Auto-Fun of Nov. 11th 2008: Like a Kite That Floats So Effortlessly

Intro, The Week to Come: There's this Azure Ray song "November." Every November I listen to it and feel really emo: so we're speeding towards that time of year, to the day that marks that you're not here. This week leaves little time for emo, there's so much going on! ... Rising Star Haviland Stillwell is coming to town, it's Stef's birthday on Wednesday, The Sex Blogger Calendar Release Party is on Friday, and then there's this Saturday's NO ON 8 Rally at NYC's city hall (wanna read my opinion on it again okay here, wanna watch it okay here ). I might even recap South of Nowhere ! Or set up my room! Or put up curtains in the living room!

Also. Also. Also. It's Lozo's birthday today!

Where's Papi?: The L Word Season Six Promo is out! So far Shane's hair seems to be on a good track. Someone's gonna get killed apparently. My money's on Jodi, she'll be like "I never even heard them coming!" Hey-o!

Where's Hedwig? You know who else has a teaser out? The New York Sex Blogger Calendar! We were in Em&Lo's Daily Bedpost, for which I continued my erratic support for this project with a two-line bio I don't remember writing. Holler! 6:30 - 9:30 pm at the White Rabbit on 145 E. Houston between Forsyth and Eldridge. There will be Burlesque performers, free foods, crazy raffles and the first 100 to arrive will get a FREE gift bag from Babeland!! Plus, Semicolon and Haviland are going! The costume of the day is edgy black tie (for us), you can wear what you wish.

Ideas for signs for NO ON 8 Rally:
-Really 52% of Californians? Really?
-Ellen and Portia are HOT
-Hands Down Totes NO
-Give EZGirl the right to marry!
-Don't Leave Carmen De La Pica Morales alone at the altar!

OMG, I'm so clever, I should just be a sign-maker. This holiday season instead of doing t-shirts we will be selling signs.

Advice Column/Riese & Hav Vlog: So Hav and I obviously need to do another advice column vlog while she's in town. Some of you asked questions in August that I'm sure you still want answers to, if you haven't lost faith in us altogether. Askautowin@yahoo.com. Or just comment, but then everyone will know what a fuck-up you are. For the first time in advice column history I am offering you the chance to ask a question and get your answer within about two weeks, which's essentially record time, possibly even an acceptable turnaround time for taking action. Also you can ask us questions that have nothing to do with homosexuality or bisexuality, I promise. Like if you wanna know how to ride your husband's hobby horse, you know, give us a shot. You might be surprised what we know. If I was in the band "an horse," I would feel weird about saying that all the time. "An Horse." I mean it doesn't roll off the tongue. It's certainly no "Bruce Springsteen."

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Auto-Fun:

Quote: "How attractive trouble feels in paradise. The place next door where pain is an option begins to whisper ... a wish to stir the stilled air with a serrated knife ... woo a stranger so you'll not be mutinous alone, to lie down knowingly among the nettles and the thorns." (stephen dunn, "paradise")

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Links:
1. Obamaism: "It's a kind of religion. But one rooted in a deep faith in rationality. Last week, New York rejoiced in its promise. And sang the National Anthem in the streets." (@nymag)
2. When to Work for Free: "No one ever filled a gas tank or bought groceries with exposure." (@nytimes)
3. Foes, a new story by Lorrie Moore! (@the guardian uk)
4. Top Ten Most Irritating Phrases. (@the telegraph)
5. A Rough Night for Gay Obama Supporters: "Around us, the ecstatic volunteers updated the chant. "Yes! We! Did! Yes! We! Did!" When we got home from the celebration, we got the news about Proposition 8. (@salon)
6. Will the White House website work as a social network? (@slate)
7. With Lozo, Sloganx and EV Idiot all recently closing up shop I'm inclined to agree that to some extent ... the blog is dying. (@roughtype) My theory? We're either getting paid for it, or sick of doing it for free. I'm not getting paid for it, I am sick of doing it for free, but there's something else that keeps me here. Maybe it's just all I know at this point. I used to say it was leading into paying gigs, but are there any paying gigs anymore? I dunno. I think I'm determined to get paid by Google AdSense eventually. The Economist says blogging is no longer what it was. (@the economist, obvs)
Only two percent of bloggers can make a living from it. (@mediabistro). Excellent!
8. Socially conscious book buying (@good)
9. My Four Weddings: How Getting Gay Married Became an Olympic Sport for me or "How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Mormons." (@the daily beast)
10. poem. prayers. by rae armantrout (@the new yorker)
11. Lindsay Lohan might be an actual bisexual, not a unicorn. (@afterellen)
12. Little Edie Beale: The Ultimate Recessionista (@jezebel)

[eoin stanley ]

insomnia poem #19

thinking now of a job i could believe in
a job to go to,
even
dress/stand for,
a uniform with a collar & logo
a shirt that smells like wok oil and afterwork
you wear it out 'cause
if it was between you and betty ford
on a desereted one drink island
you'd punch her paunch like red party punch
drunken licky lips and hi-ho all the way home

i'd like to job at edible arrangements.
i believe in pineapple flowers.
btw my heart is half apple, half blood,
bite me i can make a flower from a pineapple.

insomnia poem #20

no use fighting it.
these are my favorite hours of the day
fists full of cookie jar
should be sleeping
feeling out of it
yet still
impossibly, and for no reason at all,
able to write shit down and make poeple look at it.
even if it's just a few people.
like, hey, what's up. it's daytime
in australia.
it's nighttime on the west coast
here we are.
it's no time here in my bed here we are.

Hello it is Sunday Morning and I Am Tinkerbell

Hello family and friends. This is Tinkerbell. You can see me over there on the right with my boyfriend Littlefoot and our new friend Krystala the Koala.

I told Riese that tomorrow I would like to read her Sunday Top Ten because as you may know, I am now learning to read so that I can read the 'zine, it is one of my top ten feelings. I can already write, so speaking and reading are my two next steps but anyhow enough about me let's go back to Riese, who has taken an ambien 'cause she needs to be asleep, it's too late, there's no stores open, she's going to show up tomorrow with crabby eyes and sad face and dark under-eye circles and no cute outfit because I don't think David Bowie is burlesque.

okay babypop just said that if she comes out of the shower and we are not all asleep we will be in big trouble. other people who are in trouble include Sarah Palin that bitch is going down, Mary Kate and Ashely (I saw it on a magazine at the Wal-Mart today), the photographer for the shoot tomorrow who gave Riese a long list of pre-photo shoot rules but apaprently Riese is such an experienced pro at photo shoots she dindn't need to read the rules, she's just gonna wing it slash model through it slash hopefully write a blog or something 'cause she feels like there'll be some downtime. She looked at the rules about an hour ago and then had a mini-panic. That's how she ended up in Wal-Mart looking for an outfit. Unfortunately pink panties with Flirt on the ass aren't what the olden times burlesquers wore we know that for sure.

Tomorrow Riese is supposed to participate in a photo shoot that she estimated would take about two hours. She is mostly slender therefore it does not seem to me, Tinkerbell, that photographing the limbs and arms and feets and headspace of Riese's lovely body would be a seven hour affair but apparently there are other women and one man and one kinky queer butch top (correct me if I'm missing a label there) who aslo require to be photographed. Then we will be concluding the day of festivities with a group photo, I hope I can give someone bunny ears or Tinkerbell ears.

OK Babypop is coming back, me and littelfoot must to hide before everyone sees that we posted a blog for riese.

Multi-Media (VIDEO and WORDS): Sacred & On Fire With the Same Force That Made The Stars (Live Through This)

[A few days before the day I moved out of Planet Harlem, Stef and Alex and I went to the roof to BBQ paper because when there's nothing left to burn, you have to set all your bank statements on fire. I made a video of it, and it's at the end of this post but it's not on YouTube 'cause it's This-Post-specific. We burn some crap screenplays I penned in 9th grade but we read them first. We're wearing clothes found in the netherlands of my closet and I was way too immersed in The Sads to bother with makeup or the hair-iron. This raw beauty is what garnered "When There's Nothing Left to Burn, You Have to Set Yourself on Fire" the Best in Show award at this years Festival of Excellent Films. Basically, it's like when we won the Uh Huh Her contest, but sans-prize-pack.]

