Sunday, October 29, 2006

Sunday Top 10: Reviving Shark Earrings and Brain Wave Rooms

People usually associate Spring (the season, not the verb) with re-birth, probably because of flowers, trees and Jesus. Who are these people? Peter Rabbit? Personally, I find the late rainy misery of October to be far more appropriate to re-birth/revival/renewal than that optimistic Spring nonsense. There's something about the grey gloom that just warms my half-empty heart to it's sinful embers.

I mean...plants may be dying, but Broadway shows, Ophelia and heavy metal ballads have learned to REVIVE.


10. My roommate, MM, is an amazing uptight-turned-wild-wife in the music video for the revival of "Come All Ye Faithful," the first single from the Twisted Christmas CD. During the test audience screening When Natalie and I got to see the latest cut (it's not out yet, but we're special), we were both LOLing, almost LMAOing. For those of you who did not live in a liberal anti-commercial police state between the years of 1981-1994 (like me), you may remember the "We're Not Gonna Take it" music video, which showed on MTV while I was watching 3-2-1 Contact. This video is like that one but it stars MM and Dee's Cablevision guy.

9. I used to have a Yankees hat. Where is it now? Probably in some gigantic black hole with my ex-ipod and Stephanie's Adidas hat. I used to wear a Tigers hat. I can't do that anymore because: 1. It was the victim of one of many pilot-pen-ink explosions, 2. The Tigers are like, an actual threat this year? So I decided to revive the Cubs hat, which I bought for a Cubs game in Toronto in '03 (everyone had SARS, so we got a pretty handsome travel package), and I think that it's pretty f***in fabulous. And it doesn't scare anyone, because the Cubs aren't gonna like, win, or whatever.

8. I haven't done Halloween for the last several years (besides October '03--we went to Madison for their big bash. I was a peppermint stick. On the way back, when we were zipping past an asshole on the highway in Wapackaneta, Wisconsin, a police officer who was clearly jealous of my hot Lexus pulled me over for speeding. I got a $350 dollar ticket which led to a semi-serious total complete tantrum). But this year I am bringing back the Halloween and so
the point is: what should Stephanie and I be for Halloween?

Thelma and Louise? The Sweet Valley Twins? A Homosexy Robin and Batwoman? A Homosexy Robin Hood and Maid Marian? A Homosexy Peter Pan and Tinkerbell? Hansel and Gretel? Victoria's Secret Angels?

This is what we are working with. Close your eyes and imagine what would look good on us.

7. My best friend Haviland Stillwell rocks out about 10,000 costumes in the revival of Les Miserables, which is in previews right now at the Broadhurst Theater on Broadway. Of all the outfits she wore, the prostitute outfit was mos. def. the best. Of all the men in the show, Norm Lewis was without a doubt the most sexy. Of all the women in the show, obvs my vote goes to the Factory Girl, aka Haviland Stillwell. I hadn't seen the show before, but I had seen Joey Potter sing "On my Own" in the beauty pageant episode of "Dawson's Creek," which is just to say that I know a thing or two about Les Miserables.
Okay, you ready? I'm gonna be serious for a second. "Les Miserables" in amazing, and you should all go see it, even if you live in London, you should just get on a plane, okay? Alexander Gemignani is really stunning as Jean Valjean. Seriously. And yes, I had no idea how to spell his name or the name of the character he played until I looked it up on

6. Six Feet Under, now on Bravo.It's all I could ever ask for out of life. My joy cannot be expressed in mere words, though it drives me insane that they have to dub over all the "fucks" with lame words like "crap." Nate, Brenda and Claire all know how to pack the punches with their Mamet-esque brilliant employments of the word "fuck" at least 10 times an episode, so this is nothing short of tragic.

5. I totally rearranged a whole lot of furniture, therefore reviving the spirit of the apartment. Unfortunately, I accidentally chose to start this process about 5 minutes before the AlAnonitute and her Hapless Crew of Scrawny Boys showed up to extricate her furniture and belongings from the Den of Sin. Luckily they were just in time--Boy 2 helped me move my desk out my bedroom door (it was stubbornly stuck) to take to the living room. The AlAnonitute was not impressed with my re-distribution of labor and she scowled: "Is this really the best time for this?" I wanted to ask her if this was the best time for her to throw away all her Kashi and Morningstar Products and leave them for us to take out even though she had plenty of time to remove all our tables and chairs, but I didn't, because unlike her, I am a Supreme Person. I also wanted to tell her that unlike her 6th grade students, I am not in 6th grade, and I would like to be spoken to like an adult. Booya.

4. I seriously just read Reviving Ophelia. From cover to goddamn cover. I thought it would be good info for my book. I remember when every Mom was reading this book in 1994, aka my Mom. My favorite part is Dr. Pipher's descriptions of what the various girls wear to their therapy sessions:

"Tammy was dressed in a silk jacket, designer blue jeans and stylish green boots." (really? stylish green boots?)

"Rita's brown hair was decorated with feathers and beads, and she was dressed in a skin-tight satiny dress."

"Francesca was dressed in green jeans and a SIX FLAGS OVER TEXAS t-shirt."
(her caps, not mine.)

