Whoodie Wednesdays & This Girl Called Automatic Almost-Winner

Hello, friends. I'm in a weird mood today [and by "today" I mean "yesterday," Tuesday, when I wrote this post, not "today" as in Wednesday, when you're reading it]. [I know, how'd I manage to get a Lezzie nomination when I can barely construct a sentence?] I mean everything feels totally off. All day I've been a beast. Anyhow! Speaking of things that are ON: 'cause you're all so amazing at voting, I'm now a finalist for "Best Beast Blog" for The Lezzies. I mean "Best Personal Blog." The other two nominated blogs (Peaches & Coconuts and A Brown Girl Gone Gay) are excellent and newer. I love them both already, they're fresh young muffins of delight. Also whether you want to or not, vote for Grace the Spot for best humor blog and also for Sugarbutch for best Gender-Bender & Short Story/Erotica. Just do it, okay? Just do it. Like you would with a sneaker. Also vote for Auto-Winner Dorothy for Culture & Entertainment.

I should probably edit this blog in the morning like a proper person [UPDATE: Eh.]. You're all wonderful. Have I told you that enough? I haven't, I never could. I think blogs are magic. You've brought magic into my life. Not the rabbit stuff I could already do that.

I feel vulnerable today. I have two choices: beast or gutted.

THIS JUST IN!!! You have one choice: watch Riese & Haviland on Alexi's Closet Episode #17! (Screencap above) In this episode, it appears at times that I almost know what I'm talking about.

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I'm ready for my recession to be stimulated. Yes We Can! I've been living this self-created "what I'm doing now is perfect for now but won't be good long-term" life for quite some time now.

You know how it goes with things that were meant to be temporary and then become your whole life. Before you know it, it's been forever, you're stuck in a prologue and you can't get out of it.

Now my/our traditional state of existence has become the National Spirit, now's the time for us all to suck it up for two years, we're told these temporary measures will enable stuff getting better later. I'm down. And though it makes me itchy to think this -- because so many people don't have homes, or credit cards, or any of the wonderful support systems that I have -- my number one feeling about the Recession is that I feel like suddenly now everyone is feeling the way I've felt (alone) for the last two years or so. You know.

Lately I've been fine with putting periods at the end of questions. Maybe I've stopped expecting answers.

Tomorrow I should fix this blog post. I don't know what it is about extra attention that makes me want to talk crazy. By "fix" I mean I should write proper sentences like I went to college.

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One thing I like about this "Best Personal Blog" category is that I don't have to compete against people who rely on on external happenings/content to provide post topics. See I have to think of all these things myself. Like how can my navel lint compete with Tank Top Tuesdays or like actual news.

Did you know I've written 463 posts? That's so many. Since April 2006. I was so young then, so full of light and angel food cake. Angel food cake is bullshit cake.

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I thought it would be fun/appropriate to celebrate the nomination by asking everyone to tell me something personal they'd want to know about me, but then that seemed so ridiculously self-centered and presumptuous of me, and it seeming that way made me not want to do it. But I still think it's a good idea. Secretly.

I have a strange definition of the word "secret." Stephen Dunn said something like; there's a lie behind every lie I've told. I think.

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You know what the hardest thing about writing a personal blog is? That at any given moment absolutely anyone in the whole world you've ever known can make a decision to read as much of it as they want to and consequently email me to let me know they've read it.

There's nothing wrong with this, obvs, but it can be jarring. When someone unexpected does this I have a knee-jerk reaction to go back and look at everything I've ever written to make sure I never wrote something about them or relating to them expecting them to never read.

Any given day -- a boy I slept with in college, an ex girlfriend or boyfriend, a former roommate, relatives close and twice removed, my mother, my cousins, the girl that decided to get all up in my ex's grill, an employer, a co-worker, a former anything, the boy i loved at 13, the girl who loved me too much, the ones that got away, the muses and the dreams, the lost friends of the 90's, the one I envied, the ones who hurt me, those I've forgotten, the famous person I wrote about, the blogger I linked to, the writer I liked, an old teacher, you, you, you, you, you.

It's like imagining if your facebook page really did contain most of your book and a lot of your face and privacy settings were not an option.

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I say it's not hard to have it all out there and have my name on it -- not just my name but my face and my everything. I mostly rely on my tendency to ramble to be my main defense from ever really attracting the casual attention of someone only tentatively interested. Anyhow that's what I say but that's not true. It is really hard. But it's not as hard as like, working on a shrimping boat or something. It's hard but it's easier than not saying anything.

I don't think G-d believes in blogs. Do blogs believe in G-d? Time will tell. I tried to do handstands for you, every time I fell on you ...

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You know I genuinely think Uh Huh Her is one of my top ten favorite bands of all time. I can't imagine them ever coming out with a song I don't want to listen to. I admit that Tegan & Sara have had like 3 or 4 songs I've really disliked (Freedom, Superstar, The First, Hype -- but they're all earlier songs) so I still think they're 95% likely to make a song I want to listen to every time.

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I should do Hoodie Wednesdays instead. If it was Whoodie Wendesdays it would be better actually, then it'd be alliteration like Dorothy's, which would be perfect since she beat me last year and was nominated in like every category this year. I need to show you some photos of critters. Obviously. Critter photo time. Also vote for Dorothy in one of those three categories or more than one, she deserves it.

WHOODIE WEDNESDAYS*!
(this will be the one & only whoodie wednesday, don't get too excited.
I like words not pickshurs.)

Top Critters of the Universe Week
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Spencer is cancelled, also has a hoodie on.
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Look, I do secretly think dogs are kinda cute.
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Babypop Number #1 Critter Hoodie
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Tegan or Sara? You decide.
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Like a city, but free.
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Tasha: should wear more hoodies.
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Crouching Tiger, Hidden Hoodie.
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The Beautiful Margaret Cho Hoodie
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Teen Preggers Hoodie
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GO TEAM GO HOODIE!

GRAND OPENING: Pins/Buttons, Baby!

It doesn't get any better than this. Hot & Fast & Cheap & Cool! We're talking 3-D here -- real, live, pin-to-your-peter-pan-collar buttons/pins, wear them here there and everywhere. It's Buttons, Baby! Just in time for the holiday season we bring you your best idea yet -- tiny & shiny buttons that everyone can enjoy together -- male or female, dog or cat, reader or illiterate, homo or strai or bisexual, emo or sunshiney, short or tall, multi-limbed or amputee, rich or poor, dentist or dairy farmer, mother or cousin, these buttons will please & satisfy and they're now on sale in the Autowin Store.

Whether a stocking stuffer or a smokin' hot accessory for your messenger bag, butt, bikini, stuffed animal or fedora, buttons are better than ice cream [not better than Pinkberry, though they are, in fact, less expensive than Pinkberry] and sweeter than Splenda.

These buttons are tokens of affection, apparel of perfection, and the bestest hottest people in the world will be sporting them now & forevermore. Shouldn't you be one of them?

The store is up & running -- it doesn't look that good right now but we're working on it. We wanted to be sure you could get these by Christmas so we had to do a rush job on the website but the buttons, however, are perfect specimens, conceptualized by me & Team Awesome and translated into design magic by Semicolon.

I'll probs offer a few more fun things this week, but I can tell you this for certain: anyone who makes an order on today, DECEMBER 16TH or 17TH, will get ONE FREE BUTTON of your choice! It's actually $0.01, 'cause PayPal is a bitch. But that's practically free, buy it now before the Dow crashes.