One thing I've been noticing lately is all the people. I've always known this city was teeming with people -- people who live here, people who work here, and so on. But, for all I've spoken of Emily Dickinson and agoraphobia I didn't realize the precisely how self-centered & insane my Planet Harlem Apartment world had become until just now. 'Cause just now I've been thrust right back into people-world again, all at once and all over, like Dorothy landing in Oz except dirtier and with less choreography.

See, due to circumstances beyond my control (or so I tell myself to make myself feel better) that left me sans-home as of September 1st, I'm currently living in Long Island with Alex and her parents and commuting daily to and from the city for um ... Alex's job. Also, for about six weeks now I've been off the juice. JK ... kinda. More on this later.

Anyhow. In Long Island I wake up at 7, we get on the train at 8:26 so Alex can be at work at 9. By 7 P.M, I'm feeling boring and sleepy. The body beats out of habit, my heart isn't even warm. See, I used to be a superhero and no one could touch me, not even myself.

++

About six weeks ago my doctor switched up some of my meds. Though I'd been taking the same RX for about five years, I'd found a way last year to use those capsule-sized lifelines into a fresh & bad habit and it was killing me. I'd been disciplined and healthy with it for years until May 2007 and yet when faced with emptiness at that time I chose to fight chaos (unemployment, new home, strange schedule, changing social life, internet-world) with chaos. I was foolish enough to think I could establish self-discipline with undisciplined strokes.

I felt real good, but what good is it to be a genius superhero if you're going faster than the speed of light towards obliteration.

In the emo cave I was always chasing something, like I was in a race that was also a tape stuck in a loop. The nature of race was clear when I started it; I was racing to keep up with my ex's mania in hopes we'd eventually share a moment or two eye-to-eye.

Time went on, and though my problems changed, my behavior didn't. I wouldn't even notice how much crazy I was talking until someone came over, or a roommate dared utter a word to me. Any word, of course, sounded like "firecracker" or "boo!"

++

And that's why lately life has felt like some kind of shock therapy -- like I'm all cutting and no edge. All these people everywhere ... it gives me perspective. I'm one of millions, not one in a million, and now I'm forced to face how fucked up my whole existence has been for the last sixteen months until six weeks ago, maybe even longer than I want to say, 'cause there's so much I might never let go of -- and maybe I don't have to.

Also, I'm really tired now.

Falling asleep has been easier, but waking up is harder.

After waking up there's breakfast and then rush hour on the train. Once in the city, I've got no apartment to go to so I'm automatically surrounded by people and at their mercy so I'm modeling through the devil's baby in my uterus or vicious allergies. People, people and then more people in theaters, delis, restaurants, jostling for a seat at Starbucks, parking my body & heavy bag on the floor at Penn Station or Barnes & Noble or on Central Park's big wireless lawns where people are running & biking & beaming with beaming bright buoyant bountiful babies in expensive strollers, at the gym at rush hour with the people soaring towards absolutely nowhere like gazelles on thumping slick black exercise machines, and I'm navigating the rocky roads between hunger and longing-withdrawal and the library, the 1 train, the A, the C, the D, the E, the N-R, the 2-3, the 4-5-6. I'll go to Natalie's or see my therapist or when I go to this one job I go to I'll see those people.

The every train, The going and going more, next stop, last stop, stop stop stop.

And when I want to have a fit about something, like how expensive it is in the world, or how many people's cell phone conversations I've been forced to overhear, or how many private acts I've accepted that I must now do in public ... I just can't. I cannot have a fit in my car or my room. I cannot have a fit at all.

In me-me-me world when I needed a fit I'd go lie on my bed & cry & moan and stare at the ceiling hoping to break through and throw or stare or scream sharply at my phone with despair, refreshrefresh refresh inbox (1) fucking a it's the goddamn hrc again. I'd think about breaking walls like I've said before but I never did break any walls 'cause I couldn't afford that kind of security deposit.

It's not that I never left when I lived in P-Harlem because I did. But ... when I did, usually Caitlin would pick me up in a car so I'd avoid all the people, and I always felt safe with Caitlin, wherever we went. And anyhow usually we went places to see other familiar faces.

Those faces were anchors grounding me safely distant from the kind of social anxiety that builds up when you've not spoken to a stranger in days, when you've not only been inside your own head for too long but crawling around in it, building a new library in there and scaling the walls and jumping from its roof. Anyplace unfamiliar gave me paralyzing fear but now that evens out over the day 'cause I'm forced into society so much that each little encounter is no longer The Only Social Interaction With a Stranger of my day. So there's less consciousness and pressure, it's no longer this minute but just the way things are.

At the end of the day I'll see Alex and at Penn Station late at night there's so many people, like the girls who are still wearing the things that girls like that wore in the mid-nineties which makes me feel like nothing changes except the brand of expectation clinging to their longings.

++

When I read posts from last summer and autumn I can spot the times that I was beetle-buzzing through my own brain like a run-on hornet. Details, linkage, obsessive proof-reading and revisions. Words and more words.

And so I was reading Sam Anderson's obit of David Foster Wallace, and he says this:

"For Wallace, a thought could never actually, in good conscience, realistically, be finished — there was always one more reversal, one more qualifying clause, and an honest writer had to follow them out. Hence the famously never-ending sentences that spun off, even more famously, into never-ending footnotes. The black hole of his self-consciousness drew everything into it, even and especially self-consciousness itself. But that compulsion to be exhaustive was, apparently, exhausting."

I can't -- and don't intend to -- compare myself to Wallace. He's a genius, I'm a weirdo. He's published & famous & legendary, I'm a weirdo.

But I relate to one thing -- I relate to the words upon words. 'Cause when I wrote like that I was certain to not only address my point, but all examples, counterpoints, not only my thesis but yours and all the thoughts I'd ever had about it, and I'd play devil's advocate and people's advocate and lozo's advocate and feminism's advocate and sometimes my own advocate too. I wanted to speak to everyone and I wanted to shoot myself down before you could.

I wonder if DFW felt like his head might explode, if he was tired like I am.

I think it was good to be in my head so completely, like I needed that phase. I needed to live a life that didn't make any sense -- I mean you think you know but you have no idea -- but to me, to my reality (which contained only me & my people) -- it was a cool life. 'Cause you know what? We had a time.

And I'm sure I'll have phases like that again throughout my life, those rushing manic surges that sometimes enrapture an artist to do whatever she can to chase the dragon into dawnlight, towards wherever it is that stars become people and people become poets.

I miss the night-fires, I miss the abandon and the rampant self-destruction. I miss knowing everything wasn't right but not caring because I was so alive, because it was so fun or so vivid or so full or because I hit the streets with all I had. I miss absolving myself of responsibility for myself. I miss the future we used to talk about with such generosity. I miss the stories we believed in and I want to write the ones we never told. I want so many things.

++

The Kind of Girl Who Laughs and Says Get Up Off Your Knees

All day long, it's been Monday. Perhaps you know this, perhaps calenders are an important part of your life. Chances are, you have been aware of Monday. Like the song "Manic Monday." Well, now it is 5:37 A.M. on Tuesday, so it's not Monday anymore. The point is that yesterday WAS Monday. But you wouldn't know that by speaking to me --

Me: "You can take 8th avenue, it won't be rush hour 'cause it's the weekend,"
Person on street asking for directions: "It's Monday."

Me: "You have class tonight, right?"
Alex: "No, it's Monday."

Natalie: "Do you wanna work out tomorrow?"
Me: "Oh, I can't do that tomorrow, I have therapy on Wednesdays."
Natalie: "It's Monday."

Alex: "Sooooo ... when do I see you again?"
Me: "Wednesday? Is that tomorrow?"
Alex: "Tomorrow is Tuesday."
Me: "Wednesday?"
Alex: "Okay!'

**
I was thinking about my book today. Memoirs usually have two parts -- the title intended to carry great import and capture your attention; Wasted, Smashed, A Million Little Pieces, Night, Prozac Nation, Now, More, Again, An Unquiet Mind, the Boy Soldier, The Mistresses' Daughter, Microthrills ... and these are always eye-catching titles used to lead into the SUB title which explains that the book isn't, as I wished it had been, about smashing people with giant pumpkins until their heads got good and wasted into a million little pieces and then we all took Prozac to forget. Rather, they explain what the book's about.

