A 26-year old Warlem almost-hipster navigates the rocky roads of her smokin' hot life. This includes post-college ennui, the tipping balance between emotional withdrawal and frightening investment, the 1 train, 10-dollar bottles of "drinkable" Pinot Grigio and the gaping holes in her Chuck Taylors. She'd like to lie more often than she does, because honesty is a real bitch.
Showing posts with label a shot at love with a bunch of lunatics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label a shot at love with a bunch of lunatics. Show all posts
I am not sure if all of these sentences have periods at the end of them or if the words are correct but maybe an intern could copyedit it for me jk no but srsly.
I just had a really incredible weekend. And I was excited for it. I'm still excited & charmed by the web of cyber-intern-love we've woven. The context was ideal because the point -- really, truly the point -- of autowin -- was to get to autostraddle. I couldn't -- can't -- keep on like I was on here forever.
I should tell you that the point of my life was to get to the writing, the point of the writing was never to get to my life.
But the point of the work -- the knowledge, the community, the material itself, and the conversations -- the point of the work was to get to the magazine. And here it is.
See back then it was exactly like being naked. Perhaps you also felt naked but really at best you were like a censored movie on teevee -- all blur and suggestion and hope -- you were just the idea of nakedness and I was open and cold like a pitted grapefruit.
When we were 15 my friend Andrew wrote a poem about heartbreak and it opened like this and employed alternative lifestyle formatting: You have dug me out / with grapefruit spoons / and I am left as only the shell of me, / like a rotten peanut / salty and compromised.
You knew things about me and then there we'd be at a party or a restaurant, like the worst places on earth to talk to anyone about anything real, like we were people from the middle ages transported into Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. And on top of that, we were generally people all too aware of that particular obstacle but somehow braving it just the same.
See there's two memememees: let's say one of them is Riese and the other is autowin. Autowin is the writer part. It's weird to give that part the name "autowin" because autowin is a new/knew name and the writer-part of me is the oldest part of me. But whatever. I'm writing this so I make the rules.
Autowin is scared a lot and doesn't want anyone else around. She writes this blog but doesn't talk to people. She's somewhat incapable of interacting with normal society because she finds strip malls fundamentally ridiculous and organized professional sports somewhat baffling and nuclear families hopelessly boring and outdoor barbecues where straight people hold drinks close to their waists and talk about rooms or decorations they're planning to add on to their house to be sort of embarrassing and sad even though everyone at the barbecue is smiling and happy and full of confident, flowy energy.
She is openly convinced that everyone she knows may undergo a metamorphosis and become Old Navy overnight, and so she does not depend on them to ever join her revolution, which is a disorganized revolution anyhow and often drunk.
She has trouble with phone calls and friendship and employers. She likes to smoke just about anything and doesn't think anyone gets her and there's very little anyone could do to prove otherwise but if you can convince her that you do get her, she sometimes falls straight lickity-split in fucking love with you.
Her sexuality is not incredibly relevant, it's just another kind of nakedness or aggression, depending.
There's been a handful of people who knew the "autowin" personality as she exists in normal everyday life. None of them are people I see or speak to regularly right now. I don't know if that's good or bad, it just ... is.
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So I'm used to being separate from the writer person, it's what I've always done. Well ... I think when you're talking about your feelings and I'm talking to you about your feelings, or about my life, maybe there are flashes of autowin there. But generally she is not a person who talks to people, she is a person dependent on privacy or total understanding, which comes with time, because autowin is scared!
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And even though this weekend I knew I'd be hanging out with people who knew autowin's writing (including some people who primarily knew me through autowin), it was in this other context of Autostraddle -- and THE TEAM!, who you should defo like more than me because they are cooler -- which made me feel safe, and happy, and like everything had come together perfectly ... like I wouldn't be a total weirdo ... like either I'm totally a weirdo who scares people like I scared people when I was younger because I was intense and they had Barbies, or I'm a normal social person which secretly I am totally fine at too.
... not nervous at all, but excited. And in the weeks leading up to it I was wondering why I felt so excited whereas when I knew I'd be meeting people via autowin in the past, I would feel mostly awkward and scared, but ever since Autostraddle started I've loved meeting people. Like I want to talk to people about the future! Maybe because I have one and I am not constantly attempting to obliterate myself or die or tell a really funny joke or something.
Maybe because Autostraddle has a greater purpose, and because it is a business, and so there's something solid to hold on to as human beings. A starting point. We don't have to begin with the meaning of life.
And there was a purpose, and there was a team, and that's one of the reasons why this weekend managed to combine all the things I love about people who love autowin with all the things I love about people and FUN FUN FUN in general.
'Cause sometimes you don't have to talk face to face about how you GET IT to have fun, but you can have fun face-to-face because you GET IT.
So anyhow. It was so beautiful! I have never felt such overwhelming positivity about a group of people before in my life. Seriously it was almost transcendent and in a strange way totally incomparable to any feeling I've ever felt before.
So thank you intern army who came to NYC this weekend and risked getting gay grounded and slept on couches or on top of each other and who fliered madly and walked in the sunshine and said lovely things, thank you alexandra, ashley, daphne, elizabeth, emily, heidi, jessica, katrina, laura, lola, nicole and tirna and to the team for an awesome weekend.
I mean I spent like 50% of the weekend feeling totally sick in one physical way or another and still think it was one of the best weekends of my life, so that says a lot for the power of X's secret stash everyone!
I am proud of everyone, happy to work with these people and be associated with them; alex, brooke, carly, robin, nata, stef -- and also laneia, crystal and tess even though they couldn't be there physically.
I want Autostraddle to be really successful so we can afford to have another party that's longer where we can play Truth or Dare like I suggested ten THOUSAND BAJILLION TIMES as well as strip poker, but what no one knew is I wasn't talking about your clothes, I was talking about your feelings! JK, I'm not a lesbian, I'm a bisexual like T2 (that's my bro-name for Tila Tequila), so all I want in life is for everyone to make out on television with microphones on their butts. I was talking about your clothes! Where was I. Waiting for the parade. Yes!
this photo is called "interns" and it's by robin roemer, obvs
Once we had this idea to take the interns upstate to Alex's cabin and blindfold them and leave them in the woods and whomever came out alive got to transcribe an interview with charlene from "gimme sugar."
Right about that anyhow: I felt safe and not scared or heavy and open and cold like a pitted pit. Like it wasn't just about me and my secrets. It was about all these people together. It was about all the things we actually don't need to lie about when we're around the right people, which are also beautiful things. So I wasn't even nervous like I was to meet people I'd met before via autowin, but excited and already totally comfortable. Which is a good place to start from, especially if one will ever get to autowin.
What I mean is that doesn't mean that like everything is on the table, but everything is DANCING on the table. Make out and wait for the next joke etc. And I had these other people -- which is a technique I've entertained since the start (here, look at my BFF, she's pretty!!! read my words, but dream of her!), only now it has a very concrete form & structure & purpose.
We had a party! We marched in a parade! It was a ridiculously short period of time doing weird things!
I have some things I should say to you, some disappointing things: I don't always remember exactly. I want to have the time to remember, or the capacity to remember. I do get a lot of emails -- not THAT many -- but like, a good 3 or 4 a week, and they are always really full of feelings. I have a hard time responding because I have a hard time feeling important. I don't have a vocabulary for it. I don't want to let you down. I love the emails and I wonder if just saying "thank you" is enough. Like this paragraph already feels weird so
and it's hard to say "your emails make me feel better about my existence" ... and then I feel I cheat you if I don't address, you know, your existence ... or mention that like ... my existence was compromised by this blog in SO MANY WAYS that i didn't/can't talk about. It hasn't been easy. Mostly though i can't talk about it 'cause I can't diminish the positive things it brought! Such things!!! ... and where we are ... and I've tried to fucking structure this goddamn post and I can't. Oh well. Maybe TInkerbell will comment! !!!!! this isa blogtherearenorules look ican write whatever i want POTATO!
Also, it's hard to feel important when everyone around you thinks you should give it up and make some fucking money for once. Money matters, it matters all the time. I want it! 'Cause it's fun and you can give it to other people when they need it too. But I'd rather die than temp 9 hours a day 5 days a week for a paycheck that just barely covers my basic living expenses because if I have no time to write or create things than I might as well be dead. You know? I'm convinced by something greater than all of this that we'll find a way.
Anyhow, those are my feelings. The whole truth is like the story of a wave unfurled, ET-effin'-CETERA.
Hi blog! How are you? It's my brother Lewis's birthday. It's also Bloomsday, a holiday for smart people who can read a lot of words at once. I can't believe it's been a whole year since the last time it was Lewis's birthday. I'm not 100% sure how old he is, but I'd guess he's not a day over 13. I mean ... he's um, must be about 25. He's growing into quite a man, he is very tall, much taller than he was when he was first born.
