The Message is the Medium

My Mom won't be in videos 'cause she doesn't like her voice. Therefore, as a kid I was provisioned only an 8mm film camera that by definition didn't pick up sound and required outsourced processing and I could only ride my bike so far and so I had to wait for my Mom to drop off the film, get it processed, pick it up, and then I had to wait for my Dad to set up the film projector and the screen [requiring lots of furniture-moving] and all of this just to avoid my Mom's voice being on camera for ten seconds.

Howevs, as camcorders became commonplace, I grew increasingly suspect of my Mom's insistence that this antique 1970's-purchased camera was acceptable gear for a budding young video artist who desperately needed to record her Lego Pirates & Firemen advancing down a self-made felt road through Lincoln Logville as Boyz II Men wailed "End of the Road" on her portable cassette player. So obvs Dad took me out when I was 13 and bought me a real camcorder.

I'd always try to film Mom anyhow -- sneak attack style -- but there was never any variety. Always just be a quick shot of her giving me Stealth Glare Version #8b and, then, for no discernible reason -- but with great consistency -- she'd snap her fingers and point, firmly, at the floor. I think she meant "why don't you film the floor?" but what was on the floor, nothing, obvs, who wants to see a picture of the floor. If there had been something on the floor, who would've been told to pick it up, me. Then where would my movie be? The ceiling or something, sans Kriss-Kross or the Cher wig.

Basically right now what Warner Music Group is doing is interrupting a very successful video remix of my brother & I playing soccer to the tune of "roll the bones," snapping its fingers, pointing at the floor and asking me to film the floor as if ANYTHING EVER HAPPENS THERE. It's shutting off the music and reminding me the silent film camera is still in the upstairs closet. It's crunching my brand-new camera with its fat greedy mouth, grounding me for ten days from doing anything fun, and then, while I'm grounded in the cellar; they're giving away all my toys that I built myself out of wood from a tree that I grew myself.

YouTube you are not my mother but you are acting like my mother.

YouTube, you're an asshole! You can't just change the rules of the game you've built your empire upon. If you haven't heard -- YouTube is slowly & systematically muting all videos that contain copyrighted music -- absolutely everything from self-recorded covers to remixed soundtracks to unintentional background music. I hope you got the rights on the music at your wedding 'cause that shit is going down. They've got sophisticated robots now, it don't matter how big or small you are.

Jan 14th: "YouTube has started muting videos that use unauthorized copyrighted music (and that pretty much means all user-created videos.) ... If YouTube starts being thorough about this, you can expect to see a significant percentage of all YouTube videos muted. The implications are a bit different than with removing copyrighted professionally produced content, like an official music video; we’re talking about tens of thousands of fan made videos, funny spoofs, remixes and the like being pretty much destroyed, and I’m guessing users will be less than thrilled about it. " (Mashable )

So far I've had one video muted (Riese & Hav & Alexi Vlog #32 -- in its memory, I've replaced its star spot on the channel with a video of my dad, brother and i making funny faces which'll never get muted and Vlog #32 is now on vimeo) and one removed altogether (Lozo Vlog #20) if this continues it's likely they'll all be down soon. If another goes down I'll add it on my new vimeo channel as well.

In December, ads were added to one of my vids 'cause 30 secs of background music had been identified as Warner-owned. That was fine, seemed fair, and, consequently , because i knew of these repurcussions this I went on making videos with music believing the rules weren't about to change. Previously YouTube hadn't cracked down on videos like mine citing Section 512(c) of the DMCA. The artists themselves disagree with Warner's choice -- all these background clips are just free publicity for them, that's obvious.

• 5 Stupid Implications of YouTube's Video Muting - mashable
• Warner Music Group and Others Muted on YouTube - wired. com
• YouTube Users Lash Out at Warner Music (and Google) with protest videos - techcrunch
• YouTube Users Caught in Warner Music Spat (tech-chuck)

I never expected to return to video editing and initially Hav & I were both uneasy about being "out there" -- almost for opposite reasons (I'm uneasy about my moving/speaking image out there, she's comfortable with it, it's her livelihood. She's more careful with words, I'm comfortable saying anything) and I certainly never thought we'd make more than two or three.

But now we're proud of what we did, and I'm happy with what I've learned as an editor and pleased we've built a solid number of subscribers, attracted readers and garnered connections and even better gigs. I'm depressed that soon enough the hundreds of hours I've spent editing videos will be silent as my mom's floor -- the vlogs have value because they're on this youtube channel, they don't have a value separate from its medium or independent of the internet's reaction to & expectation of them.

YouTube's visibility enables this and other sites just don't -- at least for now. (And some have rules like this one from day one.) So I'm figuring out what to do from here, hoping there'll be a revolt and this sitch'll get fixed or ... people think vimeo is pretty and it is pretty ... I dunno. Switching platforms is depressing 'cause endless hours of unpaid work reaps different less tangible rewards like my subscribers and their/your views, honors, anticipation, links, conversations, gigs, etc. -- this is what fulfills us and enables us to gauge how we're doing. I don't want to loose my old videos on youtube as they are right now -- my portfolio, basically, legitimized as good by subscribers -- not to mention Haviland! This really gets my goat!

The platform itself is the thing, and I like[d] it. That was my mistake! Taking it for granted. I totally understand taking down entire musical tracks or any copyrighted video shows or if we were making a profit -- I get that. But I don't get eliminating small clips as background music -- un-rippable songs, so to speak. Warner doesn't necessarily have a case for that, this is just the part where logic dissolves and it just becomes a fight betweeen two giant dickweed organizations.

---

But you know, who needs lovely music when you can enjoy some of the writing available on youtube. For example, I've selected some choice comments from my first episode of Lezberado. Don't worry -- these are totally okay things to say, this is what YouTube is 100% okay with.

Just don't play Prince in the background when you type them:

Commenter #1: I want fuck her in a mouth
Commenter #2: FUCK YEAH
Commenter #3: Why? She has horrible teeth!

"ur pathetic for posting a sexy pic to get views u suck shit u fucking scab on society, i hope osmebody inur fmaily dies soon u fucking spawnof satan nothing u say is relivent to the human race u are a fucking intoxicated ametuer lame piece of shit and u deserve nothing except sexual advancement against ur will."

"would you shut the fuck up an go suck a dick thats all you can do and who says your hoe mom is gay i fucker last night."

"this bitch will suck the devils cock."

"vagina's are built to house dicks."

"As is was in the days of Noah and Lot, so will it be in the days of the coming of the Son of man. The world is going to be like it was when 2 men, Noah and Lot lived on this earth. What was different about their time then any other time in history? Immorality, heavy sexual immorality, and specifically homosexuality."

"how do you tell a lesbian from a real woman??? well just look at her freaky ugly haircut!!!"

"Why would the Bin Laden family just happen to be in New York on the eve of 9/11? 9/11 was a red flag op."

That stuff -- that'll never get muted. Thank G-d!

YouTube, I have one thing to say: fuck you, you carwash cunt. BAM! ROASTED.

It's Just a Couch. This Isn't Life. It's Just Stuff. (The Story of Dixon the A**hat)

What a whirlwind! Longest move ever -- and at last, oh, hi, here, here ... my & Natalie's new West Harlumbia apartment is a mess but sooner or later it will be a home where our habits can have a habitat. Natalie already knows how annoying I am, so there won't be any surprises.

I've got bruises and cuts everywhere, 'cause I can barely walk straight when I'm not carrying heavy objects, let alone when I am. So I'm behind on everything, which seems to be a perpetual problem, which seems to suggest that maybe there's just too much everything, you know?

[Quick announcement: On Tuesday, if Obama loses, I'm gonna kill myself. I'd move to Canada, but I don't have a passport. I just want to put that out there so we're all on the same [web]page.]

If Obama wins, and I think he will, then I can fully devote myself to all the other exciting things coming up, like Obama winning, the release of the Hot Blogger Calendar (Click here to view more details and to pre-order using my affiliate link therefore supporting me which is what we're all here for right, ME?!?!) and Sex Blogger Calendar, my Mom's birthday, National Novel Writing Month and maybe finishing unpacking.