Meet The Buttons

TINK!, inspired by Tinkerbell, Queen Chief Dog of Princess Worldwide Honor Society. May she bring you 30% of the joy and male dog attention she brings to me. That's actually quite a lot. For all dog lovers and/or haters everywhere.

Or I TOTES HEART ROCK BOTTOM, inspired by, I believe, mememememe, because this one time I said "I Totes Heart Rock Bottom" in a comment 'cause the blog post kinda went on into comments, and then someone said it back, and then we kept on saying it. Now you can say it ... in silver! The letters tumble, just like your soul and your feelings. Obvs every silver lining has a touch of grey, but this one is actually mostly silver.


Or OBVS, inspired by how you feel when she says that thing you totes agree with. Just point. Works for all people in all seasons.

Or UH HUH ... HER? In middle school, I had "best" and she had "friends." In post-post college ennui, it's "UH HUH" "HER?" You can wear them both. Then everyone will know ... how cool you are. Just prepare to be asked about PJ Harvey.

Or AUTOMATIC WINNER, inspired by semi-automatic weapons, love, feelings, and all things good and holy. It's your golden ticket to the winner's circle. Tell the world you've got it on lockdown.

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Yup. You want some ... uh huh ... and you'll get autostraddle stickers too, which fit perfectly over the "composition" square on your composition book, or on haviland's bumper, or on your butt.

Even if you have no idea what this blog is, these buttons are still super cute. That's one of the best parts. You can also load up your cart with other delightful Auto-Store items while you're shopping.

We'll have more photos of the buttons soon, but we haven't had time yet. We've been gearing up to ship out all orders within 24 hours of being ordered so if you order on the 16th it will be in the mail on the 17th and so forth. In case you want to surprise your girlfriend/boyfriend/boifriend with something special besides your vadge/whatevs.

Also we just like to make things for y'all. In my next life, I will devote myself wholly to arts & crafts.

GO TO THE AUTOWIN STORE RIGHT NOW!

Sunday Top Ten: In the Place Where There is No Darkness, There is Our Sitcom.

Sunday Night, 7.1.2007, circa 11:30 p.m.:
Me: "I need to think of an idea for my Sunday Top Ten."
Carly: "Oh, you mean your Thursday Top Eight? Your Tuesday Top Six?"

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This's a dispatch from Carly & Riese's Gay Sitcom Write-a-Thon 2K7, which's been, thus far, Extremely Successful. [Aside from a brief break on Saturday night to drink and another on Sunday night to watch the Big Gay Cruise Movie with Haviland, Heather, Lainy, Jen, Craig, Janet, Layla, etc., which was actually worth it for it warmed our hearts down to their very embers. Carly's not going on the cruise, but she was a sport.]

In order to conceptualize, develop and actually write an entire sitcom in about five days, I've had to commit my mind almost entirely to this task. Therefore, I'm unable to think of anything for the Sunday Top Ten that's not at least tangentially related to our sitcom. I could do "Top 10 Reasons We're The Awesomest Sitcom-Creators Of All Time," but I don't want anyone to feel intimidated, especially you, Ilene Chaiken. Because we're going to eat your breast cancer for breakfast, and wash it down with a long tall glass of ovulation, smear it in a warm bath of BETTY--and we're gonna do all that with all our clothes ON.

Also Ilene, if you were about to pick up the phone to call and hire me, don't let the above paragraph change your mind. I'd like to remind you that there's a thin line between love and hate, and that it helps to have writers on your team who don't just sit around and validate your retarded ideas all day. You've hired plenty of amazing writers, e.g., A.M. Homes and Angela Robinson, who probs also questioned some of your "choices," so why not hire me? I'm not even amazing, so you could boss me around if you want to. I like being bossed around sometimes. Except today, when I've dispatched a great deal of the research duties on this particular Top 10 to my unpaid intern. She just sent me an email that included bullet points! Go Carlytron!

But the First Rule of Best Lesbianish Sitcom Ever Club is "NO Opinions Allowed: Except from Marie and Carly." So I can't say what it is about, really, because we can't handle opinions right now. But the first thing we did was make a list of all the things that we were not going to have in our teevee show.

SUNDAY TOP 10:
IN WHICH TEAM AWESOME CREATES A GAY TEEVEE SHOW UNLIKE ALL OTHER GAY TEEVEE SHOWS

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10. No Death

See: Dana Fairbanks Obvs on The L Word, Tara on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Vic and the Random Gay-Bashed Boy on Queer as Folk, Doug on Workout, Sandy on ER, most lesbians in Law and Order/CSI/etc [after murdering someone clearly]. Also Jen died on Dawson's Creek and she wasn't gay but she was a total fag hag and when she had her final convo with Jack [gay!] ... Krista and I were crying like, a lot. Although we also cried all the way through Closer, and in the final musical performance at the school scene in Uptown Girls. And during our third, fourth and fifth viewings of that musical section I just mentioned from Uptown Girls.

We've got a notes sheet where we write down all of our tangential glimmers of brilliance. At the top, it reads: ALL OUR CHARACTERS HAVE BEEN GRANTED ETERNAL LIFE. Like Gilgamesh!

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9. Specifically, no Breast Cancer

See: Dana Fairbanks, obvs.

This rule's 'cause of Dana Fairbanks. Moreso, it's because of Ilene Chaiken, who lives in a deluded fantasy world of her own creation in which the only way to "tell the story" of breast cancer [She "needed" to tell this story, p.s., like maybe it came to her in a dream or something? Who knows whatevs, she's clearly completely out of her mind.] was to kill Dana. She's probably already stewing up how to sacrifice Alice to Al Queda or something. [Note to google spies: I know I've just used Al Queda and lesbian and AIDS in the same blog entry, but I swear I'm way too busy to be a terrorist. I'm writing a sitcom, obvs! That's like, the opposite of terrorism, because it lulls the people into robotic complacency. Especially a gay sitcom, because the gays are particularly pissed for obvious reasons.]

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8. No Pregnancy, Babies, or discussions of Fertility and/or Ovaries.

See: Carol & Susan on Friends, Mel & Lindsay in Queer as Folk, Bette & Tina in The L Word, Keith & David on Six Feet Under

Why? Because if I wanted to talk about my ovaries or about babies, I would have a baby. If I wanted to talk about building healthy and stable partnerships in order to best enrich the upbringing of another human person, I'd stop being a baby. But Angelica in The L Word: adorable ... though the lesbian-with-a-baby storyline is really lame, especially when partnered with a lesbian-bed-death storyline. What came first, though, the chicken or the egg? You know?

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7. No Ridiculous Bisexual Females

[Vacillating between women and men, partying like there's no tomorrow, killing people, being manipulative/insane, constantly tempted to return to heterosexuality for All the Wrong Reasons, just experimenting with a friend but really likes cock, etc.]

See: Jenny, Alice, Dylan and Tina in The L Word, Marissa on The O.C., Sarah on America's Next Top Model, Genesis, Bree, and Ruthie on The Real World, Paige on Degrassi: The Next Generation, Julia on Dirt, whatever's happening with that Aidan-Spashley love triangle on South of Nowhere, etc.

Where do I begin on this topic? Really, where? Do I begin with The Real World, L.A Law, Ally McBeal ... movies like Personal Best and Wild Things? Though homosexuals and queers of all variations've been notoriously underrepresented on television for centuries, the Sweeps Lesbian -- TV terminology for that girl who goes gay for ratings, then returns to the men America's wanted her to fuck all this time -- remains a popular staple. I've got this really revolutionary idea: what if bisexual women were just women who were sometimes attracted to women, and sometimes to men? Wouldn't that be weird?

