Sunday Top Ten: So What I Lied, I Lie To Me Too

I think I need a new word for "hangover." Like; my head is fine, my stomach is fine ... but man, other people. My social interactions are fairly limited to people who're willing to come to my apartment, which's a larger group than you might anticipate, but last night we went Out. Out-Out. OUT. Yeah. Out. Here's the thing about going out: there's strangers all up in your personal space with their bodies and/or mohawks, aggressive leather statements, voices, bangs, splashy drinks ... this bar was like central casting for Hipster Emos. [We had fun though, as we are Fun.] In Cait's car on 14th street I looked out the window and said to no one really, but incidentally Cait, Haviland and A;ex Vega: Where did all these douchebags come from? I've got no clue, but you guys, they're everywhere, it's gonna be like Bladerunner up in this city before you even know it. Watch out.

There were a lot of things prophesied in last week's Vlogs, p.s., including the Haviland-Lozo meet-and-greet which occurred, among other stimulating activities, last night at Stef's birthday shebang. We're making another vlog tonight. I know, you can hardly stand the anticipation, you're whet with it, so to speak. If you will. I gotta finish this Top Ten first though, I think, so like, stay tuned. Who knows what I'll do? I'm out of control! Smack me up with some smack! Typetypetype.

But enough about Lozo. It is Secrets Week here at Auto-Win, where I'll be telling everyone else's secrets because I've told enough of my own and my psyche is tired.

Just so y'all know, newsflash: we are all totally fucked up and insane. I am one of you, I'm not judging, also, I mean "fucked up and insane" endearingly, like "drunk slut" is also endearing, really you think you know what a fucked up weirdo I am, but you have no idea. But fo' serious: I've always suspected this about humanity but now I know it for sure ... do you think you're a bad person? Do you think you're alone, do you think you're harboring feelings that might get you in trouble, are you ashamed or embarrassed or conflicted or sad or shy or angry or discontent or content but maybe you shouldn't be? As Michael Jackson, the alleged child molester, once sang: "You are not alone, I'll be here with you." Well, I honestly haven't molested any children, so let me say that in my own words: "You guys are soooo not alone, obvs." We all feel this way. So maybe we're all more normal than we think.

So I sent out a email to a bunch o'people -- friends and readers -- asking for their secrets. I've posted this email on Auto-Universe, read it! Then you'll know what's up and also, if you wanna participate, it'll tell you what to do. If you didn't get the email, it doesn't mean anything besides that Gmail's new Contacts interface is the most retarded thing ever and makes everything harder than it used to be. Life is so hard you know, even when it's easy. If you did get the email it means I love you more. JK. Bla bla.

Also, Rachel, seriously, where are you, I am like, worried.

So basically, here's how it works: you email me your deepest darkest secrets. I take your story and turn it into a story. Some of you wrote really beautiful things with words I'd like to keep intact, but I think that the integrity of this project depends upon my universal application of the project's rules, to make sure that everyone is equally anonymous. So I turn your secret into a tiny piece of "flash [non] fiction" in my voice and put it here.

I'm going to put the first five on this particular post, and I'll be finishing them one at a time, you can um, hit refresh, and then I'll do another installment, and then another, and then another. I've got enough to do the whole Top Ten obvs but um, I don't know, I'm like behind on everything right now.

Because it's Secrets Week. Seriously, I'm excited. Also, thank you, everyone, for sharing your intimate secrets with me, it's really lovely, fo' reals. Hopefully I'll do them all justice.


Everyone's been given a new name. Also, all these names are the names of characters in Judy Blume novels or Baby-Sitters Club characters and all the titles are Tegan & Sara song titles. I'm very creative, I know, that's why you keep coming back. Besides the sodomy or whathaveyou.

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1. Knife Going In

Amy's Dad stabbed his brother-in-law; now he's out on bail. Amy knew already that he was violent, he'd beaten her Mom and her brother though oddly never her. This was before her Mom got it together and kicked him out, which Amy thought meant that he'd be kicked out, like all the way, like from her mind.

Sally, her best friend, asks her why he did it [beat them] and she says: "For sport." That's the thing about crazy people is they can be even more crazy than you expected, seriously, try them.

Amy doesn't, and so when she sees his car parked across the street she calls him, tells him that she can see him, that this is his chance to come to the door, and then, she thinks, she'll tell him how she feels about everything, like all his opinions about her and the quality of her house. He comes to the door and they exchange words, it is terrible, for a second his eyes flash crazy and she thinks he might kill her.

He doesn't. She finds it hard to shake, though: that he might. At night, she has nightmares.

"Oh my God," her best friend Sally says on the phone. "My credit card bill is ridiculous, my Dad is going to kill me."

Amy flinches. She sits numbly but alertly in the silence of Sally waiting for her to talk, that little space between the beginning of the waiting and the wondering if Amy's still there. She looks out the window and wonders when all the cars started looking like her Dad's car. She squints, silence thunders in her brain and then claps and she speaks: "Yeah," she says. "Maybe he will."

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2. I Know I Know I Know

Stacey's about 30, a company executive -- far more senior than Jessie, which's why Jessie's never spoken to her outside of work. Plus, Stacey intimidates her, which feels funny 'cause Jessie's not easily intimidated: but Stacey's Blackberries, her shiny leather bags, her shoulders and arms and torso and legs and feet and hair and face, her power suit accenting the whole getup.

Do you see where this is going?

Jessie didn't. She realizes some things later, in her shiny leather retrospect: it was Stacey's apartment, they'd been drinking, they were alone. But Stacey was possibly the last person Jessie'd expect to suddenly just kiss her on the mouth (worst kiss ever, Jessie feels at the time), which catches Jessie so off guard that Jessie actually pulls away, also abnormal. Jessie checks the mirror and it turns out they still exist and it's not a dream, and so she goes on.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what got into me," Stacey says quickly. "That shouldn't have happened."

She keeps talking but Jessie's stopped listening, she's already trying to motivate her legs to walk out the door while shock bears its whole weight on top of her. Jessie finally succeeds, her legs start moving, and she watches Stacey's blubbering confusion transform into a kind of realisation of the legal and other implications: "Inappropriate, so sorry," Stacey adds.

So then, Jessie thinks, maybe it would be okay just to kiss her back. Just to make it mutual, let her know that everything's gonna be okay. Then, because it is the only thing to do, Jessie flees the scene, but not before saying this: "We're even."

**

The next day, Jessie's at work at her advertising firm when her boss Mallory leans in: "Jessie, do you have your car here? Can you drive me to pick up my car? It just got impounded."

Jessie thinks it's possible she's the only employee at her firm without an impounded vehicle, and she doesn't know what to do with this: "Yeah, where?"

Mallory tells her, Jessie doesn't listen/register, Mallory adds that she needs to go home after, not back to work, and Jessie says, well, I don't know the way back, and Mallory says, okay, I will find you someone to come with us and direct you back.

Mallory returns with a few false leads and --
-- then -- you see where this is going, yes? -- she returns. "Stacey knows."

"Oh, Stacey's always busy," Jessie manages, look who's bubbling now, "She's always busy, I'll drive by myself."

"What, are you scared of having to talk to Stacey? She's not that scary, it's good to leave your comfort zone every now and then."

Jessie can think of other comfort zones she'd rather leave. Also, Jessie's not the one leaving her comfort zone.

Mallory returns, she's with Stacey, and she tells her : "Jessie's driving us."

"Um," Stacey perks up, "Jessie nearly killed me last time I was in her car."

Jessie thinks that this is true, she's a terrible driver, nearly killed the entire executive team. "That's true, I'm a terrible driver, I nearly killed the whole executive team," Jessie thinks fast, "Do you want to just take my car and drive Mallory yourself? Save both of us going?"

Stacey: "I don't have my license with me."

Mallory: "You'll both be fine, ready to leave in twenty."

Jessie goes outside for a cigarette.

