Sunday Top Ten: I Used to be a Superhero, No One Could Touch Me, Not Even Myself

Google has many superpowers, like keeping track of everything I do. E.g., Google tells me I've apparently perused the wikipedia entry on superpowers many times, leading me to think, halfway through writing this week's Top Ten, "Omg, have I written on this topic already? Why have I already read this wikipedia page 10 times? Am I that interested in phasing through walls?"

So. A brief Autowin PSA (see what I did there? That's what Lozo does): Does this post feel familiar? If it does, you oughta lay off the pipe and/or you might be thinking about Channukisits Wish List Things I Can't Have Because They Don't Exist. This isn't that. This is SO different. When I wrote that, I'd never even seen Heroes. Though I'd heard plenty about it since Haviland talked about it constantly. Also; December's basically ten years ago, who knows what I wanted back then, probs an innocent youthful frivolity like Tickle Me Elmo. And coal, I always want coal and I never get it. It's kinda like how Claire Bennett is always asking people to shoot her in the head with a nail gun and they won't do it.

My friend asked me last week if I think it's possible for her to find a boyfriend who will be willing to smack her in the face & make her bleed during sex but also hold her hand at crosswalks and cuddle during teevee-time. Obvs I said the latter is part of someone's essential being and the former can be taught. Anyhow, if she had Regenerative powers like Claire Bennett it wouldn't be such a big deal. She could be like "See? my lip isn't busted anymore, time for muffins!"

Um, so guess what i discovered this week? Gawker Media has this i09 blog about Science Fiction and ... it's secretly like; the awesomest thing they've got going on over there. I'm really upset right now that Season Two of Heroes isn't out on DVD for another ten days, so I've only seen Season One.

Oh, also; when writing the Top Ten about Needing an Unpaid Intern, I requested the following in all applicants:

"One or more of the following super-powers: Seeing Through Walls, Precognition, Cross-Dimensional Awareness, Zach Morris Time Freeze, Flying, Spider-Vision, Telekinesis, Ability to Teach Public School in a Low-Income District, Go-Go Gadget 'Brella."

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[colleen cunnigham ]

Wish List: TOP TEN SUPERPOWERS

The thing about superpowers is that we witness their application in extreme-stakes books/movies/tv shows/comics, so trying to think about how these powers would apply to my actual life isn't easy (though I think that's the point of Heroes, right? Like, let me light your cig with my finger, etc.?) And there's all kinds of powers that, when employed in everyday life, are sort of assclownish things to do; mind control, memory manipulation, etc. That's mean. Hiro wouldn't do that. He also wouldn't be invisible just to steal money.

Do you ever think about what your team's superpowers would really be in real life? I'd probs get telepathy 'cause I tend to know what people are thinking more often than most people. (or psychometry) (or automatic writing, 'cause of auto-win). Caitlin would get Claire Bennett healing powers or Peter Petrelli powers 'cause she can fix everything and make everything okay when we think our guts are bleeding or we've taken a sword to the soul, etc. Powers would be very useful now for her to get over The Plague. Haviland might get power bestowal (bringing out other people's latent powers) or shape-shifting 'cause of her supreme acting skills, A;ex would have her energy manipulation/conversion for bringing happiness & light into a room, thus warming its energy. Also eternal youth = A;ex. Natalie would have persuasion 'cause she charms everyone's pants off.

Questions like "What superpowers would my friends have?" are the questions you can ask yourself if you want to waste your life and squander the best most beautiful days of your maidenhood straight away. I know I do.

[gaston liberto]

10. Telepathy: When I was little/innocent, I wanted more than anything to read minds. I dreamt of a magic ticker w/red words that we'd wear like wristwatches to illustrate our companion's secret thoughts. Now I don't want telepathy. Now when I want to figure out what someone's thinking, I just write stories.

I learned my lesson well & young by doing what many wannabe mind-readers do -- reading journals. It's heartbreaking, actually, 'cause we've all got callousness underscoring expressed affections. I don't wanna know what anyone's thinking anymore. It'd be nice to have telepathy for lie-detecting, I guess, and in work situations to tailor my output. I guess I'd just have to be careful. Generally I feel that ignorance is bliss.

