Sunday, November 04, 2007

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.'
: She's debating if she wants to drink or not.
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.


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.


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.


Lozo said...

i don't know that quote. i feel like i should. i guess we're broken up now.

riese said...

Old School.

Short but sweet, I guess.

Lozo said...

i know! old school!

this live-blog hasn't been updated in two hours. i'm thinking alcohol poisoning.

riese said...

No, no. Sober as a judge, obvs. I'd never poison myself. I think that my life is less exciting then a Red Sox game. I mean, I had a lot of exciting thoughts, but I forgot to write them down.

Jo said...

Apparently the teevee writers guild people are gonna strike. Apparently this means the teevee networks are gonna have a shortage of scripted shows. Since you and Carly are not members of the Writers Guild union (I'm assuming) this could totes be your perfect opportunity to get your show on teevee.

I can't comprehend people who cut off their own kids. It's like, they're your own flesh and blood, wtf? totes twatwaffle douche.

anonymous rieseophant said...

seriously. twatwaffle. i hope you are OK.

i am a wee bit tipsy and don't have much to sya. except that i'm a better drunk typer than a;ex vega.

Lozo said...

what about Judge Drinky McDrinkerson? he's a lush.

seriously. how are you sober? i was hoping you were drunk. i'm slightly intoxicated, and i'm not even trying. that's it. i'm coming over with my drinking for dummies book.

haviland said...

this strike is going to drive us all insane. omg,seriously, yeah...

everything is on hold..which is about to explode more than ever before -

just sayin', shall we live it out, my rieselette?

kate said...

i feel bad that i missed commenting on the big fall out post - word on the street: hospitals aren’t that rapt with laptops. nice to see that all of the old posts are coming back because, youwere the first blog i read with any regularity and i would’ve missed you/it if it were gone. i am also glad you have electricity. i agree with jo entirely– these dramas are definitely the accelerator to living it out.

just so you know, i would’ve judged havilands comment in your last post as the best ever. a keeper.

also, better than sitemeter; google analytics.

Allie said...

See, when you write stuff like you did abut death and mean people, and how entirely reflexive we can live if we choose to? That's why you are hands down totes the most brill young blogger I read.

riese said...

jo: I cannot even wrap my head around the fact that people who have jobs are striking. I mean I'm sure they totally have a point and stuff. It just seems so funny to me right now. I'm not sure if we're members of the writer's guild or not. We registered the name of our show with something but I don't remember. Carlyyyyyyyyy

And yeah, I can't either. Like, I really can't. Comprehend. What he's doing to his daughter. It's clearly sociopathic, I just don't get it. I don't think I could do that to anyone in the world, let alone my own flesh & blood. I mean, like, what if she stayed in her apartment and froze? Wouldn't he feel bad? I guess not? Heartless.


anonymous riesophant: I do not know howm I am. You need to get drunker and then you can be commenter of the week.
lozo: I wasn't sober, obvvvvs. But i think I could find a home for that book, like maybe the woman who hangs out on my stoop would like to read it, if she knows how to read.
haviland: Let's have babies.
kate: Ah yes, I have google analytics. I like that sitemeter has a little bit of backstock though right now. Hav's comment = fo'sho a keeper. And you're here now so that's all that matters. whheeee
allie: thank you.

stef said...

haviland wins the comment olympics. i bet she wrote that comment while wearing gold pants.

dorothy said...

I think about this all the time. How is it that something that is so inherently good and sensible to me not the same to another person? How can we have conversations using the exact same words and walk away with completely different meanings? How is it that I can be heart breakingly honest with someone and they still don't comprehend when all of the words I have given them have ripped everything I am apart?

It gets to the point where you stop talking in feelings and what ifs and it is pure reason and cause and effect and yet there is still no match. How are there people in this world to whom love means such odd things?

These people hurt every part of me because they are so surprising. They come without reason or warning. And you think over and over that you are going to find the one way to say it that will make it all make sense and put everything right but it never comes.

In the end it is the people who speak my/your language who save me/you.

I guess I want to say I speak your language.

riese said...

stef: What most people don't know is that Haviland does everything in gold pants.
dorothy: Thank you, for speaking my language. I wish my language had words for these new, unspeakable tragedies, this unbelievable heartlessness. Like ... and the people that are working for him are doing what he tells them to do -- like, hello? I've seen one person act insane but never so many people obey, besides like, whatevs, Nazis. So yes.

The people who speak our language will save the others and hopefully ultimately the world?

[Clearly I've lost my mind.]

Lozo said...

when we get done here, you're all gonna be wearing gold diapers.

Mercury said...

