Thursday, November 30, 2006

The L Word: Season 3, Episode 2 Recap on Automatic Straddle Blog

In addition to the Kinsey Scale, the Foreplay/"Sex" count and the Lesbian Squabble Count, I will be adding two more features to the recap-view: Weekly Kit-ism and The Weekly Jenny Moment.

Let's get down to it, shall we?

So today's ambiguous opening takes place in 1979, where Hot-to-Trot-Teri is walking down your standard foggy city street/alleyway, lined with men dressed like Richard Simmons who are apparently offering homosexual sex for money. Apparently. They tell Teri they don't have what she's lookin' for but she says she's looking for a lady and they tell her where to go and she finds herself a lady. A nun-lady.

4. Lesbian Sex Moment #4: One of Those CRAZY Nun Prostitute Girls!
The Players: Teri and Toni
The Pick-Up: "Fuck me so I forget who I am."
Hot or Not: HOT. When Toni's cross comes down and she goes "Oh Jesus"? Also she's wearing like, plaits. Again, obviously Teri has a taste for inhibited and vulnerable women in clothing from the American Girl Collection.

Keep Reading "Season Three, Episode Two: Lost Weekend" on Automatic Straddle

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

November Burnout, or Give Me Crack and Anal Sex, Take the Only Tree That's Left, And Stuff it Up the Hole in Your Culture

There's something kind of post-modern about reading the following paragraph in New York Magazine....

"Our obsession with efficiency at work has unfortunately seeped into our attitude toward leisure, with the multitasking of our downtime as the loony and paradoxical result. We run on the treadmill while listening to music while watching TV. We cook while flipping through a magazine while yakking on the phone."

....while riding the elliptical trainer, listening to music and....yeah...watching television. I also was texting Haviland to tell her to read the article. I'm also writing this while: cooking dinner, talking to Stephanie (who is now reading the article), writing Chapter One, copying down survey data.

I'm pretty sure I had my first major burnout at the age of 18, which resulted in me swimming 5000 miles in the Sarah Lawrence pool and then telling my Mom I was dropping out of college, and another one has been lurking for the past few months. I reassure myself that everything will be okay because "We're all going through this, this is our time at the edge" as I learned in the seminal film St.Elmo's Fire. I know that sounds like standard sarcasm but I am dead serious. It gets me through, St. Elmo's Fire.

Haviland googled her own existential crisis (which is SO post-modern!), and came up with a WikiHow article on how to deal with an existential crisis, which she passed on to me, because it is more cracked up than a burnout-oriented "CrackBerry." Let me share some of this insight:

1. Turn on a light, preferably 75 watt or brighter.
Okay, but seriously: I'm a vampire. Light makes the baby go blind. Jesus, no matter what Emily Webb may have said, no one really wants to look at each other! I mean, florescent lights are probably another cause of burnout, that's why teenagers are so depressed all the time (cause of school, and the lighting there, y'all). Ew. I don't have a 75 watt lightbulb anywhere. Gross.

2. If necessary, clean whatever room you're in. Changing your surroundings both clarifies your power over the world and gives you a few minutes to do some problem-solving on a less grandiose scale. Don't just straighten, clean. Use a cleaning product. (Note: Does not apply if you have OCD -- cleaning isn't your problem).
You know, a few days ago MM and I were proposing finding someone who's like, really down and out (possibly insane/homeless/on drugs) to clean our apartment for us, for like 40 bucks, because we don't have time for that bullshit. Where's The Email? Where's my Hat? Pippi! Is something burning?

3. Now, try to verbalize what your problem is. Some people write full-length sentences to help clarify their issues.

Har. Har.

4.Imagine several *different* people you like or respect giving you advice. Don't pick anyone abusive. Or try Mr. Rogers, your first grade teacher, and that girl (boy) you had a crush on in 9th grade. They don't help very much, do they? But it's fun talking to them.

I think it's really funny to think about Mr. Rogers, Mrs. Doman and Derek K. sitting on a couch together giving me advice about time management. Especially because Derek, since he was a total bad-ass, like, didn't even have time to go to school because he was really busy smoking marijuana, selling drugs, trying to get his girlfriend Beth to sleep with him (pick meeee Derek pick MEEE!!!) and sleeping in Meijers. These are the people in my neighborhood, y'all. Word.

5. Then imagine yourself giving someone else with your situation some advice. Really, if you were just the person talking to yourself, would you really think this was as big a problem?

If I was myself talking to myself I would tell myself: your hair looks really nice today. or: um, jump off a bridge, like, asap.

6. If it's between 8 am and 10 pm, consult someone who loves you like a friend or a parent.

Problem A: I don't have any daytime minutes. Is this what that T-Mobile my faves thing is for? God, I need a new phone. I think Sprint is giving me a crisis.
Problem B: I think this involves a lot of assumptions and a lot of problems in general as to like, what is love? Does anyone love me? Does Lionel Richie love me? Does Derek? Does sprint pcs? If I called someone I loved with a crisis, would they still love me? (No)
Problem C: I don't have any friends
Problem D: My Mom goes to work all day
Problem E: If I DID Have friends, they would be BADASS friends who'd be up all night long and I could call 'em whenever I fucking wanted to, HOLLA! (except like, before 10am)

More tips:

Don't decide to refuse to confront your problem on the romantic basis that life is prettier when you suffer. This is crap, and only applies if you actually can't deal with a problem. Most likely you can, even if it's only later.

Whatevs. Who wrote this, Mr. Rogers and Mrs. Doman? Someone who lives in a house with wall-to-wall carpeting and a pool and pays one-quarter of what I do for rent in my closet-sized bedroom?

Suffering is freakin' beautiful. Didn't you see Jordan Catalano in Requiem for a Dream? (I didn't, it's hard for me to sit through a movie because I always want to be writing/checking email/revising my Amazon wish list/making out, but I've seen photos so I know a thing or two.) But I did see The Basketball Diaries, which in my estimation was the hottest Leonardo DiCaprio has ever looked before or since.

Don't do too much thinking after midnight. Trust me, that never goes well. You might turn into a gremlin or worse yet, a pumpkin. Seriously, you never know.

Seriously, first you're all like, don't call someone after lights out, and now you're getting all Black Cauldron on me. Also, I like pumpkins.

Whatever you do, don't kill, cut, or maim yourself. Don't make any permanent changes because of temporary problems: destroying the only copy of your novel or getting a facial tattoo is unacceptable. You may use henna or dye your hair blue, if you want to get in a fight with your parents.

Somehow we got from like, killing yourself to using henna. HENNA?! Henna is so 1997. And anyone who destroys the only copy of their novel is saving some poor literary agent the pain of having to read their query letter about how they felt like they had burnout and then wrote a novel to pursue the joy of being a writer because all the words just "spilled" onto the page or something, which is doing us all a favor. Move to Key West and become a fisherman or something. You can read all about it in Thomas McGuane's Ninety-Two in the Shade. You know I think there should be a category of literature called "Burnout Lit."

Here's some titles for Burnout Lit:
Independence Day, Richard Ford
Sideways, Rex Pickett
Fight Club,Chuck Palahniuk
Music for Torching, A.M Homes
The Stories of John Cheever, John Cheever
American Pyscho, Brett Easton Ellis
American Appetites, Joyce Carole Oates
The Quality of Life Report, Megan Daum

In any event, I'd like to see a facial tattoo resulting from an existential crisis. Just thinking about it kind of makes me LOL, almost.

Don't hesitate to call hotlines. They are there for the benefit of people who have similar difficulties with the troubles life throws at them. Life is hard. Help others and ask for help when you need it.

Can I quote this article I just read in New York Magazine? Alright then, I will.

