There were a lot of things prophesied in last week's Vlogs, p.s., including the Haviland-Lozo meet-and-greet which occurred, among other stimulating activities, last night at Stef's birthday shebang. We're making another vlog tonight. I know, you can hardly stand the anticipation, you're whet with it, so to speak. If you will. I gotta finish this Top Ten first though, I think, so like, stay tuned. Who knows what I'll do? I'm out of control! Smack me up with some smack! Typetypetype.
But enough about Lozo. It is Secrets Week here at Auto-Win, where I'll be telling everyone else's secrets because I've told enough of my own and my psyche is tired.
Just so y'all know, newsflash: we are all totally fucked up and insane. I am one of you, I'm not judging, also, I mean "fucked up and insane" endearingly, like "drunk slut" is also endearing, really you think you know what a fucked up weirdo I am, but you have no idea. But fo' serious: I've always suspected this about humanity but now I know it for sure ... do you think you're a bad person? Do you think you're alone, do you think you're harboring feelings that might get you in trouble, are you ashamed or embarrassed or conflicted or sad or shy or angry or discontent or content but maybe you shouldn't be? As Michael Jackson, the alleged child molester, once sang: "You are not alone, I'll be here with you." Well, I honestly haven't molested any children, so let me say that in my own words: "You guys are soooo not alone, obvs." We all feel this way. So maybe we're all more normal than we think.
So I sent out a email to a bunch o'people -- friends and readers -- asking for their secrets. I've posted this email on Auto-Universe, read it! Then you'll know what's up and also, if you wanna participate, it'll tell you what to do. If you didn't get the email, it doesn't mean anything besides that Gmail's new Contacts interface is the most retarded thing ever and makes everything harder than it used to be. Life is so hard you know, even when it's easy. If you did get the email it means I love you more. JK. Bla bla.
Also, Rachel, seriously, where are you, I am like, worried.
So basically, here's how it works: you email me your deepest darkest secrets. I take your story and turn it into a story. Some of you wrote really beautiful things with words I'd like to keep intact, but I think that the integrity of this project depends upon my universal application of the project's rules, to make sure that everyone is equally anonymous. So I turn your secret into a tiny piece of "flash [non] fiction" in my voice and put it here.
I'm going to put the first five on this particular post, and I'll be finishing them one at a time, you can um, hit refresh, and then I'll do another installment, and then another, and then another. I've got enough to do the whole Top Ten obvs but um, I don't know, I'm like behind on everything right now.
Because it's Secrets Week. Seriously, I'm excited. Also, thank you, everyone, for sharing your intimate secrets with me, it's really lovely, fo' reals. Hopefully I'll do them all justice.
Everyone's been given a new name. Also, all these names are the names of characters in Judy Blume novels or Baby-Sitters Club characters and all the titles are Tegan & Sara song titles. I'm very creative, I know, that's why you keep coming back. Besides the sodomy or whathaveyou.
Amy's Dad stabbed his brother-in-law; now he's out on bail. Amy knew already that he was violent, he'd beaten her Mom and her brother though oddly never her. This was before her Mom got it together and kicked him out, which Amy thought meant that he'd be kicked out, like all the way, like from her mind.
Sally, her best friend, asks her why he did it [beat them] and she says: "For sport." That's the thing about crazy people is they can be even more crazy than you expected, seriously, try them.
Amy doesn't, and so when she sees his car parked across the street she calls him, tells him that she can see him, that this is his chance to come to the door, and then, she thinks, she'll tell him how she feels about everything, like all his opinions about her and the quality of her house. He comes to the door and they exchange words, it is terrible, for a second his eyes flash crazy and she thinks he might kill her.
He doesn't. She finds it hard to shake, though: that he might. At night, she has nightmares.
"Oh my God," her best friend Sally says on the phone. "My credit card bill is ridiculous, my Dad is going to kill me."
Amy flinches. She sits numbly but alertly in the silence of Sally waiting for her to talk, that little space between the beginning of the waiting and the wondering if Amy's still there. She looks out the window and wonders when all the cars started looking like her Dad's car. She squints, silence thunders in her brain and then claps and she speaks: "Yeah," she says. "Maybe he will."
Stacey's about 30, a company executive -- far more senior than Jessie, which's why Jessie's never spoken to her outside of work. Plus, Stacey intimidates her, which feels funny 'cause Jessie's not easily intimidated: but Stacey's Blackberries, her shiny leather bags, her shoulders and arms and torso and legs and feet and hair and face, her power suit accenting the whole getup.
