What Did You Do Out There. What Did You Decide.

[i wrote this on my birthday as a stream of consciousness with whiskey, forgive the occasional incoherence]

The night before I left Michigan for New York City in 2004 I’d rented a room at The Courtyard Inn out by the highway so I could sit on white sheets alone and decide who to be next. Blake* came by and we laid on the bed and looked at each other and I took photos of him with my new cell-phone and we talked about how much we liked each other and how much he'd miss me.

Then we fucked and I could see in the mirror when I looked up that blood was dripping down both my legs, bright red and almost beautiful and I thought it’d scare him or me but it didn’t. (I mean I wasn't like that. I mean it wasn't like me. I couldn't wait more than two or three minutes after sex with men before dashing to the bathroom to scrub everything off me, to 'detail' my bellybutton ring like I could get pregnant or die that way. Then I scrub memories too but I didn't scrub this one and so; bear with me. I feel like it matters or I wouldn't be telling you, trust me.)

(But I gave that up, too: the idea of sex being clean, because I mean what makes you more vulnerable than being fucked and dirty too, and how can you have sex if you aren't vulnerable? But also so much has changed since then, about sex.)

He kept fucking me because this could be the end of it, after all. Who'd ever said that we didn't have to shed a little blood on our way out? Or leave some damages on the carpet or even stain my brain with the memory of my thighs in the mirror, shocked by myself and unsure, thinking to myself 'we are animals who bleed' and also how the Pill they'd switched me to was fucking me up, because you know, for so long, for a year or so I hadn't bled at all except on purpose. So this was a new thing for me and Blake.

I was thinking of that Tom Waits song we wanted to play at our funeral, Take it With Me, and thinking of the morning in February after we’d polished off $150 of cocaine in four hours and how he'd left my room and my house bleeding. I had the smallest room in a house I shared with seven Kappa Kappa Gammas and one best friend and when I was sad I'd just turn out the lights and turn up Fiona Apple and listen to my friends talk about me outside the door. Anyhow he was fucking me and I was thinking of how he'd left bleeding that morning and when I called him eight or eight hundred times later in the depressive throes of "coming down" and "wondering why he was spending the afternoon with that other girl after what he said last night" he told me that he'd bled all the way home, that his mouth was bloody and he'd bled all over his shirt and how I'd told him, 'my everything is bleeding' even though I was just talking about my heart but that was what I did with everything, then, I said 'do you want to get ice cream' and even then I was just talking about my heart.

I stayed that way -- splayed, bleeding, fucked, shocked by my reflection in the mirror, at various degrees for the whole summer. See I haven't been in love that many times, really. I've wanted to be in love so many times and sometimes I wanted to be in love so badly that I thought I was in love but I wasn't. But I was in love with Blake and he can have that forever if he wants it. The last man I ever fell in love with.

So that summer I was still that girl in the mirror but also; I was sometimes the girl I still am now if you happen to catch me laughing or vulnerable or honest for a minute. I was the girl who came to New York City because I thought it was the only place I could both be myself and be loved. I didn't know who i was but I showed up just the same in those obnoxious flirty mini-skirts I wore and purchased all summer in electric blue, bright yellow, hot pink and light pink. I also had these hot pink Puma sandals and a Star of David necklace I wore because 2004 was a year that a lot of people were sharing their opinions about Israel with me and I didn't like it so I thought the necklace would scare people. Don't ask me why I thought what I thought about politics, I'm sure I was just repeating whatever someone I admired had said out loud to me in a dark room while I nodded.

So that summer Blake kept me hanging on for a bit 'til he met someone else who he said was just like me, as if that would make it hurt less, and I wailed and screamed and then I eventually met someone else too, by September.

But in the meantime, that summer in 2004, when I got to New York but left my heart elsewhere -- girls were okay. I could be with girls if I wanted to and so I was. It wasn't hard to meet girls here.

I mean that's how it started. I mean that's what I told myself about how it started.

+

I'm leaving New York City in seven days and I don't know how to write about that. I don't know how to be honest with myself about what it means, with respect to the dreams I came here for and the fact that although I feel perfectly ready to admit defeat and flee, I don't honestly think that's true. I don't think I necessarily messed up though I definitely spent most of my time here messing up.

I didn't come here to be gay, that's for sure. When I write "that's for sure" I'm actually just imitating the boyfriend I got to get over Blake, this ridiculously nice boy I met at my second serving job that summer who left his wife because of me but not FOR me -- it's just that we talked about things he'd never talked about before. It's strange how some men can go their entire lives without once talking about their feelings to anybody. He always said "that's for sure" in this way that made him seem so young and trying-hard-to-be-sure even though he was eight years older. But unsure. He'd lived here all his life and knew things that made me feel safe. That's for sure.

Anyhow I left him or we broke up. You already know that part. About how I leave and leave and leave and I've spent my whole life leaving and I only stopped because I ran out of the money I used to use to leave. Because I have a lot of books and books are heavy and hard to move and mean more to me than people. That's a lie.

That's something I learned here: meeting a person you really feel something for -- meeting a person you can't do without -- god, that's fucking rare. I mean that's something. It's something worth staying or leaving for, though I wouldn't advise it, but it's been known to happen.

+

I changed here. Dramatically.

I hate it here, I love it here. I don't want to remember loving it here. Something changed. It was me or it was here. It was me or it was you. It was the internet it was my heart it was the day I looked at a photograph of a window and decided I had to leave.

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I wanted to tell you something about the people I met here who I love and who changed me. Or the things I did where I woke up or looked out the window and thought 'i could be anybody' or 'i am an animal who bleeds.' I'm not just talking about New York City who I also loved and who changed me or who let me change because the thing is you can be whoever you want here. You can be ten people in one day.

It's August 2004, before I got my new boyfriend but after I lost the old one and also my heart, and I'm standing in Justin's apartment in Columbus Circle and he is sleeping. I am in his living room and i am thinking, 'this is the nicest apartment I've ever been in.' I walk to the window and below me is the whole city, giant with it's golden mouth wide open and everyone inside on their way to somewhere else. I wonder how he keeps it so clean. I want to move things around, eat things and then put them back. I'm naked at the window and wonder if he'd ever considered, as I do, what it would look like to take a running leap towards that gigantic window. I mean how much glass would break.

It's February 2006 and I'm in a blizzard with Kat* and Jenny after the Black Hearts Party at the Chelsea Piers and me and Kat are in our boots and fishnets and our makeup is smeared and compromised but it doesn't really matter because the snow is more beautiful than either of us will ever be though sometimes together we did feel beautiful; and she was. She was graceful and even in anger had a precise velocity I admired a great deal. We finally get that cab to that subway to our home and it's only the next morning that I realize we crossed that line again, and I'd wonder what that meant if I wasn't so confused, in general, about what everything means. It was fun. I knew that much. We'd had a time. What were lines, anyway? I mean how fucked up were we? Why didn't anyone stop us?

We're in our Brooklyn living room after work, watching Pretty Persuasion for the third time eating spaghetti and things feel easy and sustainable. We're in our kitchen watching the couple across the alley again.I mean we've seen these people do everything. 'Do they know we're watching,' Kat asks, and someone (me or her) says 'Do you think they're watching us,' because after all, we know how to perform. We know how to be shadows.

She's one of the people who will still be here as I drive away, I think, and who may or may not know how much I loved her in a heightened, confusing and often self-destructive way that changed me forever, and I think changed her forever too, or maybe that's just what I told myself when I drove away, feeling like she hated me because I didn't really understand yet how the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference and she wasn't indifferent.

I think she's doing what she came to New York to do. I hope she is. I mean I loved her gut and would've taken care of it.

These are the things you can do here.

These are the stories I can tell now because they're over. This is how I keep everybody alive. I pretend to leave but I'm not really, because as soon as I'm gone the stories begin, I can't stop telling them.

It's May 2006 and I'm in Haviland's bed the night before I have to fly to New Orleans and the way I cried earlier while Kat yelled at me and I packed like a maniac who didn't know how to wear clothing and who, consequently, had to wear beat-up Converse with Kat's polka-dotted dress to my brother's graduation ceremony the next day, much to everyone's dismay, and Haviland says "I don't know what's going on with us, but that's okay with me," and later on she says something about a treasure hunt and a few years later (I think) I'll know that part was from Tipping the Velvet.