Jessie has never put more words in more mintues than she is now: her words are flying faster than her car, containing the two of them. She's a mile a minute, there's no silence 'til they're parked and Stacey fills it with an apology, Jessie offers "It happens all the time," and they share a laugh. Then there's silence, and Jessie asks if she wants to talk about it, Stacey denies her, Jessie asks if she wanted to get a drink after work.

"Not a good idea," Stacey responds.

Jessie didn't mean it anyhow, it's just this power suit made it seem like a great idea.

"I'll think about it," Stacey changes her mind. She does, they do.

Sometimes, they make out in the elevator. Actually, Stacey's not really her type, but it keeps happening. Other things, too, and she doesn't know why she keeps doing it, especially because there are other people she thinks about with greater seriousness of emotion and intent. Not like they're just riding the elevator all day, but Jessie feels that actually, she is, even if Stacey's not always on it with her.

**

"I turned down the management position because I've got feelings for you," Stacey says, angry and elevated. Jessie is stunned again. This woman keeps stunning her, it's stunning.

They sleep together for no reason.

The consequences, too, are stunning.

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3. You Went Away

Sometimes Kristy goes onto craigslist missed connections hoping to find someone talking about her. Allison does this too, and Rachel, and Stephanie, and also, Tracy. They all do this. They all look at the craigslist missed connections and Kristy does this because she's hoping for affirmation that someone notices her in this world. That there had been a moment when connection was specifically desired, with her, and she'd just happened to miss it.

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4. The Con

Claudia has the same secret that everyone else has: that she's not okay. Sometimes there's too much to feel so she decides to feel nothing. She's got a lot of secrets, like that her Mom is gay, that her Mom's an alcoholic, that she's starting to forget her Dad and that she doesn't even know what that word "Dad" means anyway, it's not like she can say it or anything. And she's got two songs from the musical Wicked on her top 25 most played list and loves Hanna Montana.

Also, she hasn't told anyone yet about her best friend being a lesbian, because they're hooking up.

5. I Bet It Stung

[her photo]

Everyone told her afterwards that Rosebud was William Randolph Hearst's nickname for Marion Davies' vagina, or that Citizen Kane was a really overrated and stupid movie and so, she took a photo of the tattoo, published it in her school's erotica magazine, which helped, a little bit, but just a little bit, to help her think that this thing she'd done to show her dedication to economic disadvantage in favor of artistic excellence, this thing that she'd done in Prague, in Prague!, had been a mistake.

The Difference Between Frozen Hands and Feet

Hi you guys! My computer keeps rejecting Britney's new album, wtf. Oh, firstly, let's talk to the elephant/unicorn in the room -- Haaayyy: I've switched from crack to smack. Did you know that "smack" is another word for heroin? I didn't. In fact, I listed them as two separate habits in a prior blog, which's enlightening w/r/t (w/r/t="with respect to," write that down) my total ignorance of all things injectable and/or requiring accessories, though I did learn a lot from Traffic, Queer as Folk, Gia, Trainspotting and True Life: I'm on Crystal Meth. Also, just for the record, in addition to not enjoying ass-sex or beer, I also don't like Diet Coke or video games, so there. We'll see who dies first.

i. Deep Blue Walls
So we're speeding towards that time of year
To the day that marks that you're not here
And I think I'll want to be alone
So please understand if I don't answer the phone
-Azure Ray, "November"

November's my cruelest month. I love the weather usually -- chilly enough for layers but not too cold for long walks [well, but today, though, today was cold, and I was up with the lark for a job interview wearing my insufficient grownup jacket, the one my Mom got me when I graduated college for my then-anticipated grownup life 'round the corner] -- but the days numb over sometimes w/harsh memory. Last November was possibly the best I've ever had, howevs, see archives. There's only one day in November: it starts in the middle and then barrels out at you -- shooting from one side backwards into memory, from the other forward like the future because it is. Someone made a movie called 11:14, that felt a little cruel to me.

ia. Rachel Verification

Speaking of archives -- Rachel/Merc/Noxious where are you? You guys [you guyssss], before there were most of you, there was Noxious. She's like, seventeen, and already brill beyond her years. This girl can write -- evocative of John Marsden -- she lives in Alaska and's been reading since almost the second month I did this. She's a hairstylist, like Haviland and/or Shane for Wax. For some reason her blog would never show up on my Google Reader, like some error in its RSS feed, which majorly cramps my style, but today I go to check it out and it is gone, where'd it go?

ii. Where's The Turkey, Chuck?

I'm apathetic towards Thanksgiving. I don't like turkey. I love eating, obvs, but I overanalyze everything too much to fully embrace any holiday that on its surface is simply a day for a large meal. I mean, don't families often have large meals when they hang out? Why aren't those meals also Thanksgiving? Is Turkey only cookable on one day of the year? Unfortunately, no, it is always cookable. I'm part Native American, P.S.

My Dad used to take us to Ohio: biscuits buttered in Crisco, football on the teevee, me getting antsy. Now; friends are family. Last year Lewis, my brother, was visiting, he made macaroni and cheese in New Orleans and brought it to NYC. [Al Queda, write that down.] I cooked, had people over, the next day Lewis & I got cultured at the MOMA with the other hipsters.

Are there any holidays I like? I'm like, Scrooge in the body of a 26-year old blonde-highlighted bisexual. Oh! I like: Passover, Christmas, Martin Luther King Jr. and President's Day. Hm. Labor Day's not so bad. Every day is Labor Day for me.

iii. The Time You've Got Me Running

Did you know it's national blog every day month or something? I've somehow adopted this spirit -- gratitude? Procrastination? I'm procrastinating: my life, my book. It'd seem the best topic for NaBloPoMo bloggers is how there's not enough to write about. Also, I think I'm going to change "Warlem almost-hipster" to "NaBloPoMoem hipster." I like the word "pomoem" which I just invented. I'm going in the opposite direction with my linguistics, y'all, I'm gonna make super long words, like longer than a boa constrictor. Typetypetype. Bla bla bla.

And then: nothing happened. We all went to sleep, and we woke up and asked each other "what did you dream about?" but no one remembered. We had to make up new dreams so as to not seem forgetful. They were like the ones we'd forgotten, only moreso.

iv.

My fave temperature is when it's cold out and your heater's cranked up and your window's wide open. The other night, I was walking around Columbia, 'cause that's what I do now, and the sky broke out into literal violet hours. I'm reading "Come to Me" by Amy Bloom. If you can eradicate your memory of Jenny Schecter endorsing Amy Bloom in the meeting-Marina convo, the book's really something. I get most of my books from the St. Francis thrift shop on 96th between Broadway & Amsterdam, 'cause it's next to my CVS and they're retarded [it's a pre-req for NYC pharmacists, retardation] so there's alway a wait period. I'll go nap in the tanning bed, or get books, but last week I had to go to two CVSes. What am I, Forrest Gump running across the country or something, obvs no.

v.

All Novembers are shaded in the guilt that I oughta enjoy this month more because it's big for birthdays, like my Mom's ... this weekend is Lozo and Stef's. Obvs we will be celebrating with a menage, per Lozo's request. I just went on g-chat and got so confused about Saturday night that I got a fever like John Travolta in that movie with the hairdryer.

So, One: Stef's birthday is Saturday night. Who'll be there? Lozo says he's not going, but if he doesn't go, I'm going to take back custody of the children, soooo ... I'll be there. Me, Haviland, A;ex, Cait I think, and Stef's weirdo friends. Maybe Natalie.

Two: Tegan & Sara is super-soon. Who will be there? Me, obvs. Carly, Vicky, Cait, Haviland, Stef ... you? Will you be there? I might die at the concert from excitement. I might just die!

That's what my hair looks like right now.

"You sound a lot better than I expected you to," my Mom said on the phone today/yesterday.

Yeah? Do I? I've got some strategies: 1. Y'all, 2. Hey, you, 3. Olive's continuing devotion to sainthood, 4. my complete single-moment-oriented focus. I'm seriously not thinking any farther ahead than the rest of November 9th. I'm trying to relocate my long-term goals. Where did they go? What were they? Am I making progress? What should I do with my life? Advice?

vi. Walking With a Ghost

I'm not into deathiversaries really. Anniversaries are cool; you're like "omg, I just made it through another year without throwing any objects at my girlfriend!" but like, death-anniversaries -- wtf? He's just as dead on the 14th as he is on the 13th and the 15th.