9. Flying: Does anyone know if you can wear a backpack while you're flying? Like if I wanted to go to L.A. to visit Haviland or go to Vegas to see Bette Midler, would I be able to take someone with me, a là Lois & Clark, or could I take a carry-on suitcase or duffel bag or something? Someone get back to me on this, thank you, pronto, Olympics Oshmylics. I can't travel without Caitlin and five v-neck t-shirts so I need to know ASAP thanks.

8.Technopathy: I'd have about 75% less mental breakdowns if, instead of having to call the Apple people & shell out $50 for them to tell me to control-alt-delete and then bring it to the store, I could just be like "Mac! Get your shit together!" Also, I'd like to be able to control ATM machines, it's so Tom Collins. And I could find Rovermom, track her down, and tell her I know that's not really her on her myspace profile, it's Alice.

7. Power Absorption: This works better if your peer group also has powers. But I'd settle for powers that are helpful, if not necessarily "super." Of all powers; infinity. Of all potential dwellings; sky. I'd like to pick up someone's social skills. Swimming is a thing I never mastered. It would've been easier if I had, and my basketball skills could help the Rockford Peaches win a game maybe, eventually. I'd stand next to LeBron James and just wait to dunk. I'd speak like Obama, make applesauce like my Mama, flip like Oksana. I'd also like to be able to speed-read like Caitlin and speak multiple languages.

6. Duplication: My Mom used to respond to many of my childish requests by saying "There's only one of me!", etc., 'cause I wanted her to do a lot of things, I was very into activities. I'd like there to be another me to visit Pathmark , do my laundry, call the dentist, stand in line to return things, and go to the post office. Hm, maybe all I need is an assistant, e.g., Monica Lewinsky or Jessica.

OK! Fine. I'd like the other me to handle unproductive emotions, too. It can sit in the dark, feel sad, watch Sugar Rush youtube videos, eat pizza in her underwear. She can scream at night to see if anyone can hear her. My replicant can face my fears for me. E.g., life.

6a.Temporal Duplication: I would like to see the old me. I mean all people really talk/write about is what we used to be like, what we might be like later on. I'm not certain the present is real. If I saw the old me on a street corner, I'd ask for directions. She'd lead me to an even younger me and then I could look at her and figure things out. Also I could get my 50 year old self back here and make sure all her organs are okay.

5. Enhanced Memory: I spend a lot of time looking things up. Like how superpowers work or what song lyric is running through my head. I also forget what people say and I forget what I read and I'd like to just be so super smart, I'd just remember all of it, every every minute! Even the hard parts. I feel like this could help my friends too, especially on their birthday. And y'all, 'cause I would've remembered Strunk & White.

4. Time Manipulation: See also; Zach Morris Timeout. You could use it when you need another minute. Then I'd never be late for anything. In matters of lateness, it is best to pick me up. If only I could fly or teleport. Superheroes bring themselves back around.

3. Mediumship: I could hang out with my Dad again forever. I could have dinner with Dana Fairbanks, River Phoenix, Oscar Wao, Andy & Edie, Strunk & White, Amelia Earhart, Lassie and Caroline Knapp. Also if someone needed a good band for their party and DJ Carlytron couldn't do it, I could be like "Hang on, I've got Elvis on line one," or whatever. Beethoven, The Four Tops, whatever it is you senior citizens are into these days.

2. Regenerative Power (healing): I'd like to fix people when they are hurt. I could walk with danger but never die, which's surprisingly relevant in Planet Harlem. At night, I could walk to Pathmark in boots and hot pants like a bat out of Sixth Avenue/hell and a bullet to my brain would be like a messy splinter. Then I could get my ice cream and go home, clickity-clack clickity-clap. Basically I could act in the city like I did when I was 18, which's to say = sans fear. Also if anyone else got hurt, I could fix them. Then I'd probs feel guilty that I wasn't always fixing people all the time and then I'd develop the most complex complex EVER! But it would be worth it to make everything better.