So I have a story to tell you about hope and Dixon the Douchebag of the Week, who wasted 5 hours of the best most beautiful years of our lives on Saturday. I keep trying to edit this story 'cause it's so long, but every time I edit it I seem to make it longer. So welcome to long story time.

++
Me and Natalie, the last time we lived together -- Willard '03-'04.
Look at that couch in the background! It looks so comfy!

I've got a long well-documented fondness for craigslist and I recognise its fallibleness. So I guess ultimately this is a story about what we expect from people, what "good faith" really means, and how petrifying it is when someone refuses to abide by the arbitrary rules of human morality you thought were implicit. I make this mistake often. Then I ask myself: why do I continue to expect?

At one point in this story, I will be suggesting for the fifth time a certain angle at which to push the couch from our hallway into the living room and A;ex will say, "why do you keep trying the same thing over and over again." And I will say, A;ex, as a sane person, you do not understand this, but your team in this endeavor -- me, Natalie, and Caitlin -- we do the same things over and over again expecting different results. Natalie will point out that it's the definition of insanity. We'll all laugh, knowingly, and push, and the only thing different about this time is that the bottom of the couch cuts right through my palm, an injury I don't notice 'til hours later, but which doesn't actually matter, obviously.

++

Natalie and I, proud underemployed U-Mich alums, operate on a steady budget of broke-to-almost-broke and so we planned to get most of our furniture from craigslist or the street corner (coincidentally, this is also where we get our blow jobs).

Nata's developed a severe craigslist addiction over the past two weeks;' hauling Caitlin to at least five house/yard sales. Nata even enchanted a (obvs gay) woman on the Upper West who asked them to stay for dinner and sold Nata a teevee that didn't work. (Sidenote: howevs, when we informed her the teevee didn't work, she ripped up Nata's check. 'Cause that's what PEOPLE DO.)

The sofa is the most important thing we've been seeking. A;ex's grandfather is ill and her family keeps changing their mind about what's best for him, and so his old sofa has been offered and then taken back several times. It's like what my ex used to do to me with her bank card when she was in the mental hospital, except not evil.

A final take-back was initiated last week, so we made other arrangements. On Sunday morning A;ex is given the go-ahead again. Too late; we've already promised Dixon we'll buy his couch for $125 'cause it looks like something we could fall asleep on. Here's the ad:

So it's Saturday morning and the Team is in action. We've all been in overdrive supporting Natalie's yard sale addiction and complementary willingness to traverse crosstown for a deal on a stack of paper plates as well as my general mishap-hood and Saturday is no exception.

Caitlin's bringing me a dresser from the goodwill in New Jersey, A;ex is picking up the ebay teevee from Queens and she's got a coffee table and a bookshelf for Nata already in her car, and eventually Caitlin & Natalie rendez-vous @ the W.Harlumbia Palace to go get the couch and then Natalie realizes she's broke. Together, Caitlin & Natalie have got about $65, so there's no sofa-getting until A;ex unloads the furniture in Harlumbia, then goes back to get me & my stuff & my cash in Midtown and then takes me uptown.

Being poor takes a lot of time, we can't just call Ethan Allen and be like, what's up Ethan, I need a couch and some chairs, and he'll be like, okay, cool. Instead we must deal with Dixon.

So, a few hours behind schedule, A;ex gets me in midtown, we go uptown to W.Harlumbia where Cait & Nata are waiting. A;ex double-parks, we dash inside, have a five second Team Meeting and when we emerge, Alex has got a $115 parking ticket. Caitlin & Natalie get in Caitlin's car, we get in A;ex's car, A;ex yells at the ticket, and we then we hear a sharp plunking noise.

What was that, I ask.

A;ex gets out of the car, fully raging, and discovers someone's thrown a nail at us. A nail. I don't know why people do what they do, I'm not God.

I tell her nice optimistic things, which's an attitude I only pull out in times of crisis.

We arrive at Dixon's apartment on 72nd street with our two-car caravan. He's moving to California with his boyfriend, probs so they can tan year-round while sucking the fruits of their mad twatwaffledom and smoking meth from each others assholes.

Nata and I go upstairs, check out the couch.

Dixon admits he's not sure how they got it in there in the first place. Problem #1.

I don't like him, Natalie says. He seems a bit slow.

We'd expected to like him, because of the Instant Homosexual Bond.

The couch isn't as promised. It's falling apart at the edges, the lining's frayed, the skirt's threatening to abandon ship altogether. It smells a little and is impossible to move. Problem #2. But we've not come this far for failure.

I sub out, put Caitlin in, 'cause she's stronger. It's tight quarters up there, we need geometry and manpower, and I've got no idea how the fuck they ever got that couch in there, possibly it was airlifted.

So while they struggle, I walk down 72nd to get a fountain soda. The weather's cool crisp autumn (my favorite) and I'm thinking about how well everything's going considering how terrible everything was, about how people can make up for concrete things but the heart-hurt takes more time, thinking about all the stories I do not and wouldn't tell, and the ones I don't understand yet, of how maybe not everything happens for a reason but things have a way of working themselves out. How nice it is to have people who try to do what they can without expecting absolution, not now or even soon, but just 'cause they can, and we all do what we can, like everyone who did what they can the first time around, too, and all the others after that.

I'm thinking about how strange and silly crazy we all are, and how we go on, and how much better Coke tastes from the fountain than it does from the bottle.

I'm thinking about curling up on the sofa with Natalie and making animal noises all winter. I'm thinking about all the things I miss and the things I'm looking forward to, how to follow your gut and still retain dignity, and then I return to find Nata curled up in Caitlin's front seat saying she thinks she's made a big mistake.

Nata always takes full responsibility for things going wrong if she's even remotely involved. Caitlin takes full responsibility for things going wrong when it's clearly not her fault or within her control at all, like a plane landing late. A;ex always takes responsibility when she thinks it's probs her Mom's fault.

I don't know what I do. Maybe I avoid taking responsibility for situations and logistics but do accept full responsibility for emotional damages, or maybe I don't. Maybe I try not to be involved, or when I say it, I'm just saying it.

It's falling apart, Natalie says, back to the couch now.

We're not paying 125 for it, I say. We'll bargain.

There's this Cuban woman up there yelling at us in Spanish, she says.

You speak Spanish, I say.

She's not helping, Natalie says.

I call Caitlin. Are you okay, do you need help. She's in one of those moods: This crazy woman is mouthing off to us and she just said we need more strong men and there's no way we're getting it out of here. So obviously now it IS ON AND WE ARE GETTING THIS MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF HERE.

The first time Haviland met Cait she said to me afterwards; "Cait's my kind of lesbian," 'cause Cait looked like she'd get really competitive about moving heavy objects and always offer a ride like she did that day they met -- offering the ride.

Caitlin says there's nothing I can do so I just pat Natalie's hair and we eat chips.

15 minutes later, A;ex & Caitlin & Dixon emerge triumphant with the couch, having squeezed it through so many narrow impossible spaces. Dixon almost dies but A;ex saves him from getting crushed. A;ex is feisty and secretly strong, tired but determined, she's a good one. I'm probs driving her bat-shit insane but til I do, I can't seem to cease the sky-high investment of labour and time on her part. Her sanity is a heavy object, too, the kind that carries itself.

I don't really know if I deserve friends like this, I'd never move a heavy couch for any of them. Obvs as I could not move my own.

"She's my hero," Dixon says about Caitlin. Everyone is very friendly, there's no signs here that anyone will magically transform into an evil bastard. You can never tell with these things.

"I feel like the couch is kinda damaged in parts -- "I begin to tell Dixon.

"Seventy-five," he says.

And Natalie and I are relieved. So finally we get the couch strapped inside Caitlin's SUV. A;ex and I end up running into her friends on the street and driving them crosstown, Nata & Cait are getting Starbucks and Pinkberry for everyone and so about an hour later we're all back in West Harlumbia.