"Carol and Gary were new age parents. Gary wore beads and had a ponytail. Carol collected crystals and had spent time in the brain wave room at our New Age bookstore."

These two take the cake though:

"Julia, dressed in pink stretch pants, an oversized sweater and shark earrings..."

"Leah was dressed casually in a Garfield sweatshirt and jeans, but she was carefully groomed with long ice-blue nails and an elaborate hairstyle."

Seriously, take a moment to imagine those outfits. Okay. Good. Let's move on.

3. I totally rocked the Doc Martens last night. Yeah, like Daria, but HOT.

2. Um, so in Reviving Ophelia?

"Holly played Prince's music until she had all the lyrics memorized, and because Prince wore purple, Holly dressed exclusively in purple. She dyed her hair red and spiked it because Prince claimed he liked red hair."

"Holly often answered my questions by quoting Prince's songs."

First off though, I totally love Prince. But in this context, it's ridiculously amazing/awesome/reviving things on so many levels.

Mary Phipher Ph.D: How do you feel about your boyfriend Lyle?
Holly: I wanna be his brother, his mother and his sister too. There ain't no other that can do the things I'll do to him. And I get discouraged, cause you treat me just like a child, and they say I'm so shy, yeah, but with Lyle I just GO WILD!!!

1. Sorry, about Reviving Ophelia again?

"When I offered her a soda, she rolled her eyes and said "Color me Excited."

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Season 5, Disc 5: The End of my Friendship with Emmet Honeycutt.

OR, The Real Reason why I Won't Let Anyone1 Be my Netflix Friend.

Potential Netflix friend: "Wow, so uh, how's it going with Season Three of The O.C? Three stars, that's it? And only two for Once and Again? I never get any recs from you. I mean--I saw that you've got Just My Luck in your cue--
Me: ThatsforHaviland!!!!
Friend: You really should give Goddard a chance.
Me: Did he write Ally McBeal?
Friend: No, he's French.
Me: Oh yeah, the waiting guy.
"Friend": The what?
Me: You know, "What are you waiting for? We're waiting for Goddard--"
[Friend punches me in the face with North by Northwest, which p.s., I hated but not as much as I hated Citizen Kane. I mean, it's no West Wing.]

Some of my favorite inventions of the last ten years, as you may or may not already know, include: Easy-Mac, ipods and Seasonal Affective Disorder. But one of the really big ones is TV-on-DVD. Like how you can watch an entire season of a show in two days, depending on how big of a loser you are how bad your insomnia is. Your gumption for this project is also closely related to your general ability to handle the following conversation:

Co-Worker (let's call him Milton): Hey mister, you look like total crap! You must have had quite a crazy night last night, huh, playa?
You: Oh, no, it's Ted who has the Crystal Meth problem. He really hit rock bottom last night.
Milton: Geez, that must have been some party. Meth! Geez!
You: Party?
Milton: Yeah, with uh---Ted?
You: Oh, no. Ted lives in Pittsburgh.
Milton: You went to Pittsburgh last night? You ARE a PLAYA!
You: No, I was in bed eating string cheese and push pops. And watching TV--well--not TV exactly, it's actually on DVD that I get from Netflix--but it's like--very real to me, you know?
Milton: (laughs like you just made a joke) Did you even brush your hair today?
You: (grab co-worker by the hair, kick him in the balls) Say NO TO PROPOSITION 14, BITCH!

Basically, I'm on the last disc of the Queer as Folk series and I consider these boys to be my friends. I have only one episode left. What will i do without my boys? I've been known to anticipate going home after a mediocre night out, expecting to chill with Brian Kinney and Mel+Linds. They have invaded my consciousness. Hour-long television dramas were not designed to be watched all in a row. Doing so can cause bad things, like confusing my actual family with The Fishers from Six Feet Under or confusing our actual government with Jeb Bartlett's White House on The West Wing. Which has it's benefits.

My old roommate, Lo, was a master of rationing episodes of television shows, which she often watched twice (once with commentary, once without) to extend the pleasure. I have no such self-discipline.

Ok, there are three different types of TV shows you can watch on DVD:

"I've never seen this show, but it's still on."
e.g. The O.C, Nip/Tuck, Grey's Anatomy, The L Word, Lost, Gilmore Girls
Benefits: When you are out of DVDs, you know that a new season of new episodes will arrive on your television set within a few months. The stories are still progressing. Nate has not died yet. Life stretches before you: glorious, promising, beautiful.
Drawbacks: The pace of the show as it unfolds on actual television will feel like you are on Weight Watchers and whereas you used to eat the entire pizza in one sitting, now you can only have one piece a week, and that's not a lot of calcium, and you're a growing boy, etc. After my relationship with Shane progressed so rapidly during Krista and I's week-long L Word Season One marathon, Season Two felt like slow water torture.

