Evolution of Obsession

When I first heard "Just Dance," I had no idea who the hell Lady Gaga was. I mostly found the song obnoxious and myself bored, as I was with everything playing on the radio. My initial commonality with Lady Gaga, however, was an affinity for getting wasted and doing shameful things. I guess we were off to a good, perhaps shaky, start. 

Next I heard “Poker Face,” which somehow managed to become my second favorite guilty-pleasure track along with some Pitbull song (I know). Then I saw the video for the song and freaked the fuck out over what a babe that girl was in a teal space-age leotard. See also: air-humping on a lounge-chair. Also: poker-game orgy.  Also: “‘Cause I’m bluffin’ with my muffin.” Need I say more?

Then I saw this shot:

I mean, really?

At this time my fascination with Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta was in full-throttle. Despite the snapshots I saw of her in Turkish tabloids looking pasty and chubs, I wasn't phased.

When I came back to the states, the show-tune acoustic version of "Poker Face" was permanently stuck in my head and I must have watched her play it on the Ellen Show so many times it was negatively affecting my health. 

Then "Love Game" was playing, and after watching the video I was reminded yet again of what an insanely sexy psycho maniac Lady Gaga was. "Disco stick" is just the kind of metaphor I would think up. At this point I believe we must have been on the same dirty wave-length. Nearly soul-mate status. But then she had to turn it up a notch by covering her naked body in Star Trek-esque glitter formations and doing the dirty with male and female cops. At this time I think you could safely say I was deeply enamored with The Gaga.  

But tonight I saw her performance at the VMAs.  

How the hell was I to react?

I initially regarded the woman's performance with curiosity, which soon became fascination. Then, suddenly, ABSOLUTE FUCKING TERROR. 

Okay, yeah, I can handle theatrics, McQueen-esque bird masks, bootylicious black dudes, back-up dancers in wheelchairs...but wait...

BLOOD? No words, friends. I felt legitimately horrified by the image of the crazy bitch dangling hangman-esque like a bleeding corpse of insanity. Lady Gaga has managed to etch her creepy face into my brain with a cocaine-covered scalpel. I fear she will at any moment parade into my bedroom in an excrement-drenched high-cut leotard and force me to join her macabre circus cult.  

BUT WAIT, she already has. Yes, I'm officially OB-FUCKING-SESSED with the lady and there is no return for me, friends. I love her and I am willing to follow her to the edges of this planet. I want to become blood-sisters with her and wear leotards and Lennon-glasses and be utterly terrifying and obnoxious. 

Sometimes I wonder what Lady Gaga is doing at this exact moment, do you? Right now I imagine she's tweaking and having an intimate conversation with Jesus himself, and I wish I was too.