This is November 1st, the night of Carly's Tabloid Trainwreck Party. Natalie keeps sticking things under her shirt to see if anyone thinks she looks pregnant, so that she can be Juno and Peter can be the boy from Juno. Peter's her boyfriend, he just flew in from London and is sleeping in Nata's old apartment down the street -- the apartment she would've moved out of already today but then this couch thing has taken forever. Nata's younger brother is moving in here on the 4th and Nata's going to South Africa to save the world on the 8th and her company is two weeks late with her paycheck so she's had to borrow and so I'm just telling you, this is what's going on.

And as for me, well, you know. Me me me and more of that.

So it's dark and we take the couch out of the car and into the building.

But.

It won't go through our door.

It just won't.

And we huff and puff and move and lift and twist and when it finally enters, it's shot back into the room across the hall. Here's a diagram I've drawn for you about the impossible situation we've set up for ourselves:

We try several tricks to get it out of Nata's room and fully into the hallway, where we anticipate smooth sailing and are sorely mistaken. We've scraped up the walls real good and employed various to total body weights for the cause. There's been a lot of laughing and screaming and roaring. We've been at it for about an hour.

Natalie's new job is standing in the hallway and growling like she's about to give birth, which makes Caitlin laugh so hard she's distracted from her task of being the strongest person. When we make progress we cheer, when we lose we scream and growl and kick. It's getting into slapstick territory, that special space where life's ridiculous logistics wedge themselves between the ceiling and the floor, refuse to budge ... and then start getting a little rank.

Nata: "Marie, I feel like we're the weakest link."

Me: "Nata, it smells icky."

Natalie: "I know, it's the couch."

Me: "Really?"

Natalie: "Maybe it's me."

Me: "Is it the couch? It didn't smell bad before."

(Natalie sticks her nose in the cushions): "No, I don't know what it is. Maybe. It didn't smell when we got it. Did I mess up? It's probably me."

Me: "It's not you."

A;ex: "RIESE!"

Caitlin: "I feel upset."

Natalie: "I'm so sorry this is my fault, it was my idea to get the couch, now it'll never go in."

Caitlin and A;ex: "OH IT IS GOING IN."

Natalie: "My stomach is sad."

Riese: "Isn't it fun that we're all here together?"

[Natalie starts singing Missy Higgins at the top of her lungs, Caitlin and Alex sit.]

A;ex is doing this cute rage thing she does where every time I have an idea she goes "REALLY RIESE?" and forces me to go into detail revealing that a large section of my spatial relation-related plans involve desperate certain magic.

Eventually we determine we'll have to take the door to the living room off the hinges to provide an extra inch of space. Alex and Catilin do this, then we eat Pinkberry and laugh about the things that make us laugh and that make other people not like to hang out with us. Nata goes down the street to wake up jet-lagged Peter to help with stage three.

Me: "Does anyone else smell that smell?"

A;ex: "You always think you smell weird things."

Me: "Caitlin, you smell it, I know you do."

Caitlin: "I smell it."

Me: "It smells like a dead mouse, doesn't it?"

Caitlin: "Uh-huh. Ut-oh. Oh boy."

A;ex says she can't smell anything but then points out that I refuse to go into corner delis 'cause they smell like deli and I don't want my clothes to smell like deli and possibly I have an acute super-human sense of smell. But then Caitlin investigates, smells around the couch and then razors open the inside of the couch and the smell wafts out, engulfing the previously fresh air we'd so innocently been breathing.

It is FOUL. It is the unmistakable smell of DEAD MOUSE. We have been sold a couch with DEAD MOUSE IN IT.

Caitlin: "Oh boy."

Me: "Get it out of here! OMG! I don't want a couch that has a dead mouse in it."

A;ex: "I can't fucking believe this is happening right now. Like Really? Really Dixon?"

Caitlin, eyes watering, puts on her hoodie for emotional support, plugs her nose and says "oh no" while A;ex mutters to herself and I sit in the living room trying to be chipper, 'cause like I said before the only time I'm good at being chipper is when everyone else is upset or sad, 'cause I like to go against the grain.

I call Natalie who's mostly horrified that she thinks she's made a mistake and wants to take full responsibility.

We have purchased a sofa. It was overpriced and took the strength of two lesbians, one bisexual and one "I don't believe in labels" to get it into the apartment at all and will take quantum physics to push it in any further to its landing spot but needless to say, no, no, no, we are not getting this into the living room after all, we don't want this thing anymore! This is G-d saying do not take the couch.

This is A COUCH WITH A DEAD ANIMAL IN IT and it's making the whole apartment reek. Surely Dixon will be horrified to hear what's happened to us, and to Caitlin his alleged hero.

And it's getting late and we're tired. We've gotta get dressed for Carly's party and my room needs some attention, the bathroom is filth, Peter's tired, Caitlin aches and still has to drive back to New Jersey and I need to become Paris Hilton so but first we must call Dixon to make arrangements, we figure he'll be apologetic and maybe offer a partial refund, or else fess up to selling us a couch with a dead animal inside it.

I mean, THERE IS A DEAD ANIMAL INSIDE THIS SOFA! I mean, that's a bad thing, yes, that's not the kind of thing you sell, that's the kind of thing you pay someone to remove. We even are prepared to offer photographic evidence of said dead mouse.

Me: "I wish we could send him this smell on email or text. Like a picture message but scratch 'n sniff style."

Getting the sofa out of the apartment is slightly easier, 'cause there's a lot of rage fits happening, and I think we broke it in four spots trying to get it out. I couldn't get near it 'cause I knew if the dead mouse fell out onto me, I'd drop dead on the spot.

Let's fast forward to an hour later. Caitlin has called Dixon, 'cause she's his hero. He didn't return her call. So we've called again. This has been a nightmare.

But not a serious nightmare like DIXON. Himself.

Now mild-mannered Dixon is a menace. Why are we telling him this, he asks. It's out of his hands now.

Obvs he's on meth or coke or one of the other uppers that makes you super-irritable, 'cause he does that thing that people do when they're strung out on uppers where they respond to mild-mannered comments with batshit crazy responses. For example (actual transcript of dialogue, obvs Nata remembers it all word for word, as we do as well):

Natalie: I’m saddened by the fact that you don’t think we could make this a bit more fair for us.
Dixon: I’m a good person! I helped you carry it!
Natalie: You didn't have to -- you should've said something at the time.
Dixon: We made a good faith transaction and that's the vaguarities [his invented word, not ours] of craigslist! This conversation is over!
Natalie: I've done many transactions on craigslist myself and if something went wrong I always try to do the right thing.
Dixon: I'M NOT HITLER! I'M NOT A NAZI!

I believe Caitlin and Natalie are now taking turns trying to reason with Dear Dixon to no avail, and Natalie's about to cry, and the couch is outside and it's cold and we're tired and we are at that spot in life where we seriously cannot afford to lose ten dollars, let alone an entire afternoon and forty dollars each, and we're supposed to go to Carly's party but now Dixon is making Natalie cry. We bought a cover for A;ex's grandfather's sofa so it's not that we're saving money now by taking the free one, 'cause the free one is sort of hideous looking and the cover was $70.

What I'm saying is there is no silver lining here, unless you're talking about the silver lining left behind by the shedded fur of a dead mouse.

Dixon: "This conversation is over. If you wanna have a rational conversation we can talk about Gossip Girl if you'd like."
Natalie: "What's gossip girl?"
Dixon: "That's what you are, gossip girl, a bitchy whiny girl who wants to get her way."

I don't see the similarities, but maybe that's just me.

Dixon is on the phone with Caitlin when Natalie screams "I FIGHT FOR YOUR GAY RIGHTS!" which barely misses Dixon's sheltered ear as he's now hung up on us.

I don't know what we expected, really, I guess we just figured, you know, something.
Caitlin had offered to help me move, she said: "it's the least I can do."

Me: "We should call him back and ask him if his refrigerator is running."
A;ex: "You better go and catch it!"