But ... I know on the 14th I'll have to talk to my Dad's family, who I've been deftly avoiding as there's very little shareable life material currently. All my biggest stories, good and bad, are linked to The Gays and their Fat Agenda or my Smack Addiction. What if I was addicted to Honey Smacks? That's a cereal right? It's possible I'm underestimating them. They could be reading this and wondering why I'm still feigning secrecy, but I really doubt it. If Reeseville -- seriously, totes not making that up, that's really where my grandparents live -- ever shows up on my sitemeter, I'll take notice. Also, it has a population of 63. If my Dad was alive, I would've probs been wearing combat boots and shouting feminist propaganda during large meals, toting a girlfriend, etc for some time now. But that stuff's not fun anymore, not when you're not just a niece/granddaughter/cousin but a Living Legacy, a Walking Ghost.

Anyhow, I'm gonna have to come out eventually if I end up settling down w/a lady. They'll probs disapprove with the fury of a thousand suns, blame my Mom, and make me feel like a bigger totes weirdo than I already do there. Like no one dug my skater pants and winter hat phase for some reason, I've never quite recovered from that.

It's my Dad and his shoulders. My aunts and grandparents like to place their hands on my shoulders and say "You've got your father's shoulders." I don't think that's true. My shoulders are kinda bony and muscle-free. I've got girl shoulders, but broad, I guess, 'cause I'm tall. Anyhow, I think they'd like some dude to shoot his sperm inside me and make more shoulders. Nice ones. Hello, turkey baster.

vii. Re:

Oh hey, I never responded to some of the comments on "I want one VLOG I wanted to come through." So let's do that now: um, the idea that my blog gets better as my life goes downhill is obviously the most awesome thing I've ever heard, it's proverbial icing to my proverbial smackden. And veddog, even better is the line directly following that one, when Haviland goes "What? I'd never eat a taco!" You can barely hear her though, thus it's not in the movie. Also, I don't know about BFLs but Carly uses this word "BFD," that means Big Fat Duh, or Big Fucking Duh. I can't remember. And w/r/t to the word "obvs," Hav says that "totes" came from CCM, I don't know where we got obvs from, who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear.

viii. Power in my Words/Passion in my Eyes

So, re: what happened last week. Most of it I really can't/shouldn't talk about for many reasons. Also, Olive is awesome. But I added a Top 8 at the end of this other blog -- kinda trying to condense my bad vibes around this debacle as much as possible.

And ... I wrote this on the day it happened:

10. 31. 2007

Here's what gets me. I'd like to say "things are turning around" and mean it for more than 24 hours. I'd like to have enough humility to not whine about my life when there are people all over the world w/o food. I'd like goodhearted people w/pure intentions to proceed as they desire. I wish this world ... its fucked-up "values," shitty medical care, consistent& pervasive ignorance of truth in favor of shiny, smiling artifice ... the culture of doing the least amount of work possible for quickest rewards ... I wish we could mobilize change for the better, 'cause we're presently stagnant or getting worse.

Today didn't start out right: I was worried that I hadn't heard from Mr. Redacted's people. I called my ex, Jeremiah -- I'm naming him, because he's an asshole -- he's in the NYPD, I thought he'd have advice. I'd called him once this summer under duress, but he'd ignored it, and the last I'd heard of him before then was in March, when, following my rejection of multiple dinner invites and telling him I had a girlfriend, he let me know "I hope you go back to men. Have a nice life. I was worried something awful may've happened to Mr. Redacted's family/people 'cause this silence from them was completely uncharacteristic ... dramatically so.

I figured J's professional ethics might endear him to me, unfortunately, he is a douchebag:

J: "I think u have lost ur mind -- please dont call me again expecting me to get emotional about your personal problems - gbye and good luck to you .. :)"

Also, I feel like that text more or less sums up the mentality that's been grating at me. I've always felt like a bad person but I've been working hard this year to change that. I've got so many kind & generous friends but they seem unhappy more often than the assholes do. Are assholes too dumb to be unhappy? Too mean? Can you be happy w/o a soul?

[ED. NOTE. UPDATE, following a two day pause, because how could I even respond to that, like wtf?, the following exchange occurred:]

J: "I apologize for being harsh with my words. If that is the only reason u call me (trouble) tho u should prob not call me anymore ok."
Me: "OK, well, I hope that you do call me if you're in trouble, as I'd always be there for you in emergency circumstances, even if we don't talk normally."
J: "Why would I need u for emergency help? Lol" [Sidenote: I dunno, 'cause you came to me w/all your girlfriend issues for over a year after we broke up? Also that lol makes me want to throw up all over you, and I hope it's not true.]
Me: "You're so right, I'm totally useless."
J: "Boo hoo."
J again: "It was great when we could speak to each other about anything but now it seems u only call when u need some kind of help i cant even provide."
Me: "I hope being an asshole is making you feel better, because it's not doing anything for me."
J: "im not being an asshole -- im expressing to u that im not here to get used by u yet again -- in a world where everything is about u! call me just to say hi ass."
J Again Surprise: "or dont call me at all - because right now i dont think very highly of you."

Okay, perfect. Also, you're not invited to my party, and also, I am rubber and you are glue, and the human head weighs ten or eight pounds I can't remember, and I'm not sitting with you in the cafeteria anymore and also wtf happened to like, unconditional love? It's not like I handcuffed him to my air conditioner and made him install it or something. Or handcuffed him to the coat rack and made him hang it. As the above picture indicates, I was indeed handcuffed to myself, so obvs I think the world revolves around me. mememememe.

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I think I'm going to have to edit this post later today because right now it's just a bunch of smack or something. Typetypetype.
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And also: We are, per always, taking requests for vlog topics. Also when I post photos of half-naked women, because I think it's funny to do that, does that make you nervous to read my blog at work? Like, NSFW or whathaveyou?
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When You Get So Into your VLOG

I am 95% sure that today is my Mom's birthday. It is, right? Mom? Actually, 'cause you have dialup, by the time your computer finishes loading this page it might not be your birthday anymore. Anyhoo, watching this vlog might make you question your success as a parent -- I've been editing clips of myself for the last hour and I've subsequently discovered that I'm really irritating. Also: I say "you guys" and "like" way too often, the lighting in the Halloween blog was the most flattering for both of us, rock bottom is super-fly, gold pants save the day every time, and I nearly have a full body seizure every time I laugh. Also, I obvs need to lay off the smack, because crack is whack.

Looking back on my life so far I'd like to say that my mother has always been there. From day one, she's been around or relatively available via telephone. For that reason and many others, including love, warmth and caring, I'd like to say, Shalom! That means "hello," "peace," and "goodbye" in Hebrew, which is way more than any one English word means, which is why the Jews are the chosen people. My Mom is Jewish, coincidentally. If you're not Jewish, that's cool, we can still be friends, even more than friends if you're cute and I love you. That's not related to my Mom, this is a tangent now.

You guys, I love editing Vlogs. It's like, a bad habit. Almost like a drug, except I don't have to find a dealer that'll deliver to West Harlem, like I do when I want a pizza or a pretty girl or a bottle of Hypnotiq.

I wrote deep things the other day, now I am a monkey with feta cheese for brains. I wanted to clear out my hard drive from all the un-used random footage that's accumulated from unfulfilled "to be continued ..."s, so, this VLOG has got clips running the gamut from A to Z and beyond, all NEVER BEFORE SEEN ON TEEVEE OR THE WEB. We reference a lot of stuff from other Vlogs so you should probs watch them all again, just to be sure you're up on it. I find that re-watching my Vlogs is very soothing, like warm milk or a similarly temperated bath on a summer's day, in the poppies.