Here's the rules!
1. Send an email to "Lewnard@gmail.com," with a BCC or CC to autostraddle@gmail.com. The title of the email must be "Happy Birthday Lewnard." 2. There will be two prizes awarded: one will be selected at random from everyone who completed the mission. The second will be selected based on overall creativity and genius displayed in your birthday wishes. For example: - Animated gifs - Clever wordplay/poetry - Anything involving an e-greeting for a different occasion, but tailored for the birthday situation - Creative photoshopping - Any photos or other images - Music - Glitter 3. If you choose a format which won't allow you to send it to multiple recipients, then just forward it to me. 4. If you don't have time for anything creative, just say Happy Birthday and send it off, you'll still have a shot at the random drawing and besides what else are you doing. Do you have a job? Probs not for long. So snap to it! 5. You have until midnight on June 16th (today) to complete this mission. If you live in Australia, that means you've got 'til 2 P.M. on the 17th. Late submissions are accepted, but not encouraged. 6. Some extraneous information about Lewis: he lives in New Orleans, this is his blog, where he writes and publishes complaint letters to companies that mess up. He lives in New Orleans, got a degree in mechanical engineering and likes chocolate ice cream and long road trips with Riese & Tinkerbell.
Tomorrow I'll make him pick his favorite birthday email -- based on overall creativity, depth, humor, and usage of glitter -- as well as another winner chosen at random. What do they win? Two (2) birthday emailers will win a copy of the compilationTHE FUTURE IS BRIGHT, a mix-CD compiled by Team Autostraddle with a custom DIY Hand-Made CD cover a AND! I know! It gets better! And each winner will win a chance to win even more -- a free raffle ticket for our upcoming Autostraddle raffle, which includes prizes from our sponsors like Showtime, Babeland, Craftster, 410bc, Early2Bed, Cleis Books, PurePro Massage, Uh Huh Her, Buttonhead and more!
As y'all may or may not know, there's an initiative on the California ballot this year called "Proposition 8," which aims to change the California Constitution to eliminate the right of same-sex couples to marry. The gays have had this right since June, and obvs all hell's broken loose. Gay marriage has killed 500 polar bears, inspired ten million men to cheat on their wives, unleashed a SARS epidemic amongst babies in Oakland and directly caused the entire adolescent population of La Jolla to marry their pet rabbits. Howevs, it's also resulted in some very lovely photos of Ellen & Portia, which's why I've joined the 8 Against 8 Campaign.
Prop 8 would add a new section to the California constitution stating "only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California." Current polls predict that this ammendment will pass, thanks to crazies like these guys -- which's why we've come together against Proposition 8, begging you for money. I beg you guys for money a lot, but this time's different, 'cause I'm not selling t-shirts or 'zines. I'M SELLING FREEDOM, BITCHES!
Over the next 8 days I'll be rolling out My Top 8 Reasons why this cause deserves at least five of your hard earned dollars. I mean face it we're all broke now anyway, what's another $5-$500 bucks? That's what I tell myself every night when I order takeout. If 8 Against 8 reaches its $8,000 target, I'll stop talking about it and talk about other things. But 'til then you'll just have to hear about it, or read my South of Nowhere recap whenever I finish it, or read Lozo or Sloganx or call your mother, she misses you. Better yet, call my Mother, she misses me. Or my other mother. They're not married. It's totes illegal in Michigan. They had a commitment ceremony, I wore my Puma sandals, maybe we've discussed this before.
ANYHOW! for now, I'd like to invite you to send me a photo of yourself for my No on 8 Quilt (pictured in the current post of the day, which right now is Reason #8). It's like an AIDS quilt but less depressing. Just take a photo of yourself with a sign that says "No on 8" and send it to me at marielyn176@gmail.com. Photobooth is the best way to do it. Or you can do what Haviland did -- pick up a random dog from the street and then galavant around Los Angeles photographing yourself with No on 8 Lawn Signs. She's so clever and spry, that Haviland.
Anyone who sends me a photo for the No on 8 Quilt and/or donates to 8 Against 8 and forwards me their confirmation email will be entered in a drawing to win fun prizes. I won't actually ship these prizes 'til after November 4th, 'cause honestly I've got a shit-ton of stuff to do before then, like move into a new apartment, find a subletter for our third bedroom and furnish the place ... while continuing to blog, recap, work three jobs, exercise and occasionally catch some shut-eye.
But I'm 99.9% sure the grand prize will be a copy of THE L WORD SEASON FIVE ON DVD -- it comes out on DVD October 28th and I'll be running some promotional contests for it here and on AutoStraddle and on TLW Online when I actually get the DVDs (it might not be 'til November, I'm really not sure), but I'm prematurely ejaculating one copy for this cause. 'Cause that's the kind of girl I am. Another prize will be a copy of Auto-Insomnia #1, our fabulous 'zine -- if you've already got it, then you can win Auto-Gear instead or a date with Haviland (pre-requisites include: smokin' hot, have your shit together, no crazies, live in L.A).
If you don't want any gay prizes, you should donate anyway, otherwise you will probs not get into Heaven. Highest level of tzedakah is giving w/o recognition. Just saying.
What are you waiting for??!!! Send me your photo, weirdo! I'll put it up w/in 24 hours of when you send it to me. Give me your name, a link if ya want it ... and you can cover your face if you want.
Also, please spread the word to any major media outlets or minor media outlets you know of. Download the press release here and check out the website. That badge up there -- feel free to repost it anywhere with a link to www.8against8.com.
quote: "the greatest lie of all is the feeling of firmness beneath our feet. we are at our most honest when we are lost." (kierkegaard)links: [I think every time I do auto-fun, I will personally implore you to read one of these links regardless of how you think you might feel about it. this time, it's number 7.] 1. mostly i am excited to hear about the heartbreak and hardships: tila tequila don't work right. (@fourfour) 2. "There is no negotiating with insomnia — you are at the mercy of your brain’s whims, like a pregnant vegetarian who finds herself eating slices of bologna slathered in jam": jessica cutler'strouble sleeping? read insomniac. (@the smart set) 3. holler j-beals: top ten sex scenes involving food (@nerve.com) 4. the sixty-day war:with one hastily made decision, john mccain upended the presidential race. an investigation of the bloody new political realities. (@nymag) 5. i knew it! talking is good; too much talking may not be: adolescent girls are totally talking like way too much -- "the term researchers use is “co-rumination” to describe frequently or obsessively discussing the same problem ... it has intensified significantly with e-mail, text messaging, instant messaging and Facebook. And in certain cases it can spin into a potentially contagious and unhealthy emotional angst, experts say." (@nytimes) 6. i didn't actually read this, but adam, maybe you will: over my dead body (@n+1) 7. i will forever remain faithful: how lil wayne helped me survive my first year teaching new orleans (@oxford american) 8. re: dream house ... decorating with books. (a bunch of links @bookslut) 9. fragments from palin! the musical (@mcsweeny's) 10. what makes people vote Republican? (@the edge) 11. the many faces of sarah palin! including the vlog! (@wired)insomnia poem #13
remember when i used to sit alone in my room all night alone i mean it i could write and write riding a spaceship of dark cave and starlight alone
the first rule of autowin club is don't talk about bliss or you'll knock it right over.
the second rule is alone is the new multiplication see: it's more, not less. double the me, double the auto-fun girl why don't you run
i used to like going to sleep before you and waking up to hear about what i'd written the night before like maybe you'd read it before i did like you knew about me before i knew about me like time travel, which i love and also doves seem like nice birds
speaking of birds when i was a kid i'd make lewis play pretend with me we were birds, our nest a trampoline you know a place to feed and sleep and care and by that i mean a place to bounce a place to flounce a place to fly
what i mean is i think i confused home with jumping
Y'all, I'm still waiting for my copies of LYING to come in the mail, so all apologies to anyone waiting on auto-gear or contest updates. In the meantime, I'd suggest deerskin, k-mart, and modge podge. Guess what? I made a vlog. On a scale of one to ten, I'd give it a "three." We answer two "advice column" questions, though they were more like the kinds of questions you'd ask your girlfriends while enjoying a game of Girl Talk. Still every child deserves his or her day in the sunshine -- or behind the veil of a color filter I can't seem to get rid of.
So! I should be a salesman! Here it is -- Hav & Riese Vlog 467. I mean, 29.
Also: send your questions to askautowin@yahoo.com. We've already gone through all the questions except two, and we can't answer those two until we get two more, which means someone's sitting at home with a girlfriend who's got a massive crush on Susan Powter not knowing what the eff to do with herself. You can make stuff up, we won't know, unless you're one of the 3-4 people we speak to regularly. We just want to tell you what to do! That's all we ever want to do! Help people! The meat of this blog -- the words and the video -- would suggest I might need someone to help me. But before the storm, please welcome the pleasing valleys of its meadow for now.