Dixon's said we can "do whatever we'd like" with the couch. We'd like to throw it at his face, or leave it on his sidewalk, but the idea of getting it back into the car and spending more time on this project, going Itty Bitty Titty Committee on his flat ass, is just overwhelming.

So we leave it on the street and now (Monday) it is gone, at the landfill.

Me: "oo, let's call him and say I'm voting Yes on Prop 8 and then hang up!" [sidenote: obvs I'd never do that, NO ON PROP 8 KIDS! NO!]

What was the least Dixon could've done?

Is he just not a good person on the inside? Is he right? Is it the meth talking? I don't know.

Somewhere between here and the West Coast, Dixon's buying processed snack foods with our cash. I hope he gets a flat tire. I'm sitting on the pilfered cushions right now. It's comfortable. It's not perfect but it does the trick.

On the Night I Die I Swear I'll Sleep Outside Your Window OR "My Life as a House"

Me? I'd keep my library on the wall's built-in-bookshelves. Hardwood floors. Exposed brick. Exposed book. We don't need mirrors if we have each other, we need windows to see what's out there but not too much everything, 'cause then we won't be able to see each other anymore. I want us to really look at each other is what I'm saying.

I had a house once. I mean -- I lived in a house, and it was mine as much as anything can be yours when you're a child and don't really have anything but still believe that you will, one day, have everything.

I nested there, as surely and solidly as anything in the world could've been my nest when I was a child and didn't really have anything but still believed I would, one day, nest somewhere else, somewhere spectacular like in Troop Beverly Hills or The Little Princess.

I never liked adventure stories of swashbuckling, journeys, warriors, quests -- I liked novels where precarious girls in frocks and bare feet discovered secret worlds in the wardrobe or in a box in the attic, stories where adventure was as local as wallpaper.

Natalie, my bestie from college who I lived with at two separate addresses there and crashed with last week, saw her Fiji dream house in Architectural Digest. Simple, clean lines, beautiful, next to the sea, surrounded by mountains and green, endless green. Open & floor length windows, glass walls and the bamboo bedroom walls open up to the spectacular sea. Hardwood floors, lots of ceiling fans, crisp linen, a beautiful kitchen where she can see all the people she loves sitting at once with wine and laughing. Stainless steel everything. Huge bathtub. Colors, and light, and dreamity dream dreams.

And when, at thirteen, my parents got divorced and we were made to leave that house I owned [or thought I owned] I left kicking and screaming, literally, staging a sit-in on the blue carpet in the style of the Vietnam protests my parents had told me about. I said I could not go. I demonstrated this by burying my head in the carpet. To my left -- the closet I'd turned into Samantha (a doll)'s bedroom. To my right, the futon and my loft bed and my desk where I wrote stories on my loud clanking electric typewriter.

To my all around -- my walls; posters of places I wanted to visit (like New York City) and hulking portraits of my hero Nolan Ryan who kept on pitching 'til he won.

Haviland wants a place like this hotel in L.A. called the Visceroy, like 60's stuff like in Bewitched [her typo was "betwitched," which's better, yeah?], the decor from I Dream of Jeanie, and lots of mirrors and of course the beach, always the beach and the waves, and the wind in her fairy-tale hair.

In the fifteen years since leaving that place on 431 Crest Avenue [like the toothpaste], I've switched addresses 23 times. As unhinged as that's made me feel, I've established certain precautions -- I always know where I'll be at least two weeks before I go there. I've never, for example, had to crash, or put my everyday things and furniture in storage, or couch-hop. A luxury, sure, but for me it's hardwired as hardwood and the only thing that keeps me grounded in a life of freelancing and freewheelin' and now, no legitimate roots anywhere, noplace I've ever lived that'd have me back or even knows my name.

Carly: "my dream house is whatever house Robin is living in. What, too gay?" Carly's dream house is not too big and it's modern but not cold, and there's a pool and room for dogs, and she can entertain or just sit around and watch tv in her pajamas. She says, "I can't figure out if that means I want a house on the beach in CA or a penthouse in Manhattan. Guess I'll have to get one of each!"

At boarding school near the end of my junior year, my writing teacher invited his workshop over for dinner. I rode my bike there, it was on campus. I had lots of coffee which was still a drug to me then because I was 16 and full of hope and spirit. I didn't say much 'cause I was shy, but I remember the books in his room, and the warmth they created with their words and possibility. I remember the brook in the backyard, like a cheesy watercolor rendered beautiful.

I remember, remember tangibly, the feeling of whipping through air on my bicycle from his house afterwards and thinking, "Marie Lyn Bernard the world is at your fingertips/handlebars!"

That was when energy, not oblivion, was my drug of choice. And I decided that night that when I got home for the summer I'd build myself a cave -- I'd always loved that shit, the treehouses and secret clubhouses -- a cave no-one else could squeeze into -- a place where I'd read poetry and write brilliant brilliant heartbreaking things. I'd write a novel, I said. All I needed was the right space, the right cave.

Adam's number one awesome houseboat is MacGuyver's. Distant second; Duncan during the relevant season of Highlander. In his elementary school sketchbook he drew his dream house -- he sketched it. It was a castle. With a moat. And a wing for his mommy because he was/is that kid. And he went on to form his romantic archetypes from the relationships in fantasy novels which wasn't healthy but the women were plucky (he chose the angsty young sorceress nobody understood, not the ditzy princess in distress). And then there was a real-life man with a real-life wife who had spines; spines of books, candlelight. That, after all, is his dream house: "I would probs want more light than he got, but it was night when I was there, so just about anything would have more natural light than nighttime."

And so, here I am. Basically what happened was I was all set with the apartment and then five days before I found out it wasn't going to happen ... I don't, and won't, go into detail, because it's my life as a house too, and it's complicated and I hate myself already for typing this sentence already.

Alex wants something she can build with her own two hands, with materials from her stranded desert island, but she realizes that fantasy sounds a lot like nightmare. So then there's this: a margarita shack on the beach in Mexico, where she'd sleep in a hammock and make margaritas all day. But then there's this too: the tree-house. That Swiss Family Robinson house in Disneyworld, anything where she could be inside and around a tree, the warmer the better.

But the whole situation leaves me unhinged, lost, and that's why I'm couch-hopping. I feel dislocated, like Houdini could pop off both of his nice shoulders you know? My Dad used to talk to me about Houdini a lot. I liked how Houdini was stuck in this tiny space and could dislocate his body from himself and that was how he made magic.

I realize, oh I realize, that there are children in Darfur who'd love to be sans-address but have a bed to share with a friend or a couch to hop to, close one's eyes on. Perhaps if I didn't realize this, it would be easier to figure out how I feel. But every thought I have is overrridden by the other thought; the thought of people who are sleeping on the streets, who need more than my change/change.

My short list includes the loft from Igby Goes Down, The Factory, that house in the Hitchcock movie with the cliff chase and the hanging, Walden Pond, the house my writing teacher lived in, and more and more and more that I will think about tomorrow and then add 'cause this post is totes incomplete, like you and me and everyone we'll ever know.

Caitlin. Wants a house on the beach with a pool and a backyard and she imagines her dream house to be like in Life as House, the movie that said: "I've always thought of myself as a house, I was always what I lived in. It didn't need to be big, it didn't need to be beautiful, it just needed to be mine. I became what I was meant to be, I built myself a life, I built myself a house, with every crash of every wave I hear something now. I never listened before. I'm on the edge of a cliff, listening. I'm almost finished. If you were a house, this is where you'd want to be built" and "What? Do I still love you? Absolutely. There's not a doubt in my mind. Through all my anger, my ego, I was always faithful in my love for you."

And so, nowhere I am. And so I do not know who I am. And so I want more than anything to be proud of myself. Which won't set us free but Who I Am is the great mistake in a life full of mistakes.