1. Teleportation: This is all I've ever wanted, ever, in my whole life. I think the best I'll do is a chauffeur. He'll drug me and throw me into a giant car and on the inside it'd feel like sleeping inside a giant slick shoe. Then he'd wake me up and deposit me. Everyone would be invited to travel with me. There will be champagne.

Also; as a side note, I used to get so jealous of kids in books who figured out how to turn their animals or toys to life, like Calvin ("Calvin and Hobbes") and the whole premise of Indian in the Cupboard. Actually I still am. I feel like Tinkerbell could hang out with me for the next 20 days or so.

OMG!!! I just had an amazing idea! What if The L Word spinoff was a sci-fi show? Firstly, Max could be whatever gender he/she wants. Secondly, Dana could come back and be the lead character and Shane's sexual prowess would be replaced by complete mind control powers and Jodi could dance even wearing a bed-sham when she can't hear the music.

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When You Get So Into your VLOG

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

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

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

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

Sunday Top Ten: I Used to Be Free of Spirit, Now I'm Just Free of Sleep

You'd Think With All I Oughta Be Doing Right Now, This Would be a Thursday Top Two ...

I composed this week's top ten via a series of 3-5 minute intervals peppered throughout my lovely weekend of insane teevee show-related work -- each interval concluded when the guilt grew too strong to bear. What follows is the result of that process. You can imagine it'll be like listening to Guns 'N Roses sing "November Rain" over the course of an entire weekend via 3-5 second clips. Why "November Rain"? Because it's a super-long song. I was in 6th grade at the height of its popularity, and recall vividly the agony over selecting a proper partner for this particular slow-dance [read: I didn't really have a choice, beggars can't be choosers]. "This Used to Be My Playground" was another long one. If you got stuck with a boy who already had a boner, you were really in for it. Not literally, obvs, I went to gifted kids school, we were too nervous and special to actually be "in for" anything. What was my point? Oh yeah, I didn't have one.

Saturday, September 8th. 1:00 A.M.:
I've been staring at Page 1 of Webisode #1 since 12:14, which's when I finished another thirty-minute task that somehow took two hours. I say 'somehow' as if this isn't a pattern I've repeated every time I've done anything, ever.

That's a good lead in to this week's Sunday Top Ten topic, because it's about things I'm bad at [e.g., my continual/endearing underestimation of the amount of time required to complete any given task.]

Saturday, September 8th. 1:15 A.M.:
Zoey just told me whatever I'm doing with my hair, it totally works, and I should become a stylist like Shane. WHEEEEE!!!! Har. I'll call my Salon "Shane," or whatever it is that Cherie Jaffee was going to call the salon that she was opening for Shane before our lives -- in mean, their lives-- fell to pieces.

SUNDAY TOP TEN: Things I Just Cannot Do

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Saturday, Sep. 8th. 2:00 A.M:

10. Simple Tasks Around the Office
(I don't know what it is specifically I'm bad at,
but somehow I suck at all jobs that other people are able to do
effectively, efficiently, and dynamically)

I have one freelance job where I write recruitment ads. I'm pretty good at this. It involves describing qualities desirable in applicants that I myself do not possess. I think about this when I'm temping: "this would be an ideal position for a motivated and solution-oriented administrative professional with a desire to develop career skills in a dynamic multi-faceted work environment ... not me." Howevs, I got computer skills and that attention-to-detail thing. I'll attend to details until my eyes turn into goldfish and my fingers fall off, seriously.

Last Tuesday, I dashed from the headquarters of Global Wealth Management at a Big Important Bank at 5:30 ON THE DOT, like "GTG film, latez!" after totally rescheduling some super-important world hooha blabla meeting without checking to see if it was okay with the person who'd arranged it in the first place. [In my defense, I did check with my direct supervisor, and it was his meeting, too, get your shit together, mister!] I felt like everyone was mad at me and subsequently thought: "Maybe this's because I look like Danny Partridge today, and they probs had an unrequited crush on him back in the stone age when they were children." The women were talking about internet dating and I was pulling out what hair I hadn't already cut off.