[I'll probably think more wisely about posting this post in the morning, we'll see, isn't the internet fun!]
Maybe you're just passing through and figure it couldn't hurt to ask, and so you do: "I know you don't like to leave your apartment, but I'm gonna be in town ... I'd love to buy you a drink" -- you're nice and friendly and I read these messages several times a month and what do I do? Nothing. Silence. I'd like to understand/explain why. 'Cause it's not that I'm trapped in agoraphobic paralysis, it's 'cause let's say we do meet and you don't like me, or maybe you do like me or one of my friends in a way we can't reciprocate or the ensuing social evolution isn't what you'd wanted and then meeting me kills the desire to read me. Then you'll stop commenting, and I rely on commenting and emailing to give me the cyber-community that reminds me why I love blogging and like that I can do it for free.
[I'll stress: big difference here between literally meeting people (me: this is me! you:this is me! handshake/hug/hi!) -- which usually works, and I love it -- and hanging out -- which doesn't always work. Usually it works better with other writers, and I'm also not referring to logical hang-out situations like: we're working together professionally/artistically, you're in a similar industry in the city, there's a reading, we're in a vacation situation/travel-spot together, you want to date Haviland, etc.]
So I grapple with this -- the balance between being polite/true, between good/self-aware ... is it inherently bad that I'm literally scared to meet anyone new from the blogosphere right now 'cause I think they'll never engage with my written words again -- whether it be via email, facebook, blog, twitter, whatever? I mean it's popular to hate on internet writers who need attention, but whatever, y'all can suck it, it makes sense.
Anyhow, then, when I write -- how personal is dirty laundry, how much honesty is just a bitch, and how much can I withhold while still protecting my friends' privacies? Should I be giving more? Do I overshare? Am I too illusive?
Am I just rude?
The invitations are flattering! I like them! They flatter me and make me happy, as all correspondences from readers do. But: unless we're in a perfect circumstance, it's likely you'll sooner or later dislike me, just like most of my normal friends do, except for the 2 or 3 I see a few times a week. At first you'll think that I don't seem awkward, like I said I would, and then you'll notice that I only have one leg, and then you'll wonder what I'm hiding after all and what happens after that ... I dunno. It's not that I think I'm too cool for you ... quite the contrary, almost everyone is better socially than me. I can carry on a conversation, sure, but I fail at social events, prolonged engagements.
And then I was reading Jessica Roy's piece in New York Magazine: Au Revior! to the New York Media Scene" (Radar's response: New York Media Scene Disappoints Young Girl). Roy, a 20-year old NYU student & aspiring member of the intellectual elite -- has been to a lot of media parties, met or observed many NYC bloggers, attended The Great Jezebel Event of '08, and has some feelings about it.
Here's one of them:
"These people that I had admired my entire New York existence — they all disappointed me. I don't understand how people can exist in such a dishonest way and still call themselves writers. Isn't it the responsibility of a writer to be honest?"
(Jessica Roy)
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My initial response to this: OMG WTF? Media people let her down at a birthday party she wasn't invited to? Isn't a friend's b-day bash exactly the place to share inside jokes and common reference points w/your friends? What was Jessica expecting? Keith Gessen spooning oysters onto her tongue, Tracie & Moe violating her hips with feminist tattoos, Emily Gould shooting super-secret private b-berry messages to her iPhone? Were the media people rude or just -- well -- honest?
While working at nerve I learned something about silence. Yes! The silence! The endless silence, mediated by Bright Eyes or The Roots and occasional editorial meetings. We communicated via IM only, not talking. These witty, charismatic writers I'd so admired were just like US! Though they were in totally capable of pulling it together for tv appearances and media events -- w/r/t everyday social behavior, they'd just prefer to IM. They weren't rude or cliquey, they were just Writers.
Last week while cruising I observed Ross the Intern successfully charm all reader/meeters w/effortless accessibility, and Ross endears literally hundreds of commenters per post even though he calls vlogs "talkies" which grates me. Wired writes about Julia Allison creating her own stardom, I'm reading about how Sassy's insider-y hipsterdom attracted readers and alienated others and I'm planning a big project right now that explores these questions/walls ... so I've got all these questions?
Are writers supposed to be removed in some sense? And did I feel more comfortable writing about my life, the personal scathing parts of it, when I hadn't already seen so many of you eye-to-eye, and then felt you disappear, like the truth of my social performance betrayed the work? Did your secrets become my secrets? Did my secrets become broken records and you saw the band live already: loud, steady. But it doesn't make you dance anymore. It's those blank dumb eyes in the singer's sockets. Blink. Blink.
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I don't blog 'cause I wanna meet people in person, I blog instead of meeting people in person. I want community -- it's important to talk to people -- I'm so vigilant about comment responding 'cause I want everyone to know I'm compelled by their contributions. By "I never leave my apartment," maybe I mean; "Don't expect much when I do." 'Cause I'm ambivalent about the face-to-face thing. I've got no faith in it, I've always preferred writing & books for social behavior -- pen pals, 'zines, thinly veiled truthful novels, notes, letters, mailing lists, magazine, plays -- the internet's a convenient technological surprise. I've got a handful of people who I feel comfortable with socially and chances are if you've seen me out, you've seen me with them and that's why I'm there.
Or maybe we're talking and I'm often thinking: "How can I make up for what I'm doing in person via print over the next day/hour/week? How can written discourse fix my failures right now?" Can I write a blog for them and pretend it's for everyone?
Recently I met a woman who'd come into my life through my blog. We had dinner a few weeks ago, Caitlin and Alex came along. She later emailed me to ask: "Why is it that in writing (and perhaps even on the phone) your depth and substance implies a very well developed self reflexive quality, while in person you are almost alarmingly veiled — funny but massively shielded ... almost as if you've built a force-field of buffer personalities?"
Um. ?
++ Me: "I don't want to meet anyone else from my blog anymore, 'cause the thing is that once they meet me, I end up letting them down in some way that i manage to let down everyone in my life aside from maybe 3-4 people, and then they like me less than they did before." Stef: "I liked you way more before I met you in person." Me: "I know you did. See. Case in point."
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"I was afraid to be alone but now I'm scared that's how I'd like to beall these faces and none the same how can there be so many personalities?" -Azure Ray, "November"
Now I'll speak of exceptions: Caitlin (my best friend in the tri-state area, responsible for Saving my Life), Alex (my babypop) and Crystal (my co-worker & dear friend who exchanged emails with me for a year without any expectation of ever being 3-D friends due to her Australian residency) -- they comment more or the same as they used to, despite already knowing everything I'm talking about. So do most people I've just met here and there but never spent many hours with, or people that attend events but never request reciprocity.
So I should tell y'all now that actually I am a monkey named Xavier, and it's better you know now than be disappointed the next time we bump paws at a Dani Campbell-hosted lesbian event. You know, like, I'm a monkey, this is me, eat my ear.
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Way back in '06, Lozo and I were both invited to a lot of "NYC Blogger Meet-ups" and though we didn't know each other then, we later bonded about our refusal to attend. Worst case scenario; they think I'm awkward and gay, never read or comment again. Best case scenario; my blog becomes a play-by-play of the inside jokes volleyed about during our gloriously clever and snarky Prospect Heights bar hop. Also best case scenario is I'm on Bloggorhea more often, but that's defunct now, so whatevs, hey-o!
But then I started shifting my policy when my life turned inward -- from the real world to the cyber-world when the real world had done gone -- and picked up some incredible people during that time. We all did, but it felt organic, too. Like if real life was more present than cyber-life, it could've happened there too. I'd still be friends with Carly, Crystal, Stef, Caitlin, Alex, et al.
I have such love & support from these tangible internet peoples; I'm so grateful.
And y'know, happy to see Alex's blue eyes, etc.
But what else can happen?
Maybe we'll hang out once or twice and then I'll start flaking like I do with most of my friends and then you'll lose patience and refuse to comment as a protest of my personality.
Maybe we'll fall in love, and then again, and then becomes now and now we can't communicate in any formats, most of all this one.
Maybe you'll respond to my open invitation to an ambitious social meetup and it'll be the first time I've been out in months and I'll be overwhelmed by everything about that night and then afterwards you'll stop commenting, forever, and I'll feel bad, like maybe I did something wrong when we met.
Maybe you'll email me and I'll write you back or not and freak you out or charm you or not but either way I've broken the fourth wall by responding and it's DOWN and what now?
Maybe you're Lozo and you're punishing me for something, like not providing you with the grapefruits you desired late at night.
People I meet always tell me I'm much less awkward in person than I claim to be in print, but something still breaks during that physical connection that can't be fixed, I think. Why? I dunno, maybe it's harder to compliment when you've put a name to a face, harder to criticize when you're not anonymous, either.