Here's an example of what I'm talking about:

"An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness"
"Flock: The Autobiography of a Multiple Personality"
"The Center Cannot Hold: My Journey Through Madness"
"The Day the Voices Stopped: A Schizophrenic's Journey from Madness to Hope"
"Madness: A Bipolar Life"
"Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bullimia"
"Girlbomb: A Halfway-Homeless Memoir"
"Now, More, Again: A Memoir of Addiction"
"Brilliant Madness: Living with Manic Depressive"
"Crazy: A Father's Search Through America's Mental Health Madness "
"Get Me Out of Here: My Recovery from Borderline Personality Disorder"
"Pain in the Arms of Joy: Thoughts of a Borderline Personality"

I don't know my title yet but we've decided my subtitle will for sure be "A Memoir of Other People's Madness." Possible Title-Titles include "The Autobiography of Sancho Panza," among others.

Once they did a typo in this Stephen Dunn review I wrote, where they said "among other homes" instead of "among other awards," and so I always want to write "among other homes," as a joke on everything, but no one would get it besides me, like most of my jokes.

Speaking of, I think that's one of the funniest ideas I had today. I might wake up and think it's actually tacky. I dunno right now. Whatevs.

**

One time at band camp, I mean, at the Olive Garden, I was eating my stolen Tour of Italy (lasanga, fettucine alfredo, chicken parm, about enough calories to send Lance Armstrong into immediate cardiac arrest and to send me into a stomach ailment I found mysterious rather than consequential) and Layna, this compulsive liar who always talked about going to Harvard even though she didn't, was looking out the window with her little salad and its mediocre Italian dressing and she goes, Marie, have you ever seen that movie, Magnolia?

Yeah, I said. I loved that movie, actually. Magnolia.

Marie, she said. Do you remember the part in the bar, where he's sitting at the end of it -- Quiz Kid Donnie Smith? What he says?

I don't, I said. I don't remember what he said, not exactly.

It's how I feel right now, she said, cigarette in hand, smoke like ghost-hands in greasy air. I ate more lasanga, not 'cause I like lasanga really, but 'cause I was hungry.

Well, she said, this is what he said: "I really do have love to give, I just don't know where to put it."

**
Promise me you'll never go away
Promise me you'll always stay

So I Turned it Up And Turned it Down and Turned it On

In 12th grade, my dorm elected me Fire Marshall. I remember giving an acceptance speech, but not what I said. Probably: "Thank you for trusting me to usher you to safety in case of an emergency. Please remember that when a building's on fire, you can't afford to waste time getting dressed! You must dash valiantly into the night in your knickers, camisoles and fuzzy-animal-head slippers! You can nip out, no judging!" JK. I probably said "SUCKERS! You're all gonna burn!" I'm pretty sure I ran unopposed; it all happened too quickly for me to really consider the impact this election might have on my future. Somehow I ended up on Student Council that year too, though I can't recall if I campaigned for that. I was Secretary. I wrote funny notes read by the whole student population. That was good practice for blogging. Anyhow, the future is now, and I'm grateful that I've already got so much election experience.

But first, let's just get this out of the way: we all know I don't deserve this "Lesbo Blog of the Year" honor. The best lesbian blog of the year is not "This Girl Called Automatic Win." It's OBVIOUSLY "Come on Ilene." In this delightful OurChart-hosted vlog series, Ilene Chaiken makes meatballs while explaining her L Word plot choices. I admire Ilene for her seamless combination of cookery and chatting, like Martha Stewart (who, p.s., if she met you, would probably stick cheeseballs in your eyes). Furthermore, she's the creator of Showtime's hit series The L Word. The only person who could possibly dethrone Ilene is Max, but his podcast is so good, they're keeping it a secret, like the lesbo YA novel "Keeping You A Secret."

Anyhow, for some reason Ilene wasn't nominated, so I'm left to battle it out with four other blogs not written by Ilene Chaiken. Sooo ...

I noticed that Lesbian Dad, one of the other nominees, posted a blog where she said sweet things about all of us and endorsed her own candidacy. That seemed nice, that's the real spirit of this contest, like Lilith Fair! In fact, all the other nominees have posted nice, amicable posts announcing their candidacy, saying pleasant things about the others when appropriate and encouraging their readers to vote for whomever deserves it. I've basically just been like "everyone vote for me now!" That's how I used to get pudding as a child, see photo.

Speaking of children: I've sort of acted like a child about all this, 'cause I've got a chronic inability to conduct myself professionally and/or take myself seriously, and I don't want to seem like an asshole. I've wondered, "What do these strangers think of me?" and I imagine these kinds of judgments: "Is that girl called 'automatic *cough* win' trying to ride her (fading) youth & (arguable) beauty all the way to the bank w/o even bothering to read Strunk & White?" I'm pretty judge-able ... 'cause I just ... say things. I abbreviate words and sell underwear. My friends are smokin' hot and I talk about things that seem frivolous on the surface, but I promise are bursting with depth if you dig deep enough. And so ... this is that post that everyone else already did last week when I was too caught up in the pure entertainment of it all/riding the Rock n'Rollercoaster. So I'm gonna be totally mature right now and not be the teenaged randomized aggro candidate of yesteryear. I mean, these other women don't have Lozo's penis gunning for them. 'Cause yes, I am honored to be nominated, and they all deserve to auto-win. Srsly.

I wish I could just do "teacher voice" and become mature and say mature things, I seem unable to do that when faced with a keyboard.

**
This is a funny time though, too, w/r/t this nomination -- 'cause honestly, The L Word recaps really take a lot out of me -- I think this being the third season I've done, I'm just getting kinda burnt out, it's been many hours. And I refuse to quit, 'cause I'm clearly completely out of my mind. Also, I've been trying actively to adopt a lot of healthier habits in 2008 -- which don't enable L Word recaps quite like last year's did. And I'm also trying to polish a lot of stylistic and grammatical issues 'cause I basically write as the words come into my head and edit later -- and I wanna get faster and tighter. And wetter, obvs.


Anyhow! I feel bad that I haven't been able to update as frequently this month as you may've gotten used to. If you don't read the L Word recaps, I'm disappointing right now -- or maybe I'm not, mostly these are standards I set for myself. I mean, remember when I was posting almost every day? I do. That's when I was Emily Dickinson, it was a period of great productivity and very intensely focussed despair. But ... things are getting ... better. And not in a blindly optimistic way, but in real ways that I can touch and feel ... ways that make me laugh and smile.

I've been doing a lot of reading and a lot of thinking, too, about what I really want ... like out of life? I think when you barely even want to live (aren't making a living) (and are harboring a lot of anger and confusion) the big picture vanishes -- you do what you have to do to get through the day. And for me, that meant that for a large chunk of last year, I just wrote this blog and ate peanut butter crackers. I may never get back to that place where I posted 10,000 word epics or brand-new vlogs every day, but I'll be back to normal productivity (3-4 posts/week) in April, post-L Word. Like you might actually see Sunday Top Tens on Sunday.

But it's a transitional time for me & a lot of the people in my life right now -- clearly. I mean, Haviland's in Los Angeles, how did that happen. But it's also a good time. I've had fun just about every day this month with only a few exceptions. I've been digging 2008. Obvs ... I mean, you read the Auto-Fun. I mean ...

*

So I have one thing to say: Sashey, Shatey, Shante Shante Shante. No, I'm gonna tell you about the other blogs -- how we are the same, yet how we are different. Just like gay people. All the same, because they're all gay, but also different, because some of us have puppies and some of us like apples and some of us like ten-inch purple dildos. Also, some of us don't like Jenny, which is fine, except that people who don't like Jenny are wrong.

*

Dorothy Surrenders: I've actually been a fan of Ms. Snarker for a year or so now. Her writing -- "a gay gal's guide to pop culture" -- is tight, witty and relevant. Her pre-L Word run-downs, complete with a fourfour-ish knack for snappy telling screenshots, manage to do in about 300 words what it takes me 30,000 to accomplish. Her fingers are on the pulse of lesbian media and she isn't afraid to apply feminist criticism when necessary, like this week's look at the Scarlett/Natalie W Magazine Cover.

How are we similar? The L Word, a fondness for women in menswear, crushes on Jodi Foster and a suspicion that most sexy starlets who act gay are, in fact, gay. We both have regular segments -- she's got Straight Girls Acting Like Gay Girls, Naked Lady Mondays, and Weekend Crushes; I've got The Sunday Top Ten (occasionally: the Tuesday Top 8, Thursday Top 6 or Week-Long Top 15, I like to switch it up), and um, other segments I maintained for approximately 1-5 posts, like the Carousel of Progress, Great Mysteries of Life, etc. I've been good w/Auto-Fun. Anyhow ...