Do you see where this is going?
Jessie didn't. She realizes some things later, in her shiny leather retrospect: it was Stacey's apartment, they'd been drinking, they were alone. But Stacey was possibly the last person Jessie'd expect to suddenly just kiss her on the mouth (worst kiss ever, Jessie feels at the time), which catches Jessie so off guard that Jessie actually pulls away, also abnormal. Jessie checks the mirror and it turns out they still exist and it's not a dream, and so she goes on.
"I'm so sorry, I don't know what got into me," Stacey says quickly. "That shouldn't have happened."
She keeps talking but Jessie's stopped listening, she's already trying to motivate her legs to walk out the door while shock bears its whole weight on top of her. Jessie finally succeeds, her legs start moving, and she watches Stacey's blubbering confusion transform into a kind of realisation of the legal and other implications: "Inappropriate, so sorry," Stacey adds.
So then, Jessie thinks, maybe it would be okay just to kiss her back. Just to make it mutual, let her know that everything's gonna be okay. Then, because it is the only thing to do, Jessie flees the scene, but not before saying this: "We're even."
The next day, Jessie's at work at her advertising firm when her boss Mallory leans in: "Jessie, do you have your car here? Can you drive me to pick up my car? It just got impounded."
Jessie thinks it's possible she's the only employee at her firm without an impounded vehicle, and she doesn't know what to do with this: "Yeah, where?"
Mallory tells her, Jessie doesn't listen/register, Mallory adds that she needs to go home after, not back to work, and Jessie says, well, I don't know the way back, and Mallory says, okay, I will find you someone to come with us and direct you back.
Mallory returns with a few false leads and --
-- then -- you see where this is going, yes? -- she returns. "Stacey knows."
"Oh, Stacey's always busy," Jessie manages, look who's bubbling now, "She's always busy, I'll drive by myself."
"What, are you scared of having to talk to Stacey? She's not that scary, it's good to leave your comfort zone every now and then."
Jessie can think of other comfort zones she'd rather leave. Also, Jessie's not the one leaving her comfort zone.
Mallory returns, she's with Stacey, and she tells her : "Jessie's driving us."
"Um," Stacey perks up, "Jessie nearly killed me last time I was in her car."
Jessie thinks that this is true, she's a terrible driver, nearly killed the entire executive team. "That's true, I'm a terrible driver, I nearly killed the whole executive team," Jessie thinks fast, "Do you want to just take my car and drive Mallory yourself? Save both of us going?"
Stacey: "I don't have my license with me."
Mallory: "You'll both be fine, ready to leave in twenty."
Jessie goes outside for a cigarette.
Jessie has never put more words in more mintues than she is now: her words are flying faster than her car, containing the two of them. She's a mile a minute, there's no silence 'til they're parked and Stacey fills it with an apology, Jessie offers "It happens all the time," and they share a laugh. Then there's silence, and Jessie asks if she wants to talk about it, Stacey denies her, Jessie asks if she wanted to get a drink after work.
"Not a good idea," Stacey responds.
Jessie didn't mean it anyhow, it's just this power suit made it seem like a great idea.
"I'll think about it," Stacey changes her mind. She does, they do.
Sometimes, they make out in the elevator. Actually, Stacey's not really her type, but it keeps happening. Other things, too, and she doesn't know why she keeps doing it, especially because there are other people she thinks about with greater seriousness of emotion and intent. Not like they're just riding the elevator all day, but Jessie feels that actually, she is, even if Stacey's not always on it with her.
"I turned down the management position because I've got feelings for you," Stacey says, angry and elevated. Jessie is stunned again. This woman keeps stunning her, it's stunning.
They sleep together for no reason.
The consequences, too, are stunning.
Sometimes Kristy goes onto craigslist missed connections hoping to find someone talking about her. Allison does this too, and Rachel, and Stephanie, and also, Tracy. They all do this. They all look at the craigslist missed connections and Kristy does this because she's hoping for affirmation that someone notices her in this world. That there had been a moment when connection was specifically desired, with her, and she'd just happened to miss it.
Wicked on her top 25 most played list and loves Hanna Montana.
Also, she hasn't told anyone yet about her best friend being a lesbian, because they're hooking up.