It's hard for me to know why 'cause as a writer I have specific rules to how I behave online regardless of who I know and don't know, so I don't know what it's like for those who follow instinct rather than gospel -- it'd be like how I feel about teevee-watching compared to someone who works in the industry.
My first reader ever is in New York City right now, this week, and we've never met though she's the first person I'd never met that I actually loved like a flesh-and-blood friend. (Crystal became the second) After we'd communicated so much in the personal electronic realm, she stopped commenting here.
And I'm scared to meet her 'cause I've got this feeling that when the fourth wall falls down, she'll see a monkey and not a real girl, and this monkey will do tricks and eat bananas on her pinkberry and make a lot of noise but no music. And that nothing I write down before or after will be enough. I'll do it anyhow, because my want overrides my fear in this situation. That's unusual for me.
So anyhow, the reason I never write back is 'cause I don't want to lose you as a reader or as a commenter. It's because if you were to meet me you might find me alarmingly veiled. You might find Haviland alluringly veiled, which's why I always joke you should meet her instead of meeting me. I guess that's what I want to know how to do: become alluringly veiled or compellingly open or something altogether new that'll transcend three dimensions, regardless of if it smashes in the fourth wall to get there or just shortcuts around it. Do you know what I mean? If so, please comment, I'm genuinely asking.
Also I have this uncanny tendency to read vibes pretty full on, so I'll delete the paragraph about how absurd it is of me to even claim to matter to anything and go on to what happened next -- an event I dreamt about a few days ago, actually.
++
Before publishing this i went to the kitchen to make a waffle and my roommate told me I have to move out by September 1st. They're totally sweet kids, my roommates, but I don't think I was what they were expecting (I do required cleaning, pay bills, etc., but other kinds of differences) and they have a friend who needs to move in. I've been expecting this for a while -- I actually had a dream on the rosie cruise about him asking me to move out, which's funny I'm clearly a psychic-- and sometimes too I've been plotting my own conversation announcing my intent to leave (always deferred by logistical concerns), but it's an interesting conclusion to this particular ramblerambleramble. You know, about people meeting me.
I've got a little over six weeks to get it together, I'm thinking about fly-fishing in Northern Michigan.
Hello friends & family, welcome to your audio-visual entertainment one-stop megashop of the world wide webbernets. This week, in honor of Haviland's East Coast presence and a busy few weeks, we bring you our Third Very Famous Advice Column as a VLOG. This is Part One, containing only 50% of your feelings/our answers. I've also transcribed the questions below -- though slightly paraphrased and condensed -- in a fuller form than what we read on video. We thought it'd be best to read/answer live on camera, and as I'm presently cutting & pasting said questions, I'm realizing ... um. Well, we skimmed. We did what we could do!
Anyhow, definitely watch the movie first, it's funnier that way and it's kinda okay. You know I'm telling the truth, because that? What just happened? See what I did there? That's not what I do.
Right ... that was actually be the first time in my entire life I've recommended visual entertainment over reading. I never, ever, ever do that. Obvs the secret about flying lesbians and the video Papi sent us from her cave are in the video.
Tune in to find out how to be a bisexual, have a climax, and overcome your addiction to sex with pineapples.
Dear H&R,
If you'd told me four years ago I'd ever fall for a girl, I'd have laughed in your face -- all my relationships were with boys. My senior year of high school I had a drunken makeout with my best friend -- a girl -- and while hammered we made out a few more times that summer, but it was always innocent. Now we remember it as wild, reeling with our impending independence, fundamentally ridiculous, etc. I went to college and dated boys, did bad things, and eventually met a boy I thought was the one. When we broke up two years later, we didn't stay friends 'cause we'd been such assholes during the breakup.
Senior year of college I was heartbroken & alcoholic, trying to have fun. Then I met a girl. We were both straight but we started having weird feelings we'd never had for a girl before and eventually (drunk of course) we finally made out. We freaked out, decided it was a mistake ... and we failed future attempts to not talk or just be platonic when we did. We didn't know what we were doing, so we drank a lot and said "fuck it, let's give it a shot." We tried to keep it casual, "Papi Doesn't Do Breakfast," etc., but when we were sober (an increasingly frequent state) it got really relationship-y. We'd freak out. WTF OMG. Why am I in love with a girl. Dated on and off for about a year but ultimately she was uncomfortable about being with a girl forevs, due to her traditional family. It's been mostly a surprisingly amicable/healthy break-up. We love each other but know it's not right.
We both date boys now. When my gaymo friends take me to the bar, I don't look at anyone. Am I just attracted to straight girls? Are there any other weirdos out there like me? Is it possible to just go gay for one person? I've always considered myself a Kinsey 5, but then there's that year-long aberration ... am I not being open-minded enough?
Also ... since I've never had an ex-girlfriend before ... we're both affectionate still. Haven't entirely adjusted to the "just friends" thing. I don't think we want anything to happen, but we do non-sexy cuddling that I don't do w/my other female friends. Is that weird? How do you stay "just friends" w/an ex w/o ever acting inappropriate? (i.e.. If they come to visit you from out of town are you supposed to make them sleep on the couch or floor to prevent non-sexy cuddling from happening while you're sleeping?) How do you and Haviland do it??
-Unable to Solve For Ex
[I'd like to add to the plethora of coverage in the vlog ... that anecdotally -- I feel stories like yours usually end up in one or the other or both going back to girls at some point, even if not permanently. Y'know, like in Brokeback Mountain and many popular lesbian romantic comedies. JK, no such thing, but in many books, movies and teevee shows, as well as amongst my friends. In fact, my personal story's not so different from yours, I guess. Ultimately my advice is ... it sounds to me like you're curious about what could happen if you let it ... and if you feel this lingering curiosity is preventing you from getting serious with a boy right now, then look at that and figure out what to do with it. If not, then just keep on living/loving/laughing and see what happens. It took me about six years to acclimate to the possibility myself -- and I come from a liberal town with a gay mom, went to art school, live in New York City, and have befriended a significant number of attractive gay female friends. I'd recommend you read Tipping the Velvet & A Woman Like That & Surface Tension and take The L Word 'What Character are You?" quiz on facebook.
So my friend, the world is your bisexual oyster. Eat it up/out.] [I realized we just assumed this was written by a woman, though I don't know why made that assumption. Hm. Unless I left something behind while paraphrasing.]
Dear H & R,
My girlfriend and I have the beginnings of a problem. Its a sex thing so if you consider that an inappropriate topic please stop reading and hit delete. I promise not to be offended.
For about two weeks it's been difficult for her to reach climax during sex. She wants sex, but it happens even when she's the initiator. It's not that she's physically unable, 'cause she eventually does, and it's less intense. It doesn't actually bother me, but it bothers her, like I'm waiting on her or something, and I don't wanna do that. She says there's nothing different she'd like to try and our relationship hasn't suffered yet.
But I feel a little inadquete even though she says it's not me and don't know what to do/say.
We've been together for almost 10 years, there's been no other recent changes in our lives, she's not cheating ..
Thanks, Story of O Dear Riese and Haviland,
For many years, I have lived in fear. I have many, many demons that I am afraid to even speak of, for fear that once let loose upon the Internet, they will haunt me forever. But you two ladies seem very worldly and wise (and have great asses, too), so I think you can help me with my problems.
First and foremost, I have a problem with fruit. And it's not allergies, phobias or anything that simple. You see, I am uncontrollably attracted to fruit products, and I am unable to make it through a day without having sex with a piece of fruit.
You name it, I've boinked it . Watermelon, regular melon, grapes (sadly) and coconuts. Those were always the toughest, but hey, you don't go to Hawaii on vacation to not fuck a coconut, you know? Ha! LOL OMG!
But my addiction is out of control. I have to order Fresh Direct these days because grocery stores won't let me in anymore. If I walk past all that fruit, it's too much. Do you know what it's like to have security toss you outside with your pants down and you erection impaled on an apple? Of course you don't.
I've tried getting off fruit on my own, but it's just too hard. There's no patch for my addiction, so I tried to ween myself off fruit sex by wrapping my johnson in fruit roll-ups. Alas, it just heightens the excitement. I am at a complete loss.
Are there support groups? Clubs? I'm desperate here. If you can solve this problem for me, I'll let you know of my other deep, dark secrets.
OMG, LOL, LMAO, ROTFLMAO, OMFG, Whatevs, Fruit Salad Jones
Clearly I'll believe almost anything for at least a minute if you yell at me loud enough, but it's never been difficult to win me over re: the possibility that we're spiraling slowly/quickly into mass apocalyptic extinction -- especially after George W. took office. Then, last year; getting my nails manicured black, listening to Lavar Burton (from Reading Rainbow and Star Trek: TNG, two of my fave shows!) and James Earl Jones perform The Book of Revelation for "The Bible Experience" audiobook (I like to educate myself via i-pod during mani-pedi time) (I'm a weirdo), I looked outside at April's snow and thought "yup, we're totally in for it."