How are we different? I write about myself alot but also pop culture and books and stuff, she focuses only on pop culture. I'm cluttered, she's reliable -- she gets to the point and makes it well without excessive tangential journeys. She has not, as far as I know, shared photographs of herself or live-blogged a mental breakdown. She's got a real gig blogging for AfterEllen, I've got an imaginary gig blogging for my belly button.

**

Lesbian Dad:

First, let's talk about what Lesbian Dad said about mememememe, 'cause it made my heart swell:

"Ebullient, hilarious, very verbally zingy. A pop culture junkie, which predilection she humors in a spin-off blog dedicated to a blow-by-blow of each L-Word episode, complete with the incredulous dialog of her Greek Chorus of chums."

"When I was young and spry — particularly on the crest of coming out — I’d have felt, reading Automatic Win, that a life of lesbianism could be downright fun. Rather than what I first thought it was, in 1982 when I came out: a blighted but inevitable path which no one I knew was treading except my sweetie and me, surrounded as we were by theoretically bisexual, understanding and supportive straight friends. All power to the internet, sisters. But the madcap world Automatic Win depicts — memorably rendered by Riese in loose, inventive language, undergirded with a wry self-deprecation — is, alas, quietly but determinedly slipping into my past. Reading her gives me a blog’s-eye-view of the Younger Generation, the lesbo Sex In The City set. Only the more hipster version. With far more text messaging. And irony. And about ten years younger. "

How are we similar? She IS a Lesbian Mom (or "lesbian dad") ... I HAVE a Lesbian Mom. One day I'll probs be a Lesbian Mom, I'm waiting to get pregnant like in Village of the Damned so that my daughter will have laser-beam eyes and no-one will fuck with us at Wal-Mart. LD went to UC-Berkley, I went to University of Michigan-Ann Arbor, and those schools are similar 'cause they're both heavily populated by dirty hippies. We both studied English and Women's Studies, except that she has hands-on experience too, as in: she was actually a Lesbian Avenger, which makes her automatically 150% cooler than me forever. I like what she says in her "about me" when she describes her affiliation with the "Walt Whitman" system of writing: "Whitman tinkered with what he wrote over and over, past its first and second and umpteen print publications." (Rather than the Gertude Stein school: "first draft best draft." Obvs that's not the case, especially when ambien is involved. Speaking just for me now.)

How are we different? She writes about raising children, I write about being a child. She posts cute photos of children, I post cute photos of twentysomething girls who like to dress in hoodies or costumes. She has several legitimate writing spots on various queer parenting venues, I have several blogs.

**
Sugar Butch Chronicles: First of all, her banner is hot. Sugar Butch talks way dirtier than Tina Kennnard, for sure. Her writing is trance-like and thoroughly, openly and explicitly erotic. She addresses gender/queer representation confidently and with the education/experience to make good points. Her goals are "to encourage lesbian sex and sexuality in ALL its various forms and manifestations, to spark conversations about gender and kink and power and sex in whatever might feel good to you and your lover." She mentions fisting like within the first two lines of the last post I read, score!

How are we similar? Well, we both dislike eating dead animals and celebreality. Also, we've both been published in erotica anthologies -- in Cleis anthologies, too! We both like having sex with girls. Also, we both enjoy making out with girls in bathrooms, and possibly have been kicked out of the bathroom for this very reason.

How are we different? Sinclair has a lot of labels, e.g., "kinky queer butch top feminist sex educator." I'm just "weirdo almost-hipster." I notice this a lot, especially in the sex writers circuit, that these words mean a lot to some lesbians and are vehemently unspoken by others. I don't hear "butch" or "femme" a lot in my circles. I'm not sure if "masculine" or "feminine" enable greater clarity or even mean the same thing, but those are the words I use generally (which intrinsically conforms to the limiting gender dichotomy, innately tying one's gendered expression to either "male" or "female" poles, lacking an ambiguous non-gendered adjective entirely separate from the existing patriarchal linguistics). I think I say "boyish" and "girly." Or -- especially when referring to the girls I usually go for -- "androgynous." I like the words "genderfuck" or "genderqueer."' Ultimately I admire SugarButch, and many sex writers like her I've met at various lesbian sex writer hoo-has, for carrying it on in whatever context speaks solidly in defense of their experience. Because her writing is super-hot, and anything that reminds people that lesbian sex, even when it's not between two plastics at a Malibu poolside, is delicious and wet and delightful.

**

Hahn at Home is a 46-year old mother with teenage kids in Sacramento, California. We are 56% sure we actually saw her last week at Disney World, so Hahn at Home, if you're reading this and you were at MGM studios on Monday the 18th of February -- HOLLA! If not, then there's another lesbian Mom out there who looks like you, were we to pass this lesbian Mom at lightning speed and then try to judge her appearance from behind, walking backwards. That's a good sign for queer visibility. Apparently Hahn won last year but felt that people cheated and voted for her more than once, and then honorably refused to accept her prize, passing it on to the super-awesome Curly McDimple, who I met last year at the Blogger Wienie Roast located in Timbuktu, Brooklyn. That's really honorable. You guys -- feel free to vote as many times as you can, I don't have a serious soul.

How are we similar? Like Lesbian Dad, I must point out that Hahn is a Lesbian Mom and I have a Lesbian Mom. Also my Lesbian Mom has adopted kiddos like her, so really, we're basically bosom buddies. We both post photos of ourselves. She updates regularly and has a serious following; her writing is clear and casual and intimate without being too personal. I think we both trust our readers, which might not make sense -- but it does, to me, and it probs does to her, too.

How are we different? Obvs, again -- this woman somehow manages to blog, work and raise three kids on her own, whereas I somehow manage to barely raise myself. I don't think I could even pack my own lunch. Really on the surface there's nothing at all similar about us except that it seems we apply the same probing eye to what our daily experiences and the experiences of our friends/family/lovers mean about society, ourselves, and specifically how it feels to be the age we are. When I have a baby, I'm gonna give it a mohawk and then take lots of photos, it's gonna be awesome.

**
How am I different from everyone? Two words: vlog vlog. No, JK. I think the main difference is that I'm all the fuck over the place -- I looked at my labels, which I'm terrible at applying properly so they really mean nothing -- see sidebar, I've added it for a brief moment of navel-gazing. Somehow "It's Britney Bitch," "Near Mental Breakdown," "Drinking on the Job," "Liberal Politics," "The Gym," "A Shot At Love With a Bunch of Lunatics," "Literacy," "My Hair," "Lozo" and "Magazines" are all on the same list.

It's hard to describe what it is I do here -- I talk about myself a lot. There's vlogs, underwear, lists of bad music, number one feelings and contests in which I purport to give away Haviland's underthings and Lozo's hand in marriage. Cait recently asked me if there's anything I won't do "for the cultural experience" or "'cause it'd be blog-worthy" (she asked me this re: "The American Experience") I think -- as much as I hate other people and wish I could live inside a cave talking to no-one forevs and evs -- I'm simultaneously addicted to the balmy undersides or garish presentations of psyche, cultural norms, history and existence, constantly questioning and probing, stuffing as much life into each day as possible. Because obvs my life philosophy remains that I don't want to say that I ever wasted time doing something unoriginal or boring, that I was always learning, that I tasted as much as I could of the world before leaving it. And then wrote all about it.

I engage my audience in intra-web social drama and catastrophe. I pretend blog is a forum for internet performance art -- poetry slamming with mysterious anonymi at 3 A.M., deleting my entire blog when someone makes me feel censored, publishing the letter that fired me, writing half an entry on something and calling it "crazytown" in the morning. And unwillingly but eventually for the greater good -- letting all of you watch my life kinda fall to pieces though I wouldn't tell you why 'til later ... and then building a cave in my room and refusing to exit except for a trip to the Hustler Club with Lozo. I do a lot of things "just to see what will happen," 'cause I think life is my private chemistry set for better and for worse. So that's what I do here. That's my bloggity blog blog.

It's become more than just a blog to me but a sort of community that offers viewers enough entertaining and quality writing and referrals to entertain and also a more in-depth interactive involvement with the auto-universe through commenting, donating to the tip jar, buying merch, joining the Facebook group or making out with me. If this was a sorority, I think this is the part where I'd make you drink a lot and then roll around in chocolate pudding and then kick [sic] [I meant "lick," but clearly this is the best typo ever] it off each other. Yum. These women are fantastic and I think the one thing we all have in common is that we're pretty dedicated to "blogging."