As one Florida social worker told her, “I recently received a call at night, and while I was getting dressed, I was screaming and cursing these motherfuckers for calling me with their goddamned problems.”


In conclusion: I fully believe that we are given too much to handle. Seriously. I think the level of output and energy that is required of the average New Yorker is beyond what our bodies were designed to deal with. Which is why I recommend alcohol, drugs, hookers, and massages, or perhaps some other bizarre vice (destructive relationship, over-use of henna tattoos, therapy, crossword puzzles, eating disorder, nymphomania). Whatever. This is our time at the edge.

If you are going to kill yourself, please first buy me some things from my Amazon wish list, thanks!

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Sunday Top 10: The New York Experience

My Little Brother Lewis has spent the weekend in New York City, which is where I live. He came all the way from New Orleans (YEAH, that New Orleans. Uh-huh. The one with the weather and the rain and the high winds? Yup. Yeah. Fo' real. Yes, he still lives there, yup, he lived there then, too, etc.) I'm not a great hostess because I dislike crowds, other people, and overpriced drinks (well, I dislike the first overpriced drink. After that, it gets easier and easier), but I'm trying my best to provide a New York Experience, e.g. saying "This is the WORLD FAMOUS New York City subway" every time we get on the train.

I'd like to share some tips with you, my readers, on how to give your out-of-town guests an authentic slice of the Big Apple, and how to keep your charges awake in the city that never sleeps.


Take them to Target Free Friday nights at the MOMA. This will remind them of waiting in line for the Raptor at Cedar Point, except instead of being wedged between a 180-pound, 4-foot-5 sunburnt pre-adolescent eating a cotton candy puff bigger than his brain and a teenage couple necking and wearing matching air-brushed t-shirts that read "Class of 02," you will be traveling between a team of emaciated Williamsburg hipsters and a family of five Norwegians who are all a good foot taller than even you.

9. SHOW YOUR GUEST SOMETHING AVANT-GARDE. Makes Your Guest Feel so Existential and Stuff, Like Outside of my Body but Looking in?
Once inside, please direct him to the following art-works and please urge him to consider what these pieces of art have to say about; space, time, culture, life/death, the futility of love, the interconnectedness of all human persons, the evolution of thought, etc.:
-a large panel painted earth-green
-a wire tacked to the wall and then extended to the floor, where it is also tacked
-a square of dark blue tile set in the middle of a gallery, much like the flooring placed in the middle of an bloated living room in The Sims when you totally run out of money (you know what I mean if you play The Sims)

Side note: I love Rothko. I've bought many of his posters at the poster store. Whatever he does, I dig it. But this Marden guy? ... Look, I also believe that when people say "What is that? doodles? I could have done that." The answer is "No, but you DIDN'T do that. Which is why they are an artist and you work at Goldman Sachs/The Olive Garden." But sometimes--I mean--really. Seriously?

It is always a good idea to go to major shopping areas on the weekend after Thanksgiving, and it is a good idea to bring your guest. This way, they can learn how to walk in the street, and how to employ a take-charge attitude. This will be very useful for those who live in The Big Easy.

This is Lewis, braving the masses of bargain-hungry shoppers, Saturday, in Soho.

Have an Orphan Thanksgiving for which there is a lot of wine, a huge salad, three variations on the common potato, macaroni and cheese, marijuana, more wine, and no turkey. Invite a hodge-podge of friends who are in town, e.g: An art dealer, An Enterprener, An actress/singer and an actress/filmmaker/musician/roommate. It is best if some of these people know each other already, but not in the same way (perhaps) that you know them, and also if they each know random other members of your general web of friends. The more vague connections the better. Also make sure they are all good looking, like in movies. Here's what I'm talking about:

Take your guest to a movie for which you have to sit in the second row because all the other seats are taken. (Side note: when was the last time I saw a movie from anywhere but the second row? I mean, perhaps it's different, not seeing everyone's skin defects up close?) As the lights dim, a couple will enter the theater and a man will exclaim: "Why do they sell us 15 dollar tickets for a movie with no seats?" Good question, and the answer is: "This is New York, goddamit."

Only in New York do bagels, pizza and hot dogs count as an authentic native dining experience. I didn't eat any of those things, but my guest sure did. In fact, I honestly didn't even know where to direct him to look for pizza, bagels, or hot dogs. However, if he had asked "where could I find a Snacks-4-life banana walnut cookie?" I woulda been like "Sit down, let me draw you a map."

Invite your now-married ex-boyfriend who is also now-a-police-officer to meet you and your brother and your brother's friend Liz for dinner. Because your ex has been trying to see you for like, months (and you have been refusing because you aren't the girl who sees married men anymore), he will be more than eager to meet you for dinner at Rosa Mexicano on his way somewhere else, which feels safe to you, but also guaranteed to be awkward. When there is a pause in the conversation, say something cute like : "Nice ring." You will realize you are--at last!--in the presence of a human person who used to take care of things and make decisions for you, and you will leap on this chance to make him pick what you should eat and then order it for you, which you recall being safe back in the day but is apparently not safe any longer because it looks like animal and so you just eat the tortilla itself, leaving all the chicken on the plate and making the margarita-to-food ratio approximately 4-1.

Nag your ex-the-cop to tell 'the one about the guy who went through police academy and then as soon as he graduated and got his gun he shot himself in the head' and "the one about the girl who got an abortion and brought her fetus to class to prove she had a legitimate absence" until he chuckles nervously and suggests that perhaps you ought to tell the stories yourself because you know them so well.

(Pray your ex still doesn't know how to use the internet and does not read this blog).

I had a particular challenge as my guest is from NOLA, home of the Legendary Hurricane Katrina. But still, it's always fun to try to catch a cab in NYC during a torrential downpour. TORRENTIAL. The kind of rain where opening your umbrella is like throwing a fetus into a windstorm. It's cute also if you make gestures to Mary (who is catching the cab for you because she has more moxie than you) to thrust her body in front of a cab in order to demand the proper amount of attention. Without putting her life at risk, she will succeed, because she is fearless.


Me: 'This is Washington Square Park. You know, like from the movie Kids? This used to be where people could buy crack. You can't buy crack here anymore.'
Drug Dealer (to you and your brother): I got herb, I got herb, want some pot, got some herb--

(a few steps later)

Me: I smell pot.
Your Guest: Yeah, that's definitely what that is.

In conclusion...
I've tried to cover all the authentic bases, though unfortunately we did not have time for the following authentic NYC experiences:
-Taking the Q train to Queens, accidentally
-Trying to get to Brooklyn on a weekend when the L is down
-Taking a train late at night where it's just you and the crazy guy with straws in his ears, who is performing an interpretive dance with small Duane Reade bags functioning as the other characters
-Waiting in line for brunch at Sarabeth's on a freezing cold Sunday morning

There's always next time!

Thursday, November 23, 2006

The L Word: Season 3 Recaps, Season 4 Anticipation, Automatic Straddle Blog

Every January brings: slush, hibernation, manic depression, promiscuity, 500 extra fucktards at the gym who bring like, pint size freezer storage bags to do their makeup and five hair-burning implements that take up the entire locker room even though their "workout" consisted of ten minutes on the treadmill at 5.8, lots of good sales at department stores, a slow month at the Macaroni Grill and my favorite holiday, L WORD PREMIERE DAY.

The fourth season of The L Word premieres on January 7th, 2007. So I'm gonna be doing L Word recapviews (yeah, I just made that word up. This is a "blog," BLOG, so you know, simmer on that particular word) on my brand-new companion blog, created for this purpose... Automatic Straddle . I'll post the beginning of each re-cap-view here, and then you can read the rest (and comment, if you so desire) on the other blog.