Luckily, I'm Jewish and don't believe in Revelation, and 'cause the Jews are Chosen I'll probs survive the apocalypse anyhow ... um ... I actually have 'the apocalypse' as a tag, which is telling ... Where was I? I'm sick. I used Carly's chapstick last night before confessing my sickness, so I've been trying to downplay my sickness since then to relieve the guilts I've got over that. Coincidentally, I'm also getting way better.
Sidenote, not related to apocalyptic anything -- in fact quite the opposite! -- we went to the NewNowNext Awards last night and Alex and I pretended to be real reporters (and Cait pretended to be a real cameraperson) for "The L Word Online," the video's gonna be kickass!! I just need to learn Final Cut. Erum today maybe? Look at Michelle Paradise and Tinkerbell! They're so cute and clearly in love!
"What's that, Tinkerbell? You wanna go to the awards with me?" * Seriously, this video is going to be amazing! More about that later. Back to Top Ten Signs of the Apocalypse! I feel like this post is old-school autowin. *
... Right! Yesterday at the gym I was watching The View (cue endgame music) and all these ladies -- there's four of them, they're all shiny with serious hair and they are all Not Rosie -- agreed that the end is nigh. They were so casual about it. "Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised," etc.
Then I flipped the channel to MTV during a commercial and confirmed immediately that the world'll probs end in 2010 for sure.
* Tuesday Top Eight: Signs of the Apocalypse
8) My Super Sweet 16
The birthday girl hopes it'll be Usher, or someone like that, someone with a name like Skee-Lo or Lil' Romeo, and meanwhile in a gigantic clear wind tank labeled 'Daddy's Money,' other sixteen-year-olds have 20 seconds each to grab for dollar bills. Some kiss the money, some stuff it in their shiny white suits (they're all wearing white, it's a white party), omg, it's the musical guest -- but it's not Usher, it's two ballerinas. They're not wearing white, but they're graceful and talented and for the first time since the 45 seconds prior that I flipped to this channel to begin with, I'm actually interested. Something beautiful is actually happening.
The birthday girl disagrees -- she's horrified, "Oh my GOD this is so embarrassing, what was he thinking?!" she says. She's losing the crowd, her friends are giggling/whispering/aghast. She has failed to provide K-Fed or Kriss Kross. Her father slips into the background, avoiding the camera's reproach, as the birthday girl asks the DJ to stop the music right now, everyone hates it. "I'm here to party, not to see the like, ballet," one dude, the scent of money still fresh on his skin, laments. Anyhow, all is forgiven, her present pulls up outside: "Oh my God," a friend drops jaw for the camera. "She got a new Lexus. I'm so jealous."
All is forgiven. Let us rejoice!
I actually didn't know anyone who had a Sweet 16, is it normal to have one? I guess I went to a lot of Bar/Bat Mitzvahs, though.
7) Another Shot at Love With Tila Tequila
Ok so let's say hypothetically that you're in a swimming pool with a girl you fancy. There's approx. 50 others in the pool, one's named Glitter, the dudes are named Bo, Jay, etc. -- one-syllable words they'll later hurl at each other with the fury of a thousand tattoos of suns. Then, your fancied girl starts making out w/three other girls, and then she makes out with two other dudes, and then makes out with about 100 other people right there.
Would you: a) Think "OMG, I love this girl, she's the one for me." b) Try to start a fight with whomever's kissing her. c) Boil over with jealousy because she is your one true love, you guys hung out for three minutes yesterday, it was awesome, you're in love, wtf. d) Get out of the pool and be like, "this show isn't about bisexuality, it's about polyamory, which is totes fine, but also not my thing clearly as I've been brainwashed into believing she's my one and only soulmate, and also, Tila is dumb, I'm gonna go nap on that big-ass bed while all these losers duke it out in the pool." e) Make like Ophelia and drown.
6) Our Stummies Hurt
As a wee lassie, I'd call my stomach my "stummy." Get it? Stomach + tummy = stummy. It often hurt. Everyone's stomach often hurts. In fact, I don't know any woman who doesn't have some kind of serious stomach issue. I think this's 'cause the food industry's semi-evil. We eat crap, everything, unless we're just eating organic, which's expensive, and sometimes not organic. I love string cheese, sidenote. Maybe I'll have one right now. I try not to eat lunch-related foods before 11:15. That's when Fourth Hour starts at Interlochen, a.k.a first lunch period.
"The world is ending out there and people are just getting cosmetic surgery and watching debutantes get screwed up the ass." (Claire, Six Feet Under)
5) OMG WTF LMAO ROFL
I read this article and my first thought was, OMG, if the Sex and the City movie is already sold out, I'm gonna be so pissed. THEN! I saw this, which is a timeline of when things'll go extinct in the future, and thought OMG, it's fate. Then I realized "I just thought 'OMG' twice and it's only 9:30. I've been awake since 7, when I awoke to cough. It was so much fun I figured I'd just stay up, and write nonsense all morning long. OMG. Blogging is supposed to go out in 2020, which is good, I'll probs run out of ideas by then. Or perhaps I already have!
4) Save the Cheerleader, Save the World
I started watching Heroes last year 'cause Haviland wouldn't stop yapping about it. After Episode One I told her I couldn't go on, it was making me feel crazy -- believe in magical powers, especially w/r/t apocalypse prevention -- but I started watching again. I'm about six eps in. It's making me feel crazy again, but I'm at peace with that, 'cause it's just so good.
3) My Requisite Angela Chase Moment
Things are one way, here's the evidence, things are another way, here's more. Write someone off, then back in, love them then hate them. It's easy, then, to make a case for just about anything ... for or against almost anyone. I'm gullible, sure, but I don't know many people strong enough in their convictions to never change their mind, or flip-flop. I used to think it was me -- I'm the one changing from one kind of person to another kind of person -- but now I think no; the facts can often line up neatly and eagerly on both sides no matter how still I stand, almost everyone's got a case, and no-one really knows what happened. The world is ending, it'll go on forever, it's ending in 2010, if we lived in Burma or Iraq, it's possible we'd feel it's already ended.
2) Check this out: Monday 12th - Tegan & Sara concert Thursday 15th - Uh Huh Her in Philadelphia Saturday 17th - Carly's housewarming (gay!), Alex's friend's rooftop b-day party (kinda gay!) Monday 19th - Logo NewNowNext Awards Tuesday 20th - Uh Huh Her in NYC
That's what I've been doing. Seriously, gayest.week.ever. After tonight I'm not leaving my apartment again until Ellen & Portia's wedding. This has nothing to do with the apocalypse, I just wanted to chat.
1) Doesn't this feel like a countdown? Like now I'll be like, kazaam! Where's Will Smith?
But there's lots of reasons why the world might not be ending: like the gay marriage ban being lifted in California, or that right now most of my friends seem to be recovering from things rather than going through them. There's forgiveness still, and hope. There's misunderstanding, too, but also hoodies and lip gloss and kissing and Uh Huh HER.
You know how when you're sick, you hear everything like you're stuck inside a giant plastic bag? That's how I feel now, but it'll pass. It's like jittery and hollow and rainy, and made me write all this nonsense. Which is incoherent, but in my mind, has a thesis, maybe even five paragraph, and fireworks at the end.
A'ight ... first off a brief Autowin PSA. This'll be like a Lozo PSA, except without the big-girl bashing ... or like a TV PSA ... except I'm certainly not about to tell you "don't do drugs," that'd be boring. Do drugs, come on, you only live once, and you defo only overdose like 2-3 times, max. No seriously. Also, I won't tell you who to vote for (*cough* Obama), or if you should choose recycled or unrecycled paper. I'm gonna talk about myself. That's right. Mememeememe. For a change.
I don't talk about this stuff, because I think it's on my Top Ten list of lame things to talk about ... but, although my friends enjoy mocking me (as per their writings [(1) OMG Stef's cartoon recap is up! LOLZ!] and recent comments), the truth is ... I'm a big huge rockstar, and whomevs wants to yell at me on the street (please use only my rockstar name, Van Halen) (Haha! I'm so funny! I mean, Automatic Win!) should go for it. It fuels my big rockstar ego and I'm totes used to it. Later, me and Penny Lane and the other girls, we go down to the river, and we see our friends at the record store.
No fo'reals reals, as at least 4-5 people can attest but really only I can say for sure ('cause only I receive my ingoing and outgoing correspondences with excellent verbal and oral communication skills), I do from time to time receive emails/comments, or hear people know about me from friends, or witness real live-conversations regarding recognizing me ... and sometimes also people talk to me! In public!