Ultimately -- I don't need to be the lesbian blogger of the year, because my Mom already thinks I'm pretty no matter what. But seriously, they have this RuPaul doll at rainbow depot and it's autographed by RuPaul, and I need it. Vote auto-win.

"You Better WORK!"
-RuPaul

My Grown-Up Christmas Hannukah and Kwanzaa VLOG

Hello young travelers! Welcome to my show -- and what a show it is, tonight! Please recline and relax in your IKEA office chairs ... enjoy the soothing touch of your personal serving wench who'll be smothering your body in sweet milks and essential oils and, following this intensified moisture experience, the wenches'll employ their burly arms and serious elbows to attack into your aching muscles. Need them to stop? Just scream your safety word (I suggest "Hey Paula!"). Junior Wenches are available to provide you with a grande espresso drink of your choice. If you don't want your latte, Haviland, then get me another, I will drink two lattes. watch me go, I am Speedracer. Haviland needs only one thing and it is Diet Doctor Pepper. Ok So. Go Go Go.

Hey! I love editing videos. Open letter to Spike Jonez -- I don't now how to spell your name, but I'd like to find out. Call me. Or text me actually, I don't listen to my voice mails very often. I'd like to work on musical projects that promote pure pop taffy in the form of fresh eager shiny-haired teenaged girls, preferably those who've expressed previous interest in switching teams. What was I talking about? No one under the age of 16. Oh yeah, I would like to direct a dance mix of Britney's "Touch of my Hand."

We've been accosting vernacular for some time now -- I got "obvs "from Hav, and it was Tara who laid the "totes" on thick. "Probs" and "whatevs" were integrated to us by Haviland. I mean, Hav is the abbreviation queen. When you think she's thinking about you, she's not, she's thinking about "u." Carly brought "brill" and "boss" and I brought "full on" and "ace" from Australia. But one of Cait's early contributions was the word "critter" (more on this later, but think like Carmen De La Pica Morales on a couch curled up in a hoodie looking adorable) and the expression "talking crazy." This entire paragraph has a point and that point is: I am talking crazy. SO much so that you already know what that means.

Tonight we've just filmed some insane ridiculously good stuff though for the next Autostraddle Blog thing.

So this is VLOG version for Auto-Winners, there's no L Word direct product placement, just good old fashioned homosexual lovin' -- okay, we couldn't help but drop a Little L Word into there, but really it's mostly the nonsensical non-topical nonsense we're hoping one day will endear us to you, and then you will take us to your vineyard where we can frolick with tree fairies. Topics include: fond holiday wishes, laughing at each other, dancing in costumes and making sexual illusions. It's like an outtake reel for a documentary about a rock band, except that we're not a band, we're just three girls with nothing left to loose and our whole life stretching boundlessly before us, filled with funny jokes, small tragedies, and further sexual innuendo.

Think of it as an automated greeting card, like the kind with cartoons, but we're the kind of girls you can get in the real life, unlike cartoons, if you know how to talk the talk, walk the walk etc.

Great Mysteries of Life Ctd.: Oh And I'm Feeling Directionless Yes But That's To Be Expected

Speaking of great mysteries in life I don't understand, the cashier at the Fredrick Douglass Avenue Dunkin' Donuts -- who, in case you're wondering, and I think you are, sported an unzipped fly, appeared approximately 100 years old and was possibly drunk [he smelled strongly of something sweet and rotten] -- just requested ID when I paid for my iced coffee with a gift card. This has never happened before, and if it had, I would have been similarly confused/suspicious about Big Brother.

Me: "Why do you need my ID? That's a gift card."
Him: "We must always ask for ID in these matters--" [Holds up gift card as if to physically demonstrate the meaning of "these matters," which I guess is "matters of plastic."]
Me: "I mean, I have ID, I just don't understand what you need it for. My name's not on that card, so like, it's not like you need to match me to the gift card. Anyone could use it and it would be legal. It's a gift card."
Him: [looking at the card more closely] "I see." [thinks again] "No, we must always ask for ID in these matters."
Me: "Like, what are you going to prove about my ability to use that gift card by looking at my ID? I have one, I just don't understand the point."
Him: [apparently resigned that I'm not handing over the ID, possibly already thinking about his next drink/masturbation session] "It is just our policy on these matters."
Me: "Well, I really don't get it, so ..."

[Stand-off]

[Stand-off continues. My iced coffee waits for me, untouched, tantalizing and then ...]

[His co-worker/drinking buddy says something to him in another language which I assume translates to "You are wrong, asshat," because my Robert Murdoch-y Cashier resigns and scans my card sans ID. Also, I think I should make a little Dictaphone and just record myself saying "No Sugar," and then I can play it for the goldfish at D2 every day when they ask "No sugar?" and I respond, yes, that's right, "No sugar."]

I thought I had like ten million "mysteries of life I don't understand," but I realised upon sitting down to write this that I just had a lot of miscellaneous petty complaints about life's small tragedies that I wanted to complain about to as many people as possible. I asked around to jog my mind, and here's what I got.

Crystal's Great Mysteries:

Re: Why does the fire alarm in my building only go off on certain floors? Like, surely you'd evacuate the whole building.
It's natural selection, I think. Probs they get rid of the people who use their powers for evil instead of good.

Re: Why won't Qantas fly me from Vegas to New York?
Why won't Qantas fly me everywhere? If they flew me everywhere, I wouldn't be afraid of planes.

Re: Why, after years of continual typing, am I still a retardedly slow typer?
That is weird.

Re: Why do people keep calling my phone even when I never answer?
I could not possibly "totes" this answer more than I already do. TOTES. I wish I knew, but I think it has something to do with bills and a dead body.

Re: Why do people always try to talk to me when I'm trying to enjoy a cigarette?
People are annoying and weird and assume people would rather talk than do just about anything else there is, that's why we've created g-chat and such, so that we can be chatting all the time with other humans. I don't know I think it's because people don't know how to deal with being needy. That's a long answer. I wish people wouldn't try to talk to me when I'm trying to enjoy a book or an ipod or a fake usage of phone.


Lozo's Great Mysteries:

Re: Why do girls care so much about eyelashes? Thickness? Length? Eyelashes aren't penises. Are they?
I think there's a subtle effect of mascara that you're failing to notice. Also they are penises. That's how gay people do it. Like butterflies.

Re: Why are there signs on the highway that say, "speed checked by radar"? What the fuck else would you check it with? Is that supposed to scare me into slowing down?
I realise I've literally always assumed there was some other method I just hadn't noticed before. Like, "Oh, by radar, cool, not that other thing, totes." 'Cause otherwise that'd be totes retarded, which clearly they are. Maybe it's because of radar guns.

Re: Why do they put cereal in boxes? They put chips in bags, can't they put Cheerios in bags?
This convo led to me discovering Lozo cares about the rainforest, it was strange.


Lainy's Great Mysteries:

Re: Why do I keep smoking even though it makes me feel like shit and I know it's killing me?
I feel like I can describe most of my life's activities as things that make me feel like shit, things that're killing me. There must be a patch for this or something, a different way to get the same drug, a change in method.

Re: Why do I break electronics so easily?
I tell myself that it's not me, it's the electronics. Headphones are the new crack.

Re: Why do I say the most inappropriate things to the most inappropriate people but with people I care about I oftentimes am shy?
It's what's at stake.

Re: Why do I like to stay up late even though I enjoy the morning?
I was just asking myself the same question. Maybe we really like all the parts of the day, every single hour, all of it, all of it, the hours, the hours.

*
And now ... My Great Mysteries!