But First; KC and Elka of the "Planet Cast" do such an amazing weekly L Word round-up recap podcast that I can't even begin to compete (AfterEllen has it's own fantastic recap as well) so I'm gonna do something a little different with mine. Oh also--I have learned a lot about making fun of television from the Americas Next Top Model recapper, four-four. So I must also thank him. Also I'd like to thank God and my mother.

So, because I know I will never be KC and Elka, or FourFour, or ScribeGirl or whatever, I'm just going to post all the photos of breasts and tell you how good their breasts are. I'm going to track my bisexuality over the course of the program:

Yes, I know this will be hard to swallow for the 6-7 survey-takers who complained about like, not having enough space on my survey for intersex people or something, but whatevs, Deal, as my favorite lesbian ever once said "You have to laugh at yourself, 'cause you'd cry your eyes out if you didn't." Gay men and Margaret Cho figured that out a long time ago.

Also I will track:
Foreplay Count
Sex Count
Lesbian Squabble Count

To warm up, and to make sure those of you that missed the train wreck of Season Three are on board for Season Four, which hopefully is the best season ever, besides Season One, I'm gonna start NOW re-living (that sounds better than re-capviewing?) Season Three. I just got it in the mail. If you are cool, you did too.

Here we go:


Not Good for Lesbians: Opens with women looking at their vaginas in mirrors. This is more or less a metaphor for the entire season. They literally pass granola around. Like, in a bowl (I don't get this choice of snack, I mean, granola is not that easy to eat without milk, that's why it's called "cereal"). Hopefully none of that granola got misplaced, because we could be talking serious yeast infections here, and I mean TALKING because that's what this show is all about: TALKING about vaginas.

This is one of those feminist groups that we read about in Women's Studies that figured out how to have orgasms with mirrors. Did you hear that? That's the sound of any heterosexual man you conned into watching this show with you leaving the room. Yup. That's the door slamming. That's your copy of "Our Bodies Ourselves" being tossed into the room and hitting you in the head.

This sharing event leads into the very first Lesbian Foreplay Moment of Season One.

1. Lesbian Foreplay #1: The Feminine Mystique
The players: Teri and Marilyn
Pickup line: "Did you know that you could be sexually fulfilled?" (Teri)
Hot or Not?: Desperate housewives are pretty f'in hot, in that like, AM Homes kind of way (I think she may have written some of this episode, which is why this episode, unlike some other episodes, doesn't suck)...the concept of like, violating someone's innocence is always hot but unfortunately unsettling, but doing it to housewives is the happy little medium where we can all get off. That's pretty much Showtime's Mojo: The Happy Little Medium Where We Can All Get Off. I mean, she's wearing a lavender CARDIGAN. Waspy McWasperson. Poor Chet. What a sucker.

2. Lesbian Foreplay #2: Wake and Shake
The players: Lara and Dana
Pickup Line: "With your metabolism and the workout I'm about to give you, you can indulge in my little breakfast soufflé" (Lara)
Hot or Not? Like a JCrew catalog, but with lesbians and people talking about metabolism before having sex. In the next scene, she pretty much looked the same, body-wise, so I guess Lara was right about that souffle. And by soufflé I mean vagina.

Typically, I would up the Kinsey meter towards Lesbo-Heaven here. But unfortunately, because Dana has broken Alice's heart, and because I love Alice, I cannot enjoy this scene without being overcome by the sharp pins and arrows of Dyke Drama.

Continue Reading "The L Word: Season 3, Episode 1, 'Labia Majora' on Automatic Straddle

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

VIDEO: Come All Ye Faithful, MTV2 Pillow Fight Starring Steph and Riese + Steph Go Skating!

I used to videotape everything. Yeah, everything. I mean HOURS of footage of my friends and a whole lot? This was a major hobby during my filmmaker-aspirant days at boarding school, when I made nice montages of the sunset and water lapping on the shore, etc. but mostly just 4-hour long epics of my life for my friends at home so they could put names with faces (myspace does this for us now). The dialogue was often very compelling, e.g.: "Hi Magali! I'm Marie's friend Ryan and this is Meg!" "Hi Magali, this is Meg! I think Marie is a BIG weirdo!" (even weirder though: my dear friend Jake totally loved watching videos of Ingrid these fantastic videos.)

I think there was a videotape backlash a few years ago. By then, we'd all sat through so many "Look at us in Stonehenge!" and "Friday Night at E-Mich!" videos that we all learned Enough is Enough. But Steph and I have whipped out my ancient fossil of a camera (we're thinking it's so old that it probably just looks like, super high-tech?) for a video-blog of sorts for her, maybe. More info on this later, pending more info.

So this is a little video festival. I think "video blogging" more or less is the epitome of our culture's inability to read some goddamn words, but making videos is actually fun even if I refuse to watch anyone's (except, obviously, those of my friends, e.g., Steph). And also until I put this MacBook on my charge card last week (yes Jenna, took your advice!), it took about 40 minutes and a lot of bizzare keystrokes to be able to watch any sort of youtube movie so I can't even imagine what you PC-Neanderthals are doing when you try to watch videos online, but the videos keep piling up, so let's do this.

1. Video One: In which my dear roommate MM does Christmas, heavy-metal style, in Twisted Sister's "Come All Ye Faithful." The best part of this is to realize that the fat guy in the red fleece is Dee's cablevision guy.

2. Video Two: In which Stephanie bleeds from the mouth and fights in her underwear, which promotes the rough-and-tumble spirit of MTV2 and the hot-and-heavy spirit of Stephanie herself.

3. Video Three: In which Stephanie and I go skating and act fantastic.

Okay go read a book.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Sunday Top 10: She Shoots Kittens, Doesn't She?

There is a dog in this apartment. Yeah, a live one, not the ones that are chopped up and served with Sweet and Sour Sauce from Empire Corner. I'm not "into animals," as I think I've said before. Animals make me sick in many areas of my body: 1. My nose&eyes&head because of allergies, 2. also in my stomach when they do things like crap in public or lick my face, or if it's a big dog and it leaps to the door and then tries to lick me in the you-know where. Basically I don't understand why anyone would have a large dog in their home, I think they are mostly gross, and I would hate them a whole lot if many of my favorite writers (e.g., Caroline Knapp, Pam Houston) didn't love large dogs.

I don't even want a person to lick my face, except maybe Christian Slater. Even that is pushing it.

The thing is, I may not like animals all that much, but that does not mean that I do not have a soul. People seem to get these things confused. They like to coo to their dog/cat/lizard: "Marie isn't nice, she doesn't love you like I do." Yeah, shove it.

My roommate LA (she replaced the AlAnonitute), who is really quite lovely, is keeping a dog here for the weekend. It's been a rough week for me and animals, as the quality of my heart and capacity for love and empathy has been questioned due to my reactions to the presence of cats in ML's apartment and now this goddamn dog in mine. Also I just went to the deli and there was a freakin' cat there. I live in New York City. I don't understand. When I had a puppy in Ypsitucky, Michigan, it ate three lamps and my books and peed on a lot of stuffed animals and actually literally ate my homework too.

Furthermore people are bound to give me shit about the fact that I don't like turkey on Thanksgiving. This is part of the animal theme, even though it seems like it isn't. It is troubling that I do not enjoy turkey. Eating it. I think it tastes like animal. I mean, I love turkeys too much to eat them. Yup.

That's the dog, right there, eyeing me and thinking about licking my face.

P.S. I'd like you all to know that after telling the dog "SHUT UP! I am going to KILL YOU! Don't ruin my tights, bitch!!" I apologized, petted it a little bit, and just like--in general; we had a moment.

The point is that I am not heartless. There are lots of things that are related to animals that I do like.