It's more likely, however, that I'll get an email the next day, probs 'cause I talk about my social awkwardness often, therefore I: a) have socially awkward readers, b) have non-socially awkward readers who don't know how to talk to someone who's already explained 100 times that they don't know how to talk, period. Therefore, they don't wanna talk to me 'cause they don't wanna risk a panic attack or, really, anything involving me responding in "not the cowboy way" or in a way not evident of the aforementioned rock stardom. c) I'm not a very exciting person to meet, 'cause I'm weird/not actually a rockstar.
I remember I the first blogger I really read was waking vixen, and I'd see her places but never say anything, because I'm a weirdo. Then she posted a post saying, "Hey, if you see me, say hello," or something to that effect. I'm certainly not going to go that far -- if you see me, feel free to say hello, but also, feel free to say nothing, or to write later, though I'm bad at writing back (I'm better at passive forms of procrastination, like "reading emails") ...
Anyhow, this was leading to some sort of point ... oh! I'm sure about 25% of you are socially less awkward than me, and actually might consider yelling at me on the street, and I just want to be sure that no one is deterred form doing so in the future by thinking it's a revolutionary act based on all the recent chatter. 'Cause it's funny, and awesome, and rocks like a rockstar.
Oh also, from my top ten favorite second-hand stories ... someone asked my roommate, upon her reveal that auto-win was her roommate, if I was "that crazy in real life." (Yes!) (No!)
Anyhow, I have the whole "omg, it's so awkward," routine down pat, I do the same thing every time, it's actually a whole new kind of lame. It's much easier w/Haviland, 'cause she's good at conversational arts. Also, you can just throw money at me, or yourself/your body. The latter option has offered thus far a 100% success rate.
If I'm out in public, chances are, I'm already drunk, and therefore vulnerable to your wanton affections. This is how I always end up in an alley somewhere, up to my elbows in won-tons. Like the soup!
OK, that's all. Really, only 20 people read this blog, the rest of the commenters are just me jerking around. That doesn't fly for The L Word Online, I'm not taking responsibility for 75% of those commenters, but also, I'm not certain they read my recaps, I think they just have a lot of Bettina related feelings they want to share ASAP.
--
On youtube, "Videos being watched right now ..." is like 'everything that is wrong with the world. Terrible pop star, bloody sports, emo tree, something involving glitter, girl with her red thong panties around her ankles. Ta-da, this is America!
--
I've been thinking lately about increasing leisure -- remembering a time before I was determined to exist with 150% productivity at all times and never be at rest. As long as I haven't finished (or started) the proverbial book (which really exists on a symbolic level at this point), haven't paid off my debt, or had seven babies and eaten pickles with cream cheese in my bunny slippers, I haven't earned leisure (the latter doesn't count as "leisure," 'cause even though there's slippers, I'm preparing for birthing ritual). Howevs, I've decided that I'm going to take unearned leisure from now on, to prevent losing my mind.
Sidenote: Hanging out w/a friend counts as "doing something" 'cause "hang out with ____" is one of the things you can put on your to-do list and then cross off right away, I like to have as many of those things as possible. E.g., "email Mom," and then I'm like, omg, just did!
Speaking of Leisure ... tonight, Philadelphia here we come! A;ex and Cait and I are heading to Uh Huh Her. We're a bit worried that Rovermom might be there, and if so, I'd like to let her know especially that emailing the next day is fine, let's not throw punches.
Auto-Fun!With your host, me, the girl that writes this little blog. I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream! *
quote: "When I was 28, four or five years after I quit playing music, I married a postmistress. Because she was pretty. Because she was sweet and she loved me. So that we could have two sons who could both be drummers like their dad. For those reasons. But also so I wouldn't have to wait for my mail. Because there's a letter coming, a letter from the actor James Dean. And here's what it will say: If the life you lead is not the one you dreamed about, then flee." (Rick Moody, "The James Dean Garage Band.") links:
@ Granta: (2) Web Habits of Highly Effective People. A.L. Kennedy, who I mentioned before 'cause he wrote my least favorite story in The Book of Other People says, "I don't blog or Facebook. If I want to write, I'd rather do it to some kind of definable end."
He's got a point. But it's funny that it's him, specifically, making this point -- the author responsible for that story I hated -- howevs, I did preface my dislike with my recognition of the fact that A.L Kennedy is more successful than I'll ever be.
Now I'm blogging about blogging about hating Kennedy's story 'cause Kennedy himself said --in an article I'm blogging about right now -- that not-blogging is the secret to his success, and if that's not meta, then, well, I QUIT. Also, someone make up a abrev for "meta," STAT, I've got monkeys to save. The tornado isn't going to stop on its own accord.
Also, via the same Granta piece ... Maud Newton's (3) detailing of her ADD-writing habits, which reminded me of my own, almost exactly. I relate to Amanda Gersh's habits. Oh, Granta, how perfect this piece is for me today! A success! Unlike me, much like A.L Kennedy.
'Cause I have this theory? [cue Angela Chase theme music] That my time managment issues relate to me being my own boss. My own motivator. It's hard to come up with daily self-motivation. Probs all the world feels this way, which's why other people work at the dairy queen & are closely supervised at all times. Clearly I'm too hard on myself, and deserve a pat/rub on the back.
Obvs I like to limit my perusal of book criticism to one author and one author only, Uh Huh Her, I mean, Sam Anderson, but (5) I love any reviewer who opens with: ""Bright Shiny Morning" is a terrible book." Usually I think all book sales are good for publishing and therefore won't bash authors, but James Frey is not good for publishing, bash away.
My internet's been in and out all day -- I'd rather just have it or not, this way's such a tease. The articles are taking full hours to load, it's pretend dial-up. I write an email, and 40 minutes later, it sends! It reminds me of downloading songs overnight many moons ago ... sticking in a CD to burn, leaving home for a semester, then returning to find it: Ree's Hot Mix, Happy Hannukah to ME!
OMG, the plus-sized girl won on (6) America's Next Top Model! Oh, it's a hoax, obvs, everyone knows plus-sized models aren't real, like unicorns and fraggles.
Critical Mass has an (7) interview with Jeff Gordiner on his book "How Generation X is Saving the World." And he includes this Borges quote, which I love:
quote #2: "A man who cultivates his garden, as Voltaire wished/He who is grateful for the existence of music./He who takes pleasure in tracing an etymology./Two workmen playing, in a cafe in the South, a silent game of chess./The potter, contemplating a color and a form./The typographer who sets this page well though it may not please him./A woman and a man, who read the last tercets of a certain canto./He who strokes a sleeping animal./He who justifies, or wishes to, a wrong done him./He who is grateful for the existence of Stevenson./He who prefers others to be right./These people, unaware, are saving the world." (Borges, "The Just")
Let's finish up: (8) The Chicago Tribune insists that "no man" should be forced to sit through the Sex and the City movie. Stef, Cait and I had a serious team meeting last week regarding the fact that we've already put May 30th in our calenders and have been looking into getting tickets online. Errr/Durrr. (@the chicago tribune) (9) I'm still not entirely certain why people la-la-la-love these Nintendo Wii machines, but apparently they can now also work out?: "Wii Fit" (@ny times) (10) Science has confirmed that all the neurotic people live in New York City and THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call "bringing it back around." Thank you and goodnight. (@the boston globe)
As I mentioned last week (in great hyperlinked detail), December is National List-Writing Month, which is for me how African-American History Month is for people from history who were African-American. But this randomized December weekend has left me stumped for the absolute best list to construct. There's a good one in the newest preview for The L Word, which actually convinced me for two minutes that it might be good next season, but like seriously. I'm also at peace with the death of Dana Fairbanks and I'll tell you why in the first Season Five recap, but that could have something to do with my open mind, ready to accept Ilene Chaiken into my life. In fact, I've decided to write her a series of haikus over the course of the month. Here's the first:
Ilene. Are you mean? It will remain to be seen. Hey, nice new haircut.
HEY GUYS: This isn't finished. Just a heads-up. Just thought I'd put something here overnight to simmer and ideally delight, like a pie on the windowsill.
Also speaking of OurChart I'm not gonna be your friends plus unless we really did make out, and even then, probs not, 'cause really Papi? That's between me and myself and I, and sometimes Lozo.
Anyhow, back to Autowin. For those of you that don't watch TLW, I'd suggest that you just imagine I'm talking about real people, real friends, and find it amusing that way. Mr. Redacted's ass-kissing assistant did, so you may as well too. Anyhoooooo .... I considered the following: Best quotes, moments, "things I've learned," worst moments, biggest surprises, the little things that got me through it all, best people, best whatevs. I dunno. I'm drawing a blank. So when in doubt, someone once said somewhere: write what you know. And this here be what I know.