"I never saw this show when it was on, and now it's over."
e.g. Sex and the City, Queer as Folk, The West Wing, Dawson's Creek, Six Feet Under, Party of Five.
Benefits: You've got so much episode backstock that you're bound to get at least a 1-2 month relationship with these people. For a sucessful network show, like Dawson's Creek or Buffy the Vampire Slayer, you've got several months of escapism on your hands. And it's so sweet, like candy from a baby.
Drawbacks: The story is over. Nate has already died. Jen died too. Everyone is dead. Or married. Or like, moving. Somewhere. To sad music. Usually you also like, already know what happened, too, which kinda spoils it. Or makes it better, like knowing that Justin and Brian would eventually get married enabled me to make it through the rough spots of their relationship without panic.

"I never saw this show when it was on. Actually, no one did really. So it got canned."
Once and Again, Freaks and Geeks, Wonderfalls, My So Called-Life
Benefits: Access to the complete series means you can pace yourself appropriately, there is also rarely a wait. If it had a good run, you've got some time with the people.
Drawbacks: Shows that have been unceremoniously canceled usually don't have that grand hoo-hah known as the "Season Finale," which is when everything that would have ruined the show and made it boring in Season Two gets to happen to let us all end happy, or when someone dies from licking envelopes.

Moral: Jordan never really figured out how to read, and Brian never got laid, but at least they never died.

1: While living with Lo, she became my Netflix friend. Recently Janet made the same request. So, you know, there's that. Luckily, for every foreign black-and-white film, one of them gets the entire first season of Ally McBeal or, you know, Firm Up with Weights. But I'm not naming names. I'm just sayin'.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Sunday Top 10: We Want and Want Yeah, We Want

First off, I know it's not Sunday but I'm doing the "Sunday Top Ten" as if it actually was Sunday. Recently, actually at 10 A.M. a few days ago, Maggie said something interesting to me while eyeing a salacious glass of Pinot Grigio: "Maybe I should just like, fly somewhere in a different time zone, where it's night-time, and I can start drinking there and then come back here in time for night?"

So, simmer on that.

When Natalie lived in Manhattan last year, she managed to work out at New York Sports Club approximately 3-4 times a week for a period of five months without purchasing an actual membership. She also did not purchase a printer to print out the free one-week passes she procured via e-mail (my not-so-trusty Epson CX 6400 is often mistaken to be "Office Depot" by my printer-deprived friends (also, they sometimes go to the actual "Office Depot")) and subsequently presented at every NYSC location on the goddamn island.

These grand swindles, which I never do myself because I'm pretty sure I'd be that crazy girl who got herself "escorted" out of the "facilities," are pulled off by Natalie with complete finesse. Perhaps that is because she is charming and I am insufferable. Although the two of us pulled off the joining-the-health-club in Michigan as a lesbian couple trick (even though I was dating a male gym employee at the time), which was notable.1

NR's latest feat? For the last several months she has been living in London and using a MacBook by taking advantage of the Apple Store's two week return policy. She would take one, use it, email herself the files and return it. Get a new one. Rinse, Repeat--at the London apple store, they even knew her, and had her brand new rental available upon her arrival. She is now doing this in NYC, thanks to that lovely Apple Store.

"You know how you're pretty sure there's like, just one thing that you need that probably is the reason you can't move forward in your life (aka get a job, get a life, etc), and if you just had it, everything would change? That's how I felt about like, faster internet, and thus, the MacBook."-Natalie

And that's how I feel about a sundae cup, right now, but both delis on my blocks are out of sundae cups.


10. MacBook: I gave birth to my ibook 1.75 years ago. Now it's all worn out, I mean, the keys have no letters. All the cool kids have a Mac Book. Photo-Booth is possibly even a better invention than EasyMac. The lighting in this camera is really just divine! Look at what I did with Natalie's MacBook for approximately 45 minutes too long!:

9. New Teeth: White shiny ones. Or whatever. Veneers. Braces with purple rubber bands. Somethin'. Make me sparkle.This photograph could turn you on. I don't know why, but the same thing happened to me, so you don't need to be ashamed.

8. A desk that isn't in my bedroom. My bed beckons. Perhaps I ought to change into sweatpants. Perhaps that could be the thing. Perhaps another room would be the thing, or perhaps an eggo waffle. Let me go into the other room and think about that waffle. I shut my door behind me, pointed like a radar for the syrup.

7. Blackberry/Treo To avoid more phone calls by writing more emails. Possible side effect: re-orientation of obsessive on-the-brink-of-heart-attack energies into breakable cold gadget, but who am I kidding? I'm alive, I'm lightning! Bring on the heart palpitations!

6. To Be Eloise: I think my life would be best executed at the Plaza, like Eloise. I would like to eat pudding from goblets, I would like a nanny, I would like a tricycle garage, I would like to swing my feet. Like Eloise, but older, and less adorable.

5. A Sidekick: Not the T-Mobile kind, because something about T-Mobile has always seemed a little impotent to me, but someone in tights to handle the tough things. Like: calling Verizon, organizational things, fixing broken things, preparing large parties, laundry, going to balls, massage, taking me to the park, telling me I'm pretty, flying, seeing through walls, etc. Basically what I need is Bat Girl with a splash of Donna from 'The West Wing." LovinLyman.

4. A job that pays me a lot of money A wealthy husband or wife who takes a lot of vacations. Like, is almost always on vacation. Almost as if they didn't exist at all. Except to give me back massages and feed me grapes. Or actually, get someone else for the grapes, and someone else for the back massages.