10. OSCAR, my ex-dog and light of my ex-life
So, as I've mentioned before, I used to live in a condo with my boyfriend who loved animals and insisted that we purchase a dog. As I also might have mentioned, I cried louder than Oscar when we drove home with him. Aside from being a gigantic pain in the ass, Oscar was a cute little creature and I liked him sometimes better than my boyfriend.

Below we have a film montage displaying that I did successfully interact with this animal. In the first one, I am talking about Oscar's relationship with our stuffed animal, and in the next, I don't know what I'm talking about really.

Once I did a book report on Ramona and I made myself a t-shirt with a "Q" on it with the whiskers, like Ramona did. I wore roller skates. It was hotter than hot.

I love monkeys. I'd own one if it was legal. Also, because monkeys are almost human, I think that they could probably figure out how to go to the bathroom without me, since that part grosses me out. Not as much as wet Golden Retrievers gross me out, but still.

Once I believed that there was one goldfish in every bag that had an actual smilie face on it. Now I know that isn't true. I also know that we live in a aristocracy pretending to be a democracy, that you never win those claw-animal games at the arcade, and that my grandmother is Santa Claus.

6. CAT
I once lived in the West Village with Lindsay and one time we saw a mouse and then we both freaked out and Lindsay was crying and screaming and wouldn't leave her bed until we found a man to come over and rid us of this problem. In order to prevent future mouse encounters, which kept me up at night ever since Carrie Bradshaw found a mouse in her bed, Lindsay got a cat. It was actually more or less adorable, and didn't shed all over me and make me sick. I called it 'Cat,' like Holly GoLightly, but Lindsay called it 'Moo.' When she went out of town, I had to deal with the litter, which made me semi-suicidal.

5. ANIMAL, the Muppet You know how Animal would just like, totally scream and run around like "WANT! WOMAN!" or "I WANT TO EAT DRUMS!" when someone tells him to beat the drums? I mean, he never used pronouns or anything. I think we all feel like that sometimes.

Confession: I just took a three-minute break from writing this blog post to pet the dog. It's kinda growing on me, now that I'm not trying to sleep and it's not trying to ruin my tights with it's claws.

4. Look, Stephen, I'm Talking About You!
There was a pretty serious (and by serious I mean amazing/hilarious) conversation happening in my comments section for my previous blog post. Arguably, the comments, taken together as a collective whole, are actually better than the blog post itself. I'd like to help Stephen in his quest for popularity (though really, aiming to oust Haviland is a bit ambitious...) but I couldn't really think of anything about Stephen that would relate to the topic. I looked at his myspace thinking maybe he had posted a photo of his Mom with a cat or something. This was the closest thing I could find to animals or animal behavior:

3. PUFF THE MAGIC DRAGON, THE LAST UNICORN, CHUCK E. CHEESE, and the cast of 'OLIVER AND COMPANY' I like fake singing animals the best. I've actually never seen "The Last Unicorn," but Stephanie always said it was one of her favorite films of all time. Personally, I prefer "Oliver and Company," which was the most under-rated Disney film of all time (besides "Newsies") and featured fantastic tunes from Huey Lewis, Billy Joel and Bette Midler. The lucky few (aka my mom and dad) were able to view a dramatic re-interpretation of "Perfect Isn't Easy," performed by yours truly, on my futon with lighting by my desk lamp. Do you have "Puff the Magic Dragon" stuck in your head now? I sure do.

Because my soul is not only deep but kind & gentle, I'm not so good at eating animals. Basically I can only eat animals that do not remind me of actual animals. Like, basically that means I eat only grilled chicken (usually in the context of a salad, it has to be pretty heavily marinated) and cheeseburgers. Though honestly I have not had a cheeseburger in some time. Hm. Luckily, cheeseburgers have nothing to do with actual animals, so they are delicious. They are also not kosher. That's fine, because G-d loves me no matter what.

I absolutely still sleep with a stuffed dog named Ryan, because Ryan Clayburn gave me this dog for my 18th birthday. Yeah, even if people are sleeping over, I kinda do this trick where I roll over so they have to be the spoon-ee while I am the spooner and then I can still hold my dog named Ryan, who loves me unconditionally.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

The One Where I Almost Start a Trend, Do Christian Slater, Become the Favorite Child

There was this boy (read: many) in college who enjoyed bragging to his female friends about how he "almost" "hooked up" with this-or-that young lady at this-or-that-party (read: Rick's American Cafe, which was not, I should point out, an actual Cafe. It was JDate-Live for boys with cell-phones bigger than their cocks).

The goal, of course, was to inspire his paramours to say to one another: "I mean, he says he almost got with ____ (usually her name would be Rachel, Lauren, Becca/Becky, Lindsay, Sarah, Stephanie or Allison). So maybe he's hotter than I thought?"

But, like, you know? 'Almost'? I've almost done a lot of things. It's pretty easy to almost do things, the challenge, of course, is in actually doing these things. There's a reason why we are all almost getting hit by cars (or, at least I am). Because there is something that stops us every time from actually getting hit by a car. You know what that "something" is? Reflexes and Fate. Or, in my case, a companion who yanks me by the beltloop and yells at me.

I am almost a Rock Star:

(actual proverbial rock stars)

Because I am cooler than you, I get to go to nice things and see famous people all the time. This only matters because when I talk to non-city-dwellers about my life I can just like, talk about famous people? And then they don't care as much that I haven't like, "finished my book" or "accomplished very many long-term goals" or "found love" or "gotten out of debt" or any of those traditional marks of "success."

Caring Family Member: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: Did I tell you about the play I saw on Monday?
Caring Family Member: A play?
Me: OMG, so I was at the Broadway premiere of "The Little Dog Laughed" AND the after-party with Haviland, and guess who was there? Christian Slater! Yeah, we almost had sex. Tom Everett Scott was in it, and so was the guy who played David in Roseanne? He was actually really hot, too, like way hotter than when he was dating Darlene. Wanna know who else was at the premiere? Okay, um, well: Lisa Kudrow, Nathan Lane, Jane Krakowski, Richard Kind, Caroline Rhea, B.D Wong, Tommy Tune..... CHRISTIAN SLATER!!!" He was almost sitting next to me.
Caring Family Member: Oh my Word, that is so exciting! Is Darlene a lesbian?
Me: Speaking of lesbians, have we discussed The Cruise?

C.S. actually was sitting nowhere near me, but he was def. looking at us. Remember in Pump up the Volume when him and Samantha Mathis were dancing and she had her shirt off? I think if he just spoke to me, like in his sexy Christian Slater voice, I might like, die or have an orgasm or have an orgasm and then die. US Weekly says he's kind of an alcoholic, but um, I'm not sure exactly why that's a problem.

I am almost a Person of Great Wealth and Leisure

Let's talk about my day on Monday:

First I woke up and I hit the gym after a nice lean pocket quiche? and I then trotted back home for a warm steam bath shower.

Then I went to my Upper East Side plastic surgeon and got botox.

Look.....I know what you are thinkin'. It's not for my wrinkles (cuz yo, I'm young and beautiful, obvs, no wrinkles yet, though I'm expecting all that Tanfastic time to add up sooner or later and I will have to fix that), and it's not for whatever else it is that people over 26 (I'm 25, and I've been hitting the B-to the - oh-tox for three years now) use botox for. So it's actually not glamorous at all.

And um, I've been pondering I talk about this? But then I saw the good work being done by Miss Teen USA contestant Frances Rivers, and I was inspired, like her, to take my cause to the public eye and not be embarrassed for the betterment of all people who suffer from this very real condition (I'm being serious, and if you scoff at it, I will poke your eyes out with my attitude).

