on the more illicit part of fantasy, and it is on that subject that I will offer my $0.02.

So my answer to your question is…
Yes: Film & fantasy are sexier than reality. Hence why we call it 'fantasy'.

Tyler Durden was hyper reality. His testosterone-driven character was slammed into two hours of testosterone-shot film. Tyler’s never bought me flowers. Or called me. Or asked me out to dinner. Because Tyler’s not real.

He is a figment of someone’s imagination, but for short moments in time, he becomes a part of my life and on to which I project what I want.

Note: I’m not fantasizing about Brad Pitt, the man, but rather Tyler Durden, the embodiment of certain characteristics.

But sometimes, there is fantasy around a certain actor / actress (which is: Fantasy Without Potential).

Let’s return to Gerry Butler and his leather speedo. Before meeting Gerry Butler, I thought he was a fox. I based that solely on my perception of what his PR people allowed him to show his audience. After I met him, I confirmed that he was a fox. But now that the restraining order has been issued, I’ll never really know.

Wait. What?

Sorry. Erm. Back to my point…
You lose yourself in fantasy when you’re bored and when there’s nothing in reality that can hold your attention or peak your interest. But that shouldn’t be perceived as a threat to the masculinity of real guys.

Meaning (& again I speak for myself here): While allowing ourselves the room for fantasy, that does not take away from the magic of a man in reality. Ergo, if I am sitting around thinking about Gerry Butler, and the man of my dreams asks me out for coffee out of the blue…Gerry Butler’s gone, baby. He’s history. Unless, of course, Gerry Butler’s the one asking me out for coffee (don’t laugh! ‘Tis a distinct possibility!).

What I’m getting at is that there’s nothing wrong with fantasy, so long as one understands it is just that. I’ll go so far as to say that Fantasy With Potential is an excellent thing and can serve as a driving force for people. But Fantasy Without Potential can be very damaging when the individual fantasizing confuses reality with fantasy and announces to his wife that he’s ”flying out to Tokyo where Angelina Jolie’s shooting a movie. I want to give it a chance because I think there’s a real possibility of us working out.”

And after years of marriage…Fantasy Without Potential will be inevitable. Chances are not in the first few years when the two are still gaga over one another and not even Gerry Butler in a leather speedo can rip your thoughts away from your man, but definitely later…just take a peek at all of the message boards about male celebrities out there. I would guess that most of the dedicated and heavy posters are either really young or have been married for years…

Better Gerry Butler (Fantasy Without Potential) than Bob from the office (Fantasy With Potential).

Can a couple of 37 years avoid this? Maybe...and I'll blog about that in about 40 years from now (I promise!).

Aside: Find it difficult to call him "Gerry", and must reference him as Gerry Butler...
...I hope that answers your questions.

Flowers from Maha

Post the Toronto International Film Festival, I had to send out various thank you cards, flowers, and photos to people who made both the B & G, as well as the Edison premieres and parties a reality and a lot of fun (most especially at 3 a.m.).

Alan Siegel, Anne Holtby, Bonnie Hillman, & Marcia Ross were the gems who made my two nights at TIFF an extraordinarily sweet and somewhat rambunctious time.

There’s also Baby J & T (who didn’t get flowers because “…flowers die!”). But, these two gorgeous and generous women (who stayed up well past 3 a.m. for a lot of chatter) received the prettiest gifts and cards of all.

1-Dimensional Man

As a joke, for my birthday last year, L took an ad from her store and gifted me ‘The Man’ (one very talented individual). When I went to visit her one evening, I saw The Man and nearly fell over a rack of scarves staring at the enormity of the ad. At that moment she decided that she would coerce her superiors into letting her have it and then humiliating me in our favorite birthday restaurant as I unfurled Him.



The joke, but really the reality of it, was that this 1-D photo should serve as ‘The Man’ to usher me out of my twenties.

We started calling him 1-D because there’s absolutely nothing real about him.

So. Poor little 1-D has been rolled up and sitting in the back of my closet for the last 11 months. What in the hell else was I supposed to do with him?

And then it occurred to me that there are in fact women who would make use of 1-D, maybe even believing he was 2 or possibly 3-D. They would glue him to the ceiling of their bedroom, maybe drape him over their bed, take him out for dinner, roll him over to the movies. Whatever. Point is, there are women who would be much kinder and gentler to 1-D than I have been in the last year, sticking him in the back of my closet.

Mind you, I allowed him to tangle himself up in my silks, lace and straps, something no other man can claim. If anything, 1-D should be grateful that he broke new ground, recognizing that he is one lucky son of a bitch. But who am I kidding; this is the most action I've ever had...



Anyway. Keeping the above women in mind, I decided to send 1-D to 1-D heaven where some lucky woman will soon be in the throws of passion with him. I doubt he’ll be breaking new ground with her (as he was with me, as I am exquisitely unique), so I expect he will maintain fond memories of his time in my closet.

Am off to shop so as to fill in the newly acquired space in my wardrobe.

Oh! And just because I feel like it, will tell you that Ariel Vromen made a film titled Jewel of the Sahara. In it, 1-D shags a camel.

Although I’ve not see the film, it looks to be as twisted as my own sense of humor; I do love the script they used on their site (sorry, am much too lazy to find their interWeb url at the mo).