And so tonight I will go to sleep, ideally, though I've struggled with sleep the past few days 'cause I'm not good with strange spaces, and so I panic, and so tomorrow I will wake up, and I will go to work, and I will, if I have the time, attack this post and try to make it into something as glorious as four walls, as something I could dig into, as something I could keep. Something I can own, as much as any child can own anything.

auto-fun is so yesterday. if not, it's so 9-3-2008

[juliana neufeld]insomnia poem #12:

somewhere between box five and last year
someone asked me what i wanted
i said "nothing," she didn't believe me.
"my brain's ambitious, my soul's the emcee,
you scream, i scream, we all up and leave,
i don't know much but i know no fall is free"

'cause the thing about living nowhere
is i could live anywhere
like guam, or vermont, or your futon
no one ever says "what a comfortable futon."
no one ever calls the futon
and if someone did
they wouldn't leave a message

the art of losing is
impossible to master

so many possibilities, water water everywhere
and not a drop to think
the choice is act or drink

when i was 18 i drank amaretto sours.
now: more vodka, gasping liquid power
i call futon, i call futile, i call future,
and yesterday is a bright red cherry
that shimmers like backlighting, that

delicious

berry

---

quote: "That had been in Agnes's mishmash decade, after college. She had lived improvisationaly then, getting this job or that, in restaurants or offices, taking a class or two, not thinking too far ahead, negotiating the precariousness and subway flux and scrimping for an occasional manicure or a play. Such a life required much exaggerated self-esteem. It engaged gross quantities of hope and despair and set them wildly side by side, like a Third World country of the heart." (Lorrie Moore, Agnes of Iowa)

---

links:
0. all about the most annoying people in the city: you can't escape the canvasser's pitch. One "dialoguer" notes that though they are annoying, "I think Martin Luther King was probably a bit annoying."(@village voice)
1. obama and the closing of the american dream. (@n+1)
2. william faulkner reviews season one of Gossip Girl (@mcsweeny's)
3. Sarah Benincasa does the Sarah Palin Vlog (@paper mag) -- more Sarah Palin vlogs at her YouTube Channel. "I'm just tryin' to keep you current!"
4. You're Rich, You Still Have Time To Read! (@adage)
5. Micheal Jackson at 50: A 50-Photo Retrospective (@rollingstone)
6. William Faulkner Reviews Season One of Gossip Girl (@mcsweeny's)
7. Digital Memories Can Be Fleeting: "No transgression goes undocumented, no inebriation goes unpublicized and no child goes un-camcorded." (@globe & mail canada)
8. Kay Ryan: Crocodile Tears (@poetry magazine)
9. Untitled Artist Feature #2: Me! Green interviews memememee about the 'zine, art, tinkerbell, the meaning of life, the story behind that gold paper, etc. So brill it needs a whole new word for brill. (@sloganx)
10. Hot Blogger Calendar Contest: clearly I had to really start from the ground up to win this thing, 'cause all the other contestants except AV have at least one baby. You know what that means -- one baby goes to school or the sandbox or wherever it is that parents keep their babies these days, and then the baby says to all the other babies, "Hey, vote for my Mom or I'll throw a lego ship at your head," and then basically you've got all of K-5 plugging for you. My advantage? Well, my readers know something they don't teach you in kindergarten: how to "use" computers. And that, my dear friends and ex-lovers, is why I won second place! I'm good at second place. I'm not sure what happens next, all I know is that I want September so I can do a Britney Spears inspired "back to school" shoot. (@hot-blogger calendar contest)
11. Stef's Cartoon Recap of Moving Riese out of her apartment. Like most of Stef's cartoon recaps, I come across as slightly insane, although this time I'm more Elizabeth Wurtzel than Homicidal Maniac, which's, you know, sweet. (@big-exit)
12. Fiction: Face by Alice Munro (@the new yorker)
13. "To us, breaking up over IM made a certain amount of sense — as two people with desk jobs that required long hours, a good chunk of our couplehood had resided in the realm of instant messaging": With IM, I turned my boyfriend into an on-call therapist (@nerve.com)
14. Born in '82, the writer notes what we've all been learning the hard way: "Girl Power in School, but Not in the Office": The realization that the knowledge and skills acquired in school don’t always translate at the office is something that all college graduates, men and women, must face. But for women, I have found, the adjustment tends to be much harder. It was certainly hard for me — I lasted only nine months in my first job out of college. (@the nytimes)

Dear Auto-Fun of the Day, Why Would I Ever Pick a New Question?

I love Freedom!
++
[jk, it's paralyzing ...]
++

On a scale of one to ten, this post was initially a valiant initiative! Now it's just a bunch of random stuff; straight from my brain/room to your screen. I have a lot of things. I've got that sore/achey fibro feeling in my bones and arms from The Sads and also from not leaving my apartment for three days (I'm not being dramatic this time, it's true) but if I don't leave this place to at least work out tomorrow I think my heart might revolt and eat my brain. I've got gratitude to my helpful patient friends. And so much sadness, too. I try not to think about it. I've just discovered Xanax! What a treat.

Hey, vote for me, I'm getting DEMOLISHED.

When there's nothing left to burn you have to set yourself on fire. I don't know where I'm going, I don't know what I'm doing. The first stop is a storage unit. The next stop is a couch, I guess, and then another couch. It's cool, I like sleeping on couches. I am so sad right now I'm sorry I can't do this. This typing thing, the exclamation points. Waa. I am lucky to have so many good friends though they are such beautiful souls, we all need to meditate together on the balcony by the waves wink wink.

PACKING PARTY!
++
it's vintage.
++
where did those pink pants come from? holler hard tail!
++
Look what Vashti drew!
(Look at my blogger profile for the source material)1. Oh, vote for me! Voting ends on August 31st! I have this strange suspicion, based on what I see in the mirror, that I'm not a shoo-in for the Hot Blogger Calender Contest, but I've been nominated and you know I'm very competitive and don't like to lose. Actually, the art of losing is not hard to master. OMG! I just went to poets.org to find the URL to link to this poem, and what was the quote of the g*dforsaken day? FROM THAT POEM. This, my friends, is what we call chickens.

Clearly Julia Alison owns this contest, but I'd like second or fifteenth place. I don't want to earn it -- I know that like Miranda Hobbes you've always liked me for my personality. Haviland is the hot one, I'm the cool one. But I'd like to win second place as a joke. I prefer massive jokes over all other forms of communication except telegrams.

I'm not sure how exactly this contest is related to calendars, but I hope the prize includes a new planner. I always get my planners late 'cause you can usually talk the guy into half price if you're already three months into the year. So the first three months of the year are somewhat up for grabs, so do what you want to do fine.

---

"From motherhood to mirror gazing to best friends that got away -- if a woman has a feeling, the forest gathers around her, processes, and consequently births an anthology."
-Chicken Soup For the Queer Girls' Soul, by Marie "Riese" Lyn Bernard, on pages 71-72 of INTERLUDE MAGAZINE

Get your own - Open publication

---

quote: "We were stupid for disrespecting the limits places before us. For tearing up the fabric of songs wise enough to acknowledge limits. For making songs of rape and death and then disappearing inside them. For trying to go everywhere and know everything. We were stupid, spoiled, and arrogant. But we were right, too. We were right to do it even so." (Mary Gaitskill, Veronica)

---

links:
1. Where Did All the Drunk Writers Go? (@the new review)
2. School Wars: Politicians, billionares and mavericks all want to save public schools. They won't. Parents will. (@GOOD)
3. 2 A.M. is my New Midnight (@achtung baby!)
4. P.S., guess who's totally a movie star? (@the chi chi pekor express times-daily-record-eagele)
5. Where the Urban Dream is Going Cheap: What could possibly make someone want to leave New York and move to Buffalo? (@nymag)
6. Rachel Maddow interview: "I don't, this is going to sound crazy, I don't like talking about my personal life. I don't like talking about the media. These aren't my topics. I'm really interested in Afghanistan. That's what I want talk about." (@jezebel)
7. Radar's Semi-Scientific Study of the Worst Colleges in America: categories include "Most Stoned" and "Most Overrated." (@radaronline)
8. Bright Lights, Big Screens : notes on the democractic convention (@slate.com)
9. "The two individuals perhaps most responsible for transforming the West Village from what it was ten years ago into what it is today are Carrie Bradshaw and Marc Jacobs." : Enchanted (@the new yorker)