It's December 2007 and I'm sitting in the corner by the bathroom in my apartment in Harlem, maybe tripping but maybe not, and Alex is there too and I look at her and I tell her that I'm bad news. I tell her if she thinks this is bad, it's only going to get worse. She says it doesn't seem like bad news to her and it takes me a year or two to realize she meant it. I think she is the happiest and purest thing I've ever seen in my life and I want her to stay that way forever, no matter what happens next, and I don't want her to ever stop dancing or being a rabbit.

It's a few days later and I'm having breakfast with Tara at a diner a few blocks from the Upper East Side hospital where Heather is sick and I want to eat Tara's head off I love her so much. I'm texting Caitlin, maybe, I mean that's likely. Haviland is slipping and she'll move away soon. We're all still excited about that fake vacation that never happened. I think about how much time I've spent in hospitals that year and how much better 2008 will be. I grin at Tara because she's not in the hospital anymore and I can touch her face whenever I want to.

Or it's September 2007 and I'm on the island between streets on the Lower East Side practicing with Stephanie for my reading at Happy Endings. I'm happy that she's agreed to read with me, happy to see her again after so long, happy that she didn't forgive me that December prior when I'd asked her to because she forced me to change. I think of how she's such a beautiful person and whomever gets to crack the surface is likely to find wells of empathy and history and heart there. I think someone has, now.

After the reading I'm sitting on that street in the Lower East Side with Stef (not Stephanie) and I think I'm crying. She's rubbing my back and telling me it's gonna be okay. I've never cried on the street like this before and I'm crying about all this other stuff, the stuff that made me afraid to leave my apartment except for previously scheduled events. I can't remember. New York City is a place to love people but it's also a place to let the night shatter you into pieces -- not neat pieces, not clean jutting diamond blades from hell but into just MUSH, into just something gross that you want to scrub off later.

It's November 2007 and I'm running down the stairs of my apartment away from that ridiculous 'potluck' my roommate held to sell us something with Caitlin and Haviland and we're laughing so hard I think we all might die, dashing into Caitlin's crappy car and making jokes… It's July 2007 and I'm on the rooftop with Carly at the gallery opening from hell where we were supposed to sell something to somebody I think but instead just made fun of everybody… it's January 2008 and Alex is walking into that hotel room at The W and she says "what the FUCK is going on here" and then she turns around and then she turns back and it's too late, we're already laughing, I mean it's over, I mean how fucking cute can one person get, "I am REALLY drunk right now," she adds, but really, what's that to any of us then at that point.

I don't know the person in any of those scenes. I recognize her but I don't know how to hold her or keep her safe. I love her though. I love her because she gave herself permission to love recklessly and jump heedlessly off things more serious than cliffs. I love her because she hadn't paid her processing fees. I don't want to be her again because being her was often sad and hard but worth it. Because this is "it."

+

What of recent history? I can't handle that shit. Whatever just happened is a thing I just can't think of just yet. I don't ever think of what I'm doing while I'm doing it. Like right now? How I'm packing and leaving? How I honestly think that I maybe picked the right place this time? How I feel like I learned something from experience and I trust my gut for the first time ever and as fucking pissed off I've been, I also feel more certain of the future than I ever have before in the weirdest craziest way possible? That's a lie. I know things now, though. That's not a lie.

Do you feel me walking away, probably not, because I am already hiding behind a rock, packing my slingshot. That's just a thing. I mean that's just a story I'll tell to the 6-7 people who want to read it, way later. There are some secrets I'll keep for years and I don't know yet quite what those are. There's some I'm only now learning how to tell. There's some I want to eat and dance about. There's also most things which are not secrets.

I can't. I mean really. I've spent this whole post trying to get to a point about leaving New York City or about loving people or about how I came here splayed and bleeding and left here with hearts beating still and all I could do was talk about moments where everything was so heavy that I couldn't walk around it or lose it. Moments when I couldn't starve me out of me.

I'm moving to California for no reason and by that I mean I want to step into a circle of light, break right in there and raise some hell.

I want to say that I want to look in the mirror and recognize something in it. But when the blood is that red and that beautiful, I'd be lying if I said I didn't love that, too. I came here to have adventures less local than a highway or a mirror or a clean white hotel room or my familiar, dull, heartache.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to do it all over again, but smarter this time, but stupider this time, and in the sunshine.

Sunday Top Ten: Gayest Moments of My Life Part ONE

As your Mom(s) probs told you, I'm a finalist in the LGBT Blog Awards (voting begins January 5th). Therefore today I must talk about gay things. (Every day is gay day at my other blog auto-straddle, just FYI). I've perused the blogs of my nine co-finalists -- including an actual famous person, the web's largest LGBTQ group blog, last year's winner, a famous well-established news blog, an activist transwoman, an "openly gay, pro-choice, gun owning, pro-death penalty, voted-for-President Bush authentic feminist" and um ... "the internet home for the American gay conservative" -- and determined my only chance to win this thing is via a RUDY -esque last-minute triumph of underdog glory (You can call me "Marie" for the chanting part, 'cause "Riese" only has one syllable. RU-DY, MA-RIE, etc.). Chances are it'll be less like Rudy and more like real life, where the underdog sits on the bench and eats peanuts from a can. Well ideally cashews.

Obvs I'm honored to be on this prestigious list among these world-class bloggers, I love everyone, this is great for visibility, and I'm totally pumped just to be nominated. I think I represent the NeXt GeNeratioN of insane queer weirdos. I feel much like Blabbeando (an excellent blogger and new-discovery, thanks Webblog Awards!), who said in his "I'm a finalist post": "There is the itty-bitty detail of being matched up with Joe, Pam, Bilerico and Andy Towleroad as nominees. Beat them for the award? Yeah, right." Me too, Andrès, me too. But you know what, RU-DY RU-DY! YEAH! AN-DRÈS!

I feel among friends -- up there with Pam of Pam's House Blend, who I worked with on the 8 Against 8 Campaign -- her blog is fabulous and I read it every day. Also I know Susie Bright (my fellow bisexual nominiee) -- she's one of my favorite feminists & sexperts & writers in the world, and she edited The Best American Erotica of 2007, and picked my story to be in it! -- read Susie interviewing me here.

To segue into this weeks Gay Top Ten Topic let me tell you about when I met Joe.My.God who won last year. Lesbo blogger Curly McDimple organized the '07 Gay Blogger Weenie Roast, which I attended out of gay pride although it combined several of my most loathed activities: daytime drinking, outdoor eating in hot weather, networking proactively, beer, socializing with strangers, and traveling to the farthest reaches of Park Slope from Harlem by subway on a weekend. Sometimes one must suck it up and stop whining in order to be a good networker.

But I went (see photo of Hav & I expertly networking with Jamie, who's not gay but I forced her to attend anyhow) and brought Haviland, Carly and Carly's friend Roy (he's the one who told me "that's Joe.My.God, he's a real big deal") and it was super gay. Also super balmy, I sweated like a nun at a gay weenie roast.

Our new friend Caroline (we'd just met her on the rosie cruise) (she's now engaged to Heather Matarazzo) was there bartending, so it was awesome to see her AND I ran into a lesbo friend from my brief tenure at Sarah Lawrence -- well, she wasn't my friend exactly, she was my gay best friend's lesbian friend's then-girlfriend. We were sorta friends. The moral of the story is this was super gay and that's how it is with the gays.

But was it one of the Top Ten Gayest Moments of my life? No probs not, doesn't stand a chance against Tegan & Sara or the No on Prop 8 Rally, which brings me to today's Top Ten Topic ... to be delivered in two segments of five, 'cause doing all ten at once would be really long and I know you're all very busy.

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THE TOP TEN GAYEST MOMENTS OF MY LIFE ON EARTH
Part One, Items 10-6

First an honorable mention During my Mom's NYC weekend visit in April '07, my then-girlfriend TB was playing "percussive stuff at this new monthly Queer/Trannie Ethnic Drum party in Brooklyn." The idea of going to gay things with my gay Mom makes me really itchy, and although I protested that I wasn't ethnic enough for the drum circle (and I anticipated it involving actual granola), TB insisted and Mom was down. Therfore on a rainy dark April night I took Mom to far-away-land, Brooklyn on a series of buses (train canceled). Although TB had anticipated a "down-to-earth spiritual, tabla/djembe, chill-in-living room sorta thing" we got "whoa nightclub, ethnic hipsters and miked percussion." (all quotes are TB's, from this) and she apologized and said we could go, as it might not pick up for many hours, I had an article to write and Mom is a Mom -- it did pick up later, but by then we had cabbed it home.