3.These Shoes. I'm not kidding. Channukah. Size 9.5.

2.A Samantha Doll Oh wait. That's what I wanted when I was eight. And I GOT IT, BITCHES!!!
1. A DVD player that records screenshots: I'm gonna re-cap 'The L Word: Season 4' on this blog when the new season starts, which will undoubtedly grab the Grand Prize for "How to Consume As Much of your Life as Possible on Fuckin' Blogger Dot Com," which is the top horseman of my backwards race away from Ultimate Glory, but also, is a short term fix, like tricycle trips.

1 The "Lesbians are Families Too" amendment to the constitution of overpriced membership at our Michigan Athletic Club was prompted by a lesbian couple who didn't understand why other serious non-married couples could be on a family membership but they could not. Who was that couple? My Mother, and [redacted]. My Mom: Crusading for Gay Rights/Bargains like Debbie Navatni, even before it was trendy to do so.

Saturday, October 21, 2006

The New York of the Best and Worst

In honor of The Village Voice's BEST OF NYC feature, I present the NYC OF BEST. What's that? Well, why don't you read this, and find out. This is the cover of this issue of "my blog." (blog is short for web log, p.s.)

New York is the best place to be hungover.
Your stomach is mashed potatoes, your gut is all gut, no meat, your eyes are slivers of their former selves, your body feels as if it's spent the night fucking (it has) and then consequently being pummeled with something large, heavy, and soft. Like a gorilla (it hasn't).

Never mind all that, soldier! Get it together! New York won't let you waste your day on these sentiments. Get on your shoes, go to the subway, yes, go underground, yes, mash with the people, mash into the people, flip your book so you can hold it with one hand now is your iPod in your pocket, hover wait for the lurch, there it is, hold back, now, go go go, get off go up, go to work work work work hold one phone two phones email rush out into the afternoon for lunch and tell them what you want, three ingredients, spinach iceberg romaine, coffee coffee pay attention that woman is looking at your drink she didn't ask for soy milk you asked for whip cream extra shot, be on it, be on top of it, rush upstairs, run run work, out, meet friends, back on the train, catch cab, run to gym, there, go, now go go go.You can't hide in your car, fall asleep at the wheel, you can't drift off in your cubicle while the humdrum music lulls you into suburban sluggishness: skin tone matching shirts, ties matching carpet. Alert, soldier, many drug addicts and alcoholics have made great names for themselves in this city, and it's mornings like this one that powered them through.

New York is the worst place to sleep in.
First, there is a gathering of the ghosts of the men who sang the Macarena in the apartment below yours. Above, next to. Across the street, someone is building the Tower of Babel out of cement blocks and Lincoln logs. You are two hours late for work. Somewhere during your commute, the train just stops, but time keeps going. And going.

New York is the best place to be heartbroken and aggressive and reckless about it.
If he took your heart, you don't need it. What is a heart, anyhow, it's just a word for suckers. You need bars and drinks so serious you laugh out loud. You need corners. You need the company of drunk strangers. You need to look back at him, that stranger, when he eyes you, across the way there, you need to look right back at him, you need to maybe even talk to him, maybe even take him home, maybe even get up afterwards and say well, thanks, that was nice, and then just never call him again, just let him dissapear like he never existed, like how you felt about him before you met him, because this is New York and you can. Go online. Someone, anyone, is near. Someone will pay you for what you planned to do already.

New York is the worst place to be heartbroken and sad about it.
You can't cry like that, out in public, with people looking, I mean: looking away. You can cry in major transportation hubs, just a little, you can cry in Grand Central if you want, or at Penn Station maybe but you can't just cry like that on the street. You are making the street uncomfortable. Napkins don't grow on trees. The waitress is in the back kitchen telling everyone everything you are saying. She's writing it in her blog. There's no where to hide. There's no crying in baseball. Stop it, get sunglasses, go home, even if home is the last stop on the Q. Try not to cry all the way there. If you take a cab, the cabbie will ask and he'll tell you a beautiful girl like you has no reason to cry. If you cry on the train, you will attract lunatics. You will let them hug you.

New York is the worst place for inclement weather.
There is no slipping into attached garage and into your sleek metal SUV, its skin shiny as windows, driving it into the world, your own space station, then pulling up to work, snatching the umbrella from the back seat, walking five steps before you're inside the hub.

In New York if it is raining or snowing you fucking DEAL with it. You layer. Forget your nice shoes, your nice outfit, you can't get a cab, you will trek. You will trek like a completely insane person, the bottom of your pants will be wet, dirty, stained with salt, your hair is a mess, it's hopeless, if it's raining, just don't bother. Forgot your umbrella? Ten men glare at you, taunt you, you know that look, it's the look of drug dealers of crackheads that your parents warned you about in this city, telling you they can solve your problems with their umbrella. Just five dollars. Pieces of crap. Don't buy it. You can make it. You'll look like hell, but you're in hell, so what' s the difference?

New York is the best place for beautiful weather.
You can walk for miles and miles, all day, through 15 continents. You'll see 5 people you know, 5 million you don't. You get home: your roommate has beer. You take the bottle to your lips, it all tastes like firecrackers.