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6. No Coming Out Stories

See: Jack on Dawson's Creek, Justin on Queer as Folk, Spencer on South of Nowhere, Dana & Jenny & Phyllis on The L Word, Ellen on Ellen, Marco on Degrassi: The Next Generation, Jessie on Once and Again, David on Six Feet Under, etc.

There's nothing wrong with coming out stories, they've just been done. And done. Much like real life, in which people come out, I guess. I don't really know because I've never "come out" to anyone. Why? Because I'm one of those annoying bisexuals mentioned in "7" who take the easy way out, and just write blogs about their primarily lesbian lifestyles and figure if anyone really wants to know, they can just read it. Or you can put it on your myspace profile or whathaveyou. For example on how well this works, see below:

"Mom also gave me an update about your life, but I found that my friend Nick gave me a way better update a week or two ago. Which is you know, funny, how a complete stranger yet loyal reader gets the dirt weeks before our Mom. Anyway I played along, Oh wow, she's in a relationship? With a girl? Wahhhht!"

-My brother Lewis, email to me, 4.11.2007

Like when Lewis came to visit in November and I was seeing/special-friending Steph and we all went out together and she consequently spent the night, it did occur to me I'd never "come out" to him but I was like, whatever, he reads my blog. Anyhow: I know what it's all about, coming out. My Mom came out to me once! So did a girl from high school when we were both on the elliptical trainers at the Upper West Side New York Sports Club. A girl from middle school, on her behalf and also another one of our best friends. And so on.

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5. No AIDS

See: Pedro in The Real World: San Francisco. Ben, Vic and Hunter in Queer as Folk, Doug on Workout.

The thing about AIDS is: it's really depressing. If you've ever befriended a forty or fifty-something gay male in NYC, you've likely heard a variation on this story: "I use to have a lover. He had AIDS. We had an apartment in the meatpacking district before it was trendy. Then my lover died of AIDS. I used to have all these friends. They died of AIDS. Now I live alone. I don't have AIDS but I have a rent-controlled apartment. Also, everyone I know is dead. From AIDS." That is heavy shit and this is a sitcom. We want people to laugh. I mean, everyone loves a good tearjerker. If you are one of those people, go rent Philadelphia. Actually, if you wanna cry like A LOT? Rent It's My Party.

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4. No Ridiculous Fashions

See: Everyone on The L Word, Samantha on Sex and the City [I'm including her moreso for her fagginess, and I mean that in the best possible way, than for her brief flirtation with lesbianism].

I just don't understand why you'd dress your characters in ugly clothes when you could dress them in cute clothes. I mean, you have a choice, and you choose incorrectly. Why?

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3. No meditation, or references to drum circles, serious relationships to yoga, chakras, sun gods/goddesses

See: We don't know if this's been anywhere but The L Word. But in real life, lesbians dig this shit.

Um, it's just boring. Also, people who aren't into it (like, clearly, us), are really skeptical and semi-caustic about their disbelief. Probs I'm just jealous that you have like, a goddess to bless your chakra and unify your holy spirit or whatevs, and I'm just like "What's up. My mind is racing right now and it won't stop. Try to quiet the waves of my overactive brain. I need a drink." Mostly, we're bothered that Bette's entire meditation-hoo-ha storyline was not only completely out of character ["Of course. it's a technique of self-help people like him. You spout enough pre-packaged wisdom, there's bound to be something for everybody. you know, i find something for me in the Vogue horoscope, too, that doesn't mean it's not bullshit." -Bette, to Kit, Re: TOE, Season Two] and boring, but was crafted specifically to hide Jennifer Beals' pregnancy and for no other reason. Isn't that dumb? Couldn't they just give her weird outfits like they did to SJP? Oh wait--they did.

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2. No Terrible Theme Songs, Specifically no BETTY.

See: "The Way That We Live," The L Word, "Spunk," Queer As Folk, "Things Just Keep Getting Better," Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

I mean seriously. I may have mentioned this before, but I believe the following things could create a better theme song than 'The Way That We Live": the sound of iced tea being stirred, an angry kitten, your mom, my ass, Milli Vanilli, a 6th grade recorder student group, a beached whale, a non-beached whale, the sound of Shane banging her head against the wall, the sound of people fucking, the sound of people crying, Rock-a-Pella, that guy who sang Ricky Martin on The American Idol Show, me.

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1. Sex and Partial Nudity Whenever Possible
See: Nothin', Til Now.

Why? Because sex is hot. And also, kinda funny. Like, much much funnier than dying or chakras. People're naked and rolling around sticking their fingers and tongues in each other. That's really funny. And what's amazing about it is that we humans've managed to transform it into something that sucks genuine out of ridiculous and then wears it like happiness ... which's why it's fun to have on the teevee. Every now and then, e.g., when appropriate. Like don't cut away just when things get good. Pump up some Shiny Toy Guns and get it on. Or if you're just chillin' in your room, what's with all the clothing? Fashion show? Because we're not gonna have violence, you know? Just love. Because that's the L Word, weirdos. Like, for your friends, mostly [because I get by with a little help from my friends], but for your family too and for life itself, and then for the stories we tell about it. The End.

Ha. Obvs it's late and my brain has dissolved completely and is no longer responsible for it's contents.

Some Notable Lines: If You'd Been Waiting to See a Unicorn as Long as I Have....

Sidenote [there's nothing for it to be on the side of yet, as I've only just begun, but um, whatever.]: new auto-straddle.

Let's get on with it....

In 10th grade, all my bestest friends lined up two days in advance to get front row tickets for an Ani DiFranco concert ...

[See that? That's what I call a "good lede." Because I bet everyone who's reading this, especially the dwindling 20% audience share identifying as "male," is like "Oooo! Ani! LOVE HER."]

... but I didn't, because I didn't like her then [now I love her, LOVE HER], and when Drew'd crank up "Living in Clip" on his barely-breathing Volvo's tape deck, I'd groan and hold my hands to my glittered face [that's literal, the glitter], so clearly, I wasn't planning to attend her annoying concert, let alone wait in line for front row seats like they did. Also, Mom woulda never let me camp out all night with a bunch of hippie pot-smoking heteroflexible ambisexual teenage Ani DiFranco fans.

But it seems many humans enjoy nothing more than a good line, and, in fact, will willingly go out of their way to receive particular things ASAP (e.g., the new Harry Potter), to purchase The Best of said things (e.g., front row seats), hoping for a chance to win/earn something (e.g., a spot on a Reality TV show) or to get something rare/hard to find (e.g., Nintendo Wii) or for something ridiculously free or under-priced (e.g., 'Free Scoop Day' at Ben and Jerry's). The lines we're willing to endure reveal our true selves (not really, but I feel like making absurd grandiose generalizations today): Lord of the Rings? Beanie Babies? American Idol auditions? Madonna tickets? The privilege of paying $100 to trap oneself in to a small dingy cage and then get dropped from a great terrifying height?

A cell phone? With AT & T? The media gets really excited when people wait in line for things.

i-chat transcript, 6.25.07. On the "iPhone."