The point is that had serious Best Gay Moment POTENTIAL but due to the thwarted extra gayness opportunity (actual ethnic hippie drum circle), cannot rightfully be on this list. But it deserves a moment.

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10. The Rosie Cruise

Everything about the Rosie Cruise is so gay, I could probs assemble a Top 10 Gayest Moments on the Rosie Cruise for each year I've gone (Alaska, Key West 1 & 2, New England/Canada 1 & 2 ). Gay families, gay children, themed costume nights, Susan Powter wandering the boat yelling about her vagina and/or yoga, a musical theater-heavy performance schedule, and the identically-outfitted "R Family Team" regularly introduced by the song "We Are Family." It's a bunch of famous gays with a bunch of normal gays and their kids and then rascals like us. Where else can Andrea McArdle ask you to come wake up her husband with "look at all the hot lesbians in your bed!" It's so gay and by gay I mean happy.

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9. The Mz Hip and Fit New York 2007 Contest

This was a two part exercise in gay-ness -- Hav was nominated for Mz Girl Nation (GirlNation hosts a gay Saturday night in NYC where everyone who's anyone goes to run into everyone they've already kissed) and Heather and I told her to do it 'cause we thought it'd be funny. It was FUNNY, obvs she won by a landslide.

I dragged my then-girlfriend to the event at Nation AND to the next event at "DUVET" (where Mz GirlNation would fight against Mz Cattyshack and etc for the "Mz Hip and Fit New York 2007" title) both populated largely by impossibly young fresh-faced Dos-Equis-chugging lesbians whooting and hollering Scores-style. We made a sign with markers. At DUVET, about 10 - 12 lesbians had to run on stage, dance, and then get voted on by the applause generated by the legions of friends they'd forced to attend. There were no speeches. There was also supposed to be no stripshows, but all the girls except Hav totally removed at least 50% of their outfits on stage. Hav was over it by this point and besides, nekkid-in-public isn't how she rolls, she's a lady from Savannah.

The first place winner had fake tits, they'd never let that shit fly on Miss America.

For some reason Haviland doesn't like flaunting this honor on all her promotional materials but I feel it should be her new nickname, like Haviland "Mz GirlNation" Stillwell. Google that, she-bitches.

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8. My Mom's "Gay" Picnics

Back in the 90's, my Mom used to host these "potlucks" for her "friends" from her "group" for "women in transition" in our backyard [I almost put "backyard" in quotation marks too, but then I realized, no, I mean, that for sure was indeed the backyard.] and try to con me into attending.

As you know, I dislike the following things: 1. outdoor eating, 2. outdoor picnics involving plastic/paper flatware/dishes and lawn chairs, 3. large gatherings of women my Mom's age, 4. doing anything at all whatsoever that my Mom wants me to do ("4" is also the reason why I was straight as an arrow for so long), 5. eating large meals at mid-day, 6. large gatherings of people I don't know, 7. large gatherings of people, 8. other people, 9. tuna salad casserole.

Mom's primo con/strategy to force my attendance was The Grill Trick. Although I'd insist I didn't want any part of the potluck, Mom knew eventually I'd be hungry (and I was, 'cause she'd moved all the food from the kitchen to the "back porch") and then, when I expressed interest in eating a grilled item she would not, per my request, permit me to wait inside for delivery of said item (she would've only had to slide open the door and pass off the burger, no biggie). Instead I was forced to go outside, defenseless save my Angsty-Depressed-Emo-Teenager Skater-Who-Doesn't-Skate cloud of hostility, and place my request directly to the grillmaster ... and then! sit and wait for preparation!

During the waiting & subsequent eating period, I'd be obligated by "manners" to meet people and consequentially listen to women in transition talk about transitional things, like civil unions and the Women's Studies department at U of M. That was really gay. Her friend Tabitha was kinda cute though.

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7. Melissa Etheridge concert in Atlantic City on July 4th, 2008

I'd never seen the Eth before and was therefore unawares that she unleashes mountains of gayness upon the crowd not only during her songs but BETWEEN songs. She basically told the story of every girlfriend she'd ever had, performed beneath a banner of Tibetian prayer flags, and called herself out for being a stalker. Real lesbians from New Jersey abounded -- women willing to miss fireworks for The Eth -- sang, swayed, cried a little, adjusted their tool-belts, etc. As you can see in the photo, Caitlin is popping her collar and Alex & I are full of passionate lesbian feelings. I love Melissa Etheridge forevs & evs.

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6. NewNowNext Awards - May 2008

A;ex & I plugged microphones into our pants pockets 'cause we had no actual outlets for them, I was sick and therefore looked like a cokehead, Tinkerbell was there in her Uh Huh Her outfit, the red carpet was actually grey, we were totally dissed by Christian Whateveriano from Project Runway but totally treated as 100% legitimate journalists by everyone else, Candice Cayne said we were "GORGE," The Dazzle Dancers got glitter on Tinkerbell's nose, Ricky signed my vintage '95 My So-Called Gay Life poster and Michelle Paradise asked Tinkerbell for her number. Our actual friends Carly & Robin work(ed at the time, in Robin's case) at Logo and therefore were present, amping up the OurChart factor. Anyhoo then I felt sleepy sloos, I'm not really good at being out late at night.

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I bet you are on the edge of your seat for Part Two yeah? January is a big month here full of excitement so you should probs put a cushion on the edge of your seat or a dildo, because there is so much fun to look forward to. Also, I clearly have a thing for befriending um, Capricorns? Birthdays - Caitlin (6th), Kelly from TLL (8th) (thank you facebook), Natalie (16th), Haviland (19th), my friend Erika from middle school (19th), Crystal (20th). OBAMA DAY on the 20th. L Word Premiere on the 18th. Also, it's fucking cold.

The Year in Review: Swift-Footed Winged Mess

Firstly, I forgot to say that Mom and Lewis guilt-tripped me into breaking my important "2007: Year of No Movies" resolution. Yes, that's right, on Jesus's B-day, I was forced against my will to attend an afternoon show of Juno, Hipster Movie of the Year. Wizard, that ain't no etch a sketch, I'm down with the lingo, yeah, it was pretty cute & precious, a good flick to ease me back into the movie-going experience, and always good for family time as there's not a lot of intra-family communication during a film. Afterwards, I offered: "Anyone who believes in love now, raise your hand!" and Lew and my Mom both raised their hands, as did I. How about that? I'll watch anything with C.J Cregg in it, but also, speaking of cute ... Ellen Page: I'd like to lie down w/her in a field of brightly painted flowers and play with her hair, if she's got the time, whatevs. Michael Sera reminds me so much of my brother Lewis, thus I imagine Lewis's girlfriend looking like Juno McGuff, which's a nice mental image of my brother and his girlfriend, in lieu of any actual images provided by my brother. Speaking of girlfriends w/o photographs, let's get on to the Year in Review. [Oh! Also! If you're wondering what's on that CD you got w/your clothes ... check it out here]

... in April & May I was more alive than I've ever been before or since ... which is just to say that I had a lot of feelings. Every moment was rich and full: terrifying & beautiful, perfect & ugly, heartbreaking & heartbursting, devastating & hopeful, thunder perfect shameless strength & fear. We lived lifetimes in a day. My brain was called upon to perform daily & hourly emotional, logistical and intellectual leaps rapidly & unexpectedly and the crazy thing is that it actually did -- and coming down took months. I was and often still am a Post Traumatic Stressed Out Mess. [Also, April & May: a picnic compared to June.] It's been a long path towards my "recovery" and she, too, after a few false starts, is truly recovering now, and by doing so is making this particular story one that actually ends well, instead of one that ends with me damaged & reeling and her still manic-as-ever. I lost all my faith in everything at one point: and sometimes you have to lose everything in order to get it all back, but more grateful & humble this time around.