I Want One VLOG I Wanted to Come Through, Oh, To Come True

[Title from this Tegan & Sara song, which you can listen to in the sidebar for burning-a-little-brighter purposes.] FYI, none of this is real. It's all a trick ... I mean illusion. Although you may've suspected that Riese is actually a cover for a 50-year old SARS-infected Unabomber living in a Nebraska basement/crystal meth lab, the truth is way hotter. In fact, Riese is a cover for someone even cooler than actual Riese! Real Riese can fly, obvs, is 75% lesbian, rides to and from work on a unicorn and when she dreams, she dreams in big bright colors about worlds resembling Milton Bradley board games, specifically Chutes and Ladders and Candyland. Her real friends are Gloppy the Molasses Monster and Princess Lolly. The former offers good advice, the latter has an agile tongue, which is handy. I think I've been reading too much experimental fiction lately.

Back in the days of Livejournal '03, [I believe I have 2-3 carryover readers, yes? Jenna? Carl? Hello.] I got frustrated that my boy's other girlfriend was [understandably] combing my LJ for hints about his secret life and, in reaction to this, I began posting on LJ as if I was in the Witness Protection Program. The best part of this game was taking new photos for my icon in my roommate's Marc Jacobs sunglasses. Everyone [all five of my readers] got really confused like "Are you really in Montana and if so why?" So I gave it up, though it was way more fun than telling the truth. I never expected my banner to be such prophecy, w/r/t honesty being a bitch, etc. Speaking of prophecy, what is truth? I don't know, I don't believe in it. I believe in only one thing and that thing is heart: is your heart good or bad? That is all that matters. You know the answer. Disowning your daughter for imaginary reasons, P.S., is bad, though I guess it's easier to handle when your wife is her age, it's like you can still be connected to our generation and not miss out on the latest developments in facebook applications, etc.

Also. Also. Also. I've got all these ideas, like for a glossary and a cast of characters and a more useful organised blogroll and such things, but for now I've sort of created this blog just where I can keep all the stuff I want to copy down every day, which's a lot of stuff, and also [also. also.] to archive the auto-fun of the day. Just so you know. The more you know, you know?

"I do not mind living
like this. I cannot bear
living like this.
Oh, everything's true
at different times
in the capacious day."
(Stephen Dunn, "Between Angels")
*
"No man has ever dared to describe himself as he truly is." (Camus)
*

So, I'm still gonna like, explain stuff later this week, 'cause it's obvs more complicated than it seems and I feel I owe y'all that after um, deleting my entire blog etc. But things'll be okay. There'll be no Dream Job [the hours/pay/perks were so incredible, obvs too good to be true], but I'm lucky to be surrounded by dreamy people, including Olive, who believes in follow through, which's also something I believe in. Last night Haviland and I discussed, for about an hour, the possibility that Olive is in fact an angel.

For now, I'm still riding the "fuck it" end of major depressive disorder, obviously. Thus, this week's VLOG, in which Haviland and I play "I've Never"/"Never Have I Ever"/"The Ten Fingers Game."

FIRST: If you're considering paying me to do something and are reading this blog to uncover my true self -- you know, all the secret and terribly relevant aspects of my past and recreational activities that will absolutely bear just as much upon my job performance as it does upon the performance of your other employees who've committed similar sins but don't have blogs -- I'd like to provide a disclaimer/rant ...

How has our culture come to this: we are obsessed with "uncovering" the truth, but we despise honesty ... and, right, what is the truth? After all, ultimately Olive and I were punished for deductions based on a version of truth I offered up here ... clearly we're dealing with a maniac and therefore, truth is about as real as the word "truthiness," or is about as real as Auto-Win. Whoever I am. I don't know who I am. I can't even write an "about me" for any of the 500 social networking sites I'm on, I can just give quotes. I mean, old-school AutoWin was so unlike my actual self, it was/is/was/is a character. We all become characters we become the stories we tell about ourselves, Often the facts I present here are about as true as fiction, and sometimes it's fiction but totally true. All I know is this: whatever I do say is somehow important, essential, necessary, honest -- to me, and hopefully, to you. Above all, I would like everyone to LOL as much as possible and LMAO or ROFL whenever possible and not to take anything too seriously.

Mostly I just want to make fun of myself and all the follies of my past & present and yours too, because life is obvs hands down totes RIDIC.

"I want to be consistent
with the truth as it reveals itself
to me," Gandhi said, and I felt
the hard permission right words give us
to disobey, to become ourselves.
I loved thinking that integrity
might be fluid, and still do,
though the indulgent, rudderless
and without shame, love to think so too,
and the truth is
the indulgent are my careless brothers
half the time."
-from "Loves," Stephen Dunn
*
*

Dan: When I get back please tell me the truth.
Alice: Why?
Dan: Because I'm addicted to it. Because without it we're animals.

-Closer, Patrick Marber

"You can doubt anything if you think about it long enough, because what happened always adjusts to fit what happened after that."

-Ani DiFranco, "Reckoning"

This is my weirdo story, for whatever that's worth, for whatever is true or untrue, good or bad, wrong or right, hidden or revealed, for whatever I've done or the ordinary events of my life I've converted into legend. I've obvs got more than this to say on the topic of truth, story, character, it's one of my favorites, clearly. But for now, this is like, the brillest vlog of all time. I'd like to subtitle it "a hot mess," and add, also, that there's so much brill footage from this one, there'll be another later this week fo' sho. Also, we weren't making out in the bathroom, P.S. and also I didn't ... who cares.

""None of us seemed to know the nature of the coincidences that bound us together, as I know now, or that junkies and masochists and hookers and those who have squandered everything are the ring of brightest angels around heaven."
(Rick Moody, The Ring of Brightest Angels Around Heaven)"

Sunday Top Ten: Why Don't We Get Drunk and Autowin?

Well, I've had a great week. The best part was when I got fired. The second-best part was when Olive [code name, see prior post for deets]'s father, my ex-boss, cut off Olive's electricity, phone, internet, TV, etc., and forbid her to ever see her 5-year-old brother again. Without lamps or maniacs there would be no light, y'all. [name that ... ]

If you missed the unfolding of this drama, which I obvs will extrapolate further later this week because secrets secrets are no fun, I was terminated following my boss's discovery that I'm a harlot drug addict. Specifically, he's troubled by my compulsion to blog about my "illegal activities, illicit drug use and sexual encounters." I know what you're thinking: but ... that's not true. I'd like to ask you to expand your mind and consider this: what if television characters were real? You know--what if Kit Porter wasn't a fictional character I write about on my "L Word" blog, but was in fact actually my real-life friend? What if when I make "jokes," I was actually "telling the truth, totes serious"? What if I wasn't just thinking about fucking Shane, but actually WAS fucking Shane? I know, that seems crazy, yeah? Well, newsflash -- people are fucking crazy, surprise.

Since I'm already in trouble for a bunch of shit I didn't do, I may as well just do it. As my good friend Paige once told my other good friend Shane, before fucking her on the kitchen table obvs: "Well um, you know what I think. Since we already did the time, we may as well do the crime." So, I'm having Lozo write my Sunday Top Ten, as I'm busy doing drugs and hot chicks, and Lozo writes about way more explicit stuff than I ever do. Lozo's also busy doing drugs and hot chicks, but he took a break from his chick-doing schedule to write this for me. That's the kind of nice guy Lozo is, which is why, unlike Mr. Redacted, he will be spending eternity in the kingdom of heaven with me and all my cool hot friends.

So anyhow. Enough about my half of Team Honest and onto Lozo's. I've outsourced the Top Ten before -- my brother Lewis wrote on things he wished he'd known when he was younger, my BFF Natalie explained why NYC is better than London [I have three BFFs: Hav, Natalie, Krista. FYI.] and TB explicated all the ways in which Opposites Attract.

When I outsource a Top Ten, I still have to pepper the piece with my own notes, 'cause that's fun for me, and all I care about in life besides illegal activities is having fun. Also, I add graphics. Because I like to provide a solid multi-media experience for my readers, and also 'cause it'll make your opiate high burn a little bit brighter, as I'm sure you, like me, are a drug addict. Also; if you really ARE a drug addict, I want you to know that I'm not judging. Whatever it takes to get you through the day, just don't be an asshole, that's really all that matters in life, thank you.