Me: People are gonna line up, they say.
Carly: Oh yes. I mean, they lined up for like, OS X 10.4, so can you imagine the chaos for the fucking phone?
Me: It's like the opposite of the bread lines in Russia and Lord of the Rings.
Carly: Which is why I'm waiting until like, Hanukkah, to get mine.
Me: I bet that's the first time you've been happy about having Cingular. Actually....I had that, they fucked me. Then I got Sprint, who also fucked me, and now I have T-Mobile, and they are also fucking me. It's like, really brutal.
Carly: I hate Sprint with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. I'm fine with at&t/cingular/at&t/whatever. I would hate to be brutally fucked by a phone.
Me: I know it'd be very phone-y and wide and awkward. Unless it was like an old school Nokia.
Carly: I am Loling.
Me: From like, '99.
Carly: Those wouldn't be as bad.
Me: Yeah, but like, a Sidekick? Ew.
Carly: Or a Blackberry? Jesus.
Me: It would be like being entered by an actual UFO, but a violent one like from Star Trek, or whatever.
Carly: Oh my God, Lol-ing for real.
Me: A RAZR would be bad, because it looks like it would have sharp sharp edges. You know? Like a razor.
Carly: Oh, I got that.
Me: RAZR=razor. Get it?
Carly: hahahahahha. I do.
Me: By "RAZOR" I mean... razor.

When I ventured to the apple store on Wednesday to retrieve a new keyboard and power cord for my sad little MacBookinstien, I noticed there were a lot of whackos outside on their lawn chairs. Probs their phones got stolen like mine did. However, I didn't wait in line for my DASH. Instead, I spent three days pondering the various dimensions of my misery and how glad I was no one could reach me, lest they be subjected to my whining. Then, ten days later, I decided that my boots were made for walkin', and that's just what I did, I walked on over to T-Mobile. What was I waiting for, those long psychologically challenging days in my bubble with my air conditioner and my broken t-key? I don't know. Probs Godot or An Answer.

I hate lines. [Really? Really Riese? You are such a unique and special snowflake.] That's why I hate Rite Aid, the gym after 5pm, popular restaurants, the apple store, H+M, the airport, Starbucks, Whole Foods, the doctor's office, amusement parks and Pathmark. I'd rather be hungry, thirsty and wearing last season's fashions than wait in line. JK. I just bring a book. And think to myself: "Why's everyone so stupid and I'm so smart? Why're none of these employees working at maximum efficiency? I could start my own restaurant, harvest my own potatoes, build a fryer, hire employees, peel and chop or whatever the potatoes and then train someone to fry them before I get to the front of this line at the alleged Express McDonald's." If it's running really poorly, I can't concentrate on my book, I can only seethe.

I never try things on because I can't wait in line for a dressing room. This's a problem.

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Some Notable Lines:

The Community High School Line : When Community High School was founded in 1972, it had only two rules: "1. No smoking, except in the teacher-student lounge, 2. Wear shoes." It remains one of the few public "magnet"/"alternative" schools to endure from the left-wing-powered wave of hippie alternative schools that were popping around America back then. By 1989, applicants far outnumbered spots, and, following the first-come first-served policy, ambitious parents started lining up up to two weeks ahead of time to get in. In '95, my year, they attempted to solve this problem by not announcing the location of the line 'til three days before the application due date. The first 50 kids get in. The remaining 50 spots; selected via lottery. The waiting list was actually a very promising prospect, too, because a lot of CHS students'd become drug addicts and skip all their classes. 'Cause they could. Freedom, etc. "School with no walls." By the time I got in off the waiting list, I was already at boarding school. I was like, sorry bitches! My brother went there though. His year, it was all lottery, and he didn't get in at first but made it via waiting list.

Anyhow, in 8th grade, I made a documentary about "the line." I re-edited it today to make it shorter and less boring. I've described my hair in this phase of life as an Angela Chase bob with a Zach Morris hair flip. I shoulda just let it be. My Mom's hair is also awesome. YouTube is retarded, so I don't know if you can see my subtitle, but when my Dad is talking about our plan, look at Mom's coat in the background.



Apple Store Line: What a miracle that they've finally concocted a semi-efficient system at their new Fifth avenue store. I woke up at like, dawn, more than once to wait in Soho. To wait and wait again. And then more.

Forever 21 Line: With clothes so cool, it's no surprise the line's always 50 yards long. I've literally spent an hour there selecting Hot Fashions only to abandon them in the sunglasses bin mid-line, convinced it's not worth it. Also; when you finally get to the front, you're probs not 21 anymore because: 1. The line's literally 100 years long. Those faux-vintage rainbow-patterned short-shorts aren't gonna look hot on your varicosed legs so give up now, fossil. 2. If you're lucky enough to stand behind an under-21 customer and overhear any of their conversation [bla bla ttyl lol cell phone bla oral sex on the playground bladibla], you'll feel geriatric.

Vans Warped Tour Line: I remember this line because I wanted to kill my boyfriend for being so cranky when it was his idea to attend this G-dforsaken event in the first place. I don't remember why they made us line up, either. We already had tickets.

Whole Foods: The Chelsea outlet's got a really serious line system with line captains and lights. It works quite well. Howevs, it'd be better if they moved the brownie samples from the bakery area, where they're only accessible by patrons of the third line, and into a more central area, accessible to all line-waiters. I think that's what the organic farmers who created these brownies would want for mankind.

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Response to Request for Ideas for "Line Blog":

"What about the lines at theme parks? Or the lines of traffic I sit in sometimes? Or lines of cocaine? Ba dum bum."
-Carly

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Things I'd wait in line for overnight, a list created with deep thought:


1. Tickets for the Spice Girls Reunion Concert.
2. If they ever made Newsies into a live musical, I honestly don't think I could stand the idea of anyone seeing it before I did.
3. If this was some weird fantasy world where poets are rock stars, clearly I'd wait all day for Stephen Dunn. I've seen him read though a few times, but still. Really, actually, I'm having a hard time comprehending the idea of people waiting in line for poetry, I can't even conceptualize this hypothetical.
4. Free things that're worth a lot of money. These're usually in the form of "contests" or something though, so probs not.
5. Shakespeare in the Park starring someone I loved. Though I never have waited in line for SITP tickets, which says something. About truthiness.
6. If all my friends were doing it. That might be fun. Like camping.

---

Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly, all your life, you were only waiting ...

The thing is, I've never been comfortable with:
1) Extreme want/desire.
2) Pouring excessive energy or time into anything that isn't guaranteed to work out.

"The old farm roads' a four lane that leads to the mall, and our dreams are all guillotines waiting to fall."
-Ani DiFranco!

Re: 1)
Don't they have jobs? Families? I wonder about the people waiting for iPhones. How could you want anything so badly that you'd wait in line to PAY for it? Ten minutes've passed in line at Whole Foods and I already feel I've been had. How dare you make me wait to fulfill this want? This desire for organic strawberries? Certainly I can do without this, yeah? Certainly I can talk myself out of it? When you get in line, and wait, you're making a physical expression of want, which for me means dependence, which scares the shit out of me. I wish I didn't need anyone or anything for anything, ever. Lines make me feel like a sheep/robot, like waddling along the weaving ropes/the poles of the complicated line for The Raptor at Cedar Point, desperate enough to be scrambled around and whizzed through the air that I've paid for it and'll wait two hours for three minutes of it. You've convinced me to want this, and now I'm here, shuffling along, waiting.

I have an almost destructive inability to wait in line for food at group eating events. Like, I loathe those moments I'm standing there with my plate, waiting? I'll wait until the line's completely done, then go forage for scraps.

