Mark All As Auto-Read

I have 454 unread items on my Google Reader, it's probs like how the pioneers felt in 1752 returning from their Oregon Trail vaycay to a huge stack of unanswered telegrams. I can attribute 41 of these unread posts to Stef's shared items and 48 to mediabistro, but still.

It's kinda funny 'cause, like I said, two weeks ago I'd been writing a post about taking a break from blogging but I never finished/posted it, and then the real world kept shifting, like going through stages, 1. mean & tragic & unpredictable, 2. lonely, unhinging, unstable, 3. sunshiney & safe & sad/optimistic, 4. unreal, 5. the yet to be defined but hopeful present. So before I knew it, I'd taken a break from blogging by accident, like sometimes I'd forget I had a blog at all, though strangely I never forgot facebook. Probs 'cause facebook is HOW I REALLY FEEL.

Beautiful things have happened too, and I feel I've gained back some people I didn't have a few weeks ago, and, well, oh, the internets ... is a lot ... this has been known to happen.

Hey, remember when I didn't win "Lesbian Blogger of the Year"? Well, luckily Crystal thinks I'm Lesbian Blogger of the Year anyhow, 'cause she sent me a Dyke Duck. Also, the Uh Huh Her Prize Pack has arrived, although the video hasn't yet materialized. Probs 'cause Leisha has a lot of feelings about/for me:

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i. Now I Will Pay Attention to My Google Reader: Live-Blogging Auto-Fun

My hero for life: Four Four's Recap of America's Next Top Model. I'd begun free-falling off planet secretly before the Dirty Girls reading, fo'real afterwards, and now let's catch up: AVN write-up, book release party in San Francisco. This photo from my reading; Stephanie looks beautiful, I look insane. I'm not being self deprecating, I really do look insane.

Oh! Wanna watch our vlog again, but on Haviland's page? Elsewhere amongst "VIP" label; Stef also finds that she'd like to lie more often than she does, 'cause honesty is a real bitch. Lozo's posted 16 times, and I'd give him Most Reliable Unpaid Blogger of the Year Award if it wasn't 75% videos (two girls kissing!) I wouldn't say this if he hadn't bitched about me not blogging. I just used the word "blogging" like ten times in a row so now I've gotta punish myself by spraying Glade in my eyeballs.

She always reminds me of me but younger and closer to mountains and in some ways braver. I don't know what to do about that, at all, so I do what I do which is wrong. I like this: "I feel like we're married, like I need a really really really good reason to ask for divorce, better than I'm tired of you, better than you make me scream without even doing anything necessarily wrong." Speaking of girl-children in faraway places who're wise beyond their years, Moonkiller's blog is one year old! She already knows everything there is to know.

"Mark all as read" is satisfying. I don't need all this Elegant Variation, NewPages, Critical Mass, Mediabistro. I need this Bookslut ... later. Is it May? Does anyone still trust me to relay a perspective on reality? Do I live your nightmares for you? Sometimes we all feel like this at once. Sometimes we don't read about it 'til it's over. Oh ... and. Scene. Eric Mathew to himself: what can I do today to win the hearts & minds of the lesbian community.

Oh ... and wow, and oh, and: this: Now this, the / dreaming breathing body / lying right beside / my own, just think -- ("The World of the Senses," by Franz Wright). The New Yorker's unofficial theme, this week, seems to be "Poems to Break Your Heart." "The God of Loneliness," "Grief." Fuck. I love poetry. I know that's like saying I love food. So I'll clarify; I love good poetry. More than almost anything, except kissing, laughter, and string cheese.

OMG, my agent, who probs wonders why she's still my agent considering I've yet to produce any material worth selling (but man, I sure do talk about it!) wrote a new post.

Sometimes there's people who've known me since I got here, and I get too embarassed to talk to them again and admit I keep making the same mistakes over and over. And then; how I don't think they're actually mistakes. I say: "I'll never trust anyone again," but then I laugh, "Yeah I will. I will. Over and over, I will."

Haviland was just talking to me about The Sound and The Fury and now she is, and also, this Phillip Glass opera; I must see it.

While sans-internet in Malibu, we were forced to settle arguments the old-fashioned way, like cavemen, with buffalo-killing competitions. Like; Cait said Polaroids were going extinct. I called nonsense; slogreenx says Cait auto-wins.

Note to all ye 12-year-olds: back in the day, when I walked ten miles to & from school, uphill both ways, we had cameras called Polaroids. Magic photos shot out right away, you wrote on them. Once we had a Polaroid Gallery Opening in our apartment, apparently I made a graphic about it once, don't know why:

Note to all ye newborns: you're really missing out, growing up in a world w/o Polaroids. Also good job on already knowing how to read.

Also speaking of lesbians I love them. Via Alex's shared items, and its respective cute user icon: more on feelings.

OK, I have like 184 items left, but I can't, I'm tired.

Some other things I'd like to bring to your attention:
1. Sam Anderson's feature on Augusten Burroughs, memory, life, everything: 'The Memory Addict"
2. The Anorexic's Cookbook, by Rachel Shukert, at nerve.com.

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ii. Promise I'll Be Perfect From Now On

"You say that you're broken,
I just wanna fix you.
Tell me what to do, and baby I will listen."
-Uh Huh Her

Sometimes I wish life didn't have rules. I mean, because it does, you know? History's proven certain ideas good, others bad. Sometimes, it's fun to break the rules, but also, if you keep breaking things (e.g., rules) you'll end up alone w/o things. Or, rather, you'll just have many broken things, what do you do with broken things? Fix them. Leave them. Hold all their broken pieces. A combination of all three.

There's 10,000 children in Ethiopia who'd beg to have problems so ridiculous as mine.

There are so many people that I love and late at night all my mixed feelings fade away and I wish they were all here, even the ones that hurt me so badly I thought I'd never breathe again -- no -- especially them. Sometimes I want everyone so bad I could fuck or hit them all. It's like my heart turns honest at 1 A.M. Sometimes, in the winter, B. and I would get off the phone by one of us declaring; "I'm over this day. I think I wanna go to sleep, just so it'll be over," and the other responding "Totally. Over this day."

Below this sentence are a million other sentences. Perhaps later, like tomorrow or the next day, I'll publish them. But right now ... gtg, kiddos, mermaids await. There is fun to be had, and trees we've yet to live in ... for real. Wheeeeeee!!!!