SUNDAY TOP TEN: TOP 10 WEIRDOS OF 2007
10. Everyone In Planet Harlem
My neighborhood is essentially an open air insane asylum, and, if you've been paying attention, you're aware that I know from insane asylums. (Sidenote: If you haven't, let me clarify -- I've never personally been committed, though this dude I worked with at the OG used to tell me I reminded him of Heather Graham in the movie "Committed," and then I saw it, and she's obvs a total lunatic in that movie, and it's called "committed," get it?). In fact, we call it Planet Harlem 'cause of heckler's legendary comment to me one fine Summer afternoon: "Welcome to Planet Harlem, white girl." Actually, though people tend to think I'm just talking crazy when I say this: the reason that I cut my hair off was 'cause I was sick of people yelling at me all the time on the street, 'cause 125th is super-congested: apocalyptic literature vendors, super-aggro homeless people, incense salesman, DVD selling dudes and HECKLERS. The worst is the construction people slaving away on Harlem's constant gentrification building projects. I just wanted all these dudes to stop fucking yelling at me so I cut off my hair, wore baggier pants, and guess what, it totally worked. Also helpful: staying indoors 24/7.
9. Natasha on America's Next Top Model
Natasha may not've turned out to literally be a mail-order bride (just a randomized 18-year old Russian girl who married a fortysomething American dude and popped out a baby faster than McDonald's pops out a special-ordered cheeseburger sans-toppings), but she is hands-down-totes the most amazing person to ever appear on ANTM. She refuses to accept negative feedback, pretendin as if it's all positive. "When you name something, you can spell it as wrong or as right as you want." See, if you believe that you can spell words however you want to and then delcare your misspelling actually CORRECT by creating your own NEW RULE about ENGLISH, you auto-win. She was a magical Russian Sponge of Tyra-Insanity Delight. Some of her best moments were in this episode. Tyra, p.s., is too much of a cunt to be a weirdo.
There's just so much to learn about turning a negative into a positive from Natasha, like next time girls talk shit behind your back, just think: "This girls, they are very, very into my behavior. Every move I do, they watch me."
8. Haviland
You guys, Haviland is a total weirdo. She may seem normal, and I go to great lengths to enhance this illusion, but she's a total weirdo. E.g., she emailed us last week to announce the arrival of her new white bikini. What's funny is probs 500 people reading this right now are like "I wish I'd gotten that email." No but really, she is, just trust me. Obvs in the best way ever, etc. Like what makes Haviland's weirdohood work so well is that though I am a much bigger weirdo, it's in a totally different way. Like, I've got a lot of weirdo things in common with many of my closest friends, but Haviland's weirdo things always surprise and amuse and compel me. And for that, and many other things, I love hpsdiva.
FourFour, who reaps America's Next Top Model and is linked above (re: Natasha) does "pretty parties" at the end of each recap, it's a screencap fiesta. So I did a Weirdo Party for Haviland.
7. Amy Sedaris
Amy is my favorite weirdo. She is the funniest weirdo living right now, I just cannot get over how effin fantastic she is especially with cheeseballs. Just read this brill interview of her in The Believer, she even gets all profound at the end. She's what I aspire to be -- gutsy, totally un self-conscious, genuine, and truly dedicated to laughter above all else. Also, her brother David is pretty fucking awesome, even if his last two books seemed underwhelming, nothing's ever made me LOL so much as Naked. He tells funny weirdo stories about her.
6. These Randomized Girls on OurChart:
my ourchart
Once upon a time, Carly and I both had girlfriends and then around the same time we both didn't, and we weren't feeling so hot. And ... as we all know, the best place to find new love is on OurChart, so we went looking. And by that I mean we weren't looking for love on OurChart, we just thought it'd be funny to stay up all night on i-chat making fun of local OurChart ladies. If you're one of the few we chose to pay attention to and you're randomly reading this blog -- first of all, congrats on your newfound mastery of the English language -- I'd apologize but srsly I'm helping you out here, you need to fix your profile or you are never going to have sex with Jennifer Beals, sorz. Neither am I, like I'm a totes lost cause, but I want you to be happpyyyy like unicorns. As much as I'd like to, I'm not linking to the actual profiles we discussed 'cause I'm fundamentally, I think, a good person, most of the time. Except like, not right now for a minute. I mean, my profile's also retarded. OK, it's not as retarded as the girls we're talking about.
OH FYI 'People from history you'd like to have at a dinner party" is on the list of things you need to say about yourself. I said Strunk & White and Dana Fairbanks, obvs, and Tara looked up Dana Fairbanks thinking she must be some feminist author or something, and then found out the truth.
Anyhow, here we are talking about these weirdos. We probs went through about 20 profiles. Each convo is generally about a different person.
Carly: : SHE DOESNT PUT SPACES AFTER COMMAS Me: I KNOW! And her dinner party is gonna be CAH-RAZY * Me: Also there's that photo of her ass. That could also not be her ass Carly: I want to venture out on a limb here and say that it's not Me: What are the 'southern continents' she wants to travel to exactly? Southern continents are like, Australia? I'm so confused by her. Carly: Southern continents? like, the South Pole region? Me: Everything about her is confusing. How did she get this far in life without learning how to spell? Carly: Which one is south? antarctica or the arctic? Me: Um, I know not what she speaks of. Carly: I don't know. but i would like to visit it. Me: I mean, that ass a damn southern continent if I ever saw one. * Carly: Ok, now this one... I'm sure she's nice, and there's a possibility she could be marginally attractive? (maybe, I'm being nice) but is that really the best photo you had? Really? Me: I like that for music she just lists Rock and R & b "Rock." right. ROCK! ... DUDE: "Story of real murders life instreats me ..."I would love to go to scoutland. It looks really butiful and i would love to see it." Carly: hahahaha. Scoutland huh? That sounds fun! Me: It actually does! A bunch of scouts?! * Carly: "Hi, my tagline isn't grammatically correct." Me: AASHADHHHFHASFH is all I have to say about "your." Carly: That specific grammatical issue is listed on my myspace as a serious dislike. * Me: I like how she writes "lets see..." before her list of movies ... like she's thinking as she writes "hmm ... EVERYLESBIANMOVIEEVER" Carly: Aw this poor girl's tagline is "where are all the smart girls?" ... um ... NOT ON OURCHART. Me: haha Carly: Which, hm, we're on ourchart ... BUT that's cause you're a guestbian and im a masochist. Me: ... Haviland's on it. And Tara and Lainy. And Ilene Chaiken is on it! Carly: Fuck Ilene Chaiken. fuck her right in the ear. Me: guestbian=masochist * [sidenote: We know everyone's on OurChart, or like, most lesbians are. Wanna know why? Well ... why not? Totes we are all on OurChart, I heart OurChart, the Chart That is Ours. I should write another Guestbian column, any ideas?] * Carly: Nice photo, brooooo Me: Dude, I bet she fucks girls with that hair Carly: .. and grammar errors Me: I mean literally * Me: Yikes American History X is her first fave movie. TROUBLED TEEN ... "Snowboarding!!!" Why does that get so many extra exclamation points? * Carly: WHAT DOES THAT TAG LINE EVEN MEAN? Me: It means: "I am retarded." ... "and probs a cunt." Carly: hey whut up yo broz" ... "hay shawty" Me: Actually: "What is going on, young ladies? It is --" ... ... I give up. Carly: I'm crying Me: Dude -- "Not afraid to argue wit me. have a screaming match" Carly: Read: "i will punch you out, sucka" Me: she's like "I will throw my Mom's best vase that she won at Atlantic City right at your head, bitch" * Carly: This girl just added me. Me: "Gypsy, tramp, theif" Carly: OMG IT'S SHANE. Me: DUDE, you found shane! ... She likes The Tudors. Carly: ew. * Me: Dude, I think dominiqueoxoxousousad is a porn star. I mean seriously? her favorite movies? ... She doesn't speak english. Carly: I know right. * Carly: Magazines: "maxium" Me: MAXIUM? You're spelling a retarded magazine WRONG? Carly: This girl kinda looks like my friend Stef except my friend Stef is way hotter Me: Whwatt/??!? Carly: Also she likes Slipknot and is a republican? * Carly: No I've got your porn star right here: [link] Me: dominiquexo might be fun to sleep with if you were like, 18 and had just come out. Carly: Yeah Me: But she'd probably keep calling ... * Me: omg i feel dirty already looking at this new one Carly: I think not, re: tagline. Me: Is that the demonstration? on her pic? Carly: hahahahahaha Me: ... of how she'll have me cumming? Carly: in her bathroom, it would seem Me: seriously her name is NOT Aska Lala ... because that is MY NAME ...starting now. Carly: her name is Asdf Jkl; ... (home row, what what!) Me: holla * Me: Wait did you link me to the horse stable girl? Carly: I think so Me: Awww she likes Jewish girls. And poetry! ..occupation "horse stable worker" ...sketchy ... I changed mine to "crack dealer." ... which isn't sketchy at all. * Carly: This one is my favorite: Me: Oh gross i'm gonna barf. Seriously Wayne. ..."Strength in body and mind someone like my father.... stand up or me fight for me but gentle enough to cry with at night when I am araid" ... I'm araid too of your spelling of the word "afraid." eirdo. ... this is GENIUS: "I am very eclectic from movies to walks in the park to hanging in the city with friends,having coffe in abook store reading for hours to Bdsm" ... how she just busts out with BDSM at the end?! ... and then aAGAIN as a guilty pleasure? Carly: I seriously cant breathe I'm laughing so hard ... Me: like she's trying to slip it in like no one will notice ... like they'll read it and then afterwards be like "wait...did she say... that she likes it rough?" * Carly: Marilyn is self employed. I think you'll see why. * Me: Wow also though like "isolated lesbian looking for a new life online" um ... therapy? ...Jesus. Carly: Seriously. Me: Tanya, get your shit together! Carly: No ourchart is therapy. Me: Good point ... at least she uses complete sentences ..."my favorite movie is..." * Me: Everyone on ourchart is retarded! Carly: This girl is ready to fuck shit up ... she thought that picture would help her get pussy ...also, she's a nurse? ...really? Me: I know she's totally talking in the Gwen voice "Come over and I'll stick these UP YOUR VAGINA" Carly: TFLLL ... "hi my name is gwen" * Carly: Also except does not = accept. Me: Um ... occupation ... please look right now ...and tell me what you think about her struggles ... and where they could be coming from. Carly: Maybe she's a "struggeling writer" too Me: Probs Carly: She's INVOLVED? lord. Me: She's so mysterious about her personality, and so revealing about her pores Carly: Ok we've exhausted NJ ... damn, that was incredible. Me: Whew. * Carly: [link] omg, i am in love ... guilty pleasures: SEX. ...HOTTT. Me: do you think that after having sex, she'll leave her shirt? ...she lives EVERYWHERE? Carly: she is OMNIPRESENT ... I should change my profile to include only responses that would be made by Trudy Weigel on Reno 911. interests: cats. collecting thimbles. spooning. Me: Totally ... you might attract a lot of weirdos Carly: True. Me: Just warning you. Carly: Which is why I'm not. Going to do that. Me: I'm gonna attract a lot of people who like crack. The drug. Carly: I'm only a masochist to a certain degree. Me: Yes. I think we all are. "We all" = me.