Then I went to my psychiatrist, also on the Upper East, to get an RX for some uppers and some downers. I love him, too. Yeah, I don't know. To be honest with you, there is a tiny little shred of me that might, given the chance, jump Dr.Cohen's bones. If he read this, I'd probably kill myself, and hopefully he can write me a prescription for that.

Then I went to see The Little Dog Laughed open on Broadway with Haviland. Hilarious, full frontal nudity, Julie White, who was amazing in Six Feet Under, is so sharp and brilliant and witty, her performance is like, Tony winning or whatever. Go see it and you will laugh your ass off, which will lighten the pain when I poke your eyes out with my attitude.

I am almost so far ahead of the curve that I AM the curve. Here's why:

Exhibit A:

ME: October 11, 2006
: In my interview on Susie Bright's blog, I said that the (bad) stories I am seeing "these days" at the lit agency are:'"The DaVinci Code" rip-offs, and five-volume epics involving mythic lands and vampires.'"

THEM, A BIT LATER: November 8th, 2006: Gawker's 'Unsolicited' recently published an interesting piece (read Cameron's take on it here) written by an editor, written to "agents," in which the editor said: "Don't send out a manuscript if...."it is clearly a half-assed mass of pages trying to capitalize on whatever the latest trend is ("it's the next Da Vinci Code ... plus vampires ... and elephants!")"

Exhibit B:

ME: October 12, 2006
In my blog entry "The One Where I Blind you with Science,Genius, and Glitter Glue, in which I discuss various genius ideas for additional blog entries beause Janet said I didn't post enough, I suggested that I "eat nothing but Tasti-D Lite for an entire week? You know, like Jared Fogle did with Subway sandwiches..."
THEM, A BIT LATER: November 13th, 2006: Some douchebags really smart writers at Columbia decide to eat nothing but Tasti for an unimpressive three days. They talk about it on their 'bwog' and are linked by! Just don't come to me for the calorie count, ok?

Exhibit C:

ME: Everyone knows my favorite quote EVER is: "Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off...but it's better if you do." It's on my myspace page, it's on my journal, it's just like, it's just everywhere. It's from "Closer." I also always use Alice Ayers as a code name, which is why probably still gets mail addressed to "Alice Ayers, BIG BAD MAMAJAMMA" cause that's what I put as my name and "position" when I needed to lie to get information to do marketing surveys as an intern.

THEM, A BIT LATER: Now Panic at the Disco! Has a new song. Guess what it's CALLED? 'Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off.' That's right, motherfuckers.

Did any of these people copy me? Nope. I just have my pulse on the finger of this generation. I mean, strike that, reverse it.

I almost burnt my entire box of Eggo Waffles
no, i kinda did.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Sunday Top 10: This One is For the Monkeys

Wednesday: out drinking with My Girl Stephanie, the honorable Stephen of the now-defunct Rambo:A Literary Agent, My Star Agent Cameron a.k.a. Book Cannibal, fellow blog-star "Gigi"a.k.a Life Regurgitated For Your Chewing Pleasure, Gawker-hawk agent Michelle and former co-worker and eternal laugh-track Vater AKA ForkLift AKA Lit Agent X......

"Oh my God you are so beautiful and your blog is so wonderful,1 I mean, you must spend a lot of time on those things--on your blog entries, right? At least like, two hours or something?"

Yes Stephen, yes I do. The actual typing and making jokes part is really fast. Usually ideas are also fast because I am an Idea Monkey. But all the other stuff (what other stuff? Er, photoshop? Um, research? If I knew, um, geezus, wow!) takes forever-ever.

This week, the Idea Monkey is--ok, and also, I accidentally took two Adderalls instead of one. I realize this in retrospect. I feel like I'm on the verge of a breakdown into a big white completely agitated calm. Bwazzah!



Number one would be: "Do I make you horny, baby? Randy? Do I make you horny baby, do I?"

My skin is literally crawling. In fact, it's crawling away from my bones and like, forming a new human and turning into a nun and running to the other side of the room where it can be far far away from any half-naked man who dares to utter those words in some frat-boy-turned-drunk-Brit accent. This is why, unlike everyone else in 1998 or whenever, I loathe Austin Powers. I mean, saying that? Basically ruins the possibility of me being aroused ever any time in the foreseeable future. I think that's worse than Borat.

Sascha Baron Cohen is kinda hot, right? I mean...he is. In any event, I'd shag him. Also I would shag Wayne, even if he said SHWING! Yup.

Mostly, I'd like to direct 50% of my web traffic to Tasti D Lite dot com. That, my dear friends of all shapes and sizes, is where you can find out how many calories are in your chemical rice-pudding-swirled-with-butterfinger sugary concoction. Side note; I'd recommend Pumpkin Pie, I just had some, it was better than Thanksgiving.
Also, I feel bad for whomever searched for "What is an NSA hookup?" and I hope he found some guidance here.

Other favorites:
bizzare fetishes
free dumb sang whips chains
jenny mccarthy foot rub
college ennui
orgie parties in Toronto
craigslist good girls
mtv true life jersey shore house location

8. TOP 10 ACCIDENTAL DATE MIX-UPS: I was super proud of myself for calling my Mom on her 49th 50th 45th?Very Best Birthday, November 9th. It turns out that her birthday is actually November 8th! Who knew? If this was like, 1989, I'd probably be punished and have to sit outside "with all the other animals" like she made me do when I wouldn't stop rocking my chair or blowing bubbles in my milk. But also I'd like to add that Lewis didn't call her on the 8th or on the 9th, UPDATE: IN FACT HE DID NOT REMEMBER TO CALL OUR MOTHER UNTIL I REMINDED HIM OF HER BIRTHDAY DURING A PHONE CONVERSATION ON SATURDAY NOVEMBER 11TH AT 8PM, which means I'm the favorite child.

So it was gonna be other date fuck-ups, like when Janet and I went to the Mary Gaitskill reading at the Y on Monday October 16th and the usher told us it was on another night, so instead we walked across Central Park to my apartment and got stoned. Then it turned out it was the right night, but the usher had read the wrong tickets because he's even dumber than me, Lewis, or Janet.

"You're gonna blog about this, aren't you? I can see it already. Please don't."
-Janet, when she still thought it was her fault.

7. TOP TEN MOVIE-BYTES WE SHOULD BE REPEATING INSTEAD OF IMITATING BORAT ALL THE TIME (this is different than the make sexytime idea, seriously, like all the movies that we used to imitate, like, several years ago, in the old days, when I was still young):
"Do NOT go in there." (from Ace Ventura? When he goes into the bathroom? OMG, gets me every time!)
"Cowabunga, dude!" (or "Eat my Shorts!")
"We're not worthy! We're not worthy!" (Wayne's World!)
"San Dimas High School Football RULES!" (bill+ted)

6. TOP TEN "WHEN I DISCOVERED I LIKED GIRLS" STORIES FROM THE SURVEY: Then I realized it would do a disservice to my favorite story of all to crowd it with 9 others that cannot possibly realize the same level of glory.

"when i was like 11 or 12 i had the biggest crush on one of my really good friends i would sleep at her house EVERY weekend like all weekend long and we would play "House" or "doctor" and yea when we played them games there was always touchin in them special places but i didnt mind because in my head i was in love with her so it was ok"

Here's why that's awesome:
6a) It's all one sentence. Suck it, Faulkner.
6b) "them special places." That wording manages to convey her awareness of childhood naivete while also acknowledging the hindsight of a sexually adventurous adult. Amazing.
6c)The capitalization of EVERY. She's like : "Seriously, EVERY weekend. Even on holidays, bitches! Nothing stops the "doctor!" EVERY WEEKEND."
6d)"it was ok" not because it was fun, or because they were kids, but because they were in love (at least, of course--in her head). that is just too incredible for words, seriously.