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9. Understand the Rules of Football

I've got a lot of complicated Rules of Living, like "Riese's Rules For Meat-Eating" [I'm talking about actual dead-animal meat, not "meat," get your head out of the gutter] [or maybe that's just my head?] One of those sets of Rules is "Riese's Rules For Sports." They include:
1. I should be able to imagine the sport being played by Native Americans. Like, it should seem like something you could do with sticks and deerskin.
1a. Therefore, no complicated things like ice rinks [I realise ice rinks used to form naturally from lakes in the wintertime, but you know what I mean, yeah? No like, complicated whatzits like they have in hockey] or complicated equipment like in croquet.
1b. Or complicated rules, like in FOOTBALL. They're all stop and start. That's lame, it's like, I wouldn't accept that in a sexual partner, why would I accept that in a sporting event?
2. I would like to see the player's actual faces. Faces matter to me. I'm a people person.
3. Clearly you can see that basketball is the best sport ever, according to those rules.

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Sat. September 8th, 2:36 A.M.

OH MY FUCKING G-D FINAL DRAFT JUST ERASED EVERY OUNCE OF WORK I'VE DONE SINCE YESTERDAY AT 7:30 P.M. AS I WRITE THIS LINE, IT IS 2:36 AM ON SATURDAY. I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON IT, ON AND OFF, SINCE THEN. I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS I AM GOING TO SCREAM.

REALLY PAPI?!!

SIGH.

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Sat. September 8th, 2:46 A.M.

8.Do Nothing and/or Sit Still

I like to fill every moment of every day with as much activity as possible, even the parts where I am sitting still. I don't sit still; I shake, rattle and roll. I like to multi-task, just not necessarily efficiently, and just not boring stuff, like "9" or "10."

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"The only thing was, when I tried to picture myself in some job, briskly jotting down line after line of shorthand, my mind went blank. There wasn't one job I felt like doing where you used shorthand. And, as I sat there and watched, the white chalk curlicues blurred into senselessness."
(Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar)

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7. Dance

That's my hero, Shirley Temple.

Most boys can't dance, but I'd somehow manage to date the few that could, and obvs all girls can dance so I've generally dated good dancers. [Also, I tend to date musicians of some sort, so there's that.] I cannot dance. That's right. As I just said, most girls CAN dance, but I'm not most girls. I'm trying to tell you that I am actually a Superhero. That's right. I'm going to go back in time and retrieve my doc, then I'm going to do a little dance about it, inspired partially by my document recovery and partially by the flight of a butterfly who flaps his wings in China. Once I had a boyfriend who was trained in ballet, jazz, modern, tap, etc. No, he wasn't gay, btw.

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Sat. September 8th, 11:22 P.M.

6. Shut Up

Hi. Back. Carly thinks I'm writing a Webisode right now, but I'm playing hooky to do this for a minute, because my brain hurts. Guess what? My back hurts too and I know why: it's FROM SITTING IN THIS CHAIR ALL THE TIME!

Re: this chair, which is clearly killing me softly ... once upon a time, back in the June of my discontent, I wrote a comment on a blog entry, that went as follows: "My girlfriend just told me that I've lost my mind because I super-glued a Jack Kerouac postcard to my desk. The only reason I did that is cause I opened the super glue bottle to try to super glue my "T" key to my keyboard, which obvs did not work, and now it's just balanced just So, and then the super glue thing wouldn't open, so I had to cut it open, and then it leaked on the desk, and then It was getting everywhere, so I had to put something on top of it, so I put this postcard on top of it and now it's stuck there forever. That's okay. I got this desk for free from a whorehouse, 'cause the owner was getting a new desk from IKEA and putting her old desk out on the street."

Anyhow, that explains the chair!