New York is the worst place for the morning after.
You can't hide. If you went out unprepared--no sunglasses, no hat, no makeup, no change of clothing--you could be heading out into the world at 7am in a mini-skirt, wedges that blistered your feet into oblivion the night before, a shirt you'd never wear in the daylight, hair a mess, lips chapped and oh G-d, just thinking about it makes me want to never sleep anywhere but my own home. You're gonna be on the train without a book. Maybe without your ipod. You'll be looking at them, they'll be looking at you, we all know what's up. Try for the early train, with the underpriveleged restaurant underlings of the world. They might compliment you on your skirt, but they mean well, in five hours you'll be eating on plates they're about to wash. Which, after all, is why I don't do sleepovers.

New York is the best place for the morning after something wonderful,
if you remembered to bring a toothbrush. You are smug in last night's underwear, crispy in your crotch. You have a secret. No one else on the C-train is as happy as you are.

New York is the best place to be anorexic.
Here: lift your arms, those exquisite twigs, to your sides. See: I promise you that within ten blocks, extending into the city from each of your pointy fingertips at their respective angles, you can find a low-calorie ice-cream substitute, you can find a variety of Snacks-4-Life products, you can find a trainer and a gym and a smoothie and a pill and a drug and before you know it you are floating. Yes, you are floating through the sea of suits and click-clacky shoes, click-clack like your bones click-clack. It is like dreaming, only it's like a dream where you can taste things. You can taste life. You don't need food, you eat air, you eat heat stretching away from the street, you eat exhaust, you eat the energy of the people who pass by you, pass through you, surround you and keep you moving even when your body has stopped moving, has stopped breathing, is somewhere in midtown slumped in a heap, devastatingly beautiful, like a fashion model playing dead with lipstick.
Keep walking. Keep walking, like floating, like dancing, keep starving. Keep going. You can do this forever, there are people awake somewhere, there is other stimuli, there are people to fuck you or fuck you over, there are people to hit you and hurt you and remind you of your flesh, that you bruise, and there are people to assure you that you exist by running into you, there are people watching you. You see their eyes, you assume their eyes will see your legs and how well you fit into your skinny jeans. There are people watching you and drooling.

They are hungry, but you are free, you are floating above them, watching, laughing, cracking your knuckles like bones breaking, flying.

New York is the worst place to take up space.

I'm not talking about fat. I'm talking about that small seat, the way you rest your feet three meters from the base of your chair, the spread of your legs, the cock of your elbows. I'm talking about how you call at me in heels, tell me how I look (goooood) and make me feel so dirty I get goosebumps. I'm talking about all the eyes on your tits. I'm talking about all the eyes on the man with shoulders that make shoulder pads jealous. I'm talking about commanding space. Your suitcase with the wheels in the aisle at Duane Reade. I'm talking about owning it.

I'm talking about saying: I deserve.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

So Ask me Questions, Why am I So Real?

Dear Riese,

I thought your name was Marie.

Yours Truly,
Crispin Glover

Dear CG,

Not anymore, sucker! This all started in 1981 when I was born and my parents named me Clark Kent Marie. My Mom usually called me "Pumpkin-Head" or "Ree-Ree," and one fine day in 1997 at Interlochen Arts Academy, Krista overheard my visiting mother calling me Ree-Ree and began calling me "Ris" which is spelled "Ris" (we had a lot of white-board communication in boarding school) but pronounced "Reese."

Haviland started calling me Ris right from the start. I don't have a lot of friends, so she accounts for like, 50% of my verbal communication with other humans, so I just started using it with all the humans I talk to, because I think it suits me better. I mean, I'm not a "Marie." Marie is so proper, you know?

Also, then I bought a company called 'Riese Restaurants.' I've been chowing down at "Shady Jake's Bar-B-Que N'Booze" for, like, ever-ever because they've got all my fave foods: Carolina Ribs, Pulled Pork AND Baked Beans!1 But really, it was my love of "TGI Fridays" and "Pizza Hut" that really inspired me to buy the chain. What can I say, it's been a match made in heaven! So then I changed by name to make it easier for those boozehounds from "Tequillaville" to stop calling me "Mami."

Dear Riese,

Since you are clearly a pimp, I would like to ask you this: What do you do when you have a guest in your bed (a boyfriend/girlfriend, or perhaps a new "friend" or someone you are "dating") and you wake up at 2AM and realize your intestines are begging you: "Let us out of here! To the bathroom, soldier! Vomit time!" What is the best way to handle this without totally grossing out my partner?

Yours Truly,
Drunk n' Disorderly

Dear DND,

Funny you should ask, DND, I was in this exact situation last night! Although I hadn't anticipated the upheaval of all the organs of my stomach and the various Eggo waffle-and-topping combos I refer to as "dinner" when I rolled over for sleep, we had already passed into that time of night called "lets be real here, cuddling ain't practical" and therefore my sleeping partner did not even notice my 50 trips to the bathroom. Also, I believe, she had possibly taken some ambien, which I had stolen from my soon-to-be-departed roommate. That brings me to the number one rule of how to deal with this:

1. Drug your Partner.

Which reminds me of another night, in the summer of 2003, when I was somehow like, poisoned or something, and called Scot from the Diag (GO BLUE, Y'ALL!!!) and told him I was losing my mind, and he came over to politely facilitate my night of sickness. Around four A.M, I woke up for another trip to the bathroom to see Scot sitting on the roof, smoking all my pot. Whatever gets you through the night, baby.