Re: 2)
As soon as "but you might not get in" is added to the description of a potential line to wait in (a sold-out show, an exclusive club, live television taping, contest of some sort, whatever), my desire to stand in it's completely zapped. Disappointment's inevitable: we can make the best plan ever for getting into Community High School and not make it, I can completely plan on attending NYU film school and not make it ... because every time, it feels like I've been had, you know? Clearly I'd've finished writing my book if I didn't have some complicated relationship with the conviction that it'll actually sell. Instead, I obsessively track the decline of the publishing industry almost to talk myself out of myself.

Maybe this relationship to investment-->reward (as in, I want to believe in it really badly but totes DON'T) is why I'm convinced every thing I do choose to put my heart into's gotta be the one to work out, because I'm standing here, after all, showing that I WANT.

If I work hard enough, I can make it happen. I will make this work. This project is worth it, I'll give up everything I will wait, I'll wait potentially forever, outside, even, in the cold, I'll bring a tent, I'll leave my life at home, rain whatever, hail whatever, I've been in worse lines, I'll give up everything everything to be ... America's Next Top [Girlfriend?] ... I've got what it takes ... I could lose so much but I could also win! everything! ... I'm not waiting for a chance, I'm waiting for everything I wanted to arrive/return ... now there is no pain you are receding shine on you crazy diamond look in your eyes like black holes in the sky distant ship...

... because I'm pretty convinced that nothing works out and I want someone to prove me wrong. I'm certain that any kind of investment rarely equals reward, that most things'll crash and it'll be violent and the heart'll break ...

I've solved this problem in my life by avoiding risky investments of time or emotion [e.g., relationships] and it's actually a pretty good strategy. So when I do invest, I'm serious. When I do invest, I invest more. And more. And more. Someone [you? you? redacted magazine? the unblogged story of the conde nast project? etc.?] prove to me that it's okay to shove all my eggs into one basket, to charge headfirst into exhaustion and over-extension of one's self because it seems like it oughta work out. My Mom often tells me it's time to "cut my losses." You win some you lose some you lose some you oughta win some. When I hoped I feared since I hoped I dared

"I waited for you calmly, with infinite patience.
I waited for you hungrily, just short of desperate."
-Stephen Dunn, "The Waiting."

You lose some, you oughta win some?

Well ... I did! I had! I have. I wasn't lying when I said that, that moment was exactly as sweet as it tasted. So. That, there. Stay. BE. JUST BE. Be what you were. Over there.

"I believe in peace, bitch."
-Tori Amos, "The Waitress."

"I praise how the body heals itself.
I praise how, finally, it never learns."
-Stephen Dunn, "Desire."

And ... something else about all that?

If I'd gotten into Community High, maybe I wouldn't've ever gone to Interlochen, and if I hadn't gone there then I woulda missed out on the rest of my life, on absolutely EVERYTHING! And I do believe (cue Christina Aguilera ballad) that everything happens for a reason. Really, I do.

Sometimes it takes a while for the point to emerge from the madness, but I'm pretty satisfied right now with the possibility at my fingertips, a million unfinished lines shooting out of my nails like Wolverine's claws -- but gentle, hesitant, non-violent and reaching towards attention. I'm blindly groping for what it is we're waiting for, but kinda pretty sure, every now and then, that I can ... and will ... get it?

"There's a starman waiting in the sky, he'd like to come and meet us, but he thinks he'd blow our minds."
- David Bowie, Starman

Why Doesn't Anyone Ever Know What I'm Talking About? I'm Hung Up On You.

I'm Hung Up On You: Live From My Portal

i.
Dr. C always asks me the same questions, so I always give the same answers. Then at the end, he'll laugh (nervously) and make some completely out-of-left-field comment that will totally knock my socks off. Today, not only did he ask me 'Do you have any additional superlatives for me?' after I'd responded to the quality of my moods, sleep, anxiety, overall health, living situation, job, etc. as "Super!" , "fantastic!", "never been better," "magical," and "mind-fuckingly-unbelievable!" but then he followed up that excellent execution of vocabulary with:

"Black nails, huh? So are you--goth?"

(note: he said this in almost the exact same tone he used to ask me if I was bi, except, due to content, it felt decidedly less like a nervous sexual advance and more like a quasi-adorable question from a-completely oblivious-to-pop-culture hippie father. If that father was not a hippie and wore only Banana Republic and said things like "millions of people take [medication name here]. It can't be bad for you, if millions of people take it.")

"Yeah," I answered. "Me and Lindsay Lohan. Thus the studded dog collar and the Hot Topic platform boots. And the attitude."

(Side note: black nail polish is totally "over' and in fact I think verging on saturation/uncool-ness, so I love it even more now. i'll like it 4-eva, just like chuck taylors.)

"What's Hot Topic?"

I was suddenly roped into providing definitions for: Hot Topic, Goth, Emo (which I sub-divided into "Seth Cohen emo" and "pop punk emo").

These things mean nothing to me, but I know about them.

ii.
Which is what's so fucking weird about our world right now. We sit in front of identical machines that offer portals into absolutely everything. It's not our rapidly expanding ability to pursue niche interests or obsessions that interests me, but rather how there are things I can't even imagine avoiding on this machine--like Gawker, or like blogs in general---things that are SO CENTRAL to my universe and so completely out of the orbit for so many other people. We all know the media is sort of a circle-jerk, but you don't really realize the extent of that until, over the course of one week, you are met with a blank stare regarding the following topics: The James Frey debacle, "RENT" (the musical, the movie, the empire), NPR, Gloria Steinem, Raymond Carver, the Jim McGreevy scandal, the term "JAP" (Jewish American Princess), the "logo" television network, the Duke rape case, the concept of "independent" films, Jack Kerouac and "On the Road," Ted Haggard, the connection between the failures of our public education system and prison populations, and the political movement of people who think the Holocaust was a lie (it's encouraging, of course, that holocaust-deniers are not in the public eye as much as I imagined). Oh and also a clueless computer tech guy who, after M commented on her ravenous appetite this time of the month, actually asked if a period lasted ONE OR TWO DAYS. As in "One day? Two days?"

iii.
I was endeared recently to learn that there is at least one person in my universe who has never seen the music video for Madonna's 'Hung Up.' Living one's entire life without seeing Madonna gyrate in her pink leotard is super-tragic, though I'm not sure I would have been turned on to it were it not for melaina's blog and the gym. And I think I was working at nerve.com then, and we had our pulse on the finger of bare thighed women in popular music. Also I go to the gym and there are about 10,000 TV screens there. It's like Sears.

iv.
Also, until last week, though I claimed otherwise, I did not know what made a Nintendo Wii different from other Nintendos. I don't understand why they keep making new Nintendos. How could anything get better than MarioKart?

v.
Also I still don't know what "The Departed" is about, and, I realized, in conversation last week about why I don't like Russel Crowe, that I have not seen a single movie with Russel Crowe in it. Ever. No, not even Gladiator. Shove it.

vi.
I've accepted that there are many things that compose huge giant chunks of my consciousness, like literature, that don't matter to most people. I don't expect everyone in the world to know about Savage Inequalities (re: the American school system), the Jonathans (Safran Foer, Franzen, Lethem), Ani DiFranco, blogs, theater, The L Word, New York Magazine, Lorrie Moore or Christina Ricci.

vii.
But sometimes people really surprise me. Like not knowing about Freygate.