Obvs [redacated] was projecting. I'd not lost my mind, I'd caught second-hand madness. I'm not mentioning this for any other reason than its extreme relevance, re: my chair. Also, I thought that comment was brill, at the time, and every time she re-read it out loud to me to really display it's apparent off-the-wall-ed-ness, I laughed more, harder than I'd laughed in centuries. I was laughing so hard my whole body hurt. Also, I figured that comment could double as a "cry for help." Oh well.

Don't cry out, cease fire, ten nine eight and i'm breaking away, I'm all dressed up and I'm ready to play, seven six five four and I'm all over you, counting three two one I'm having fun, your fascination with naked walls of silk and skin with no conditions, I needed you to notice ... that's all I wanted ... (shiny toy guns)

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Sat, Sep. 8th. 11:55 P.M.

5. Pluck My Eyebrows

It makes me sneeze. Weird, right? That's why I have to get them waxed, which does NOT make me sneeze. I try to go every three weeks, so that no one's too horrified when they look at me. But now I have bangs instead.

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4. Shmooze

I just think it's silly when people pretend to be what they aren't for the purpose of business. This is why I do not succeed at non-arts-related business. I believe in "keeping it real," and unfortunately, the "real me" swears like a sailor, makes multiple references to her own insanity, apparently does this weird mouth-teeth-lip-licking thing all the time (I just saw this on video), drinks like Eddie and Patsy, and also I can't seem to get up from a chair without like, fully LAUNCHING out of the chair like I'm a torpedo or something (also, the video). Also, why is my stomach growling again? I swear, I've had already 50 meals today. I must be pregnant. I'm a miracle of science, I should write a Guestbian column about this. I will NEVER get a six-pack if I continue to give in to my body's demands. Like: "feed me!" I fed you already! Jeez. You're like a dog or something.

Oh anyhow, I've gotten way better at this lately, for the purposes of promoting our teevee show. I think that's because it's not pretending. I really do believe in it.

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1:30 A.M. Sunday. 9.10

3.Bench Press

That's right, I can't even lift the bar. Look at my muscles.

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4:15 P.M. Sunday, 9.10
Here I am Again! Now Carly is here, in my room, asleep. Oh! She's awake now. We're doing work. I just did SOOOO much work over the last three hours, I need a break. Whew.

We're on the edge/verge. We had a brunch meeting this morning for some reason at the asscrack of dawn [9 A.M.] at L'Express, I feel like death. I was also clearly late. Carly hadn't slept yet at that point, which is why she was just asleep earlier, when I said "Carly is asleep."

The following members of our stellar production team were in attendance: Haviland, Jessica, Caitlin, Cait, Cesar, Heather and, obvs, Carly & MEEEEEE (Riese!). Wow, that's like, a lot of Cs. I wonder what that means. I hope it doesn't mean we're average. I hope it means we're Certifiable.

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11: 25 P.M. Sunday, 9.10

2. Stay on Task

I am bouncing off the walls. I would like to run around the block. Unfortunately street harassment is really intense in general and it GETS TO ME. Starr, my temporary roommate who just moved in, commented on this as well--she's never experienced such ridic cat-calling nonsense as she does right here. I just DON'T UNDERSTAND THE POINT.

I just went to the corner store to get a Gatorade XTremo, Coca-Cola and Grapefruit Juice, and was cajoled by four different people.

I have a new plan: I'm just gonna cut off all my hair. Then people will think I'm a boy, and if they try to harass me, I'll be like "I'm a boy, fuck off." And then if they try to mess with me, I'll be like "Listen up: I am a boy and can crush you with my hands."

My eyes are sunk so far into my skull, I'm not sure they are actually "eyes" anymore. I feel like that guy in the MTV promos who drove taxis and had greasy hair. Remember him? MTV used to be so much better than it is now, yeah? OMG I wonder what happened with Britney tonight on the VMAS!?

Whoah. I just watched like three minutes of that, and my computer battery drained 50%. Why does she look so dead in the eyes? Where have you gone, my sweet Britney Spears?

Oh right.