What happens on my street every morning at 8:21 A.M.?
It's like a honkers convention, where all the cars in the city drive to my street and make sure their horns are working properly. Like, let's test them out doing a variety of long beeps and short beeps, all at once, good, again. That sound has awoken me from slumber for the past three days, it's unbearable, though it gets me out of bed early. But first I lie there, half-asleep and annoyed, fantasising about leaning out my window and dropping large rocks on people. Who knows where thoughts come from, they just appear, they just beep and crash.
*
Am I Hungry?
Sometimes I can answer this. Sometimes, it is pure mystery, because it is a kind of wanting and wanting is mystery.
*
How Did I Just Get Two Bug Bites? WTF? THREE!!
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Why do people put songs that play automatically on their MySpace profiles?
In what circumstance would I think "Oh, thank G-d for that song that just started auto-playing on top of the music I'm already listening to! Your song and my song together equals the best song I've ever heard." You know? Put a player I can opt into employing, but making "Gimme Gimme" auto-start is not gonna make me give you jackshit, no custody, no nothing woman, no-thing. Not a thing, you hear me? Especially if you've already got a lot of other things going on on your profile. This is why I like facebook better, because myspace makes my computer explode.
*
Also, on the topic of myspace, what the f is up with those ads?
Srsly, any humans who'll cop to exclaiming: "OMG! I totally know the answer to this pop quiz, it's Jennifer Aniston!" and rushing to click the ad or "I know New York's real name! Totes! Free iPod here I come!" I guess you'll need a free laptop after yours melts following the virus that ad clearly leads to. There's an asterik, even, qualifying that the ad won't do what it promises. I thought myspace advertising space was really expensive, so I'd just expect higher standards from it's advertisers.

I guess I don't know the answer to that one. Usually they're pretty obvious. They're clearly targeting a demographic of people who watch that show, which as far as I know, doesn't include very many smart people. Like "Two and a Half Men," if they were like: WHICH OF THE MEN IS ONLY A HALF? I'd be like "DURRR."
*
How do all these terrible television shows get greenlighted?

This upcoming television season, which I know about because I sometimes read retarded magazines and am intrigued by the consistently ridiculous things that happen in the same world that like, invented trees and other really neat things, features many programs that are not necessarily worse than root canals. Like, for example:

-"Carpoolers" -- in which four douchebags sit inside a car driving to work and bitch about their wives. Like, really? That's typically the kind of thing I'd avoid being anywhere near, let alone turning on my television with the express intent to view for 22 minutes.
-"Cavemen" -- Based on those commercials that apparently everyone loved but I found intensely annoying. About what it's like to be an "outsider." You know, as a modern caveman, like Encino Man, great film. It sounds to me a lot like a show about what it's like to look like a douchebag.
-"Life is Wild" -- They advertise during 'Gossip Girl,' it looks like a bunch of douchebags running around in the jungle.

*
Who wants to be on television talk shows or reality dating shows? How could that possibly make life better? [Unless you're America's Next Top Model. Then you can live your life as a Cover Girl, which is awesome, it covers 85% of lines and has a smooth sheer finish.]

Who says, "OMG, I am so glad I ran around naked on television hitting my ex-husband's wife's lesbian lover's stepdaughter's aunt who's really my transsexual wife with a folding chair, that was so healthy, ever since I got back to Greenbo everyone's been recognising me at the Stop & Shop."

Or: I'd rather not compete with one girl over a girl I like, let alone an entire house-full of people competing for the girl I like.

Sooooo ... guess what?! I've been invited to appear on "The Tyra Banks Show"! I'm guessing they messaged every twentysomething bisexual on MySpace though it's highly possible I was hand-picked because clearly, I'm a shooting star and the camera loves me. The guy explained that they're seeking "a really fun and energetic Bi Woman" to go out with one girl and one guy. Apparently, this is a "social experiment" to "observe the differences between a woman on a date with a woman, and a man on a date with a woman." Really Papi? He's coming right out and admitting that's the point? 'Cause there's no way I'd actively contribute to perpetuating negative and counterproductive stereotypes about bisexuality, although also, I kinda would: I'd hope to trick them, turn it around. But they'd probs find a way to edit out my clever wisdom -- so --- back to no. But also, is this how she recruits girls for ANTM, "We'd like to break you into a million pieces, trap you in a house with a bunch of hyperactive anorexic loons and convince you that developing a signature walk and embodying the spirit of a desert flower or a crime scene is the most important thing you've done your whole goddamn life, then edit you to appear as insane and ugly as possible, and then -- in a matter of months, the entire world can watch your rejection on teevee!"

The financial compensation the Tyra Banks Show offfers is paying for the date. P.S., Tyra, I think you can afford a little more than that. Also, that surprises me, I think they'd be desperately interested in who might pay for dinner, the man on a date with a woman or the woman on a date with a woman. Like, as a social experiment.

Last year, following my appearance in a Marie Claire dating article [I was pictured as the "open minded dater" = laughably false], The Keith Ablow Show, which hadn't yet aired, asked me to come on. Not my thing, but also I was scared it'd be a trick like those shows often are. So I was like "No way, weirdo, I'm not gonna walk into that trap! I'll go out there all proud w/my gender theory, and you'll shove someone from high school who wants me dead in my face, or I'll be sitting next to my grandmother."

I think most gay women in NYC got the Tilla Tequilla casting call -- come live in a mansion with a Maxim model and 13 other hot lesbians, it's the first lesbian dating show ever!--obvs it was a trick.
*
Does anyone really ever get Toxic Shock Syndrome?
I used to be really scared of this when I first read about it.

*

Why does everyone in my neighborhood walk so slow?
I feel like Roadrunner when walking down 125th. I swear, no one else on the street has anywhere to be at all whatsoever like, ever. I just figure, I'm going, I may as well go fast. That's why they call me Flash Gordon.
These are the problems, as I see them:
1. An abundance of strollers and "walkers." I think everyone in this 'hood either has three babies or is almost dead and deaf in both ears. Howevs, I'd like to add that we could all move a lot faster if more people opened doors for strollers and walkers and if more people helped old ladies across the street. Seriously, I feel like I help a lot of lunatics cross 125th, I cannot continue to carry the whole team.
2. A plethora of street salesmen hawking wares including DVDs about the apocalypse and large photographs of Erykah Badu and slave executions and Urban Lit. I support the Urban Lit, but the rest of it can go, except the coffee guy.
3. We just need a greater sense of urgency cultivated in this 'hood, or more space between street-vendors and the street for someone to do the I-live-here-street-walk. Also, perhaps there could be hoverboards like in Back to the Future, I feel like we've totes passed whenever all that stuff was supposed to happen, what crap.

*

Why isn't there a way to search for random word frequency?
Like, I want something to search my documents and tell me if I'm using any particular word too much or more than once. Does this exist? I'm not asking to search for a specific word, I just want it to look at a document and be like "you used the word 'enable' 15 times." "You used totes 500 times." "You talk about Haviland too much."

*

Why am I like, how I am?

Angela: Why are you like this?
Jordan: Like what?
Angela: Like, how you are.
(My So-Called Life)

I mean, seriously. I guess that's what this blog is about, but also in doing that, I hope to write about why you're like, how you are too. You know? A few months ago we had mice, and Roommate-Ryan put out these no-kill mousetraps that mice can sometimes get out of and asked me You think they'll fall for it, don't they know better by now? They'd just keep going back to the same situation? And I was like, yeah, they would, I mean, you shouldn't ask me, of all people, to say they wouldn't run right in there, all earnest about peanut butter. In the morning, I sometimes lie there for a second wondering if I remember how to breathe, if it's smooth sailing from here on out, cool customer, congruent, catastrophic, sweet like memory and words and hands, my lungs open, I grasp through the dark.
*

What should we Vlog about?
Haviland and I are going to do more vlogs, since it was superfun. Howevs, we need you to tell us what to talk about or ask us questions. This is a Great Mystery of Life, and I want you to help me to understand. See, you help me, we make jokes, and then in China, a butterfly flaps it's wings and saves a village of children, who were hungry but now are not. It's magic. Like Puff. The Magic. Dragon. Sometimes, I wonder, why don't I just write stuff down here that I shouldn't say? Like what is it that creates the decency between my brain and my methods of communicating how my brain is operating? Will it die before I do? I admire it, it is stronger than me, I am grateful it exists. There are so many words I want to say but until I say them, they aren't real. I say a lot of words, so it's the ones I restrain from vocalizing or writing that astound me the most, at the end of the day.

So what should Haviland and I Vlog about? Topics. Email, comment, whatevs. Just throw out a topic if you want to and have one. Any topic or question. We've already used "football" and "blow jobs," so none of that.

*

The Night Starts Here: In the Flesh, Hustler Club, Shot of Love, Favor Club

I wrote this blog in pieces, subsequently demanding that y'all refresh 'til I finished 'cause I like to keep you on your toes, you know? Also, occasionally I like to keep you on the heels/balls of your feet, just to switch it up. Sometimes, I like you on your knees. Sometimes, I like you up against a wall, or bent over ... JK. Mostly, I like you right where you are: reading my blog.