4. TOP TEN NOVEMBER SONGS, LIKE "NOVEMBER RAIN": Okay, the thing about November Rain is that it's like, 7 minutes long. I think men can get hard and ejaculate in like, what, 30 seconds or something? Where am I going with this? It's a long time for a 7th grade girl to be dancing with a 7th grade boy, so you better pick a good boy.

3. TOP TEN WORDS I MISSPELL FOR SUBCONSCIOUS REASONS: My therapist (who swears she doesn't read this blog) thinks I misspelled the word "marriage" in my survey because of my conflicted feelings about marriage. I said no, that cannot possibly be true. For example, look at this recent convo between myself and Haviland:

plaster: haviland I'M ASKING YOU TO MARRY ME
hps:haha, nice!
plaster: wouldn't that be funny though, if i asked you to marry me on AIM?
hps: yes, it would be pretty amazing.
plaster: when i do meet the right person i am going to ask them on AIM.
hps: we'd be the best married couple. no sex. lots of love.
plaster: like real lesbians.
hps: but i don't want kids. so thats not so fun.
plaster: i'd knock you up while you were sleeping.

Here's the other words I misspell all the time: Disney, restaraunt, pyschological, Wendsday. Simmer on that.

2. TOP TEN BEST WAYS TO BE WOKEN UP: On Saturday morning, MM knocked on my door--well, knock/entered--flopped down on my bed and announced. "I HATE the suburbs. They woke me up at eight a.m! Who wakes up at 8 a.m? People in fuckin' Piedmont with fucking like--curtains. Ugh. I hate the suburbs."

This would have been a good list, including but not limited to:

-My father cranking up "Wooly Bully," flipping my reading light on so the light shone directly into my slumbering eyes, and screaming while singing in my face. He did this almost every morning that I slept at his apartment. Sometimes Lewis (this is the bad son, p.s, if you're not paying attention) joined in.

-Matty smacking my ass and screaming "WOMAN! MAKE ME A BOWL OF CEREAL!" or "WOMAN! MAKE ME SOME COFFEE!"

-Scot knocking on my window at 7 a.m: "Adventure time! My Car got towed!" "Adventure time! I'm drunk from last night!"

"Hello, this is Simon, your cruise director!" (anyone on the Rfamily cruise to alaska in july 2006 feels me on that one. holla, gay-mos!!)

1. TOP TEN ELECTIONS: You know, like how the Democrats won the house? Hey, how come no one reminded me to vote? (that's a joke, monkeys)

All I could think of was the Interlochen Student Council Race of '98, in which Manisha Snoyer--who had doggedly run for office and lost for three years in a row--pounded the podium and screamed "OBVIOUSLY I WANT TO BE YOUR VICE PRESIDENT AND WOULD DO A GOOD JOB, OTHERWISE I WOULDN'T GET UP HERE AND RUN EVERY YEAR AND LOSE AND HAVE YOU ALL LAUGH AT ME AND MAKE FUN OF ME AND THEN GET UP AND LOSE AGAIN! I KNOW I'M NOT COOL OR POPULAR BUT I WANT IT! ELECT ME! ELECT ME! I WILL WORK HARDER THAN ANYONE ELSE ON THIS STAGE!"

(Those caps are entirely necessary, for reals. That's how she said it!)

Obvs she won V.P, and that was AWESOME. Below you can see the yearbook photo. Coincidentally, I also got a special spot that election year. Secretary. I composed the weekly notes for the school, which were really quite funny because Manisha gave me lots of material. I'd write them all down in my note-pad while also responding to the vaguely sexual drawings and comments Ingrid would scrawl in the margins. I think that was the beginning of my training to become a blogger.

1 the part about me being really beautiful and my blog being great is me just reading Stephen's body language, but not because he actually said it.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Live-Blogging at My Doctor's Appointment

I am very lucky to have scammed the government into thinking I make fifty dollars a week a fantastic free health insurance plan. I am less lucky that this particular plan only grants me access to the city's most poorly-run institutions of "health" (aka those which seem, at least to me, more detrimental to one's health than the actual doctor visit itself could be beneficial). But beggars can't be choosers, etc.

The minimal co-pays override the following experiences:
-The day I spent 8 hours in the hallway in a wheelchair at the Metropolitan Hospital with my billyclub-sized foot haphazardly positioned in the traffic flow.
-The day I spent 6 hours with a schizophrenic off his medication shuffled from room to room again at my favorite place in New York, the Metropolitan Hospital.
-Seriously, I've spent at least 10,000 hours in the waiting room at the Ryan Center. I was crying for about 2,000 of them.
-Also I think I've spent the best years of my life reading pamphlets and feeling anxious in the Planned Parenthood waiting rooms (they have several rooms there, so they move you around a bit to mix you up).

So today, I fully planned on live-blogging my favorite biannual event--"Going to see my General Practitioner"--because the experience is generally so insufferable that only the hope of wringing wit out of it would power me through the four coffee-free hours I was certain I would spend in the waiting room at the Ryan Center.

But when I looked out the window this morning I thought to myself, "Hm? Would I take my ibook on Splash Mountain? No, I would not. So I will not take it outside today." Instead, I did it the old fashioned way: with a notebook. I present below, my live-notebooking of the Doctor's Visit. As you will see, another trip to the doctor is eminent, so I will have another chance to live-blog there.

Also, obvs some things are in present tense even though I clearly didn't write them until after the event itself. But they are pretty close to what I was thinking if I had a Dictaphone in my brain.

11:17 am: Can't find keys. Appointment in 13 minutes.

11:35 am: It is very nice that I now live only 6 blocks from Dystopia-at-97th-street, but unfortunately it is raining like Noah's Ark, so I wish I lived farther away so I could justify taking a cab there. Right shoe is now thoroughly soaked to most likely the actual marrow of my foot-bones.

11:40am: Left shoe also soaked. Pretty sure I have acquired the bubonic plague, SARS, etc. from walking through street flood.

11:45 am: Arrival. My head is killing me. I need coffee but my heart rate is already through the roof anticipating having my heart rate taken.

11:50 am: I am checked in. I am on my way! I am in Adult Medicine. I have a seat. Everyone is staring at me. This always happens here. It is because I am so beautiful.

11:51 am: It is because I am Whitey McWhiterson. I am the only member of the McWhiterson family at the picnic.

11:52 am: All my fears that the woman next to me is trying to read over my shoulder have been confirmed. She has commented to me: "Tiny handwriting!"

Excellent. If this is "Tell Your Neighbor What Obvious Fact You've Observed About Them" Day, then I would like to add: "Gigantic red jeans on your Gigantic Ass!"

11:55 am: A nurse passes, pushing a plastic cart (like the kind teachers use for overhead projectors). The cart, which holds some overstuffed folders, bears the scrawled letters "Women's Health" in magic marker. I feel this is very metaphorical.

12 noon: My stomach is beating. I'm pregnant. My head is fucking killing me. I need coffee. I am pregnant. It's an immaculate conception.

12: 07pm: My feet are getting prune-y.

12:15 pm: HALLEY-FUCKING-LUJAH! I have only been here for 30 minutes and I am already summoned to see my wonderful doctor! (Seriously though, I do love my doctor.)

12:20 pm:
DOCTOR: "I wanted to call you in right away because we actually can't do your annual until we run some blood work on you?"
ME (to myself, in my head): Dammit. I knew it was too good to be true.
DOCTOR: "But, let me check your heart rate--"

As she straps the armband to my little arm, I tell her I just drank "Like, a liter of coffee." Just to be sure.

DOCTOR: "OK, let's go over some things to talk about what kind of tests we should run. You'll come back next week to do the blood work and then come back and see me again in three weeks."
ME (to myself, in my head): FUCK.