Also: I still have to edit the last two posts, and I owe like 100 emails right now. Also, y'all are insanely fucking awesome, it's like, ridiculous. Seriously. Hands down totes.

Sunday Top 11: A Drunken Heterosexual Pinch-Hitter

Hi. I'm Lozo. Or Dave. Or Dave Lozo. How's it going, lesbian community? That's nice. I have to say, you all look really great today. Like, I'd love to give you all a ride on the Lozo pogo stick in an attempt to "straighten" you out. See what I did there? That's what I do.

Well, here's the deal. Marie, MLB, Rieselette, Riese wanted to move forward with her blog. Break free from the sadness of the last few days. Give Auto-Win a "rebirth" if you will. Well, I'm part comedian, part gynecologist, so there is no one better to do this than me.

Riese gave me a list of suggestions for her top 10 this week. They were as follows:

top ten differences between lozo and autowin

top ten similarities between lozo and autowin

top ten difference between lozo's comments and autowin's

top ten moments of autowin

top ten crazy assholes

top ten reasons i actually read this blog

top ten things i wish autowin wrote about more often

top ten things autowin could do to make her blog better

top ten things autowin readers could learn from lozo

top ten things that make lozo and autowin's marriage work

top ten PSAs from lozo for autowin's people

She decided to give me 11 suggestions for her top 10. At first, I thought she wanted 11 top 10s, or a top 110 if you will, but it turns out no. It was probably totally probs totes on purpose.

I couldn't choose just one. They were all so good and inspirational. So instead of a top 10, I am going to do a top 1 from each category, and that will end up being 11 things, hence a top 11. I will also try to "Riese up" this post, as to keep everyone reading this happy.

11. Top 1 Difference Between Lozo and Autowin.

You might not believe this, but there are quite a few differences between a heterosexual man and a bisexual woman. I know. I didn't believe it at first, either. Just like that little kid in Kindergarten Cop pointed out, boys have a penis, girls have vagina. I'm pretty sure the kid left out "a" before "vagina" in the movie. But that's the obvious thing. Besides, people have told me at times that I have sand in my vagina, so maybe I actually have a vagina and don't know it.

But the hands down totes obvs diff between Lozo and Autowin is her need to abbreviate words that, in some cases, don't need to be shortened, and her overall mastery of inventing language. I mean, come on, Marie. You save a total of three letters when you shorten totally to totes. [But I cut syllables by 66%.]

For instance, when I first got here, it took me a month to find out what a totesbag is. I thought it was something you carried an umbrella in. I'm not joking. And I can't not think of the Arizona Diamondbacks when I hear the term "d-bags."

10. Top 1 Similarity Between Lozo and Autowin.

You might not believe this, either, but a heterosexual man and a bisexual woman have a lot things in common. I know, I didn't believe it at first, either. We both love Empire Records and Nolan Ryan.

Our biggest similarity? Besides our striking good looks and our love of naked women? I'm going to say sense of humor. [Also, we're both often home on Friday nights. Just sayin'.] [And Saturday nights.]

I feel like if Riese was going to be a straight male, she'd be me. And if I was going to be into chick-on-chick action, I'd be her. Because we seem to agree on just about everything that the other finds funny. For instance, we both get a kick out of bi-polar people who tell us our dead fathers are in hell and stuff. It's a real knee-slapper.

We always want to know what is with today today.

I'm just saying that while we may not agree on certain comedies, we both pretty much LOL or LMAO about the same stuff.

9. Top 1 Difference Between Lozo's Comments and Autowin's.

This one is easy. You guys are clearly gayer. Ha. Kidding. My commenters are probably all gay, too. Clearly the difference is commenters here have no problem banging out 600-word comments and coming back and adding another 500-worder later. [That's a good analogy for how my commenters are in bed, too, FYI.]

My commenters? Just a bunch of dudes trying to get in my pants via agreeing with me all the time. And let me tell you -- I'm not letting that happen again. My ass totes hurt for a week. [I'd like to add that I don't like things up my ass either. Write that down, Mr. Redacted, under "sins I don't engage in."] [One of the funniest things Olive ever said, before it became foreshadowing: "[redacted] is my Dad's assistant. But he's so far up my Dad's ass, you'll probably never see him."]

8. Top 1 Moment of Autowin.

This one is tough. I'm relatively new to the game. For me, it was the first mention of me in a blog post. You see, I used to be taboo around here for obvious reasons, so I always felt like the secret friend, like that ugly girl Kevin dated on that episode of The Wonder Years. I think it was an IM chat that got posted on here or something.

Plus, everyone hated me at first because I left comments like, "So, Marie, in case you ever break up with your girlfriend, I'm 6-foot-3. Just throwin' it out there." The tide has turned since. The lesson here? Persistence and being tall pay off.

7. Top 1 Crazy Asshole.

So many ways I can go here. I hear certain people are taking their pills. I also realize we're trying to move forward, so let's take a different route here. The craziest asshole? Jenna Jameson.

Why? Well, I don't mean in it in a clinical sense. After all, I'm a gyno, not a psychiatrist. But I do know this -- she bleached her anus a long time ago, and to me that's crazy. Therefore, that's the craziest asshole I know of.

6. Top 1 Reason I Actually Read This Blog.

As the joke goes, all I do is skim for my name and read those parts. Which is kinda true. I mean, if I'm in it, I like to know in advance. I would just prefer to know if I should brace for something, for instance, Rieseycakes posting a conversation we have where I say I hate all my commenters.

But the reality is I really like Marie. And her blog is an extension of her, so I really like her blog. I think that's a huge part of the bloggingosphere. If you like the person, and that person is blogging about themselves, you will read it. I mean, I am neither female, gay, poor, or constantly in contact with imbalanced people, so it's not like I identify with what goes on. I just care about her, so I care about what's going on in her head. [Awww. Consider my heart warmed.]

5. Top 1 Thing I Wish Autowin wrote about more often.

Lesbian sex. I'm not kidding. What? Or sex with me. I mean, I know me and her have a deal where we're not allowed to make eye contact with each other (or the dwarf) or talk during sex, but still, I could sure go for an honest review of it on here. Besides, if psychotic old men are going to screw her out of money because she blogs about sex, why not actually blog about sex? I'm just sayin'.

4. Top 1 Thing Autowin Could Do to Make Her Blog Better.

Obviously, it's post more. Not that she short-changes us when she does, but twice a week? Come on. You shouldn't be posting as often as a married couple has sex. Maybe. If that. I want more. [Is this a common sentiment? I feel like if I post all the time, then people won't be able to keep up, let alone comment. Also, on that same token, and by that I mean, on the opposite token, I was saying the other day that I should consider just embracing the Auto-Win unemployability factor and become a full-time blogger. Like, every time I have a thought, I post. Like internet performance art. Pictures, videos, links, interpretive dancing, sex w/Lozo, whatevs. Live-drama.]

3. Top 1 Thing Autowin Readers Could Learn from Lozo.

This is tough. There are so many, seeing as how I'm so totes awesome and full of knowledge. It's really hard to pick one, and I probs'll pick the wrong one, but here it is: I have a huge penis.

Kidding. Well, it's true, but it's not the one thing you could learn. It's this -- life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you might miss it.

Kidding again. I don't know. This is hard. Like, first-thing-in-the-morning, waking-up-next-to a-naked-Heidi-Klum hard. OK. I got it. I'm going to give you the key to happiness. It's going to seem simple and weird at the same time. The key to life is this -- being able to see past the immediate present and being able to see the not-too-distant future.

For instance, let's say your life sucks right now. Your girlfriend just left you for some other girl with a short haircut, or you've had a death in the family, or you just got fired for hitting on your female boss. Whatever it is lesbians do. I really don't know.