So anyhow I've actually finished it now, and organised it in a way which is more aesthetically comfortable. Last night (Tuesday), I didn't finish it on account of being a monkey with Jell-O Pudding for Brains. I also said "I think I just took an Ambien but I'm not sure," and, in case you're wondering, and I know you are: I did.

I feel like "secrets" are the new "sex." Like how last week I said "lame" was the new "badass"? Y'know, the overload of sexual content in the media, which isn't bad for children or anything, it just takes away a lot of the mystery & discovery that makes sex interesting to begin with --- real secrets, naked humans, love, etc. [Pot, meet Kettle, Hi Pot.] I was thinking about that 'cause I was like, wow, this whole post is going to be sort of "sex-themed," I wonder if that'll inspire increased traffic and then I was like, "Nah, I doubt it, not like secrets do!"

Another cool part of secrets being the new sex is that sex used to be a secret. Simmer on that.

Topic: In the Flesh Reading.

Anyhow, speaking of speaking of sex, the video from the "In the Flesh" reading is now on RKB's YouTube channel! I clearly didn't locate the microphone until about 30 seconds in, so if at first you think you can't hear very well, stick with it, it gets better, I promise. Also, I think I get better as the reading goes on. Yup.

So, here's the links, it's in two parts:
Part One: New York I, New Jersey, Westchester, Astoria, the start of Williamsburg
Part Two: end of Williamsburg, East Village, Greenwich Village, Chelsea & The Meatpacking District, New York II

Topic: Our Trip to the Strip Club

Stef's recap is in CARTOONS, and hence far better than anything you'll read here. E.g., here's her picture of Lozo's lap dance. Note my facial expression. Srsly, something this amazing doesn't come along every day.
Also, now Lozo's written his recap, and honestly, I'm not lying, I LOLed like, way harder than I've LOLed at any blog entry I've ever read before.

12:36 P.M. , Monday, October 8th.

Lozo: I need to take a shower.
me: Yeah, so do I.
Lozo: I smell like stripper and subway
me: I feel covered in stripper.
me: JINX

Those are the matchbooks I took from the Hustler Club. Notice I'm wearing hangover shirt. Seriously,
I am ready to light the world on fire. Who's WITH ME?

i. I Can Jump Ship and Swim

So, on a scale of one to ten, my stomach totally hated me on Monday morning. It was like, "Really Riese, really?!!" One of the cute things I like to do in my eternal pursuit of Dying Young is pre-party. Like in college, when it usually involved more than one person, e.g., Natalie and I doing shots of Raspberry Stoli [out of coffee mugs cause no one'd done the dishes in 30 years], employing orange slices as chasers because not one of the 8 girls we lived with consumed liquid calories. Soooo anyway [I love the way Jonathan Ames says "anyway" when he's reading his audiobook. Seriously, it's the cutest thing ever, it makes me wanna be his wife or live-in companion of some sort], when I got home Sunday night @4 A.M., totes ready for dinner, I opened the fridge and found a 35% full wine bottle, implying that I'd consumed 65% of the bottle (more than "one drink") prior to departure. I was like "oh, fuck."


Anyway [anyway!, aw, Jonathan Ames], that's fine. Luckily I'm very smooth/slick, or else I've developed quite a tolerance, as I still felt relatively sober when I arrived at THE HAWAIIAN TROPIC ZONE, where Lozo & Stef were already enjoying some pre-party drinks.

ii. In the Zone

If Lozo'd been standing up, I woulda come up behind him and tried to pull his pants off, just to set it up right away that we're all friends here who can jokingly remove each other's clothing if they want to. Unfortunately, he was sitting.

Sidenote: I'm not lying when I say I've been a little weird/agoraphobic lately ... I've been staying in lately and I felt like a Brave New Girl going out into the world, like Britney. I had a discussion with Shy, one of our strip-club compadres, re: What a Hot Album That Is, especially for working out. Anyway [hmmm ... ], I've gotta say that this place defo made me feel good about re-entering the world. I mean, Times Square, that's the center of New York City and the capital of the world! [Innermost circle of hell] I LOVE people, seriously.

So, I know what you're all wondering. What's Lozo like in 3-D?


That picture isn't from Sunday night, I just found it on Lozo's myspace.

Well, let me tell you this: he has a very nice shoulder. Also, he informed me within ten minutes of my arrival that his latest blog post, when he left home, had amassed 47 comments and would possibly exceed 50 that same evening.

Also, he watches sports both on his blog and in 3-D. Luckily for his sports-fan contingency, television monitors displaying various sporting events graced the walls of all our testosterone-oriented establishments, including the Hawaiian Tropic Zone. If naked ladies aren't enough for you, there is also The Yankees. So he didn't miss a thing, like Aeorosmith.

The uniforms at HTZ: bikini tops and tiny skirts. That made me uncomfortable for them, which was a bit disheartening re: how I'd handle the rest of the night.

Michele, a.k.a. RocketDyke, and her friend Shy, [Sounds like a stripper name kinda, yeah? Well, he's not a stripper, the strippers are later in this story] joined us at HTZ. Anyhow, Shy wasn't shy, he & Michele were both awesome. Before their arrival, I'd said: "No rocket scientist jokes, you guys," 'cause of her commenter-name, rocketdyke. I thought that was pretty clever. See, I was clearly sober.

Then, skies opened up, lights flashed, and girls in bikinis began parading on an above-bar catwalk: AMAZING apparently there's a nighty beauty pagaent at HTZ. We had a plethora of laughs at their expense--the only hot girl was #13. She was dumb though, she said "I'm lucky number 13!" which isn't true, 13 is an UNlucky number. All the girls had tattoos and bellybutton rings. So do I, but less slutty. Not that there's anything wrong with sluts, there totes isn't, I'm just explaining that I have a different "look," so to speak.

I enjoyed an overpriced glass of tonic water, topped off with a small splash of vodka.

iii. Some Conversation Topics I Remember:

1. Someone asked why Lozo used the name Lozo on his blog and I was like, "Because that's his last name," and everyone was like "NOOOO it isn't." It isn't, "LOZO" stands for Legend Of Zelda Online, actually. JK. It's his last name. One of the evening's finest running jokes was that 'Lozo' is short for Lozostien or Lozo'grady or something. Get it? Funny, right? I know. We're funny in 3-D too. I'm bad at recapping actual events in my life, can I make a list or something, or tell you what happened on the teevee? [UPDATE: This is now a list.]

2. I feel like I kept referencing The Office, 'cause I hadn't sat down & watched it 'til Saturday night, when Jim & Pam made me believe in love. It's such a funny show, seriously. Very smart.

3. Lozo wanted to know how to pronounce the word "obvs," and wanted to hear me use "probs'll" in conversation.

4. Someone asked: "Is this weird?" Personally, I didn't feel weird at all. I dunno, maybe I'm not as awkward as I think I am. I rarely feel weird. I AM weird. Feeling weird would just be repetitive.

5. Lozo told me he was 6'3: "I'm just throwin' it out there." And I was like "BACK OFF!" JK. That didn't happen.

Let me tell you a little something, grasshopper, about the internets. In the past four months, I've met two new people with whom I am quite funny. If you've ever had the pleasure of Riese & Carly's company, you know that we're really remarkably funny as a duo. That's one of our selling points, in fact, re: teevee show. Also, now it's been confirmed that Lozo & I are also funny. Not Riese & Carly funny, but funny. Also, I've just met him, things could get more or less funny.

Anyhow, this would be an advantage to meeting people through blogs -- you can usually gather from someone's internets self-presentations if their jokes are gonna jive with something intangible deep inside your snarky soul. So, there. That's one. Also; Stef is the only living soul who's had the pleasure of hanging out with both of the aforementioned match-ups, which makes her the luckiest person on the whole planet.

We hit up another bar to amp up the pre-stripper likkeration via shots of Maker's Mark. It was fierce. Then we headed to the West Side Highway, like a band of wild hooligans.

iv. She Can Pop It, She Can Lock It

Haviland's been to The Hustler Club "a few times" and apparently endorsed it to Stef. Therefore, because Haviland's my BFF and a Rising Star and an expert on half-naked ladies, we went to The Hustler Club which employs, apparently, only skinny perky-breasted girls w/significant quadriceps. They wear dangerously high heels and grind against patrons half-naked, hoping to sell dances, like Yankees game vendors, except they're vending their bodies. Most patrons were male, but there were a lot of lesbians on Sunday night, probs 'cause Sunday's no-cover night and lesbians are cheap. JK, they just don't like paying for naked girls to dance on them. Still though: fun, yay, girls, dancing, gymnastics, etc.