---

insomnia poem #11:

here: you be the needle
and I'll be the thread
let's [never] go to bed

and over those sheets
she'll soar, we'll all meet
please take this seat you are so sweet
i mean that so delicious

and
so
cold

so the thing is that my back hurts
could you hold this for just a block
this book, my heart, my things, this shock

in the future they will see
digital beautiful glittered gloom
silence here is not shouting fire,
in that crowded room

the thing is i'll be fine i mean it so fine yeah
just fine emphasis on just

but the thing is i got too excited about flying
I'm Icarus so
I'm on fire,
here's the sun;

but we ha/d/ve/
so
much

fun

Sunday Top Ten: We Didn't Do It

"We think of our lives as a series of events ... of things happening one after another. But it's just as accurate to see our lives as a series of things that don't happen to us."
(Ira Glass, intro to "We Didn't" episode of This American Life)

She did it, she boarded and flew all the way across the country, away from New York's industrial erections and valiantly towards somewhere that made up for its failed promises in baths of well-lit potential and it wasn't just her who did it. People move in body if not in mind, and finish novels and start revolutions and quit jobs and lose weight and get really into yoga and sometimes I do and I will but when you think about it -- and I have, 'cause I have a lot of thoughts happening at once in my head -- there's way way more things that I didn't do.

Sunday Top Ten
We Didn't Do It

exhibit a: things i was gonna do

10. California Here I Come

I didn't move to California or Michigan but I L.A apartment-hunted online. I didn't say goodbye to all that and disappear like heaven on wheels but if I'd had the financial means I would've left this apartment before they asked me to but I didn't so I didn't. I didn't move to Walden Pond but I looked on craigslist for cabins in the woods. I didn't leave for the summer or the winter but I packed for both. I didn't move to Australia but I downloaded the form to get a passport and left it on my desktop where it still stands today, awaiting my attention, having survived the acquisition and subsequent fall of a new passport in the meantime.

9. You Had Time

I didn't write my book. I took a lot of notes. Mom & I voyaged to the Michigan storage space to excavate the artifacts of my little life and Mom said she'd kill me for losing the key to my locker's lock 'cause we had to pay for a chainsaw 'cause I was supposed to hold onto the key but I didn't. I read books for research and I assembled my notes & research & wrote an outline, marketing plan, etc. But I didn't write the actual book 'cause I'm not ready for such substantial truths and so I decided to write a novel instead but I didn't. But I will. "Did you know it took Diaz 11 years to write Wao?" I wrote to my agent. "This segues neatly into my next topic ..."

8. Falling is Like This

I didn't jump out the window but I did forgive you except for the few times later on when I didn't. I didn't overdose on anything though I felt my heart beat so hard inside my chest I thought it might leap right out of my body on legs of its own, bound across the city and get on a plane and leave me all alone, heartless. I didn't ever go heartless but I did get sad and mean. I thought I could make it all better and I tried but I didn't.

7. Out of Range

I didn't apply for an M.F.A. program but I sat at B&N with books and copied down lists of the best schools, sent out for brochures to put into the file folder "Graduate Programs." So I didn't move to a room of my own in Iowa City where it'd get so quiet at night that I'd feel my sober heart beat like a horse. I didn't move to Missoula to forget about reality and embrace my past friends as characters.

6. And Darling

I didn't write back to many emails & I've got 182 e-mails in my draft folder and some of them are for blog-readers. I generally try to discard drafts rather than keep them but sometimes 'cause of auto-save I didn't.

Of the 182 e-mails I never sent: 33% = to exes, 33% = jobs , 20% = angry rants to friends & 10% = emails I thought I DID send but didn't.

These are the titles of some of the emails I didn't send: Sancho is Not Retarded, obvs it's me so it's not good news, STOP., Typist Position, that's fine I'll send you three emails in a row I'm not above that, portfolio samples, copy gig, part-time assistant, your blog makes my firefox crash, fall or silence, UPDATE, room for rent, communication, re: apts and such, Pick Me! So Qualified!, um., guestbian blog, the summer they electrocuted the rosenbergs, this is stuff for my book that i am going to write about myself because i am self-centered, home is where my habits have a habitat, some things i wanted to say to you.

exhibit b: things i was gonna do

5. If I Gave You my Number

I didn't try to track down anyone's phone number when my phone got stolen so I didn't ever keep in touch with anyone I knew before that time though I didn't ever say I would anyway so I didn't.

4. Take me Anywhere

I didn't go to Reno or China or the West Indies but I researched plane fares and packing lists and room rates. I didn't go to Paris and I didn't apply for Yaddo but I did download the application & inserted it into the "writing-work related" folder and I bookmarked some web pages.

3. Walking With A Ghost

I didn't start The Factory but I watched Factory Girl and started to read The Diary of Andy Warhol but I didn't finish it. I looked at warehouses online all over the country but I didn't look at any in 3-D but I still believe in it and I'll make it happen, I didn't yet but I will.

2. Fix You Up

I didn't make my resumè into the kick-ass thing it wants to be but I did look at resume examples and read books about resumès and made ten different copies of my resumè for different kinds of jobs but I don't like any of them. I didn't put together a copywriting portfolio but that's 'cause Brian didn't send me my samples and I asked him twice. I didn't call Natalie's temp agency and I didn't work at the new Starbucks just to make it go faster and I didn't start that Sacred Altar business with Mary or sell that teevee show with Carly and I didn't send that new pitch to New York Magazine and I didn't do the Best Idea EVER yet but I WILL.

1. As Cool as I Am

I didn't stop writing this blog. I didn't do another comment contest or make Autowin totebags or black shirts or continue Great Mysteries of Life or The Year in Review. But I mean I'm still writing this blog. That's something.

I thought the whole world was gonna change in January and it did but it didn't change exactly how we'd expected. But when I say now that I feel like things are falling in place I'm not taking about magic anymore, or blessings or karma, I'm just talking about people and stability and change and calm that's tangible. It's like the year of magical thinking, and if you haven't read it I'm not giving anything away when I quote the last lines: "You had to feel the swell change. You had to go with the change. [John] told me that. No eye is on the sparrow but he did tell me that."

I love ending a blog on an obliquely optimistic note. I think if I sound vague, it's 'cause I feel vague too. Vague ... but good.

I'm trying to think of the biggest thing I didn't do and I'll write about that later but first I'll ask you; what didn't you do this year?

H & R! Haviland and Riese Advice Column #1: You've Got Feelings, We've Got Answers

Hello! Welcome to the first installment of H&R: Haviland and Riese's stunning advice column. This is where we fix all your problems instead of fixing our own. By default, we're answering the first five e-mails we received but keep 'em coming, and we'll keep on coming ... all over the keyboard. Also, P.S., my Mom is here this weekend, and she's: 1. watching some weird "Broadway Promos" channel where Mary Poppins is singing crazy, 2. Convinced I need to get a master's degree in social work, so that I can devote myself to advice. That's great advice. That's exactly what I need to do, is pour additional money into the University system, which's so far proved immensely useful. Anyone want a ten page paper on the rise of the modern American novel? I'm selling it for $10, it's a buyer's market. 3. Is now telling me that I need to begin this column with a disclaimer that we are not mental health professionals, we are "literary" and "humor." If you have a real problem, you should see a professional. Like my Mom, the social worker.

Mom: "If someone asks you advice about killing themselves or killing somebody, you need to direct them elsewhere. People take things seriously and they will find you and track you down and kill you. If you think I'm joking or exaggerating, I'm not. You think I'm being overdramatic, don't you?"
Me: "No! I'm trying to transcribe, you're talking too fast."

Got it? Okay!

Also -- we'd like to invite you -- the reader -- to chime in with your advice if you've got it. Also, this is sort of a test run. Hav's coming out to NYC in a few weeks, so we'll do an advice vlog for a few special questions, and we're gonna cover some questions on ichat, etc. So send us more questions, we need more questions, more! more!