It's tough to figure out how to write about serious madness and mental illness respectfully but truthfully, and here. I'm scared of TMI and unfinished thoughts ... I dunno ... so ... I don't know how to write about this. I may've been better equipped to when I took a stab at it in August. I was still pissed and suffering in the aftermath, she was still mad, and I hadn't even acknowledged on my blog the wide-scale internet attack launched at the height of her madness that most readers witnessed (the elephant in the cyber-room) ... and I had to say something, and so I did, and now, I'm at peace with it. Number "One" on that Top Ten covers what we've determined was defo The Weirdest Day of My Life and kinda gives you an idea of what April and May was often like -- moreso than I can communicate now. 'Cause I'm not angry anymore.

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"For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world;
but that the world through him might be saved."
(The Holy Bible. St. John: 3.)
*
"To err is human, to forgive divine."
(Alexander Pope, "An Essay on Criticism")
*

Because to be honest: what I've gained in the aftermath -- which I think (I'm not sure) are things I wouldn't have gained, or not quite in the manner that I did, had things w/Tara worked out better -- are beautiful things. It'd be rotten not to admit & recognise that many friendships and creative collaborations were enabled by my damaged aftermath and most of all, that my increased and loyal readership was enabled by my unavoidable vulnerability and the devotion I developed to this space because of/following that.

I've been blessed by so many heroes, and angels, since. This almost killed me, but it didn't.

"Between angels, on this earth/absurdly between angels, I/try to navigate
in the bluesy middle ground/of desire and withdrawal,/in the industrial air,
among the bittersweet/efforts of people to connect,/make sense, endure.
The angels out there,/what are they?"
(from "Between Angels," by Stephen Dunn)
*

It'll all be in the book. It takes chapters. There's no way I could do any of it justice here, but I'll try sorta, whatevs. Bla blablatypetypetypememememe.

**
There's this Dave Chapelle skit that was super popular, everyone quoted it all the time, the "It's Rick James, bitch!" skit? Remember that? This might seem like the most randomized association of all time, but there's a part in that skit where Rick James, following a story of him acting crazy, goes "Cocaine is a hell of a drug." I'd often think, in that same voice: "Bipolar is a hell of an illness."

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
-T.S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"

Anyhow, these months were like the mega-important transitional period of this blog. Number "5" on Live Through This holds the most important point.

April/May

4/22/2007

5/24/2007

WTF 2007 EVENT #4: Girlfriend begins her worst & most damaging manic episode ever, a.k.a. becomes TB.
WTF 2007 EVENT #5: While girlfriend is in hospital, my article gets killed.
WTF 2007 EVENT #6: While girlfriend is in hospital, the doctors do nothing productive.
WTF 2007 EVENT #7: "6" a few more times, and all of that. That happened.

The first weekend of April, my Mom visited -- totes charmed by Tara & Haviland and vice versa. We had dinner with Peter & Natalie. Tara took her out so I could finish my article. The next weekend, TB got arrested, a photographer from [redacted] magazine came. Then it was Easter, then ... and then. I published a Second OurChart post, about how I met Haviland. And so on.

So: holy shit, I totally funneled boatloads of energy into April and May posts ... hyperlinking, Tara's copyediting, needing somewhere to focus all this ridiculous energy ... each blog post was like a full scale project, like a mini-zine every week. Like, reading these, is just like ... surreal, and it makes me happy that I learned how to spell. Mostly I knew people were actually reading so I felt legit about putting more effort into it. This is where some of the stuff I like best is, like the Top 15 Clubs thing: Part One, Part Two.

There's a lot of first comments, like Razia, Crystal, Carly, LK, Caitlinmae, Brooklyn Boy and so many it makes my head explode to even begin to list them. This kinda got me a job: The Unpaid Internship You've Waited All Your Life For (later, we'd joke that I'd actually hired Carly for this unpaid internship -- she did apply) and prompted genius responses from everyone. Aw, the short-lived obvs segment Carousel of Progress Parts One and Two, my first run-down of my Automatic Skills. Yeah. Urm. A lot of over-compensating for things I couldn't say.

**

Great Moments in Commenting

I Heart HPSDiva The Most Award (@Top 10 Opposites Attract 4.03):

Haviland: "i have tried to comment about 14 times and the blog rejects my words. waah. obvs so happy for you two. let's go get on a big gay boat!"

Anonymous: "Haviland I am in love with you. I will track you down and find you."

Haviland: "oooh, really? This is exciting, can't wait to see how THAT unfolds!"

**

The Drunk Comment Award -- Before Semicolon, There Was This Brilliant Gem From Moonkiller ("seconde" is the new "ettempy"):

Moonkiller: "To start if this makes no sense it's cause i'm semi/VERY drunk. I love this entry I can relate to it an awful lot. It's fabulous if you will. Like I nearly alwys say U never fail to make me giggle and donnt half cheeeer me up. I thino tojnihght I might be the drunkenust I've ever been inmy hole lige ever. So sorry if I'v said anythinnng offenive lol. I wil most prbhely cokmmt angain in teh morning sorrecting mistakes in thikis scomment

ps. Taken me 4 ettempys to do the word veri."
**
Subtext Award: Presented Only to Myself as only I Know My Subtext
Nalia: "Tara is so stupendous/arresting looking, like and I hate to be intrusive, but what genetic mix has produced this?"
Riese: "Arresting indeed ... the literal irony here is INCREDIBLE."
**
The Lozo Award for Bold & Inappropriate Sexual Come-Ons: Presented Only to Lozo
Lozo's First Time: "i'm not sure who you are, and i'm not sure where exactly you linked to me, but i just wanted to say you really remind me of elliot from scrubs, so i'm going to fall in love with you in about 7 minutes."
Lozo's Second Time:"i just wanted to say that you are my new, what people would call, "blog crush." i think i've only had two ever. but i prefer to call it what it really is, a blog horniness-toward-a-girl-i-really-don't-know-who-may-or-may-not-be-a-lesbian-because-i-haven't-read-everything-yet-but-i've-seen-"L-Word"-a-lot-so-i'm-not-sure-but-i-totally-want-to-have-sex-with-her-anyway-because she-looks-like-elliot-from-scrubs.
i hope you appreciate all that hyphening."
**
Best Comment Posted in October, Six Months After the Post Went Up In April, (while I was reposting my whole blog after deleting it all):
Tara: "Um. I nearly spit out my coffee when I saw this. I forgot this was here. Sigh ... I'm such a weirdo. And, I just look frightening I think. Anyhow, good morning Autowin."
**
Best Response to Commenters Wanting to Call Her Out [for Repeating the Dead-Dog Story]
m: "My OTHER friend, unknowingly ate a bag of pop rocks while she was drinking a coke, and exploded. I swear."
**
Best Suggestion for Saying Goodbye to All That
merc: "Peace corps sounds fun? Like you'd have a lot to make jokes about in blog posts? It would totally, like. EXPAND YOUR WORLD. And um, have this wole new element to your writing? Like, DIMENSION or DEPTH or SHINE -- oh, sorry, I was thinking about hair."
**
The Earnest Award -- featuring excerpts from -
[stef's first time]: "totally no reason for writing this comment but whatever, i fucking love this blog. i originally wrote a long comment about how i found it and what i love about it and it was so cheesy and i am too new york cool for that, so let me just say i love this blog."
[stef's second time]: "ps, this blog is still awesome, but i live in brooklyn and it's illegal for me to be enthusiastic about anything. i am bound to a life of wearing sunglasses on the subway and sneering at tourists."
**
Putting Graduate School to Good Use Award
Ingrid: "Ri, From my reading today, I would guess that being an African woman forced to strip down naked for photographs to be published in 19th century Anthro-porno-gynecological medical books, books that would be perused (and probably jerked of to) by Picasso as source material for paintings that have come to symbolize modernity, would have been worse than software breakdowns. But this isn't meant to take away from your pain; it's all relative! Love you!"
**
I'd Like to Quote Awesomeness from the Intern-Applicant Thread ... but I already basically did that in this post about the comment awesomeness from the intern applicant thread (in the "teleportation" section), so, you know. On with it.
**

"If they say in the car that I am insane, I will take over the wheel." (Thomas McGuane, 92 in the Shade)
-My senior quote in my high school yearbook

For my 25th birthday, I wrote a parody of the Esquire "What I've Learned" feature -- one of my favorite magazine features, and when I was reading this month's Esquire, entirely devoted to "What I've Learned"s, I decided that this is how I'd write about April and May. This format assumes a certain authority: its subjects, e.g., Evil Kenivel, Tim Burton, Mia Farrow, Otis Redding, Muhammad Ali, Homer Simpson, Carrie Fisher, David Bowie, Mel Brooks, Yogi Berra, etc., generally have authority. I don't. I'm totally irrelevant and highly unwise. If you're not familiar with this format, you might think I'm a pretentious fuck. I assure you, it's a guise, I'm totally insecure, otherwise I wouldn't have to talk so much about myself or need all this attention.