Some people believe that the whole physical/mental/spiritual is superentertwined. Like people who are terminally ill with cancer, how much time they have left and how much hope they have left, how much they want to stay alive, rather connected. Also, that saying, laughter is the best medicine? also, it goes the other way, too, you can feel better emotionally after physical activity. And then they say sometimes prayer helps. So who knows, really?

Really bitter people tend to be less healthy though, I believe that. Hmm...

dorothy said...

Hands down totes saving the world. Gold diapers for everyone.

haviland said...

In that post, in May, I commented that I missed you in real life...and, it's all coming back and making sense. You went away, and then you crawled out onto auto-win and asked for help...

And also, it was the first time Lozo commented.


word verf: lgpile -- best. ever.

LMC said...

Obvs, Kit Porter's vagina is the source of all the world's problems. Yet, since the problems stem from Kit Porter's vagina, they are sassy and sexy.

Mr. Redacted should be nominated for World's Biggest Asshat/Douchecunt/Twatwaffle/Etc.

Adam said...

Give me 72 hours...I'm working on a small present for the auto-community inspired by this post.

It's either going to be fun, and warm, and quirkily charming, or it's going to be totally in poor taste.

If it's getting to be Tuesday night and I've failed this comment might disappear, but I've got a good feeling that won't happen.

Crystal said...

It's amazing how Mr Redacted seems to be the complete antithesis of his daughter. He's such a wombat, it's criminal.

I wish my emotional realities involved more sex and vodka, too, or really, any explicit content.

I'm glad you extend your days, for better or worse.

anonymous rieseophant said...

i don't know kit porter nor do i know her vagina, but i can only say what i hear on the streets: evil.

or sexy. not sure. maybe both at the same time? i'm confused.

dreaming and breathing said...

to join the bandwagon (slightly tardy)...i also love your blog. please don't stop. you are inspiring and fantastic. i had a boss once that read my blog and told me i needed to take it down or i would be fired...that it was inappropriate because i wrote about the beauty and greatness of masturbation. so i did. i deleted it and totally regret it. and he was a douchbag and i ended up quitting anyway.

you are great.

and god i love vodka. and vodka bottles.

stef said...

402 is paypal, that was paypal calling.
i hate my life.
i guess they probably tried to call me too but the # they had for me was my old cell number and i just tried changing it and they said i can't use a cell number - it has to be the land line of where i get my bank statements but I DON'T HAVE ONE AND NEVER HAVE. AHHH I HATE YOU NEBRASKA.
i will call them and unload my rage tomorrow. in the meantime... breathing exercises to keep ME from punching a wall.

carlytron said...

As far as I know we're not members of the Writer's Guild, so we're okay.

I'm out of the loop ... vodka bottle? Was this another cited passage in the Unfortunate Lack Of Common Sense Olympics? Jesus.

riese said...

lozo: I don't know what that means, but I hope it involves spanking.

merc: Probs if he read auto-straddle, he'd laugh, and then his soul would warm, and then he wouldn't be an asshole anymore maybe. Hmm ...

dorothy: totes, obvs.

haviland: It is so weird the things I uncovered. For example, this Stephen Dunn poem I quoted in my "I have no phone" post:

Those who've gotten away from me:
read this, and call.
Those whom I've hurt:
I wanted everything,
or not enough,
it was all my fault.
-Stephen Dunn, Loves

LMC: I know, I was thinking maybe he'd be a shoo-in for gawker's douchebag of the week, which would be amazing. Also, I imagine Kit Porter's vagina breaks into ebonics when appropriate.

adam: You can leave that comment even if you don't do that. There is no such thing to me as "in poor taste." I'm trying to think of anything that I could possibly consider in poor taste ... yeah. Nothing. I mean sometimes if people ask me "So what does your Dad do?" i actually say "Mostly lies around. Like, underground. In a coffin." Obvs, as I have no ethics/morals/etc

crystal: I'm trying to live vicariously through your explicit content, so please don't give up the game. Also, yes, that's true how he's the opposite of her Dad. It's amazing. I guess some of us become equal or opposite reactions to our parents. That's one of the principles of physics or something. I'm guessing that, like me, you never took that class.

anonymous riseophant: I too am confused. Kit's not sexy really either, that's the tragic part.

dreaming and breathing: I have this theory which is that Susan Powter is right about a lot of things, and, also, also. also. That part of this theory deduces that your boss probs isn't comfortable with the fact that he masturbated to your blog. damn the man.

stef: I should've answered when they called, whoopsie? i hate my life too. welcome.

carlytron: This has become, moreso than our discussion of herbs, The Most Often Cited Passage. I am constantly, it seems, fucking people with bottles, as you obvs know from personal experience. Effin' Ilene Chaiken.