Or when I referenced the "George Bush doesn't care about black people" Hurricane Katrina "thing," and [redacted, because i was such an incredulous asshole about it at the time you probably wanted to flood my life with toxic water from the Hudson River] replied with a blank and curious stare and said they hadn't heard anything of it.

I guess because we are all sitting in front of the same machine, it's boggling how easy it is to bypass entire portions of it's content. Do we really have access to everything, or are these new filtering tools (like Google Reader, my playground lover) just enabling us to filter out everything, via tag, and increasing our limited knowledge of our limited world?

viii.
Also why doesn't my computer know the word "internet" yet?!! Stop highlighting "internet" every time I do a goddamn spell check. Waa.

ix.
I'm trying to work this stuff out.

In these cases, the "you" refers to the group of people who do not know about the chosen thing.


Gawker.com:
Why I Assume You Know This: If Gawker were a girl, she would never win homecoming queen but she'd sweep the yearbook hand-outs: "most popular," "most likely to succeed," "best style," and "best looking." Gawker would be really pretty, but like--interesting pretty. Gawker would be very popular but she would keep her loyalties few and select. When Gawker was in the room, you'd feel self-conscious. You'd feel simultaneously that Gawker was looking at you AND had no idea you even exist. You'd be afraid to talk to her because she might tell everyone what you said, or just judge you, silently, which would feel almost worse. She'd have a really distinct/enviable style and be known as mean and smart and cold and there'd be mysterious rumors about her home life (single mom? gay dad? raised by famous author? lives with punk rock headlining sister in a van down by the river?) that maintained your rapture though you knew/suspected it was all a lie. She would get into Brown but drop out after three years for a tempting job offer. Her crowd would be girls who had to copy each other to fit in, but she could just be intimidating and smarter than them and that would be enough to keep them at their heels. Every time she'd look at you, your heart would skip a beat, and you'd add it to your psychological sidebar. You'd kind of hate her though, underneath all that love and admiration, because she has all this power. And she actually deserves it sometimes.
Why you don't: You don't live in New York City and you don't like New York City or the media it produces and then congratulates itself for.
OR 1. You aren't in publishing or in the media. 2.You have a job that requires you to perform certain tasks in exchange for a salary and you can't spend the entire day blog-surfing and checking to see if they've put up the gold star motel yet.


Gloria Stienham:
Why I Assume You Know This: You are an educated human being in the 21st century. You have, at one time or another, heard a little snippet about feminism. NOT about women who throw paint on fur and think all sex is rape, but like, ACTUAL feminism. The kind you shouldn't be afraid of, unless you are Ted Nugent or a Morman.
Why You Don't: Because I don't know who played in the Super Bowl. And because of the patriarchy. Because of most of the points she's ever made.



The James Frey Thing:
Why I Assume You Know This: You can either: 1. hear, 2. read, or at least you could last year. You like to use these senses to pick up newspapers or glance at television screens playing the news, or "surf the web" in search of additional news. You have conversations with people who read literary fiction or memoirs. You know about Oprah, for Christ's sake. Larry King. OPRAH?!!! Oprah. Everyone knows about Oprah. And if you don't, you are amazing, and I love you and forgive you.
Why You Don't: This story was more insulated to the world of publishing than I thought, I guess? I mean, I couldn't have avoided hearing about it thirty times a day, but then again, I missed The Olympics.


NPR:
Why I Assume You Know This: You are alive in the nation called America, and you've heard of a thing called "radio."
Why You Don't: I really don't know. I'm not saying I think you should listen to NPR, I'm just saying you should have HEARD of it. (pun intended) Because I am an elitist boho bastard with no connection to the American people? Because I grew up in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and you grew up in Buttfuck, Nebraska? Actually, that would be hot, if there was a city called "buttfuck." And actually, then, I think, there would be NPR there. I don't know. I'm being honest, I think it is because I'm an elitist twat. That's fine. If it wasn't for Krista, I would have missed a lot of things that happened in politics. Now that she's in New Haven, I probably do.


Some Things I've Been Called Out For Knowing Absolutely Nothing About Recently:
"Lost" (TV), "American Idol" (TV), John McCain (i know a little. but not a lot), the i-phone, the aforementioned Nintendo Wii, any movies that have come out with guns in them, Pan's Labyrinth (?), football, some cop-shooting thing, "The Sopranos," pretty much every TV show on TV that's not on "The N" or on at the gym in the mid-afternoon or not "The L Word" or "The View," why Dean stopped running in 04...also, i didn't get that youtube thing until like, 10 years after the rest of y'all.
I never saw TV as a kid, too. Like Facts of Life (?), and um, whatever else was on that people keep talking about. A Different World, or Different Strokes, or Different something something. Whatever. Shows that were on between 1980-1992. Didn't see them. You Can't do that on television? Me neither.

Okay.

There's a lot of stuff I don't know anything about. A lot. So I'm just as uncool as all of you. Except for the "One Day? Two Days?" guy. I'm cooler than him. Also he asked "so do you just stick something up there when you think it's going to come?" (REMINDER: his convo, NOT mine, which I could not BELIEVE we were having), and I said "Uh, like a tampon?" and he said
"Yeah. You could call it that."

Sunday Top 10: Saturday Night Sapphic Fever

Every now and then, we like to go to Nation on Saturday nights to remind ourselves why we don't go to Nation on Saturday nights anymore. As I've mentioned before, I am not the biggest fan of "going out," which is why we always have to go out in costume, because it makes my favorite part of the night ("getting ready") even more fun. (My other favorite part is "the part where we go to Pancheros." All that stuff in between is an elaborate and expensive game of hide-and-go-seek.) The costume of the day was "Willy Wonka/Stripes," p.s., which made sense to us.

Have you ever seen that movie Bar Girls? I tried to but I got super-bored. Like I did when I tried to watch Go Fish. And The Incredibly True Adventures of 2 Girls in Love. And Everything's Relative." And "Citizen Kane."

SUNDAY TOP TEN: WHAT WE WERE MISSING BY FOREGOING SATURDAY NIGHTS AT NATION FOR SEVERAL WEEKS, A.K.A. CENTRAL CASTING FOR GIRL-NATION


10. The Fake ID Squad: Inspired by Spencer and Ashley, these young fresh-faced girls venture into "The City" from the 'burbs (while their classmates drink stolen gin in the basement of vacationing parents and stick their tongues down each others throats) or to midtown from their NYU dorms (while their classmates drink overpriced gin in a seedy East Village bar that "never cards"), armed with glossy black fingernails and giddy ripe libidos. (Here's the thing: are t-shirts-over-long-sleeve-shirts the new "flannel shirts"? I have seen more women sporting this "style" at Nation than I have just about anywhere else since 1993. There's nothing wrong with it, really. Just sayin'. And while I'm sayin', I'd like to show you how to do it right:
See how the under-shirt is tighter than the over-shirt? Really the most important part of this illustration is that the under-shirt is tight. That's really key.)

(Side note: In last Sunday's top ten, I was wearing shortalls, and even though I was like, 11, in that picture, just keep that in mind when I offer fashion advice.)

You can feel them nearing you, blinding you with the flash from the camera they are using to capture precious moments for their myspace pages. You will note they have nice shoulders from playing lacrosse or rugby or softball. You will notice that they appear, in general, quite fuckable, that they'd make up for inexperience with enthusiasm (which is something) e.g. the cute blonde wearing the shirt with the number "11" on the back this past Saturday night. Maybe she's reading this from her living room in New Jersey, or--giving her and me the benefit of the doubt--her dorm room at Barnard--and she wants to move in with me and be my concubine while I help her with her Algebra, or whatever it is the kids are studying these days.