-Tara described me as "sunshiney/bright" and herself as "moonshiney/dark" in her guest Sunday Top Ten. I'll take that.
-Zoho Writer crashes and the help-line is not helpful, they are outsourced and speak fuzz. Don't use it.
-Actually ... use Zoho Writer. Because that crash was serendipitious, proving even the most frustrating things happen for a reason: I asked silent readers to comment on their own electronic tragedies, and they did, and then I shared their stories, and then they kept talking, and that's everything.
-The mental health system in this country doesn't focus on "curing"/helping the mentally ill, but rather directly on ensuring the mentally ill won't become violent criminals. Sanity for sanity's sake? Ha! Every single employee of every NY psychiatric institution she checked into let us down. Nobody did a good job. Nobody did a mediocre job. Everyone did a notably terrible job. [I know: they're overworked & overburdened, tired, beaten by the system too] Instead they cared only if she'd possibly kill herself or others and once that liability seemed muted, they'd let her go. Everyone just held their breath til it wasn't their problem anymore, and thus it became mine. It turned out, not surprisingly, I wasn't qualified.
-The Auto-Win Equation of Coolness: x+2x=y (x=quality and rockstar factor of my actual life, y=quality and rockstar factor of autowin's life), unless my whole life is falling apart, in which case, x=y.
-"We're in love with our sadness sometimes" (Chris Pureka)
-Yeah, it's true, you're better off than the third world children who live in shacks. Do you feel better now? Urm, me neither.
-The psych ward is actually nothing like Girl, Interrupted. But they do have karaoke on Friday nights, there is yelling, and the nurses subscribe to the general philosophy that it's always easiest just to shoot 'er up with Ativan.
-It's really crazy how fast you can get used to really crazy shit.
-We had fun, too. Like, a lot of kick-ass fun.
-I think the world could do a better job of proving its lunatics wrong. Could've provided better material for me to argue against impending mass apocalyptic extinction and the human race's desperate unknowing need of redemption. Seriously: the snow in April, the Virginia Tech shooting (one of my favorite posts, I think), the Bush Administration, national disregard of moral responsibility in favor of celebrity, mirror, artifice, false idol worship and consumerism. You know, your average, run-of-the-mill firstworldian douchebaggery. (Auto-Lexicon)
-There comes a point when you've gotta cut your losses -- usually it's the sixth or seventh time you've thought to yourself "I oughta cut my losses."
-Miss Girl Nation, Haviland, is pretty much the hottest thing ever. Howevs, Miss Hot n' Fit turned out to be like amateur night at Deja Vu but with more expensive drinks.
-In high school, I watched a lot of "Slacker" films. These movies, best watched when it all seems so far away, characterised the unemployed/underachieving twentysomething as a beer-guzzling, television-watching, psychic-hotline-calling, mall-crawling, pot-smoking, shampoo-foregoing, ironic-vintage-t-shirt-wearing quasi-hipster who spends 95% of their time tucking their hair behind their ears and pontificating. But I'd never been so busy as I was whilst 100% unemployed: reading like crazy, playing Sancho to crazy adventures, looking for employment, writing, trying to figure out how to save someone when I still thought people were things you could always save without killing yourself, or leaving.
-I'm not entirely convinced that a liberal arts education prepares its graduates for anything aside from a career as a liberal arts educator.
-I love Rosie O'Donnell because she's moved so much by national/global problems that it affects her, deeply, and makes her depressed. We should all feel that way but if we did, we'd all fall to pieces. She does what I hope to do: create a relationship w/the mainstream through non-controversial entertainment to eventually earn the "power" to speak out and be listened to by people on all sides.
-I'm still an advocate of "running away" as a top ten coping mechanism, but I'm glad that I didn't.
-There's a book out there to validate everyone, whether it be The Bible or Kathy Acker, Elizabeth Wurtzel or the Marquis de Sade, or my old friend Matty's choice "The DaVinci Code," there's a book for you. Reading a lot of books about crazy people can make you a little crazy. Look what happened to Don Quijote. Don't even get me started on the internet and what that's done for maniacs all over the world.
-There's a fascinating cultural history related to madness. It's enough to distract you from its logical application to your actual life for a long time.
-Scattergories is the best game ever and fun for people of all ages.
-I deleted my MySpace because it made me feel safer -- one less public & vulnerable space, also cutting off my friends' ability to keep close tabs -- that day was, we agree, one of the worst, TB-wise. I was drunk when I wrote that post, because I was fully resorting to such things, anything for oblivion. Officially surrendering control of the situation. I was sad to lose all my friends' comments, but I think it's good, sometimes, to delete all of something. I still find the click-to-impact ratio stunning.
-Cream: the color. My blog became much better the day I switched from black to cream.
-Poland Spring Water Bottles Will Explode in your bag every time. Unlike people, they will never change. They will not stop exploding.
-If you are sad, try highlights and a manicure.
-It is impossible to argue with someone who is totally both wrong and 100% convinced of their own absolute rightness. I mean; where do you begin?
-She'd ask "What do you need, autowin? Are you okay?" but by that point, I was done accepting her offers cause I knew they'd be used against me later. My answer, which she affirmed proudly, was always: "I don't need anything." It was untrue, unfair, and I've always believed strongly in the validity of relative needs/wants, but for me to lose, temporarily, the privilege of my small tears, the forum to freak out over nothing, the ability to even buy stupid things for myself w/o inciting a fight ... it was very humbling. It wasn't the healthiest way to earn humility, but nevertheless, I did.
-Really, you save yourself by checking in -- therapy, emailing Haviland, ichatting w/Lainy and Chase, phone convos w/Natalie. That's how I maintained perspective, and was able to participate, strategise, without losing my mind myself ... errr ... mostly.
-When you've been on the Metro North with a woman yelling at the entire train about messages from her father in heaven and their first world Angelina Jolie-worshiping-problems, you develop an extremely high tolerance for being embarrassed in public. Seriously, just try to embarrass me in public, I dare ya. Impossible. Also I'm not ticklish.
-I am a decent writer. I'd never taken myself seriously enough to even proofread before, and hiding behind sloppy syntax was part of my subconscious announcement to the world that I didn't think I was good enough for it to matter. But yeah, I believe in myself now, holla.
-I now know: that [TB] wasn't her [Tara].
-The difference between crazy people that run corporations and have huge record deals and crazy people on the street yelling at strangers is money.
-One of the most fascinating aspect of mania is how it challenges commonly accepted limits of the human body. Maybe R-Kelly really could fly, you know, 'cause he believed? It's incredible what some bodies can tolerate, it is amazing how much the mind's conception of its own capabilities translates into what is commonly conceived as hyper-human power. Consequently, being able to break barriers we all could break if we desired to (but why? why would we want to walk barefoot on glass? get mugged and walk 105 blocks?) proves, to the manic mind, superpowers.
-The Book of Revelation is a manic's wet dream. It has become, over time, fodder for thousands of manic-bipolar-schizo episodes the world over. It validates the following: hearing voices, delusions of grandeur, the validity of yelling at people as a way to change things ...
-Also; Revelation probably was a manic's wet dream, like that literally might be what it is. There's a lot of theories. I know all of them. Also, it's beautifully written, stunning, a fantastic grand story. It's kinda awesome, as long as you don't think it's actually true.
-Being forced to accept the possibility of certain circumstances -- a solider, resolutely alive but always prepared for the fatal shot -- and the lasting impact of paying heightened attention to the immediate possibility of highly unpleasant circumstances -- can change the way you think a whole lot, can make you care a lot less about things you used to care about.
-It is possible to survive on Ramen noodles, eggs, peanut butter crackers, vodka and coffee.
-Madness is highly contagious.
-Taking too many amphetamines is a lot like madness.
-From an article about the double suicide of Jeremy Duncan and Theresa Blake: "You could, in a sense, rationalize their occasional erratic behavior. They were artists, after all, and artists are allowed a degree of lunacy." (The article's title: "Conspiracy of Two: A Chronicle of Their Descent Into Madness.")
-If you give money to every homeless person you pass, you can go broke in approximately two blocks. Also, as the only one doing so, many will ask for more. Another five, cigarettes, baby formula (seriously), another ten. A sandwich. Crack. JK about the crack. Crack is expensive, probs, otherwise there wouldn't be crack whores.
-You should probs still give money to homeless people, sometimes. Or food. Whatevs. I understand why you would or wouldn't, and why I do or don't.
-People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, but if you're totally chilling naked in your glass house like, what's up, here I am in my glass house, and someone starts throwing stones at you, you should probs reconsider your battle plan.
-[From the Club Blog, Part Two]: "No one ever guessed anything about me just from looking: no one'd guess that I'm queer, or a writer or a or even smart. "I would never guess that _______" I can be anybody, I can be anything, tell me what to do, you say jump I say I'm already jumping, look-- For every apparent revelation: a million secrets, stories denied and squelched by each reincarnation. A love/hate relationship with everything I've stood behind. Gay/straight, Jewish/Quaker, Genius/Airhead, Sane/Insane, Artist/Robot, Social/Recluse ... It's like I've been everything and it's opposite, and've gathered enough narratives to hold my own amongst any of them, now. Though I refrain from anything of import following "I am." Maybe here's a place where I can be all of those things at once and be validated instantly simply by the very fact that I'm writing it and I have a sitemeter. In fact, this particular truth feels indulgent, why should anyone care, that even acting as though I think you should care is breaking into another character, which's the only one I've yet to actually play: confidence."
-"You have to laugh at yourself, because you'd cry your eyes out if you didn't." (Emily Saliers) That's what I did more often than not, was try to turn it into a joke. I mean, it was really fucking funny sometimes. We laughed a lot. You take what you can get, you know? You wait for the next joke.
-Madness + Genius = Toxic
-Anything that can be said in three syllables can be said better in one syllable.
-There Were Good Times. More Good than Bad, srsly.