Also---and this isn't to say that I'm a drunk, but rather just a girl who often overestimates her stomach's capacity for abuse---after a nerve (dot com) party in November 2005, I got ABSURDLY sick and I was certain that my male guest would FLEE as soon as he was sober enough to leave my apartment. He had a nice resume (Ivy league, artist, rent controlled apartment in the village) and therefore could do better. However, not only did he NOT flee, but he officially overstayed his welcome the next morning AND called me about ten thousand times.

Which just goes to show you--obviously men dig that shit. Damsel in distress, etc.

2. They Dig That Shit.

Dear Riese,

Your friends are HOT. Tell me, exactly, how hot are they?

Yours Truly,
Horny in Idaho

Dear HII,

Here's how hot:
1. Les Miserables, featuring the lovely and talented Haviland Stillwell, opens on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theather on November 8th. You should buy tickets now, because Haviland is HOT. And Norm Lewis will (unintentionally) probably make you cream in your pants. Seriously. He's fucking sexy.
2. Stephanie is the main attraction at this super sexy seductress' fashion designer's website, Bruce Glenn dot com.
3. Our favorite globetrotter, Natalie Raaber, is in town for an exclusive week-long engagement. If you'd like to meet the woman who I have raved about in the past, (June 3rd: 'Natalie is the master of "I feel like", September 17th: 'Natalie Raaber can read coursepacks on the elliptical trainer), then come to her party. This is not an invitation for my stalkers, or for my friends' stalkers (Hav won't be there, stalkers, she's in tech), but rather to all my friends and Natalie's friends.

xo Riese

1Um, EW. I hate all of those things, especially any meat that resembles the animal it came from, esp. if that animal is a pig. Kosher, y'all!

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

A Life is Waiting to Carry You Home, Everywhere You Look

I crossed one leg over the other, dipped my baguette cracker in my caviar spreadable cheese and told The Potential (I'll call her "Aniya" for purposes of identity concealment. Cool fake name, right? Yeah it is.) "This really isn't, you know, like, typical. It's like we're performing." The show is called: "Young Manhattanites Wind Down After a Day at Work." I'm sure Getty has an image for this event..ah yes. Here's one:

"I've never even been here before," Janet (her part in the show was "The Friend, like Phoebe") added, taking a drink of her Dom Perignom Yellowtail White Wine.

But there we were, drinking wine in the smoky air, watching Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip1 , like people who often: 1. have mutual friends over, 2. are stoned (actually I haven't been stoned in about two months, FYI, mom, the police, etc.), 3. watch television shows together on purpose, 4. have a suspiciously uptight twat wandering in and out of the room announcing her intentions to barter various pieces of furniture to random suckers via craigslist.
I think we're gonna take Aniya. But, I was thinking for the future, it would be easiest (for me) to just, you know, make a quiz. For compatability. Like they did in college to pick your freshman roommate. ("I prefer to study: a)with music on, b)in silence, c)never, d)drunk") Obvs I had a single in college.

The correct answers are in red.

1. I am sitting in front of my laptop, typing. You should:
a) Talk to me
b) Totally not talk to me.

2. Can I borrow your belt?
b) no

3. Do you want a glass of wine?
a) yes
b) no
c) riese, it's haviland, you know i don't drink.

4. What is your feeling about a cleaning schedule?
a) That's kid stuff
b) No, I clean constantly and therefore I do not need one. However, I expect you to be aware of when a room has surpassed my personal standards of clutter and clean it yourself, otherwise I'll go crazy and throw stuff on your bed.
c) Sounds like a great way to be sure the house is cleaned weekly without causing any conflicts or passive aggressive based initiatives!
5. I have a friend over who, when I ask her to be quiet because I am concerned she could wake you up, responds by announcing "I don't care, I'll fuck her. I'll fuck her with a strap-on. I'll fuck her so hard!" You:
a) get naked and knock on my door
b) laugh to yourself
c) call a friend and laugh to them
d) move out
f) feel homophobic
g) all of the above, except f

6. Which of the following best describes your life philosophy:
a) "I don't believe in guilt, I believe in living on impulse as long as you never intentionally hurt another person, and don't judge people in your life. I think you should live completely free." (Angelina Jolie)
c) "Bad company ruins good morals" (the Bible)
d) "Politeness is the flower of humanity." (June Jordan)
e) "It's a magical world, Hobbes, ol' buddy...Let's go exploring!" (Calvin, "Calvin and Hobbes")
f) "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff" (whoever)
g) "You shouldn't take life too seriously. You'll never get out alive." (Van Wilder, "National Lampoon's Van Wilder")
g) "This is a four thousand dollar sofa upholstered in Italian silk. It is NOT just a couch." (Carolyn, "American Beauty")
h) "If I had a million dollars, I'd relax. I'd sit on my ass all day. I'd do nothing." (Peter, "Office Space")

7. Did you eat all the cookie dough chunks out of my ice cream?
a) no (clearly lying)
b) no (truth)
c) yes (truth), but I already bought you a new pint, with all it's parts intact!