OK. Focus on that immediate pain in your life. Sucks, right? The pain, the grief, the sorrow. OK. Ready? Good. The key to dealing with all that is to realize that at some point in the not-too-distant future, it's all going to get better. And that's a fact.

Well, if your problem is a missing limb or a terminal disease, well, OK, you got me, it's not going to help. But you will feel better about your gf/bf leaving you, your loved one dying, your loss of a job because you'll get a new one.

You just have to train your brain to realize that all emotions, especially pain, eventually subside, and you must remember that pain eventually goes away or gets to the point where it's much better. It's just something to keep in mind the next time tragedy befalls you. Try it. Do the necessary grieving, but just always remember, as bad as it is at that moment, it will get better.

Told you. Simple but weird. But so few people actually do it.

2. Top 1 Thing That Makes Lozo and Autowin's Marriage Work.

Clearly it's going to be Sunday Menages. Kidding. I think the key is going to be talking and doing stuff besides the sex. Because it's pretty much Earth-shattering. It gets better every time. I'm just afraid if we are just constantly doing it with Vodka bottles and Haviland filming it, shouting, "OMG! Lozo, you probs'll hurt her with that thing!" we are never going to talk.

And that's important. I'm just saying. Not every massage after work needs to lead to a two-hour passion session.

1. Top 1 PSA From Lozo to Autowin's People.

The more you know. I guess all I can say is this -- if you're a lesbian, you should make out with you girlfriend in public at all times. Especially if you want stuff. I'm not even kidding. If I got to my car, and two girls were making out on it and said, "Can we take your car for a ride?" I'd have the engine running before she even got "ride" out of her mouth. [That's not all you probs'll want to get out of her mouth ... ]

*

Hi it's Riese again. I just wanted to say:
1. Reading the comments on this May 15th entry ... [the post was about deleting my myspace] ... actually made my stomach hurt, 'cause almost every comment is so ... LOADED, in retrospect. Like: wow. Like: whoa! Also reading Carly being all like "Hi, I've never commented before but I really love your writing," is like one of the most heartwarming adorable things ever.
2. I mention it because I'd like to share Lozo's first comment with everyone:

"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."

She's 5'8. Just throwin' it out there.

Sugar Spell it Out Like, like O, like O in your Vlog

This is the second part of the video. I think there's good parts in this. A few short days & hours ago, I declared this video my 'ars poetica' if you will, declared vlogging my format of choice, my true calling, the medium through which I'll really be able to unleash my persistently crass but nevertheless beautiful ambition/passion. I felt vlogs would hurl me significantly faster towards my endless pursuit of literary excellence against all odds. Who can blame me for such lofty assumptions? Reader; I LOL'ed. At myself. I'm usually not the one to find myself quite so funny, but I did. In retrospect, which, like hindsight, is 20-20, I realise that this video is not my opus. It is not poetry. Perhaps it is actually boring to anyone not endlessly amused by the apostrophe/sign situation. People like that are the only people here. Maybe it won't make you fall in love with me. BUT! For a moment? It was like Snow White, when all the flowers and animals and other wildlife flocked all around her, and there were so many colors it was like the day color got invented, just to see it. Everything was new, like language. So we said nothings, they turned into mangoes, we bit, they filled us up, we made a video. There's no telling where this could take us. Pakistan, South Africa, Far Rockaway, West Hollywood, or Tasti-D. There were flying lesbians but then they flew away, just like Lassie.

This vlog is for everyone, but it's also a love poem to alex vega. If she can hear the many colors of the wind. Also, this vlog is for the daughter of Mr. Redacted, who I've decided to give a codename, Olive. If anyone knows what that references, then you win the Genius Award of the year. The award is a Tegan & Sara ticket. No for real. Bid away. You can stand next to Haviland Stillwell, she doesn't know any of the words. It's a contest. Whoever offers the most money wins. JK. Send naked pictures to Lozo and he'll decide. JK. I love all peoples. I should be asleep. Seriously I just tried to make this blog sound less insane, but instead I think I've just made matters worse. The way that "This is Everything" builds up in the start makes me wish I knew how to write about music.

Climbed Up on The Rainbow Just to See If I'd Fall Off

8:40 P.M., Friday: If you're reading this, then you already know. [Name that movie.] I need a new post here. I'm going to live-blog tonight. Live-blog what, you may ask? I am going to live-blog life. You know why people like blogs, I think? Because, unlike all other forms of narrative storytelling, you've really got no clue what'll happen next. No one does, you know? Because it hasn't happened yet. There you go. Who knows where these thoughts come from? They just appear.

I've got a lot of things to say, you know? Like, right now. But also, it's hard to get my thoughts together because I'm on so much crack, heroin, smack, dope, um, whatever else the kids are doing these days. I don't know. I'm obviously too cracked out to even notice.

9:04 P.M. : I'd like to apologize formally to everyone who probs was driven insane by the inordinate amount of spelling errors during the early days of Auto-Win. I don't know if I can say anything to make the pain go away, but most of them are fixed now.

9:49 P.M.: You know what's funny? When I first started blogging it didn't even occur to me that I was risking something via truth. I didn't have a sitemeter or have any idea how many people were even reading it until about November, but I suspected it was approximately "2" people. (Haviland, Lainy, Lo sometimes but from my same IP so that doesn't count) I thought I was lucky to have a job that didn't care, I never talked about it, and etc. Like, I honestly didn't understand why some people didn't use their photos. As a writer, I'd obvs put my name on it, my real name.

But the first blog I think I ever read was Waking Vixen, who talks about her vagina way more than I even think about mine. Most of the blogs I read were blogs that either made fun of New York, told boring stories about how it's so hard to find a good man in NYC omg my ovaries waaaa, or were about sex or erotica or something. When I started blogging, I thought I was being pretty clandestine -- as long as I wasn't smoking crack in a video blog, I could make jokes about crack -- which honestly, I've never even seen in my life, let alone used -- as I wished. I didn't ever think Auto-Straddle would be highlighted for explicit content. Also, obvs this is Ilene Chaiken's fault like everything.

I realized over the summer that I'd have a tough time garnering employment with the kind of internet presence I had, regardless of my blog. But also, i was honestly just realising that people cared about that shit, I figured people were logical and reasonable. The only reason I ever googled an intern applicant in my old job was to see if they were hot or not, 'cause obvs I'd rather boss around a hot intern than a not-hot intern. If a blog had come up, the only way it could've affected my decision negatively would've been if:
1. They were a douchebag like the people I was gonna work for.
2. They couldn't spell, but like, really bad, like totes retarded-seeming. Actually, not really. Because who knows, maybe it's just a character? You never know until you know, sugar.

Anyhow. Mr. Redacted's daughter is my friend, and she'd suddenly swooped into my life in September and started fixing things left and right with an efficiency I haven't experienced in years. It was the kind of logistical support I've needed since I was 14, and it was beyond what I previously fathomed as possible for one person to do for me out of the goodness of their heart and their recognition of the way the world is. Then Mr. Redacted, inspired by his daughter's kindness, offered me a job. However, following the totally logical progression of events detailed in my prior post, we've both been cut off, yeah, me and his daughter.

Me: "It's like the 1950's or something, the like, censorship."
Her: "It's more like the 1800's, because I have no light. Or heat."

I know I say things like "I can fly" or "I live in a crack den" flippantly, but I'm serious about the no electricity, no phone, no car insurance, frozen bank accounts, not allowed to talk to me or to anyone else in her family, etc. etc. I know what you're thinking: Auto-Win, wtf? I know!!! Seriously you guys I could not make this shit up. Anyhow, yeah, so also I had a lot of other things that were cut off from me, which really blew, but not as bad as it blows to have um, like, no phone or electricity.

Anyhow, we can't really do anything about it, when people are acting totally ridiculous. How do you begin to argue with things that defy logic? I know all about this, as I've had a lot of insane argument experience.

Also, we've got no money or power, and he's got lots, and that's how the world is, surprise. I've told you; I've stared mania in the eyes. I know that mania is either a vacuum or an elevator or a suffocating embrace or rubber and you are glue, or rubber and you are something that bounces away from rubber. We are just girls yelling at rubber.