Auto-Lexicon:
Like Emily Dickinson: Seriously, I've really never read any of her stuff, I just think it's awesome that she spent so much time in her attic.

-I do not regret visiting every day, or trying to understand/rationalise or sticking it out. I wanted her back, I needed Tara back, she needed me there. There were moments when she'd return, and those kept me going through the truly gruesome terrible things. The ups and downs in one day -- mind-boggling.
-I don't regret losing what I lost, because I eventually got it back and then some.
-I only regret ... no. Nothing.
**
I weathered the accusations: masochist, depressive. Trying to distract myself from my own problems. Enjoying the drama. Voyeuristic satisfaction. Doing it all for the good writing material. I guess if I'd felt like any of those accusations were remotely true, I would've been more self conscious about my choices, but they weren't -- and I know this because before Tara/TB, I'd made a lot of choices for those reasons, those up there, and I know what that had felt like. I was bored and tired of all that. But no ... I went into the relationship seeking stability. I didn't want or expect what I got. And I wasn't going to turn my back on someone I loved because they were sick, I just couldn't -- I've compared this inability to the basic web template you can't change, no matter how much HTML you learn. That seemed awfully selfish to me? Eventually, I had to lose everything in order to walk away -- eventually, she had to lose everything¹ in order to choose, willingly, medicated health "forevs and evs" over the endless highs of provided by oh-so-seductive immortal mania. I tried to make the best of it -- "I never would've read The Book of John, it's a good thing to read!" -- which really isn't the same thing as being manipulated into believing it's okay. Trust me. I knew. Things.were.not.okay.
**
Why'd I stick it out? Because of love, obvs. Because she would have done it for me. Beneath this white-on-black retina-burning agoraphobic cynical depressive emo exterior is a heart made of cream and purple, fo'serious.
**

¹ TB's Sunday Top Ten: "And meanwhile, back @ Marie's shower, she's blasting showtunes. I'm cringing. Cause music is nearly everything to me. Therefore, Marie and I agree to disagree, re: tastes, and that's cool. Cause now she's nearly everything."^2
2Speaking of music, I like these: "A Better Son/Daughter" (Rilo Kiley) ["And sometimes when you're on, you're really fucking on, and your friends they sing along and they love you, but the lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap and it teases you for weeks in its absence, but you'll fight and you'll make it through, you'll fake it if you have to."], "Manic Depression" (Jimi Hendrix) ["Music sweet music, wish I could caress caress caress"],"This is Everything" (Tegan & Sara).

Sunday Top Ten: Most Weirdest Weirdos of 2007

As I mentioned last week (in great hyperlinked detail), December is National List-Writing Month, which is for me how African-American History Month is for people from history who were African-American. But this randomized December weekend has left me stumped for the absolute best list to construct. There's a good one in the newest preview for The L Word, which actually convinced me for two minutes that it might be good next season, but like seriously. I'm also at peace with the death of Dana Fairbanks and I'll tell you why in the first Season Five recap, but that could have something to do with my open mind, ready to accept Ilene Chaiken into my life. In fact, I've decided to write her a series of haikus over the course of the month. Here's the first:

Ilene. Are you mean?
It will remain to be seen.
Hey, nice new haircut.

HEY GUYS: This isn't finished. Just a heads-up. Just thought I'd put something here overnight to simmer and ideally delight, like a pie on the windowsill.

Also speaking of OurChart I'm not gonna be your friends plus unless we really did make out, and even then, probs not, 'cause really Papi? That's between me and myself and I, and sometimes Lozo.

Anyhow, back to Autowin. For those of you that don't watch TLW, I'd suggest that you just imagine I'm talking about real people, real friends, and find it amusing that way. Mr. Redacted's ass-kissing assistant did, so you may as well too. Anyhoooooo .... I considered the following: Best quotes, moments, "things I've learned," worst moments, biggest surprises, the little things that got me through it all, best people, best whatevs. I dunno. I'm drawing a blank. So when in doubt, someone once said somewhere: write what you know. And this here be what I know.

SUNDAY TOP TEN: TOP 10 WEIRDOS OF 2007

10. Everyone In Planet Harlem

My neighborhood is essentially an open air insane asylum, and, if you've been paying attention, you're aware that I know from insane asylums. (Sidenote: If you haven't, let me clarify -- I've never personally been committed, though this dude I worked with at the OG used to tell me I reminded him of Heather Graham in the movie "Committed," and then I saw it, and she's obvs a total lunatic in that movie, and it's called "committed," get it?). In fact, we call it Planet Harlem 'cause of heckler's legendary comment to me one fine Summer afternoon: "Welcome to Planet Harlem, white girl." Actually, though people tend to think I'm just talking crazy when I say this: the reason that I cut my hair off was 'cause I was sick of people yelling at me all the time on the street, 'cause 125th is super-congested: apocalyptic literature vendors, super-aggro homeless people, incense salesman, DVD selling dudes and HECKLERS. The worst is the construction people slaving away on Harlem's constant gentrification building projects. I just wanted all these dudes to stop fucking yelling at me so I cut off my hair, wore baggier pants, and guess what, it totally worked. Also helpful: staying indoors 24/7.

9. Natasha on America's Next Top Model

Natasha may not've turned out to literally be a mail-order bride (just a randomized 18-year old Russian girl who married a fortysomething American dude and popped out a baby faster than McDonald's pops out a special-ordered cheeseburger sans-toppings), but she is hands-down-totes the most amazing person to ever appear on ANTM. She refuses to accept negative feedback, pretendin as if it's all positive. "When you name something, you can spell it as wrong or as right as you want." See, if you believe that you can spell words however you want to and then delcare your misspelling actually CORRECT by creating your own NEW RULE about ENGLISH, you auto-win. She was a magical Russian Sponge of Tyra-Insanity Delight. Some of her best moments were in this episode. Tyra, p.s., is too much of a cunt to be a weirdo.