Good choice for "first time," howevs, probs too classy for me. Next time, I wanna go somewhere that doesn't try so hard: deviants doing crazy shit, trashy lunatics galore, chaos, yelling/screaming -- general grit and swarthy underside of life shit. I mean, if I'm gonna step into the Dark Side, I'd like it to be seriously Dark, not some cartoon plastic version of darkness. This red plastic ring on my new shelf [uncovered during furniture moveathon] was an engagement ring stand-in from T[]B[], not from Count Chocula, you know? I don't fuck around.

We enjoyed a variety of activities: arts & crafts, canoeing, lanyards, and hopscotch. In our downtime, we busied ourselves ascertaining which tits were real & which were fake. I kept asking people about Perky & Punctual, but no one knew what I was talking about. That was a little frustrating, but fine.

So: THESE GIRLS CAN DO GYMNASTICS. Dude, this is SERIOUS. Like, I wanna learn to do all of those tricks. In general, it seemed the girls were totes getting a good workout & that's good, very empowering. Seriously, I want very badly to go off into feminist theory, get all Carol Queeny or something right now, but I won't.

*
vi. Are You a Player?

I kept thinking about that episode of The L Word[Episode 202, entitled "Lapdance"] in fact, when they take Tina to the strip club and Alice comments that Tina's stripper looks like Bette, which's funny, because obvs she doesn't: she's simply ambiguously ethnic w/long dark hair, like many females do. A cocktail waitress asks Shane if she's a "player," which's awesome. Happens to me all the time.

Anyhow, wouldn't it be awesome if strip clubs had a method of finding dancers who looked just like your ex? I mean, who doesn't want to re-visit getting their heart torn out, but in a safe and fun environment like a strip-club? Yeah?

"I am not getting a lap dance. If you buy me a lap dance, I will get super uncomfortable on 100 different levels/positions and make everyone feel weird. FYI. Don't do it. I beg of you." -Me

A lot of girls tried to sell us dances, though we looked much less monied than many other patrons. One smokin' hot girl Leiliani (that's what Lozo thinks her name was] wouldn't take no for an answer: she sat on Shy for a bit 'til she realised he wasn't gonna go for it, then hopped on Lozo--also uninvited, but he didn't seem to mind. I couldn't look--I just told Stef to relay via facial expressions what exactly was goin' down. I felt like it was a private moment beween Lozo and and Leliani and I didn't want to, you know, watch. Plus, she looked a little bit like my ex.

So, anyway, Lozo is deaf in one ear. If you add up all his disabilities, it's almost like Boxing Helena. It's okay. I love Twinkies.

She sorta talked like a cheerleader, like she was gonna be like "Hey! Ready to strip! LEETSS GO!!" She had a deep-ish voice. I like that in a woman. [Really, I do.] How do I know all this? Because she was forced upon me by my "friend" Lozo. I mean that in all possible permutations of the word "friend."

Leilianahaha shared the following tasty tidbits of information with me:
-"I love dancing for girls. Girls are easy to dance for, I love girls."
-"I love girls."
-"You have a really good body, I can tell."
-"I love girls."
-"Private rooms upstairs are [massive amount of money I don't have, totes tuned out] and [something else I can't afford] is [another massive amount]."

Stef said the look on my face was "priceless." Howevs, there was a price, luckily I wasn't the one paying it. There are def. worse things in the world than a beautiful half-naked girl grinding her ass between your legs with her tits in your face. But I just can't buy into it, and I've got this problem with all salespeople -- I'm always trying to engage the bill collectors in conversations about their lives. I'm like "Let's cut the crap and get real."

Anyhow, Michele told the strippers that we knew each other from blogs. Lozo & I decided it would be much cooler if we were twins who knew each other from the womb, but Raven stopped believing us when we disagreed over who was born first.

We closed the bar down, made out, and walked Lozo to the PATH train. It was all just kinda funny, yeah? It was funny. Maybe it was what I needed.

Topic: A Shot at Love With Tila Tequila

I figured this show was a strong sign of the apocalypse and the eventual destruction and complete moral bankruptcy of the entire country, guaranteed to be chock-full of bikini-clad trashwhores and bisexual stereotypes. I figured clearly I could remedy its evil by recapping it. The first ten minutes were so offensive to bisexuals I had to leave the room, Zoey and I were stunned. It was like watching a bunch of dumb elephants: who cares if the elephant is hot and bisexual, what does that have to do with me?

Made me want to die. I don't mean that, not literally, don't panic. I would never do that. I love life. For example; I love flowers, sunshine, and hugs. Also I like scratch-and-smell stickers. Do they still make those?

So though I missed the first half, I caught the second half of A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila at the gym on Wednesday (10-10) morning, because I was filled with multifarious energy of all emotional extremes and needed to run it out. Like walking it out, only faster, and worse for your knees.

Second half: way better than first ten minutes. Though she continued to say ridiculous things about men vs. women, everyone became so intensely ridiculous that the entire show reached farcical proportions possessing measurable entertainment value. Also, Tila's not as retarded as I thought. I could shoot the blonde girl who was like 'I don't get butch women, like, ew,' but I might never get that chance.

At the end, at the "big reveal" of her "big secret" (I'm A bisexual, as in "bisexual"=noun. WTF?), I found her choice of words alarming. "I've never told anyone this before ..." Except the producers of the show? Right?

The clips for the upcoming season -- AMAZING. This's going to be the best reality show of all time, and by that I mean the best/worst. Offensive, but then again, most television is offensive, it's just more innocuous.

Also: as one of the 60 gazillion lesbians/bisexuals who received the casting call for this show -- well. I'll talk about that later. They're tricky bastards, MTV. Also: Steffanie from Irvine, California? I have a feeling you're about to get kicked off the show. I want you to know you have a shot at love with me. JK. No one does, I'm an emotional basketcase obvs. JK. Ugh.

Topic: Natalie Needs a Job, Tara [D] Needs a Roommate.

My friends think that my blog is like craigslist sorta. The thing is, a lot more people read craigslist than my blog. In any event:

1. Natalie needs a job. She's very beautiful and can do gymnastics. Also, she has great breasts. No seriously, she's really smart, has a Masters in Policy and Philosophy or something something from the London School of Economics and a B.A in Psych and Women's Studies from The University of Michigan and a lot of experience in non-profits and also was a paralegal and worked at the gardening store. Her first job was at the Dunkin Donuts in Cleveland, Ohio, when she was 14. There she is! See:

2. Tara [D] needs a roommate. She's very beautiful and can do lots of "gymnastics." Also, she has great breasts. She sent me the ad they posted on craigslist, but it's a little long, and I like to be brief here on this blog, so I've summarized it for you, and also just quoted it:

-Looking for a girl to move in ASAP to a Warlem apartment and split a huge walk-through double w/curtain currently dividing the room, though a temp wall is "def an option." Spacious apartment, beautiful hard-wood floors, white walls, large kitchen, living room, bathroom. Tara's a "down-to-earth, friendly, easy-going girl" and her two "flat-mates" are "independent, intelligent, hard-working and pretty much rock!" They're grad students/young professionals in their twenties who like to "have a good time" but also "take care of business." $700/month with one month's rent security deposit, utilities are extra and split between everyone, they've got wireless and SERIOUSLY EVERY TV CHANNEL THAT EXISTS. The best part is that there's a liquor store that delivers, a good deli with an ATM, right by the 1-9 and Columbia, and you'd get to hang out with memememememe. She'd like to add that they are "LGBT and cat friendly." If it wasn't for the cats and the fact that I've already got an apartment, I'd live there, no joke. Seriously though, you'll meet a lot of hot & fun girls if you live there, it's like, instant social heaven. Also they take care of business.

These are two of your potential roommates, Tara and Vicky:

If this post really was about the Yankees, it would have an opening paragraph much like the one I just read in the NY Times while waiting for my latte at Starbucks: "Everything changes. Things fall apart." [holla, Yeats by way of Achebe!] "For 12 seasons, there was sunshine on his shoulders. But now there is darkness ..."