8. You have just finished a meal. What do you do with your dish?
a) leave the dish, food residue attached, in the sink with no plans to clean it within the next 24 hours.
b) leave the dish, rinsed free of food residue, in the sink with no plans to clean it within the next 24 hours. If I end up cleaning it, that's fine, I'm sure you've washed one of my dishes before, too.
c) throw it at me
d) clean it
e) leave the dish, rinsed free of food residue, in the sink with plans to clean it when you are sober or not in a hurry or not tired.

9. Something is wrong with the internet. Will you call Verizon for me please?
a) yes
b) no

10. Is it okay if I put my desk in the living room? You can do whatever you want in there, I understand by putting my desk in a common area, I am submitting myself to possible bad television, music, company, strippers, food, and people doing drugs.
a) sure!
b) no.

11. Can I have a bite of that?
a) yes, take it all, i'm so fat.
b) sure you can.
c) no.

1(Important Sidenote: Yes I love the show. Yes Sorkin is back Yes I loved the West Wing Yes I love Bradley Whitford Yes that's based on Kristen Chenowith maybe but not really Yessssyes Yes yesyueyesysyeyssys stop asking me about it! We've already talked about it. That's right, we've allllll talked about it. It's officially ALREADY OVER as a cocktail party conversation. Or a dinnertable conversation. I don't even have a goddamn dinner table I eat on the couch.)

side note 2: Mr. Deli is out of town. He was making the reservations on his cell phone instead of ringing me up, and the impatient lottery players said: "What's he doin'? Makin' some plane reservations? Ring this girl UP!" (frustrated sigh) "These guys think they own the goddamn country." (yeah, seriously, they said that!)

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Sunday Top 10: Jesus Doesn't Live Here Anymore

Last night, circa midnight, as Haviland and I were planning our wedding talking about How to Take Myself Seriously, my roommate MM called (using initials in totally vain attempt to avoid potential googling by the AlAnonitute)--and I generally don't answer the phone, because I'm: 1. deaf, 2. busy--but Haviland suggested that maybe my apartment was on fire. Obvs this is a sensitive topic right now, so I did.

However, it wasn't the apartment that was on fire. It was our souls, burning in the pits of eternal damnation!

Apparently the flames of our mutual sin-i-tude have driven the AlAnonitute, who was living here before either of us, to move out. (Okay, honestly, I have no idea why she's moving out. And she's a nice girl, I think, really a perfect roommate--docile, quiet, never home, never complained (to me)-- and besides my occasional maddening guilt over the fact that, as a schoolteacher, she is way more Noble and Good than I will ever be, I found her altogether non-invasive and pleasant).

So my theories relating to the origins of her desires are based upon some very shoddy detective methods (observance of Self-Help and Jesus literature in her room and my total ire towards anyone who, two years ago, asked a lesbian to move out because she felt uncomfortable living with someone who could want her body, which, p.s., is super unlikely, if you know what I'm sayin') and the fact that, as Sherri points out, it's always fun to make fun of Jesus.

However if she is moving in with her boyfriend, I hope she knows that is also a sin. In fact, I believe it's called "living in sin." Burn THAT, King James!


10. Average Time Spent in Refrigerator by the Average Alcoholic Beverage Before Being Consumed: 3 hours.

9. The Company We Keep. My best friend in the city is a lesbian--a lot of my friends are either lesbians OR at least have had sex with a lesbian! MM's boyfriend is a member of one of the most famous Heavy Metal bands EVER. If I had a boyfriend, he'd probably be a member of an indie-band that maintained it's Artistic Integrity while slipping into poverty and General but Trendy Levels of Disillusionment and Resentment Towards the Man. You can imagine the immoral behavior just bursting through the cracks of our drywall.

8. Banned Books Because my room is small and I am large, I often do work in the living room. Which means some of my books (in particular, books-I-am-reading-for-book-i-am-writing) are on the shelves there. Some of these titles, to the virgin frigid eye, may appear to be somewhat disarming, among them: Bisexuality and the Eroticism of Everyday Life, Her Way: Young Women Remake the Sexual Revolution, Fever: How Rock N' Roll Changed Gender in America, Gender Trouble, and, of course, A Tribute to Freud.

7. Pill Poppers On the note of "Things I Did Do for Jesus": I don't think Jesus wants the AlAnonitute to be taking Ambien--that's like, artificial and stuff. He probably does want Stephanie and I, however, to enjoy a restful night of sleep every now and then. So we took care of that mis-appropriation of pills. Life is hard, y'all!