---

Dear H & R,

My new boss recently relocated desks and is now sitting next to me. Her ringtone is 'Clocks' by Coldplay, and every time I hear it ring I want to throw myself off the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Her taste in music is severely affecting my time in my cubicle. My co-workers have advised that raise this issue directly with her, however confronting people just isn't how I roll. If you could suggest a more passive aggressive solution to my problem then it would be well appreciated.

-Cold for Coldplay

Dear CFC,

Haviland: Confront. Srsly. Try this, "hey, would you mind turning your ringer to vibrate?" You obviously need to learn to be more aggressive. Do it with a smile, and your boss will understand. She's being very disrespectful to have a cell phone ringing in the workplace, anyway! This happens in dressing rooms all the time, and the best way to go, for sure, is just to ask nicely. I'm all about the direct approach. (of course you could just say, "oh em GEE!" every time it rings, but like i always say, why waste that kind of time?)

Riese: Although I'm a big fan of passive passiveness and aggressive aggressiveness in relationships w/friends, I fully support passive aggression in the workplace. What Haviland is suggesting is the kind of thing you might do if you were a confident, pro-active, forward-thinking problem-solver with a great deal of poise and direction. I'm not like that, I'm a wimp at work. Let's go:
1. Find out what music she hates the most and make that your ringtone, then set your phone to email alerts so it'll go off all the time. I can email you all day. Oh wait, I already do, Secret Person. She'll get so annoyed that she'll start to question her own behavior.
2.Next time it rings, grab it and throw it against the wall and go 'I HATE COLDPLAY!'
3. Start playing "Clocks" by Coldplay on an old-school boom box on repeat all day so she can't tell if it's her phone or the boom box. And if she's like "Stop playing Clocks on repeat all day, it's annoying," say, "Funny you should mention that ..." and so on.
4. All of those things take longer than just confronting, but c'mon, what else are you gonna do at work? Work? Right-o.

---

Dear H&R,

My girlfriend is moving cross-country to live with me (we've lived together before, so those dynamics are worked out). So, what should I do to make things easier for my girlfriend when she moves here? I worry pretty equally about the outcomes of either forcing her to hang out with my friends endlessly (whether she likes them or not) or leaving her at home alone all the time while I go socialize. Not that I don't think she'll make her own friends, of course, I'm just worried about the transition period between cutesy I'm-so-glad-you're-finally-here-let's-do-everything-togetherness and normal (somewhat separate, I hope) lives. Any advice would be appreciated.

-Full House

Dear FH,

Riese: So I have this theory which's that people expend the least amount of effort possible at all times in order to make it from sunrise to sundown without slitting their wrists. Which's just to say that if she gets on w/your friends straight away, she'll probs never bother to make her own, and then you'll be trapped in a 24-7-togetherness that'll eventually lead to either double suicide or the end of sex. I think you must ask yourself: "Do I truly want my girlfriend to attend this social event? If we didn't live together, would I invite her?" and if the answer is "yes," then invite her. But if you start inviting her for any reason besides a genuine desire to have her there (e.g., obligation, wanting her to feel included), that'll get unhealthy fast.

I did the cohab thing once. Howevs, 'cause I'd cheated on my boyfriend with a pledge at his fraternity as a prelude to what I saw (incorrectly) as our impending breakup, I was actually formally prohibited from attending his social gatherings. Then about four months post-cheating, he went out of town and his "brothers" invited me over and ragged on him all night and I had an a-ha! moment. Was there a point to this story? Oh, then I dumped his ass and his "brothers" helped me move out. Don't let that happen to you. Hey-o!

Ok, enough about memememee. Also, totally JK'ing, I just wanted to talk about myself and be humor, that would never happen to you, speaking of you; let's get back to you. Leaving her at home alone won't do anyone any favors, 'cause she's not gonna make new friends with your couch (howevs, there is the internet!). Work or school will be the best area for her to have a life separate from yours. Also, make out frequently and when she arrives, answer the door in nothing but whipped cream.

ALSO! (omg, I have so many feelings about this) If it's a big group gathering, you never know who your gf will click with. Maybe she'll end up being besties with a peripheral friend. Magic social evolution! KaZAM! It's not bad to have many of the same friends as your girlfriend, it happens often, just try to be aware of it happening organically instead of by default, if it does.

Tinkerbell says that your girlfriend wants a vodka-tonic and a back massage.

Haviland: I basically agree with the Riesling, except I haven't had the experiences of which she speaks, with the frat boys, etc. The main thing is to make sure you're still living your life, even while she's entered it. You absolutely do want to make her comfortable, but not at the expense of making yourself miserable. Make sure she feels like your place is also her place, and that can be as simple as picking out some cute things to decorate - candles, throw pillows, autowin collages, whathaveyou. I'm hoping she has a job, and she'll be able to make friends there. In any event, you should talk about this with her - tell her your concerns and that you are excited about making a life with her, but are cognizant of being too codependent, and want to keep your relationship great and sexy and honest and healthy. Hopefully she'll be respectful of your alone time with your friends, she'll meet her own, you'll have date time, alone time, etc...and it'll all work out. Just keep those lines of communication flowin'. (Did I just say that? oy...)

Riese: The main thing is to be sure you make an effort to maintain some romance and mystery -- a romantic night out is often less romantic when you witness your partner preparing for it, instead of seeing her just show up looking fantastic. Don't pressure each other to check in all the time (it's nice sometimes to go to Wal-Mart w/o your SO knowing you're going to Wal-Mart) and be sure you have lives just separate enough so there's still stuff to talk about. Like don't be "How was your day?" "Um, you should know, you were there for the whole thing." Etc.

---

Dear H&R,

How can you make people attracted to you without always having to be the friend... i.e., I would rather not be Ross to the Rachel, the Will to the Grace ... In other words ... what do I do?

-Friend Without Benefits

FWB,

Haviland: Oh, honey, haven't we all been here! You can't make anyone like you, dear - it'll just happen. If you're into someone and you're not sure if they reciprocate, flirt a little bit and try and figure it out, or ask one of their other friends. Leave a little "circe" (gift) at their place or at their work...nothing too romantic at first - better if it's sweet and/or funny. Make sure whatever it is can later be sluffed off as being a friendly gesture, but also, something that, if they are into you, they'll think is super sweet. If you find that they aren't into you, let it go! Don't waste your precious time obsessing over someone with whom it just ain't gonna happen!

Riese: I think what Haviland is saying is "lower your standards." Howevs, I think you can sometimes win someone over by showing them (subtly!) you can treat them right (if that's what they want) ... or by making yourself indispensable to them, like make them super codependent on you and then be like "look, either we take this relationship to the next level, or I'm outta here," and then they're like "fuck, I better keep you around otherwise who's gonna make dinner?" Mostly, I'd say that you need to talk about other romantic exploits (make some up if you don't have any) to make yourself seem like you're being desired by people all over the world.

But srsly, the most attractive trait a person can carry off is confidence. If you don't wanna be slotted as a "friend," then you need to be someone who knows what they're doing. Don't confess anything embarrassing or radiate neediness or inexperience right away. That'll come later, once you've already had a few rounds of riding the hobby horse wink wink.

Also:
1. Axe Body Spray.
2. Be mysterious and aloof, or better yet -- mysteriously aloof.
3. Didn't Ross & Rachel end up getting married? Just sayin' ...
4. I believe a great pop song once sang, "I can't make you love me if you don't, I can't make your heart feel something it won't." Right? Yeah. Think about it -- you can't force someone to be with you and you wouldn't want to. If they don't see how fabulous you are, then they're not the "one," 'cause "Thinks I'm fabulous" is a very important trait in a partner.
5. Get drunk and go to Manhunt.com, it works every time.

Haviland: I agree about the confidence thing, but the other advice? hm...maybe the axe body spray...this is a very good idea.

Riese: Secretly, I think my brother wears Axe Body Spray. And for someone with my genetic makeup, his luck with the ladies is not too shabby.

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Dear H&R,

I've been with my girlfriend for about ten months. We're good together. The only problem is, she bites me. Really hard. I don't know how to explain away neck and shoulder bruises. What do you suggest?