There's just so much to learn about turning a negative into a positive from Natasha, like next time girls talk shit behind your back, just think: "This girls, they are very, very into my behavior. Every move I do, they watch me."

8. Haviland

You guys, Haviland is a total weirdo. She may seem normal, and I go to great lengths to enhance this illusion, but she's a total weirdo. E.g., she emailed us last week to announce the arrival of her new white bikini. What's funny is probs 500 people reading this right now are like "I wish I'd gotten that email." No but really, she is, just trust me. Obvs in the best way ever, etc. Like what makes Haviland's weirdohood work so well is that though I am a much bigger weirdo, it's in a totally different way. Like, I've got a lot of weirdo things in common with many of my closest friends, but Haviland's weirdo things always surprise and amuse and compel me. And for that, and many other things, I love hpsdiva.

FourFour, who reaps America's Next Top Model and is linked above (re: Natasha) does "pretty parties" at the end of each recap, it's a screencap fiesta. So I did a Weirdo Party for Haviland.

7. Amy Sedaris

Amy is my favorite weirdo. She is the funniest weirdo living right now, I just cannot get over how effin fantastic she is especially with cheeseballs. Just read this brill interview of her in The Believer, she even gets all profound at the end. She's what I aspire to be -- gutsy, totally un self-conscious, genuine, and truly dedicated to laughter above all else. Also, her brother David is pretty fucking awesome, even if his last two books seemed underwhelming, nothing's ever made me LOL so much as Naked. He tells funny weirdo stories about her.

6. These Randomized Girls on OurChart:

my ourchart

Once upon a time, Carly and I both had girlfriends and then around the same time we both didn't, and we weren't feeling so hot. And ... as we all know, the best place to find new love is on OurChart, so we went looking. And by that I mean we weren't looking for love on OurChart, we just thought it'd be funny to stay up all night on i-chat making fun of local OurChart ladies. If you're one of the few we chose to pay attention to and you're randomly reading this blog -- first of all, congrats on your newfound mastery of the English language -- I'd apologize but srsly I'm helping you out here, you need to fix your profile or you are never going to have sex with Jennifer Beals, sorz. Neither am I, like I'm a totes lost cause, but I want you to be happpyyyy like unicorns. As much as I'd like to, I'm not linking to the actual profiles we discussed 'cause I'm fundamentally, I think, a good person, most of the time. Except like, not right now for a minute. I mean, my profile's also retarded. OK, it's not as retarded as the girls we're talking about.

OH FYI 'People from history you'd like to have at a dinner party" is on the list of things you need to say about yourself. I said Strunk & White and Dana Fairbanks, obvs, and Tara looked up Dana Fairbanks thinking she must be some feminist author or something, and then found out the truth.

Anyhow, here we are talking about these weirdos. We probs went through about 20 profiles. Each convo is generally about a different person.

Carly: : SHE DOESNT PUT SPACES AFTER COMMAS
Me: I KNOW! And her dinner party is gonna be CAH-RAZY
*
Me: Also there's that photo of her ass. That could also not be her ass
Carly: I want to venture out on a limb here and say that it's not
Me: What are the 'southern continents' she wants to travel to exactly? Southern continents are like, Australia? I'm so confused by her.
Carly: Southern continents? like, the South Pole region?
Me: Everything about her is confusing. How did she get this far in life without learning how to spell?
Carly: Which one is south? antarctica or the arctic?
Me: Um, I know not what she speaks of.
Carly: I don't know. but i would like to visit it.
Me: I mean, that ass a damn southern continent if I ever saw one.
*
Carly: Ok, now this one... I'm sure she's nice, and there's a possibility she could be marginally attractive? (maybe, I'm being nice) but is that really the best photo you had? Really?
Me: I like that for music she just lists Rock and R & b "Rock." right. ROCK! ... DUDE: "Story of real murders life instreats me ..."I would love to go to scoutland. It looks really butiful and i would love to see it."
Carly: hahahaha. Scoutland huh? That sounds fun!
Me: It actually does! A bunch of scouts?!
*
Carly: "Hi, my tagline isn't grammatically correct."
Me: AASHADHHHFHASFH is all I have to say about "your."
Carly: That specific grammatical issue is listed on my myspace as a serious dislike.
*
Me: I like how she writes "lets see..." before her list of movies ... like she's thinking as she writes "hmm ... EVERYLESBIANMOVIEEVER"
Carly: Aw this poor girl's tagline is "where are all the smart girls?" ... um ... NOT ON OURCHART.
Me: haha
Carly: Which, hm, we're on ourchart ... BUT that's cause you're a guestbian and im a masochist.
Me: ... Haviland's on it. And Tara and Lainy. And Ilene Chaiken is on it!
Carly: Fuck Ilene Chaiken. fuck her right in the ear.
Me: guestbian=masochist
*
[sidenote: We know everyone's on OurChart, or like, most lesbians are. Wanna know why? Well ... why not? Totes we are all on OurChart, I heart OurChart, the Chart That is Ours. I should write another Guestbian column, any ideas?]
*
Carly: Nice photo, brooooo
Me: Dude, I bet she fucks girls with that hair
Carly: .. and grammar errors
Me: I mean literally
*
Me: Yikes American History X is her first fave movie. TROUBLED TEEN ... "Snowboarding!!!" Why does that get so many extra exclamation points?
*
Carly: WHAT DOES THAT TAG LINE EVEN MEAN?
Me: It means: "I am retarded." ... "and probs a cunt."
Carly: hey whut up yo broz" ... "hay shawty"
Me: Actually: "What is going on, young ladies? It is --" ... ... I give up.
Carly: I'm crying
Me: Dude -- "Not afraid to argue wit me. have a screaming match"
Carly: Read: "i will punch you out, sucka"
Me: she's like "I will throw my Mom's best vase that she won at Atlantic City right at your head, bitch"
*
Carly: This girl just added me.
Me: "Gypsy, tramp, theif"
Carly: OMG IT'S SHANE.
Me: DUDE, you found shane! ... She likes The Tudors.
Carly: ew.
*
Me: Dude, I think dominiqueoxoxousousad is a porn star. I mean seriously? her favorite movies? ... She doesn't speak english.
Carly: I know right.
*
Carly: Magazines: "maxium"
Me: MAXIUM? You're spelling a retarded magazine WRONG?
Carly: This girl kinda looks like my friend Stef except my friend Stef is way hotter
Me: Whwatt/??!?
Carly: Also she likes Slipknot and is a republican?
*
Carly: No I've got your porn star right here: [link]
Me: dominiquexo might be fun to sleep with if you were like, 18 and had just come out.
Carly: Yeah
Me: But she'd probably keep calling ...
*
Me: omg i feel dirty already looking at this new one
Carly: I think not, re: tagline.
Me: Is that the demonstration? on her pic?
Carly: hahahahahaha
Me: ... of how she'll have me cumming?
Carly: in her bathroom, it would seem
Me: seriously her name is NOT Aska Lala ... because that is MY NAME ...starting now.
Carly: her name is Asdf Jkl; ... (home row, what what!)
Me: holla
*
Me: Wait did you link me to the horse stable girl?
Carly: I think so
Me: Awww she likes Jewish girls. And poetry! ..occupation "horse stable worker" ...sketchy ... I changed mine to "crack dealer." ... which isn't sketchy at all.
*
Carly: This one is my favorite:
Me: Oh gross i'm gonna barf. Seriously Wayne. ..."Strength in body and mind someone like my father.... stand up or me fight for me but gentle enough to cry with at night when I am araid" ... I'm araid too of your spelling of the word "afraid." eirdo. ... this is GENIUS: "I am very eclectic from movies to walks in the park to hanging in the city with friends,having coffe in abook store reading for hours to Bdsm" ... how she just busts out with BDSM at the end?! ... and then aAGAIN as a guilty pleasure?
Carly: I seriously cant breathe I'm laughing so hard ...
Me: like she's trying to slip it in like no one will notice ... like they'll read it and then afterwards be like "wait...did she say... that she likes it rough?"
*
Carly: Marilyn is self employed. I think you'll see why.
*
Me: Wow also though like "isolated lesbian looking for a new life online" um ... therapy? ...Jesus.
Carly: Seriously.
Me: Tanya, get your shit together!
Carly: No ourchart is therapy.
Me: Good point ... at least she uses complete sentences ..."my favorite movie is..."
*
Me: Everyone on ourchart is retarded!
Carly: This girl is ready to fuck shit up ... she thought that picture would help her get pussy ...also, she's a nurse? ...really?
Me: I know she's totally talking in the Gwen voice "Come over and I'll stick these UP YOUR VAGINA"
Carly: TFLLL ... "hi my name is gwen"
*
Carly: Also except does not = accept.
Me: Um ... occupation ... please look right now ...and tell me what you think about her struggles ... and where they could be coming from.
Carly: Maybe she's a "struggeling writer" too
Me: Probs
Carly: She's INVOLVED? lord.
Me: She's so mysterious about her personality, and so revealing about her pores
Carly: Ok we've exhausted NJ ... damn, that was incredible.
Me: Whew.
*
Carly: [link] omg, i am in love ... guilty pleasures: SEX. ...HOTTT.
Me: do you think that after having sex, she'll leave her shirt? ...she lives EVERYWHERE?
Carly: she is OMNIPRESENT ... I should change my profile to include only responses that would be made by Trudy Weigel on Reno 911. interests: cats. collecting thimbles. spooning.
Me: Totally ... you might attract a lot of weirdos
Carly: True.
Me: Just warning you.
Carly: Which is why I'm not. Going to do that.
Me: I'm gonna attract a lot of people who like crack. The drug.
Carly: I'm only a masochist to a certain degree.
Me: Yes. I think we all are. "We all" = me.