9. The Tall Beautiful Black Girl: She is the first girl you notice and the only girl who's movements you realize you are furtively tracing. She is the best dancer in the room and she is usually rocking a fashion statement that you've never seen anyone pull off besides her, ever, e.g., skinny jeans with ankle boots, e.g. 3/4 length sleeved color contrast vintage baseball jersey, e.g. blazer with nothing underneath. She's not there with a girlfriend because she doesn't have one, because she doesn't settle for second best. Her friends barter for attention from the Troposphere. You cannot dance when you are near her. She makes you look clumsy and thirteen, and you start panicking because you can't find your fake ID.

8. Those Swedish Girls: They might not be Swedish but they are blonde. They read about Nation in their PlanetOut travel guide and took a cab from the Marriot Marquis because they didn't realize it was within walking distance. Maybe they are lovers, maybe they are friends, maybe they are ex-lovers, you can't tell, maybe they are French and don't French people kiss each other a lot for no reason? All you know is they won't leave their perch which is inevitably in a prized area like the bar or the back corner that has shelves so that you can lean great or set drinks upon them and have full usage of your hands. Sometimes they aren't from Sweden. Maybe they aren't ever from Sweden. They won't speak to you but if you speak to them they will perk up, smile and nod, eagerly answer questions like: "Is this what gay bars are like in Denmark?" and then you can feel like you learned something. Which is something.

7. The Girl Who Really Wants to Dance on the Bar, Like BADLY: You notice her cleavage first and that's the last positive impression you have of her all night. You will watch, or rather, try not to watch, her futile attempts to climb aboard the slippery bar and make her debut. The bartenders stop her before she attracts any attention. She watches the paid womanservants (the bar is their domain, they dance the hell out of it) who pour alcohol down the open throats of the eager birds below. When it gets to be that time, the girl eventually will climb on top of the bar where she will either make out with a womanservant or will bring up all of her friends and they will rub their butts to each other's genitals. They might do this to a techno remix of "Since You've Been Gone" by Kelly Clarkson. Sometimes she is a straight girl with a lot of lesbian friends and she just got dumped by her boyfriend, sometimes she is just a drunk gay girl in a low-cut shirt who is glad to be out of Peoria.

6. The Girl You Either Made Out With In Line for the Bathroom at Henriettas OR maybe She's Just A Girl You've Seen On Myspace: You can't remember which. Also it seems possible that she just looks like someone you saw on some reality TV show. Maybe one of those Road Rules/Real World competition shows. The Sword in the Stone, or something.

5.The Why-Did You Leave the House Anyhow If You Aren't Gonna Talk To Anyone But Each Other: They are making out usually, or grabbing each other suggestively, as if they are all alone. At home. Where they live. Together. The funny thing is that when they are at their mutual home there is not so much grabbing and/or making out, but out here with all the potential for jealousy and flirty eyes beckoning beneath backwards baseball caps, there is more grabbing. You try to play the eye contact game with the cuter one. This fuels the other girl's fire, and we all go home a little bit lit.

This is what happened before they came to Nation:

Girlfriend 1: We never go out anymore.
Girlfriend 2: I thought you hated going out.
Girlfriend 1: Yeah, I know.....but maybe it would be different now?
Girlfriend 2: Now? Why would it be different now?
Girlfriend 1: Because I'll be with youuu.
Girlfriend 2: You're with me right now.
Girlfriend1: I just don't want to become one of those couples, you know?
Girlfriend 2: What? The kind that don't go to places where they have historically consistently always felt semi-miserable?
Girlfriend 1: You won't be miserable if you're with meeee.
Girlfriend 2: Jesus Christ. Put on some mascara, let's go.
Girlfriend 1: Mascara? Are you joking? I'm not wearing this!! I need more than mascara! I have to go change!

(Girlfriend 1 dashes to the other side of their studio apartment in Red Hook and starts surveying her closet, filled with hope and optimism, while Girlfriend 2 checks her email and ruffles her hair a little.)

4. The Gay Guy: These guys are trying to be in monogamous relationships with their boyfriends, which means they aren't allowed to go to boy-bars because they'll probably end up in the back room with Brian Kinney, and they aren't allowed to go to straight bars because they'll probably end up in the back room with some girl's bi-curious boyfriend. Or they are accompanying their best friend who just came out and doesn't have any lesbian friends yet. Or they didn't know that Saturday was girls night.

3. The Straight Bartender: She tells all her friends (she lives with 3 other girls, all fellow students at AMDA, in Astoria) that she loves working at Nation because she doesn't have to deal with men "like, hitting on me!" She thinks that all people are beautiful and that everyone is bisexual at heart but there was "society conditioning" that made us into boys and girls. She thinks kissing girls doesn't count as cheating. She wears a cute headband and never puts enough liquor in anything. She wishes her ass looked as good as the asses of the womanservants on the bar.

2. The Are-They-Or-Aren't-They Team
These are two girls who could be best friends or could be girlfriends, sometimes it's a blurry line, even for them. The couple themselves kinda love it or are kinda over it, but either way it won't change anything. This is further complicated by the third possibility which is that they are two girls who are good friends and both drunk and kinda lusty, and so they keep touching one another suggestively in order to seal the deal that they can be one another's back-up plan if it comes to that. Which it probably will, because they are ensconced in a circle of dyke drama so thick you can sense the laser-lines of complicated history from the other side of the room. You can sense it from fucking coat check.

1. Me, Us, Whomever I'm the girl with Owl-ADHD, we are heads turning, jerking, looking over (I'm taller), surveying, assessing, wondering, hoping, noting the cliches, judging and being judged, dancing like no one/everyone is watching, what am I looking for? What are we looking for? Do we want to be looked at, looked for, looked after, look look look. Smile. Flash. Look. Drink. Who knows why we do it? Who knows why we keep going out into this specific world, all I know is that we do, and we will, and again. Maybe even soon. Maybe even this Saturday. Maybe the blonde girl will be there wearing her same t-shirt. Maybe that's her going-out shirt. Maybe she's dumb. What does it matter the next morning, besides, just another phone call to ignore, another aggressively amorous e-mail to negotiate or the opposite of that, another phone call to wait for, another google search, another moment where you care too much or not enough or maybe both. Maybe, I think, both.

Sunday Top Ten Things I've Lost That I'd Like Back Please: Still it's Sunday Morning I Miss You the Most

I used to have this map called "Streetwise Manhattan," which I called my 'tourist map,' because I always thought if someone saw me use it in public they might mistake me for a Slow-Walking-Road-Blocking-Bumblefuck (aka a tourist), and so I have this special sneaky way of unfolding it within my bag so it looked like I was digging for chapstick when I was really looking for the closest place to get the V train (P.S: the answer is NOWHERE).

Um, so when my roommate's friend was in town two weeks ago, I decided to spread the joy I receive from this map by lending it to her. I don't think I'm getting it back, and I'm realizing how often I used that freakin' thing. So while I'm wandering through midtown like fuckin' Magellan, I'd like to go over some other things I would like returned to me please.


TOP TEN THINGS I WOULD LIKE BACK, PLEASE.