-Bitten

Dear Bitten,

Riese: Listen up, Semi, I told you to just say you fell down the stairs! Oh wait -- ten months. NM. Um, okay anonymous Bitten, if you were my friend and you had neck and shoulder bruises and I was like, "what are those?" and you went, "my girlfriend bites me. Really hard," I'd be like HOLLA! and give you a high-five, and then we could go to the record store and have a few beers, maybe listen to some rock n' roll, etc.

But seriously, I think you need to make up a story -- like tell your girlfriend, "OMG, so apparently everyone at work has been chatting about my shoulder and
neck bruises and they think that you're like, abusing me, or -- I dunno, everyone's looking at me funny and thinking i have some sort of sordid secret life. So you have to stop! I know it's hot and fun, but I can't explain away these bruises forevs!" or something. Also, are you sure she's not a vampire and she's actually eating your blood? I think there was an L Word episode about this.

Haviland: I don't know about "making up a story." I'm never a fan of this. Do you like the biting? If not, then just ask her to stop, that you're into her, but not into that. If you do like it, you should just ask her to take a nibble on all the places that people at work won't see. What I would do is tell her she's really sexy (make sure to boost her up, so she doesn't think you're putting her down) and all the true things you love about her and her biting, but tell her you're afraid people are staring at your bruises. Suggest some places to nibble that aren't so visible.. In any event, talk to her about it - tell her this is kind of hard to bring up (obvs it is if you're writing to us about it and not just talking to her) but that it's important to be honest, because you do really think the relationship is great and that you're good together. This is a minor thing. The thing is, if you're in an intimate situation, and your mind is on "omg there she goes with that - how am i going to explain it this time?", then you're not really being all that intimate, and your mind is taken off of her. And don't you think she wants it to be on her and how good she's making you feel? So, thats the deal...communicate.

Riese: While we're on the topic, FYI ... DO NOT TOUCH HAVILAND'S FACE."

Haviland: "Do NOT touch my face."

Riese: "I just had another idea -- coat your body in poison, like people do when they don't want to bite their nails."

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Dear H & R,

I came out to my parents two years ago, when I was 18. My mom's Cuban (w/very strong religious beliefs & "family morals") and my Dad had just been getting back into religion again. My mom stopped speaking to me for five months and my Dad thought I should let go of all my sins so God would forgive me, but I don't like being forced into religion ... or anything. Also, they asked me not to tell my younger brother, who was 15 at the time, and I agreed to wait 'til he was older -- I guess I wanted to give my parents something.

Last November, I put my foot down. I told my Mom I didn't want to just be "tolerated" and I had a right to tell my brother and so I did. He said he kinda already knew but it was still weird and when I tried to talk to him about it, he'd just shut down.

To make everyone else comfortable, I never talk about being gay or about girls I find attractive, but it's getting to a point of ridiculousness. Today I was driving my brother home from school, listening to Katy Perry's CD -- she sings "I Kissed a Girl" and "UR So Gay" (although Perry herself is straight). My brother FLIPPED OUT and asked me to change the song 'cause the last seven songs have been about "that." He can't even say the word "gay."

I love him so much and I'd do anything for him, but I'm getting so tired of trying to make everyone else comfortable while sacrificing being myself. I don't ever overstate it or throw it in anyone's face, and I never would, but I think listening to a song that mentions girls kissing each other or uses the word "gay" shouldn't be a problem.

Am I overthinking this? How do I approach my brother w/o him shutting down? Do I have a right to feel the way I do?

-IM So Gay.

Riese: Do you live at home with your parents? I feel like maybe you feel a little guilty for being gay 'cause they've told you to be, and that repressed self-loathing enables you to not feel you've got a right to actually be a whole person and demand that your whole person be loved and respected like everyone else.

Have you had a girlfriend? I'd suggest that you find a smokin' hot girlfriend who's totally into you, and then bring her over, and your brother will think it's hot and your parents will be like "omg, there are lesbians who don't wear flannel and chop down trees with hairy armpits," and she can win them over, etc. Actually I think what I am describing is a prostitute (not a bad idea!) In general ... I think it's hard to live your life feeling any kind of guilt for how you've chosen to live it. You'll never be able to feel fully comfortable in your skin until the people who love you can look at your skin and your face and your whole self and say, "it is good."

Haviland: I have a lot of feelings about this. Do you have anyone in your extended family or family friends who could be your ally on this, and help you to talk with your family? You need a team. Sadly, many, many people go through what you're dealing with - a family who believes fully in the "don't ask, don't tell" policy. So you're left feeling that if you even reference possibly thinking someone might be attractive, that you are being sinful and inappropriate and wrong. YOU ARE NOT WRONG. It's amazing that you told your mom you didn't want to just be tolerated -- maybe you can take it a step further and get her help on this? I think it freaks out families to think of their kid/sister as being gay because it, annoyingly, puts their mind into thinking of that person (you) in a sexual situation, and no one wants to think about their sister or kid having a sex life. What's important for your family to understand, and MORE importantly, for you to really be at peace with, is the fact that being a gay is really not a big deal. Really. Instead of dating a guy, it's going to be a girl. That's all. Align yourself with an ally or two, or 100. They are out there. You've found a blog full of them here, in fact! Didn't Jimmy get the memo that lesbians are hot? Send him the links to our websites! I'll leave you with this, from "Silent Legacy" by the Queen of being guilt-free about who you are, the extraordinary Melissa Etheridge, "Mothers, tell your children -be quick - you must be strong. Life is full of wonder. Love is never wrong."

Riese: I think you need to ask your Mom what it is precisely that concerns her -- is she worried you'll be poor w/o a man 'cause women have unequal earning power, or that you'll be ostracized, or is she legitimately worried that you're going to hell? Confront those concerns head-on. (Directly to the forehead.) Also, I feel like a lot of homophobia stems from the homophobic person being angered by/ashamed of their own gay feelings (a.k.a. The Fairbanks Syndrome) (see also: the evangelical Christian preachers getting blown in gas station bathrooms). 'Cause sometimes we're all a little bi. Ask your brother what exactly it is that bothers him -- is he embarrassed? Grossed out? (and if so, point out the idea of thinking about him having sex with a girl also grosses you out). Maybe if they're just worried what other people will think, you can offer them your closeted behavior around their friends and family in exchange for love within your immediate family. Or say you understand they don't approve, and that that'll never change, but you'd like to be able to be yourself around them, and that accepting you doesn't mean they're backing down on their beliefs. Ultimately it's their problem -- you've got no problem with how they live. They're the ones creating all this drama.

They need to know it's not their "fault," and that it's not gonna change. Show them books and movies and shows and Ellen & Portia! As long as you internalize their loathing, they'll get away with it -- they probs still think you can change, 'cause they don't understand that it's a part of you that you can't change. Once they do, they'll realize they've got two choices: accept it, or loose you. And the art of losing is hard to master, no matter what Elizabeth Bishop says.

FYI; there's nothing in the bible against lesbians. Just -- so you know. As Ruth told her gay son in Six Feet Under when he came out; "I don't get to chose which parts of you that I love like some kind of chicken."

Haviland: Yes, asking your mom what scares her so much would really put the ball in her court. Also, the more I think about it, I feel annoyed by everyone always saying that they aren't flaunting their sexuality or whatever - like as though you are walking down the street naked, waving a pride flag? I don't really get this. Most lesbians I know are pretty boring, actually - they live in homes, some of them have kids, many of them engage in gossip and obsession, not unlike seventh grade girls...but basically, if "flaunting" it means just being cool with who you are, whats the problem with this? I used to feel awkward about holding my girlfriends hand in front of my parents. But then I had to think, ok, if this were a guy, would I feel awkward? Well, probably. But the point - when you are passionate about something, don't you want to share it with the people you love?

Riese and I obvs have SO many feelings about this, and since I've been thinking about it for 15 years (srsly, I'm not kidding about that), I have a lot to say, and I feel like many of our readers might have thought a little about this, too! So, let's continue this dialogue!