12:25 pm:

DOCTOR:"Do you drink or do drugs?"
Me: (taking Frey-esque liberties with my information, but the opposite of that) "Um, I drink."
DOCTOR: "Like, say, one beer a week?"
ME: (I shuffle my feet) "Uh, no, a little more than that. Like, maybe twice a week."
DOCTOR: "OK, so, 1-2 beers, twice a week?"
ME: "Actually, I don't drink beer. I like wine. Beer makes me bloat--"
DOCTOR: "OK, 1-2 beers, twice a week."

(She writes this down. It is now officially true. Wow! I am so like, well behaved and stuff.)
(Gotta love the overworked, overbooked doctors of America. I love America.)

DOCTOR: "You know, you look great. You look so much better than the last time I saw you."
ME: "Really?" (Um--the last time I was here, I waited outside with these lunatics for four hours, including a man who climbed onto the receptionist desk and asked if he broke something if he could see a doctor, and that he was getting sicker from sitting in the waiting room and might kill somebody)
DOCTOR: "Yeah, really. WOW."
ME: "Oh, ok. Cool." (It's the sweatpants. Def. the sweatpants)

12:45pm: Back in the waiting room. It's all like, smokes and mirrors, or whatevs.

12:50pm: I think nurse smocks are made from rejected wallpaper samples.

12:55 pm: Every baby in this building is crying it's goddamn eyes out.

12:56pm: Why does everyone in the waiting room have a cane? It's like, 50% people with canes. Is this secretly a limb-stealing operation?

1:oopm: I am summoned to the nurse's chambers. She tells me to go to Registration to get a new ID. I do this. I think the secretary at Registration has a photograph of every single baby that's ever been born in the entire world on her little corkboard.

1:05pm: Back in the Nurses' Chambers.
NURSE: I wish I had a wheelchair.
ME: (gesturing towards her wheely-office-chair) You kinda do.
NURSE: Yeah, but something where I could just press a button like--beeep beeep!--to the other side of the room.
ME: (note: the other side of the room is approximately 3 feet away) Um--

1:10pm: There is a poster of a penis with smallpox on it in this office. She is telling me how to take a urine test.
NURSE: You'll pee into this cup, and then pour it into this test-tube.
ME: Got it.
NURSE: Don't drink the test-tube.
ME: Of course.
NURSE: Don't spill it on your purse or anything.
ME: Do people usually have trouble with this?
NURSE: Oh, honey, all the time! They'll bring it in still in the plastic cup, they'll bring it from home--
ME: Okay, okay. Got it.

1:15pm: Back in the waiting room. Why is that woman reading Fit Pregnancy? She hasn't been pregnant (or fit) since like, the war of 1812.

1:17pm: Someone keeps shouting :"RUBEN! RUBEN!"

Ah! There he is! Ruben Himself!

NURSE: I called your name like, three times!

1:21pm: Made my new appointments. All ready to go. Realize I forgot my umbrella in the Nurse's Chambers. Return for umbrella.

NURSE: You're lucky! I was gonna auction it off.
ME: You wouldn't have gotten a high price for this sucker, it doesn't even go up all the way. There's no click.
NURSE: They don't need to know that, girl! They'll be all out in the rain with it before they figure that one out.


1:25 pm: Heading directly for Dunkin' Donuts for a gigantic coffee. Feel slightly elated at having actually shown up for a doctors appointment, then slightly dejected when I realize that I will be returning in a week. And then again in three weeks. Which basically means I am busy until 2007.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Sunday Top 10: Surveying the Surveys

I am so sick right now, it's like, disgusting. I just wanted to put that out there. Don't tell me about Vitamin C. Or hot tea. I know! Rest, etc. Orange juice. You know what I need? I need Brian Krakow in the body of Carmen DeLa Pica Morales. Or Emmet Honeycutt. I'd even do Tina Kennard, Season One. I mean, she would bring me some serious soup. (And it's not fair for someone to bring you soup unless you've been sleeping with them for at least like, 10 months, so don't feel obligated, my dear readers, to offer). Anyhow. Sunday Top 10.

So look, I'm writing this book. And, rather than continue to do so from the cave of my psyche, I've sent my feelers out into the world with a grand Bi-Girl Survey. And, furthermore indicating my advancement in the "Take Myself Seriously" project, I'm speaking about it on my blog, instead of about how funny I am, or what Haviland did over the weekend. Or how sick I am. Or putting up cute photos of me and Stephanie.

I've created this new icon, for when I am being earnest/genuine/serious.
genuine moment begins now:

I am literally astounded and inspired and totally pumped about this book. There are so many girls out there with stories to tell. My enthusiasm for my own project has like, multiplied so much!!, by doing this. Reading these survey responses, even the ones that say mean things to me about my various shortcomings, is so motivating and fantastic. I'm really blown away by the 15 and 16 year olds who reflect growing up in a world far more tolerant and flexible than the one my mother grew up in.

I'm totally overwhelmed by the response so far, especially since I've truly only begun my full-scale assault on the universe to take my goddamn survey, and I'd like to thank the BiResource Center, all my friends who forwarded my e-mail, Heather Cassell, the busy people at Craigslist who haven't noticed I've placed the same ad using 5 different email addresses in the "talent gigs" section of 5 major metropolitan cities (more this week, fellas!), and the lovely tri-sexual world of MySpace for making it possible.

genuine moment is now over


10.Only two girls of the 125 reponses I've read so far have copped to getting it on with over 31 other ladies.
I've made out with both of them.

9. Feedback Highlight Number One: "You spelled marraige wrong. And wrote 'anarchist' twice."

Hm. Good point.

(side note: If I can't spell the word marriage, I can't imagine I'd be very good at like, having one.)

Feedback Highlight Number Two: "I disliked references to "boys" and "girls" when it came to matters of attraction and experience. I think people who are sexually aware should really refer to people as "men" and "women.""

Here we go again with my total inability to be a grown-up. Dammit.

8. Survey-Dating My all-time favorite task a the lit agency was selecting potential interview candidates for the intern positions. I usually employed a two-tiered selection process by which applicants could proceed to the next step:

1. Qualified,
2. Girlfriend or boyfriend potential.

Often (okay, almost all the time), my notes on "2" were disqualified as really good reasons to interview the candidate; e.g., "Worked for the HRC! Might be a lesbian! Girlfriend potential," or "Says 'Stone Butch Blues' was one of her favorite books--def. a lesbian. Total girlfriend potential!" or "Worked at Abercrombie, only hire cute boys at Abercrombie, total boyfriend potential."

It is difficult, when asking someone questions about their dating habits and how they view their sexuality, not to think: "Hmm ... I think what they want is ... MEEE!!"
And then to realize, oh I think they went out with Haviland.

Of course, it was only verified that I'm obviously marrying Rachel.

7. Survey Therapy: On Friday, I spent the day at work mediating the joy and the backlash, and when I got home from work at 6 I felt utterly battled and totally unqualified to enter the public sphere, that perhaps I was carrying on a bit too much with the naysayers, like I would become one of those writers who always says dumb things in public (sometimes I repeat to myself at night: "It's okay Marie, you could be Jessica Cutler.") or jumps on couches or becomes 85 pounds and then parties all night. So I got a massage and drank until Haviland came over. That's what Ernest Hemmingway would have done.

6. It's like the Chart: "You realize that I forwarded this e-mail to all of my exes, they forwarded it to all of their exes, and it's probably circulating all over the country and then being traced backwards by a long line of ladies trying to figure out which one of their exes probably had sex with you." - a good friend.

5. Best answer to "what I look for in a boy": "He must have a job."

Best answer to "job": "Unemployed beggar"
Second best: "I work in finance, despite having sociology and history undergrad degrees."