10:11 P.M.: I know you're all asking yourself ... when did you first employ the term "hands down totes"? Well, that post has just been published. This is the context:

NY Mag said: The Farm on Adderley (1108 Cortelyou Rd. Ditmars Park, Brooklyn)
I say: Arby's. (National Chain)
Hands down totes Arby's. I can never even decide: homestyle or curly? They are both delicious, but in totally different ways. You know, like men and women. That being said, I usually chose curly fries. I think they are just more emotionally complex.

Sat 12: 54 A.M.: Guess what? I think this day has gone on long enough. I forgot to mention: this job was gonna be perfect. Like perfect hours, amazing pay, a lot of perks, like basically my whole life was gonna turn around, it wasn't just like, a cool job, it was like, miracle job.

Why do I keep extending days I wasn't really enjoying to begin with? Maybe that's the real mid-afternoon slump; realising you're trapped inside an unpleasant narrative and you're not sure it'll turn around before you can quit trying for 6-8 hours.

When I was little, I didn't understand what death was or why it happened because I didn't understand illness. I was new to the world, obvs, so I didn't realise that it was the physical that degraded into expiration, not the mental or spiritual. I remember when my Great-Grandmother died, I thought she died because she was so mean to everyone all the time, I thought once you got like that your time was up. I felt guilty for thinking that when I learned how it all worked for real, but I don't know if I ever stopped believing it, even though it's clearly not even remotely true. How weird though, that we were created this way -- for like ... [omg seriously I should be asleep, wtf am I even talking about? I'm like, totes creating my own religion. It's okay if no-one wants to join it, I have my stuffed dog, Ryan, and the Flying Lesbians, obvs.] ... our physical selves to be the ones we must maintain actively and concretely -- which affect only ourselves, is entirely reflexive really. Whereas actual purity of intent and being isn't necessary for survival, it's like, more important if you wear sunscreen then if you are nice to people. That's weird. My mosquito bites look like vampire bites. Maybe they are! That'd be neat, totes bitten.

*
Everything is free now,
That's what they say.
Everything I ever done,
Gotta give it away.
Someone hit the big score.
They figured it out,
That we're gonna do it anyway,
Even if doesn't pay.
*

11:06 A.M. Saturday: OMG. Durrrrrr. Ugh. I hate that split second in the morning where you could be anyone, anything, where any number of possibilities are possible and then the reality of your actual life washes over you all of a sudden, ugh. Also, my roommate Ryan is so sweet. I like people who are good people. Go Team Good.
*
2:51 P.M. Saturday: OK, Stef just helped me out with a major crisis involving ebay people needing refunds for products they clearly never received, because Mr. Redacted has no soul. I seriously almost just punched a wall, which I've never done before. Usually I'm clumsy enough to make these things happen on my own without doing them on purpose. E.g., I just banged my elbow/funnybone thing on the edge of the dresser for like, the 10th time in the last 24 hours and it fucking hurts like hell.

Also, I had an article for Curve Magazine due on November 1st, and I haven't finished it yet. What's wrong with me, I'm not sure. Also, I think I'm going to go to Reno for a few days soon to chill 'cause K-Lilly is a good friend. I'll win big on the slots and then buy the whole world a Coke.

I'm so blessed to have such amazing friends, really. Ryan just got me groceries and he's cleaning right now. Like how adorable is that? There are no words.
*
5:10 P.M. Saturday: Someone keeps calling me from a 402 area code. Where is that? Oh. Nebraska. Obviously. That's where most of my friends live. JK I don't know anyone in Nebraska actually. Is it even a real state? Are any of you from Nebraska? Is it fun there? Are there Jews and Gays?

I just found it, P.S., the part of my blog where I start being honest emotionally almost sorta, which'd be this post. I just got chills, like, reading it, and seeing like, all my feelings start to crawl out of my self-made turtle shell. This is unrelated to the firing incident, because I'm in trouble for implying that my totes real-life friend Kit Porter wanted to have sex with a vodka bottle, not for talking about my emotional realities. I wish my emotional realities involved more sex and vodka though.

Also, I feel dizzy like I am on a boat. I think I need to go for a walk.
*
7:40 P.M. Saturday: That was a nice walk. Now I am home. I just talked to my friend. You guys, seriously, I just want to say right now that I do not, nor have I ever, fucked Kit Porter, or anyone -- real or otherwise -- with a vodka bottle. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Just wanna get that out there. Also, sidenote: writers write about television and movies. TV and movies often contain sex [not enough sex, as far as The L Word is concerned, but that's another story I've told many times on Auto-Straddle ... which, P.S., wouldn't even come up if you googled me, because it's not under my real name.] Also; sex is legal. Also, fine. You obvs can't have a writer working for you. But what about all the other things that were happening, Mr. Redacted, BEFORE you even OFFERED me DREAM JOB, even offering to forego the background check in case I had any skeletons in my closet. I don't, so it doesn't matter -- I've never been arrested or anything -- so you could have checked my background all you wanted. Also, you should still pay me for the two weeks that you said you'd pay me for and shouldn't have stopped the ebay transactions, asshole.

What does that have to do with your daughter's electricity? You are cutting her out of the family because she dared to hook me up with you and attach my scandalous personality to your workplace. Except ... except! ... she didn't. She didn't want me to work for you, you offered, it was your idea! Your idea! You offered!!! Also, I'm not sure what cutting off your daughter's everything has to do with Kit Porter's vagina.

9:21 P.M.: A Complete Explanation of Why This is Ilene Chaiken's Fault.
At this point, I would like to address the situation regarding Kit Porter, the vodka bottle, and my feelings about having sex with objects.

As we know, Ilene Chaiken cannot write her way out of a paper bag. Following Kit's discovery that Angus was cheating on her with Tickle-Me-Hazel, Kit pondered returning to her former alcoholic glory. There's a lot of ways that this could've been revealed. For example, someone could've offered Kit a drink and she could've pondered it. However, Ilene Chaiken likes to confront exposition head-on, directly to the forehead. Also, no-one ever had sex in Season Four, which bothered me, as I am clearly a nymphomaniac. Seriously, P.S., I am not. In my recap I was making fun of two things:
1. The retarded plot device of the vodka bottle.
2. The fact that no one ever has sex on this show, leading me to pits of desperation so deep that I actually imagined Kit fucking herself with a vodka bottle.

Here is the section from Auto-Straddle. ["If I have to hear about that goddamn fucking-with-the-bottle thing one more time ..." (her)] Disclaimer: Auto-Straddle recaps television shows, which are about fake people. I make jokes about these characters. Also, here is a Wikipedia article about Television Without Pity, they basically invented the recap.

This scene is in Episode 409, "Lacy Lilting Lyrics." Again. These people are NOT REAL.

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree!
Then Kit goes into her office. There are at least $1,700 worth of flowers in there. Seriously, you could like, sponsor 10,000 kids in Nepal for that amount. Talk about the depths of sorrow, Hazelfucker. Kit sits down to face the bottle. You know, the proverbial bottle. But a real one. She keeps it around for moments like this one, when we need a literal representation of her mental conflict because the writers for this show aren't exactly like, um, Sarte, or something.

Me: Wouldn't it be awesome if she was actually thinking like, 'I wonder what it would feel like to stick this bottle up my vagina.'
Haviland: She's debating if she wants to drink or not.
Me: I know, but it would be like, way cooler if we THINK she's considering taking a drink, but then there's a twist and what she's really considering is if she's got enough lubrication in her vaginal canal to handle that bottle and then she just hiked up her sundress and was like "Okay boys, let's roll!"
[Kim and Haviland look at me like I'm a maniac]

You might notice that in the intro to this section, I actually mention giving to starving children in Nepal. Like, totes. I am totes so immoral. Excuse me, there is a really hot vodka bottle sitting on my bed, waiting to get fucked all night long.

11.8.07

I'm going to link this part from tomorrow's blog -- it's an explanation. Most of it I really can't/shouldn't talk about for many reasons, so this is as much as I'll ever say here -- not sure if this'll be permanent or not.