10. MY ILLINOIS T-SHIRT

It's orange. It was my Dad's. On the back it said "Asset."
Last Seen: Manhattan, July 2000
Suspect: Ryan Clayburn. Admitted once to re-possessing it, avoided all further queries on the topic.

9. BOB MARLEY: LEGEND (CD)
Last seen: In The Bravada, The Little SUV That Could, Summer 2003
Suspect: No Leads. In possession of empty case, however. Hoping to re-coop while some stoned asshole is looking the other way.

8. MY ABILITY TO SLEEP AT NIGHT


Last seen: 1988
Suspect: That freaky dude from the movie Willow. Prior to Willow, I was already a bit edgy because of the 1985 film Return to Oz, which is the scariest movie of all time and has these freaky villans called WHEELERS. I used to have nightmares that Willow/The Wheelers would come into my window and kidnap me.

7.1989 BASKETBALL PROGRAM: MICHIGAN V. IOWA, AUTOGRAPHED BY ALL MEMBERS OF THE NCAA CHAMPIONSHIP MICHIGAN BASKETBALL TEAM

Last seen: 2002
Suspect: My mother, who threw it out with a "big box of magazines" (aka my Leonardo DiCaprio collection) when she moved from our house to a little apartment.

6. MY F*%##'n DRIVERS LICENSE
Last seen: June 26, 2006
Suspect: Hopefully some 17 year old who got really drunk from it.
See my blog entry on the topic.

5. BANANA REPUBLIC FLEECE

Last seen: Spring 2000
Suspect: Unknown. Went missing along with other key items (see Illinois t-shirt) following my move out of 305 Amsterdam, which occurred under duress after Ryan (my BFF and roommate)'s friend Evan tried to kill me with a blowdryer. In August, Evan tried to kill Ryan with a broom. Where's my goddamn fleece, psycho?!
p.s. check out my hot motorcycle helmet in Geneva in that photo! OW!!


4. MY FUCKING TV-DVD COMBO
Last seen: January 2006
Suspect: Matty, who is currently snoring in my bed. I am going to poke him in the ear. I gave it to him when I moved 'cuz he was bored in his apartment all day (I was being altruistic) and then he gave it away when he moved!

3. PAM HOUSTON- "COWBOYS ARE MY WEAKNESS"
On the left you can see the copy that I no longer have, and I describe why it is better than the other two bookcovers. This is the best book ever, but don't judge a book by it's cover, y'all.

Last Seen: Winter 2000, University of Michigan
Suspect: Samara, my First U-Mich Best Friend and fellow hyperhidrosis sufferer. I lent it to her. I've since bought a replacement copy, but I really liked the old-school book cover on that copy and it's impossible to find now. This original cover reminds me of Jamie Delp's copy, and hers was the first one I read, and it changed my life forever, and I want it back.

2. FROSTED FLAKES T-SHIRT
Turquoise t-shirt, once worn by Lewis Bernard as a shirt-dress for sleep (when he was about three feet tall), then worn by Marie as a hipster t-shirt, then re-born as a torn-up sexy gym t-shirt by Nat. Might look better on her.
Last seen: On Natalie Raaber, 2005
Suspect: Natalie Raaber. In fairness; I currently possess two (2) C+C California tank tops and one (1) three-dots shirt that rightfully belong to NAR which I do not intend to return.
p.s. Nat i love you!


1. STEPHEN BARBARA'S LEAD IN THE "HOTTIES IN PUBLISHING" CONTEST

Last seen: 4pm, Thursday August 17th, 2006
Suspect: Douchebags.

It's your last night to find every computer you possibly can and vote for Rambo. As you can see in the photos, it was his 13th birthday last Thursday, so he really deserves this! Also clearly he is a ladies man--look at all of the hot chics at his fiesta!! Vote, assholes: mediabistro's hotties in publishing

In the Flesh Reading Recap: It's Amazing, When the Moment Arrives You Know It'll be Alright

In the Flesh. August 16. 8pm. Happy Endings Lounge.NY, NY.

What do the following people have in common?
1. Axl Rose
2. Steven Tyler
3. Marie Lyn Bernard
4 Joan Jett
5. Mick Jagger

It's pretty obvious. Um, they're all ROCK STARS!


Okay. Since I'm obviously only capable of writing at a fourth-grade-reading level in my blog ... read this instead. Then you will see I'm not kidding about being a rock star. I would talk about myself, but um, I'm much better at making fun of myself. Seriously. Okay, there was this reading and I read a story and I wrote it three days ago but it turned out quite well. The reading series is called "In the Flesh," and if you didn't go to the reading then Santa is giving you COAL this year. COAL. Yup.

Hav and I were hoping to have the cutest outfits there ... but check this out:
What you can't see in that photograph is that she is also wearing fishnets and cute heels. That photo is curteousy of brianvan. I cropped it though. To narrow your focus on the incredible cherry-theme. Look at his photos though. This guy knows what he is doing.

I'd like to also mention that I mentioned cherries in my story. And also it was not in reference to popping cherries. It was different. If you wanna know more about that, you're going to have to--as the Spice Girls would say--"get with my friends."

Some highlights...
(yeah, that's us again. Whee!)

That the cabbie dropped us off about four blocks from the reading, BUT totally right in front of Kristaaa!! Who was lost, per usual. You should see Krista and I lost together. That's a story....

Me: "I'm sorry, what did you say? I was watching Lily run her hands over her fishnets."
Haviland: "Um, yeah!"

Adam from New York Magazine (to Krista, who is leaning on my shoulderblade and crying in joy for my evolution from her "ditsy" suitemate circa 1998 Interlochen Arts Academy to her "ditsy, but in a funny way" friend circa 2006 new york city): Is that your girlfriend?
Krista: No but...
Adam: But you love her.
Krista (crying more, nodding vigoursly): I do!

One of many adoring fans told Haviland "I've seen you at Henrietta's."
Haviland asked when. The girl said a few months ago.
You know what that means ... she is obviously referencing ... SPICE GIRLS NIGHT!!!!! (techincally, it was Cinco De Mayo, but we decided to dress up like the Spice Girls instead, because we are More Fun.)

"I'm sorry, I believe you actually saw Posh Spice?"

But seriously ..... I met/was complimented by/enjoyed listening to so many amazing amazing people; including:
-the news editor of my favorite magazine
-the author of my first-ever "Blog I Read Every Day," Audacia Ray
-RKB herself, who gave me the best blog-post-summary a girl could ever ever dream of...
-the aforementioned Lily Burana, Riain Gray, Sheri Goldhagen, etc.

Most importantly....

I told everyone to vote for Stephen in the grand contest for mediabistro's hotties in publishing and one salacious lady exclaimed "Will he take his clothes off?!" HOT.

Ladies: HE WILL. See my previous blogpost, where I created a cute photo of Stephen-as-Rambo. I'm not sure if that's exactly what he looks like naked, but I imagine it will give you some sort of idea. You know, to like...work from? Or whatever?

That's my agent, Cameron. Me. And HP Stillwell, co-partner in artistic excellence and overall rock stardom.

Thank you, though, really, for everyone who came and supported me. And everyone who came, and everyone who talked to me afterwards even if I was drunk and silly, and RKB for organizing it, and Krista, Cameron, Don, Stephen, Lisa, Jenni, Katy, Anna, Lainy, Emily, and my dear friend Haviland who rocked the fuck out of every character in my little story. And Gillette, because you're the best a man can get.

As um, Gwenyth Paltow might say...mwahhhh brrrr wahhhh!!!!