5. The Entire Cast of A Shot at Love With Tila Tequilla, except Dani, and Tila, who's too boring to be weird
The clips show really spelled it all out for me. V. helpful, especially considering I've been speaking about this show w/o actually watching it for a majority of the season. That country boy didn't know anyone's name, Vanessa was drunk drunk drunk the whole time, everyone wrestled in vats of chocolate pudding AND it turns out that Amanda's a victim of the EXACT plague that's always prevented me from pursuing a career in reality television (yes, the only thing, the one and only thing, otherwise I'd be amazingly racing the bachelorette all over temptation fucking island to become the top chef for a real housewife of orange county once we stop being polite and start getting real). Amanda was just being sarcastic, y'all! When you listen to her talk for a while, you realise she's just making fun of the dumb blonde thing, but they cut out all the stuff that may've made you realise what a genuine person she was. No lie. Totes love Amanda. She's no Dani, but she's a funny lady.
4. These Guys (Alex/Semicolon, Riese, Haviland, Stef, the spirit of Cait)
3. Jenny Schecter
Oh, Jenny. In Season One, when the writing was good, you were a resolutely unlikeable person. You played the bi card all wrong and broke hearts like they were cheap mugs filled with cheap merlot you'd accidentally knocked over on your way to the Chunky Monkey. You were every writer's worst nightmare: you thoroughly mined your past and its accordant pains and tragedies -- your rape, your simple sadness and isolation, your state of being: a lonely little lez in the Midwest (On "The L Word," the proverbial lonely Midwestern Lez is often exploited for Her Full Lonely Potential)-- for moments of carnival clarity ... and ended up wringing real emotion dry in favor cheap sentimental angry gut-pouring memoir sold as fiction which by Season Four was pissing everyone off. You'd written about your friends, lacking even the ability to mask their named adaquetly. And you could've fought back normally, as your prior character suggested, by being all whacky and neurotic and shit (while the equally insane lesbians go tsk tsk Jenny), but instead! Instead! In Season Four, you just got abso-fucking-lutely awesome. You killed a dog to get to the girlfriend of the girl who gave you a bad book review in Curve magazine. I mean that is pretty effin awesome. Also, I met her! Stacey Merkin. She's totally rad. Jenny's lines of brilliance were so beautiful, they became Moments.
This is Jenny sitting happily with her choice to turn More Girls into a musical. With the Ditty Bops! I hope they get Amy Ray and Emily Saliers in on this gig.
"The thing is that the vagina's girlfriend was molested and now she's like this perfect saint, which is just like, awesome, and I was abused and I'm like this fucked up nitwit, but that was my experience, and that's mine and I don't know why she's slamming my own experience though!" (Jenny)
2. TB
When Tara was TB (a.k.a. manic), she'd concoct the strangest dinners of all time. When I cooked for us I'd make a bunch of food, scoop my portion onto my plate and then return to the pan, dump a bunch of hot sauce on the rest of it, mix it up, and dump that on her plate. Similar to the process I used when cooking for my ex-boyfriend who needed to melt American cheese on everything. (What's crazier? You decide.)
She just needed everything spicy, everything illuminated in the chili-pepper/star/red blaring type they use on Chinese take-out menus to warn you what you're getting into: what your mouth's just signed up for. You know, the footnote1 they put on the menus: VERY HOT. Like ... life was on overdrive & pumped up, hypo-manic thought patterns setting brain on fire, and thus, also the tongue, too, needed to be on fire. It needed half a jar of crushed red pepper flakes, needed salt&pepper&basil&oregano&garlic salt and several generous dollups of Tabasco & hot sauce. It needed scrambled eggs with spinach and onions and asparagus and tomatoes and mushrooms and garlic cloves and chives and terriyaki sauce and soy sauce and sesame oil and olive oil. 3 A.M., Macbethish over the stove, and I'd be laughing (you have to sometimes, you have to), "Oh my GOD I can't believe you're actually going to eat that, that looks like an accident ... your stomach can seriously handle anything," and she'd laugh (you have to) "My stomach hates me." I'd say: "No, your liver, your liver hates you more." The best part was how she didn't want to waste any food so she'd fully wrap it up and totally have it for breakfast the next day, but this time, with even MORE tabasco sauce. This time with actual chili peppers.
I've always lived in apartments with gas stoves -- that click-click-click and then blue then whoosh then fire -- but my Mom's old house had an electric stove, and I never learned, really, a better way to test the presence of lingering heat besides sticking my hand right on the burner, like my brain continually forgot to give the big N-O to that thought before I'd already turned it into action. Mom started putting pot lids over the burners while they cooled 'cause I had such issues burning off my fingerprints, walking into the living room with held-up hand and requisite perfect round white blisters instead of fingerprints. but I did it so much that it eventually stopped hurting. (This came in handy at the Mac-Grill when I expo'ed 5,000 degree plates of lasanga w/o getting burned). I don't like electric stoves. I like things that cool down faster.
That last paragraph is unrelated. Sorta. Whatevs. Anyhow that tangent -- or rather, the existence of that tangent -- segues nicely into my next point ... (oh also, that painting there is from this girl erika somogyi)
1. Me
Hands down totes the biggest weirdest weirdo of the year: ME. Most readers who've met me in real life say I'm not as crazy as I make myself sound on here. I think that's 'cause I usually write alone -- or if there's someone here, it's generally someone I know pretty well -- so I let myself go WILD on the page, like a TIGER. Also because I try to seem normal around normal people. It's funny, and I guess this relates to a way a lot of people relate to me (like you, all y'all) -- how easy it is to enable one another's neurosis or insanity, emotion, intelligence, creativity, caring, compassion, emotion ... how contagious behavior of all kinds can be sometimes ... how much we start to talk or think or write or eat or drink or act like whomever's around us or whomever's set up residence in our hearts or psyches, which sometimes look like the same organs. I say I'm ME, I say I'm like, my own totes randomized weirdo, but the truth is, I'm just randomized. Which is fine. Seriously. It totally is.
1: Stars, "Your Ex-Lover is Dead," from the album "Set Yourself on Fire." The lyrics of this song include the opening: "When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire," as well as the following lines: "the scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin," and "live through this and you won't look back." The album's title song, "Set Yourself on Fire," includes the lyrics: "In the darkest part of you that you have ever seen, in the smile of the child staring at the TV screen, in the diary of a priest, in the sheets that lie upon his bed, out there amongst the waves and inside your lover's head, there is only one thing. There is only one thing. There is only one thing. There is only one thing. There is only one thing." According to last-fm, I listened "Your Ex-Lover is Dead" 116 times in August.