Also, everything is gonna be fine -- not with Mr. Redacted, but in general ... Olive is just awesome, and things'll be fine. Totes totes fine.

HOW MR. REDACTED BECAME NOT JUST AN ASSHOLE BOSS, BUT A TOTES SOCIOPATHIC TWATWAFFLE-

8. His Idea To Begin With -- Law firms rarely wanna hire me 'cause I've got too many media connections. But he asked his daughter if I wanted a job, since she'd spoken so highly of me and honestly of my situation, and subsequently he totes swooped in and made it happen, said I could forego the background check if necessary and proposed a confidentiality agreement to solve the blog problem. Offered $35/hour, my hours [10-4, M-F], company car there and back, etc etc. I couldn't even tell people about it 'cause I felt guilty I'd snagged such a ridic awesome gig, didn't know how to deal with it. I was fantasizing already about paying off Visa and taking everyone and their mother out for dinner. I bought a pack of cigarettes, walked to Columbia, talked to Amahd for an hour, gave away my pack of cigarettes, and 24 hours later I couldn't even reach Olive, and I was panicking, emailing people saying I was concerned because they were normally not out of touch like this. I had reason to panic, and I hate that. I hated having my trust dashed.
7. Two Weeks Salary -- Was promised, not paid.
6. No Sweat -- If it's allegedly so simple for me to cancel ebay transactions, isn't it equally simple for him to follow through with them? And even if not, for Christ's sake, are we 12? Also, um, hello pregnant 20-year-old upstate waiting for a charitable donation I'd arranged? Like, why punish her for what I did with Papi last night? I mean, really Papi?
5. I Cannot Comprehend How You Can Be So Heartless, So Rash, So Cruel, So Sociopathic, Yet So Confident, So 'Successful.' I know in your mind, this's all justified. Just how you somehow justified what you did instead of parent. I can't believe I'm actually yelling at my friend's Dad. It's like, you don't do that really -- parents are tender ground, especially as I haven't known her for that long. But his actions were so severe that this doesn't really feel as wrong as I typically would feel when dealing with someone's parents. Olive will be the opposite of you, and dude, I know people who know people, and I'm serious about the kingdom of heaven w/r/t you not being invited.
4. A reader called you "Captain Douchetard McHatesHisFamily," I know that I need to stop doing lines off Shane's barely-there ass, but that's clearly my problem, not Olive's, cutting her off is retarded.
3. As far as sexual preversion goes, I'd say marrying someone 40 years younger than you ..
2. Cutting off Olive from her family: insane.
1. My Blog Has No Bearing on My Work Performance. I'm not expecting you to realise that, because in a time of universal deceit — telling the truth is a revolutionary act.

The Boot in the Face, The Brute

10.29.2007, 2 A.M.

From: Me
To: A Friend

That sucks about [redacted]. It's possible it's all happening for a reason, you know? I mean, it's funny, but sometimes I think even the worst of things happen for a reason. I always think, I got Ryan -- my best friend from Interlochen, my soulmatey thing -- I earned Ryan for dealing with my Dad's death with as much grace as I did, and I am so blessed to've gotten Ryan. And it wasn't just my Dad's death, but like, an awkward adolescence, my Mom coming out, feeling like I was behind everyone in so many ways, and then on top of that my Mom being crazy and stuff. And now, I feel like I'm getting all of these amazing things, like, extras, like my blog you know, has been so great, and Cait, also, and you, also, and Carly, and this new job, and maybe getting close to stability with things, you know, and like, everyone, all my friends, and [redacted] is like, getting better finally, back to who she was ... I feel like everything is finally working out for me now ... like this is what I get for having endured everything this summer ... and to fixing a lot of it.

But this is just to say that I think the future is only there eventually, but it is there. And it might be brighter.

This is like, the most insane email I have ever sent in my life. What the f? These aren't my lines. My lines are like: [redacted], dude, that sucks about [redacted]. Life is hard, I guess, even when it should be easy. Hope she's paving the way for your reunion with [redacted star crush].

Yeah? Yeah. That'd be more like me.

*

10.29.2007, 5 P.M.

From: Mr. [redacted boss]
To: Me

Marie,

I heard that you have been quite successful selling the furniture and I wanted you to know how much I appreciate your efforts ... I hope you don't mind not coming to the office this week, I know it's a tremendous inconvenience leaving your schedule so up in the air, but since I will not be there and you don't work for the firm, it doesn't make much sense for you to go and sit there with nothing to do.

I hope you don't mind but I read some of your blog last night and I have to admit, I am quite impressed. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't at all what I thought it was going to be, you have an enormous amount of talent and I think you are going to go far in this world. Although I must tell you that someday I will tell you why affirmative action does a disservice to people of all ethnicities.

*

10. 31. 2007, 10:18 A.M.

From: Me
To: Mr. [redacted]

Hi Mr. [redacted],

I apologize for writing you while you are away -- but I'm becoming increasingly alarmed that everything is not well -- I haven't heard from [redacted relative], [redacted assistant], [redacted assistant] or [redacted assistant] since Monday night and I know this is highly unusual for your family and their people, even during difficult times. I'm hoping everyone is okay. I have people who've paid me for furniture they are hoping to pick up today or have delivered this week and I don't know what to tell them [NOTE: I have no access to the items myself], also there was no deposit made yesterday, so I'm not certain how to proceed in terms of my own finances right now, or what to do next when the eBay people don't receive furniture they've paid for. [NOTE: There are also items being donated to those in need, arranged by me, and people expecting these items, I have no access to them myself.]

But mostly I am just concerned that something terrible is happening. Please let me know if you know anything, or have heard from anyone. I am really worried and confused.

Thank You,

Marie

*
10. 31. 2007, 12:51 P.M.

From: Mr. [THE SAME redacted boss, yes, the same one from prior email.]
To: Me

It was my understanding that a letter of termination was sent to you yesterday.

One of my colleagues found your website and read the content. I don't know why my daughter or you thought that it would be acceptable for you to represent me and my name, knowing what kind of information you had on the internet. What you choose to make public about your life is your choice, and who I choose to have represent me is my choice.

I simply cannot have someone who openly discusses drug use, illegal activities, their sexual experiences and encounters, and everything else you write about working for me. When I was told you wrote about your life I thought that meant something entirely different.

That I didn't research this myself is my fault entirely, but there is no way I can have you in my work environment.

I wish you all the best and I hope that this will be our last communication as there is really nothing more to say.

[redacted]

*
10.31.2007, 2:45 P.M.
From: Me
To: Mr. [redacted]

I didn't receive that letter, I've been worried sick about you and the family and have been extremely concerned for everyone's well being. I have people who have paid me on ebay for furniture that they are now expecting to receive and that they have paid me for via paypal. I will lose my ebay account, and subsequently my paypal account and bank account, if I don't complete these transactions. Please let me know how to proceed.

Obviously this puts me in an extremely tough spot -- as you know. It's hard for me to trust people, but [redacted connection] is such an amazing person [NOTE: And totes still IS an amazing person, obvs, even though you aren't, asshat] and everything you've done for me has been so kind, I allowed myself to trust. But I don't know what to say to any of these accusations. I never would've put you or your family out there. I'm a good person, I am loyal and full of follow-through, commitment, and kindness. I try to put positive and fair energy into the world. I want to help others and find common ground for communication and understanding, and I often do this through great creative liberties, fictionalization, humor, and, when appropriate, brutal honesty. I don't even know what you are referring to with your accusations.

I am interested to discover what it is that has changed since Monday, when you told me that you were "quite impressed" with my blog and feel i have an "enormous amount of talent." I know you are under a lot of stress right now and I understand how that goes.

In any event ...

I only ask that, from one professional to a former associate, that you enable the completion of the furniture transactions which I began under the false impression that I could trust everyone on your end to follow through. I hope this is still the case. If not, then I suppose that there were false impressions on both sides regarding the content of one another's character.


Sincerely,
Marie Lyn Bernard