6. Strong Hell-Raising Content Of the 20 DVDs (not including the John Cassavetes collection, because I've only got so much time, people) on the shelf in the common room, the MPAA has found these films guilty of the following sins against the rating boards (obviously all rated R or NC-17)
Adult Language: 75%
Nudity/Sexuality: 50%
Graphic Violence: 40%
Strong Sexual Content: 35%
Substance Abuse: 35%
Violence: 25%
"Graphic" Substance Abuse: 20%
"Pervasive Strong Language": 10%
"Graphic Sexual Dialogue": 5% (Closer)
"Sex-Related Cartoons": 5% (Crumb)
TV shows, and therefore without MPAA ratings, but I can tell you from experience are filled with adult language, possibly even pervasive strong language, and possibly, though not necessarily, Sex-Related Cartoons: 10% (Family Guy, Little Britan)

5. Degrassi...It Goes There. According to the promos, Degrassi "goes there," and for the first few weekends I lived here, the Degrassi marathon kept me endlessly entertained as I set up and did work that required only 50% of my brain. There=pregnancy, homosexuality, violence, drugs, abortions, god-club, rape, internet porn, etc. But like, with high school students, and um...shiny packaging. It might be a little confusing. If you aren't like, familiar, like, with it. p.s., sometimes MM puts in foreign old-school black and white porn for background imagery while we do work.

4. I'm more of a 'Utne Reader' kind of girl. Someone in this apartment subscribes to Time magazine and gets catalogs from the Omega Institute, and it ain't me. Also, it's not MM.

3."In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety" I've been known to mistake men's boxer-briefs for "shorts to be worn around the house" and MM usually cleans in five-inch heels and skirt worn as a chic strapless mini-dress, which is one of my favorite things about her, because it's really funny.

2. Um..this blog? If she finds this, then I actually probably will go to hell.

1. When she confessed to accidentally taking my yogurt instead of hers, I screamed: "You are going straight to hell! Don't talk to me anymore! Just get out of here, I can't trust you!" Obvs I was clearly sarcastic, and she laughed, but then I realized that she actually believes in Hell. And I uh, am a Jew.

Friday, October 13, 2006

The One Where I Blind you With Science, Genuis, and Glitter Glue

Janet "Anonymous," who prefers the jackrabbit rapid-fire qualities of blogs like--hmmmm--g**ker--thinks I don't update enough to require her daily attention/"checking."

I don't perform well under pressure I love pressure and perform very well under it (get it, boys? "under it?) so as I was waiting five thousand years minutes for the 1 train I got to thinking (does anyone else who unfortunately watched too much Sex and the City ever want to start every blog post with "So I got to thinking about relationships"? Is that just me?) about all the things that I've considered doing for Blogince. (That's Science+Blogging)

Gimmicks I've Pondered for the Purpose of Having a Reality-TV-Competition-Esque Blog

-What if I ate nothing but Tasti-D-Lite for an entire week? You know, like Jared Fogle did with Subway sandwiches, except that I weigh considerably less than he did and don't actually need to lose weight? Would I lose weight anyhow, would I go insane? If so, would I die? Would I turn into Mocha Marble Cheesecake, but fake and without dietary fats?

Where this thought stopped: Would I have to eat Tasti D Lite for breakfast? ew.

-What if I went out with one of the complete juiceheads from myspace who send me annoying e-mails or photos they took of themselves in their garage holding drumsticks and trying to look like they actually have balls? You know, like this guy:

... accompanied with a pickup line like this :"i work long hours i love what i do always looking for a bit of adventure i think that experience is the most important thing in life you have to have fun enjoy yourself and look for new things"



While trolling through my inbox for prime subjects for textual flogging, I realized that this guy:

has contacted me no less than 10,000 times, and I've never opened his messages.

What if I went ou Where this thought stopped:UM EW.

-What if I tried to freak my roommate (in the spirit of gingerbread+latte's "Christitute," I will call her the "AlAnonititute") out to see if I could get her to admit that she hates gay people is a lesbian? I recently found out that when Maggie first moved in to this apartment, the 3rd roommate was a homosexual lady, and this made the AlAnonitute uncomfortable. (Didn't homophobia in NYC go out of style like, 15 years ago?) Since I think I come off as mostly straight (and I kind of am mostly straight), I really enjoyed her look of shock/near-death/surprise when she walked down the hallway towards the bathroom and into suspect behavior on the cusp of my room. A little later, I suggested that we keep it down so the AlAnonitute could sleep and my special friend exclaimed, audibly to a ridiculous degree: "I don't care, I will fuck her with a strap on!"

Where this idea stopped: I need to ask G-d to help me accept the things I cannot change, or whatever. I don't know, she's the one who goes to the meetings, not me.

-What if I went to every Duane Reade in New York City and timed the lines to figure out precisely which Duane Reade is the absolute worst most inefficently run Duane Reade of all?

Where this idea stopped: I may as well jump off a bridge, and also I'm pretty sure it's the one on 76th and 1st avenue..or 14th and 6th avenue...or 90th and Columbus....I mean, I could get cocaine faster than those douchebags could get me some goddamn Allegra.

-What if I just tried to freak the AlAnonitutue out by bringing a lot of boys home and a lot of women home at various intervals to see if I could get her to say something bad about how immoral bisexual people are, and then I could use that in my book?

Where this idea stopped: I so don't even have the energy or desire to be promiscuous. Really all I need is people to come over and yell like I'm giving them an orgasm while I put away my laundry and write this freakin' blog. Clearly.