5. The Entire Cast of A Shot at Love With Tila Tequilla, except Dani, and Tila, who's too boring to be weird

The clips show really spelled it all out for me. V. helpful, especially considering I've been speaking about this show w/o actually watching it for a majority of the season. That country boy didn't know anyone's name, Vanessa was drunk drunk drunk the whole time, everyone wrestled in vats of chocolate pudding AND it turns out that Amanda's a victim of the EXACT plague that's always prevented me from pursuing a career in reality television (yes, the only thing, the one and only thing, otherwise I'd be amazingly racing the bachelorette all over temptation fucking island to become the top chef for a real housewife of orange county once we stop being polite and start getting real). Amanda was just being sarcastic, y'all! When you listen to her talk for a while, you realise she's just making fun of the dumb blonde thing, but they cut out all the stuff that may've made you realise what a genuine person she was. No lie. Totes love Amanda. She's no Dani, but she's a funny lady.

4. These Guys
(Alex/Semicolon, Riese, Haviland, Stef, the spirit of Cait)

3. Jenny Schecter

Oh, Jenny. In Season One, when the writing was good, you were a resolutely unlikeable person. You played the bi card all wrong and broke hearts like they were cheap mugs filled with cheap merlot you'd accidentally knocked over on your way to the Chunky Monkey. You were every writer's worst nightmare: you thoroughly mined your past and its accordant pains and tragedies -- your rape, your simple sadness and isolation, your state of being: a lonely little lez in the Midwest (On "The L Word," the proverbial lonely Midwestern Lez is often exploited for Her Full Lonely Potential)-- for moments of carnival clarity ... and ended up wringing real emotion dry in favor cheap sentimental angry gut-pouring memoir sold as fiction which by Season Four was pissing everyone off. You'd written about your friends, lacking even the ability to mask their named adaquetly. And you could've fought back normally, as your prior character suggested, by being all whacky and neurotic and shit (while the equally insane lesbians go tsk tsk Jenny), but instead! Instead! In Season Four, you just got abso-fucking-lutely awesome. You killed a dog to get to the girlfriend of the girl who gave you a bad book review in Curve magazine. I mean that is pretty effin awesome. Also, I met her! Stacey Merkin. She's totally rad. Jenny's lines of brilliance were so beautiful, they became Moments.


This is Jenny sitting happily with her choice to turn More Girls into a musical. With the Ditty Bops! I hope they get Amy Ray and Emily Saliers in on this gig.

"The thing is that the vagina's girlfriend was molested and now she's like this perfect saint, which is just like, awesome, and I was abused and I'm like this fucked up nitwit, but that was my experience, and that's mine and I don't know why she's slamming my own experience though!" (Jenny)

2. TB

When Tara was TB (a.k.a. manic), she'd concoct the strangest dinners of all time. When I cooked for us I'd make a bunch of food, scoop my portion onto my plate and then return to the pan, dump a bunch of hot sauce on the rest of it, mix it up, and dump that on her plate. Similar to the process I used when cooking for my ex-boyfriend who needed to melt American cheese on everything. (What's crazier? You decide.)

She just needed everything spicy, everything illuminated in the chili-pepper/star/red blaring type they use on Chinese take-out menus to warn you what you're getting into: what your mouth's just signed up for. You know, the footnote¹ they put on the menus: VERY HOT. Like ... life was on overdrive & pumped up, hypo-manic thought patterns setting brain on fire, and thus, also the tongue, too, needed to be on fire. It needed half a jar of crushed red pepper flakes, needed salt&pepper&basil&oregano&garlic salt and several generous dollups of Tabasco & hot sauce. It needed scrambled eggs with spinach and onions and asparagus and tomatoes and mushrooms and garlic cloves and chives and terriyaki sauce and soy sauce and sesame oil and olive oil. 3 A.M., Macbethish over the stove, and I'd be laughing (you have to sometimes, you have to), "Oh my GOD I can't believe you're actually going to eat that, that looks like an accident ... your stomach can seriously handle anything," and she'd laugh (you have to) "My stomach hates me." I'd say: "No, your liver, your liver hates you more." The best part was how she didn't want to waste any food so she'd fully wrap it up and totally have it for breakfast the next day, but this time, with even MORE tabasco sauce. This time with actual chili peppers.

I've always lived in apartments with gas stoves -- that click-click-click and then blue then whoosh then fire -- but my Mom's old house had an electric stove, and I never learned, really, a better way to test the presence of lingering heat besides sticking my hand right on the burner, like my brain continually forgot to give the big N-O to that thought before I'd already turned it into action. Mom started putting pot lids over the burners while they cooled 'cause I had such issues burning off my fingerprints, walking into the living room with held-up hand and requisite perfect round white blisters instead of fingerprints. but I did it so much that it eventually stopped hurting. (This came in handy at the Mac-Grill when I expo'ed 5,000 degree plates of lasanga w/o getting burned). I don't like electric stoves. I like things that cool down faster.

That last paragraph is unrelated. Sorta. Whatevs. Anyhow that tangent -- or rather, the existence of that tangent -- segues nicely into my next point ... (oh also, that painting there is from this girl erika somogyi)

1. Me

Hands down totes the biggest weirdest weirdo of the year: ME. Most readers who've met me in real life say I'm not as crazy as I make myself sound on here. I think that's 'cause I usually write alone -- or if there's someone here, it's generally someone I know pretty well -- so I let myself go WILD on the page, like a TIGER. Also because I try to seem normal around normal people. It's funny, and I guess this relates to a way a lot of people relate to me (like you, all y'all) -- how easy it is to enable one another's neurosis or insanity, emotion, intelligence, creativity, caring, compassion, emotion ... how contagious behavior of all kinds can be sometimes ... how much we start to talk or think or write or eat or drink or act like whomever's around us or whomever's set up residence in our hearts or psyches, which sometimes look like the same organs. I say I'm ME, I say I'm like, my own totes randomized weirdo, but the truth is, I'm just randomized. Which is fine. Seriously. It totally is.


¹: Stars, "Your Ex-Lover is Dead," from the album "Set Yourself on Fire." The lyrics of this song include the opening: "When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire," as well as the following lines: "the scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin," and "live through this and you won't look back." The album's title song, "Set Yourself on Fire," includes the lyrics: "In the darkest part of you that you have ever seen, in the smile of the child staring at the TV screen, in the diary of a priest, in the sheets that lie upon his bed, out there amongst the waves and inside your lover's head, there is only one thing. There is only one thing. There is only one thing. There is only one thing. There is only one thing." According to last-fm, I listened "Your Ex-Lover is Dead" 116 times in August.