Best example of looking for different things in a man or a woman:
tight ass (for boys), nice round ass (for girls)

4. Favorite Response to confusions resulting from bisexuality: "I just want to hit my head against the nearest blunt object. It's like going through puberty all over again and it SUCKS."


Favorite Response to the open-notes-at-the-end section: "You look good in a wifebeater with no bra." (thanks, Steph!)

3. Oh, Craigslist! The initial call for surveys was listed as 12-40. Why 12? I don't know. Because, as a friend told me when I was freaking out that maybe I had totally screwed up and everyone was getting my e-mail and thinking that I am a total perv, "I think I started having sexual thoughts when I was like, 5."

to: me
from: cindy


to: cindy
from: me

I'm not asking anything sexual. The survey is about sexual orientation, not sex.

But thanks for the heads up, seriously, it hadn't even occured to me that people would take it that way--I guess I'm so used to the sort of liberal mindset and know so many people who were aware of their sexuality at a really young age that I totally didn't even think "oh wow, that might seem inappropriate." I've blocked the survey to anyone under 15, and I'm figuring out how to re-work it.

to: me
from: cindy!)..I appreciate the professional and intelligent manner with which you have responded....very unlike my psychotic looking response......funny I assumed it was an ad from a man...actual not so funny...typical.

Stephanie's apt response to this exchange: "i bet that person just wrote you bc they assumed you were like a 60 year old pervert guy, b/c after all, bisexuality is a FANTASY, a PERVERSION, couldn't possibly be a legitimate inquiry! Further proof that no one takes bisexuality seriously enough!"


2. Number of people who cited a crush on Xena the Warrior Princess as an early indication of bisexual feelings: 2

Other noted responses: "Eddie Vedder, yo."
The four girls from "The Facts of Life" who got fired
Ginger from "Gilligan's Island"
Ricardo from "I Love Lucy"
Faith from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"
"I fell in love with Sarah Jessica Parker singing "Come Little Children, I'll Take thee Away" to the children of Salem on her broomstick. She would sing and move act seductively on her broom."

1. You know, Dynxie? Like Jynx but with a D? I made the possibly suspect decision of asking people if there was a specific pseudonym they'd like me to use. However, I'm having a tough time imagining: "Barbie, 16, and Tinkerbell, 18, of El Paso, said they feel like lesbians won't take them seriously because they are bi." Other potential pseudonyms include:

Saron Hall
Taylor Cole
Ishtar Spencer
Your Fake Wife
Angel Romero

Want to be known as "Funkalicious" in the best book of all time?

Take my survey: bi girl survey

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Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Halloween: It's Called a Cake Party Because You Can Eat Her, Too

Circa 10:00 p.m last night, I was pre-planning a blog post of 100% Shame, in which I would admit that I spent Halloween all dressed up with no place to go (with the photos to prove it, taken with MM's Photo-Booth). I planned to title it "I Am A Loser." No self-deprecation about it, just fully admitting the depths of my loser-dom, like telling you that I have been a DungeonMaster and once attended a Star Trek Convention. (that's not hypothetical.)

Oh, first off, I was Robin Hood. I figured since everyone can't stop fucking talking about how girls dress as sluts on Halloween (really? they do? Hey, have you noticed all those hipsters in Williamsburg? Probably not, because have you noticed that the L train is really awful and never runs on weekends? Stephen Colbert is FUN-nay!! I hate tourists. Ew, times square. ETC., and oh p.s. they said it in Mean Girls and so it's Already Over, because that movie came out a long time ago.), I would dress as the patron saint of New York City Whores and Sluts, Robin Hood. But you know--sexy. I made my costume out of an American Apparel dress, green and white striped tights, my Daria Doc Martens, Lo's Classic Legwarmers and a feather I snagged from an "Indian Headdress" I got at the same store that sold me a 10.00 quasimodo costume that I thought I could "work with." ha.

So the plan was: because we are sex-positive ladies who like well coreographed go-go-strip-dancer shows instead of random trashy strip dancer shows, we planned on attending the latest glorified orgie feminist party held by CAKE. It was going to be Stephanie, myself, and Talainy (that's our1 abbreviated word for Tara+Lainy, you know, like Bennifer).

Cake Says:
""The Devil is a WOMAN!" And she is fierce. This Halloween don't miss the best bash of the year - the CAKE annual masquerade and costume ball at Room Service, one of the city's newest venues with nine curtained-off cabana style rooms outfitted with flatscreens and minibars, and Ten's, our own non-traditional strip club - all on Halloween night."

Yeah, bla bla.

Steph started getting ill a few days ago, and she still is. Tara's friend overindulged before the parade and ended up ill circa 9pm, which is about when I was ready to get the party started.

I was being a staunch character and refusing to travel uptown, for fear of the classic no-go-out trap (when you go to someone's place to pre-game and that ends up being the entire game). This is when I was pondering the possibility that, even though I'd just thrown my outfit together at the last minute because I'd been thinking about my costume all day, I was cursed and would end up wearing the costume for only two people: my roommates MM and LA.

This was complicated by the fact that I don't like going out. So that side of my personality was fighting the side that was wearing a costume. Like, Mandy Moore vs. Paris Hilton.

But Lainy surprised me by bucking expectation, getting in a cab, coming to my place, picking me up, and going to the goddamn party. We made it there with about ten minutes left of open bar. In order to reach maximum intoxication (OK, I was drunk before I left, but whatevs), we drank three drinks apiece within the aforementioned 10 minutes of remaining open bar. Possibly un-wise, but as Brian Kinney always says, no regrets, no apologies.

Lainy was a cheerleader, as you can see in this photo. I assume she is cheering for "Team Hot Topic." But I can't say for certain.

So, re: why going out is usually dumb...

In college, going out seemed like an overpriced and over-glittered game of Hide and Go Seek. I often suggested that we fast forward past the part where we "go out" to the part where we go to Panchero's. Of course--this theory went to shit if you actually went home with someone, but that wasn't really my goal and besides, in general (and because many of us had boyfriends, myself included, and mine was underage and couldn't go out with us anyhow) it was something like this:

As we cabbed downtown, I said: "Lainy, it's all downhill from here." Getting ready is generally the best part of going out in Manhattan. HOWEVER, there can be multiple climaxes if you experience: 1. the sensation that you have finally achieved an ideal level of fuck-up-ed-ness or 2. you meet another human who you enjoy talking to/making out with. It's not nearly as exciting as the first climax, but it's still a nice jolt.

But what did we learn? Getting drunk in ten minutes and then just dancing your ass off is one of the funnest things ever. And so, we were maniacs, and we had a fucking blast. Happy Halloween!

You know what's funny? How badly men want to get in to Cake parties. Some guys offered to pay our charge if we took them in as our guests. They were like "Is it cool in there? Is it?" As if everyone inside was an actual slut waiting for these 5'8 douchebags dressed as men with sheets over their bodies to come in and ride their hobby horse. Honestly my hair kept getting in my face so I wasn't paying attention to the other people, I was just dancing and watching the dancers on the stage. Dance Dance Dance!

I told the douchebags that everyone was naked and the girls were wrestling in Jell-o, and they believed me?

And also: I've only been to one other Cake party, and when they wouldn't let Tara's friend Tom in without a girl (he came late, after us), I had to seduce the doorman into letting him in, and that doorman was Matty, who then took me home and thus entered my life, where he stayed for, well, a long time. As I told my friends in the classic story of how Matty and I met, "He had me at: you. there. stand in the corner. I'm letting your friend in. don't go anywhere. stay. in the corner."

1 When I say "our" or "we" that usually means "Haviland and I."