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1. Play Volleyball

I can do most other sports. Just not volleyball. I wish I could though. It looks fun.

I searched for women's beach volleyball pictures and this was the first thing to come up. I felt like it was fate, maybe.

Q: Riese, go to sleep.
A: OK.

I Work So Much I Miss the Sunshine Away

Long long ago [six weeks ago] in a place far far away [my room], I said "I need to do my Sunday Top Ten," and Carly laughed and said "You mean your Tuesday Top Eight?" And I was like, "Ha ha ha!"-Slash-"Obvs." The main barrier to timely Top Tens right now is South of Nowhere, P.S., recap here, and honestly ... HONESTLY ... check it out. There's girls kissing, funny jokes, Smirnoff Ice, and a solid Fresh Prince of Bel-Air reference.

So remember how last week I like, spilled about 10% of my guts all over your computer screen? This isn't like that. I still feel a little excavated, like metaphorically half-naked, but I know the timing was actually perfect and the content necessary, and mostly: there's sooooo much I didn't say that I don't feel nearly as hollowed out as I could.

So, switching gears from totes emotional catharsis to frivolity ... writing this post feels kinda like we just had sex and now I'm pretending like we've never seen each other naked. D'you know what I mean? Anyhow this isn't a Sunday Top Ten either. Later this week, fo' reals.

Photo: to the left, to the left: Riese's first day of school [No clue which year, either Kindergarten, 1st or 2nd grade]. As you can see, I look hopeful and optimistic, eager to take another step forward in my education and grip the reins of my future, like they do at ITT Tech. Somehow I've emerged from said education with no marketable skills whatsoever. I suppose reading's been useful, but I taught myself how to read before I started kindergarten. Oh! There was that class where we learned to put condoms on bananas. Not so useful anymore, but whatevs. Anyhow, um ... right.

Oh! Speaking of not putting condoms on things; on Sunday Carly, Haviland, Heather, Matt, Roy and I went to an UH HUH HER concert at the Mercury Lounge in New York City. Also, FYI, Leisha Hailey is even cuter in person than she is on the teevee. And I don't say that about lot of people. I defo did not say that when I met um ... uhh ... I don't know. Whatever. The point is that I was like "HAY! Blablabla" and she was all sweet and then she was like "Who's this?" to Carly and Carly was like, "HAAAAY!" and then we were like, ::haayyyyy:: That's that. Carly has photos so I need to wait for those to really say more. Not of us with Leisha, as we obvs did not wanna seem like starfuckers [I actually remember saying "I'm a Guestbian," which is like, so super gross, what's wrong with me?] [Vodka], but just photos from the concert itself. But seriously; their music is super good. And I'm not saying that because L.H. is between my legs right now. Because let's be honest here: she totally IS NOT.

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Last week, stuck in Dante's Inferno/work sans internet, I had the genius idea to live blog this momentous occasion, and by that I mean "write down a record of events in order of their occurrence in my notebook." Nothing about that place actually resembled the Inferno, P.S., besides the lack of internet. Also I've never read that book.

I had lots of elevated fantasies about this experience because I've worked about every job on earth except "tedious office job." Babysitter, agent assistant, waitress, retail salesperson, bartender, promotions, model, writer, housecleaner, sandwich artist, deli clerk, literary assistant, photgrapher, videographer, personal assistant, tutor, receptionist, teacher, hooker, crack/smack dealer and rock star. [Kidding about the last three.]

But not this. I've worked in offices, even as an Office Manager, but these weren't the terrible kind; I talked about books and music all day, earned $12/hour, considered my co-workers my buddies and usually spent my entire daily income on lunch.

I think you get on a track as a pre-adolescent – you either go food service, retail, or office. I went food service, since I enjoy eating food and being treated like shit by stupid assholes, which cemented my post-college crap-job fate--as in: why hire me for a random crap office job when you could hire someone with years of actual office experience? I cannot answer that question. There is no reason whatsoever to hire me, unless you need a fast typist. I can type pretty much as fast as is humanly possible. Seriously, if you saw me type, you'd want me to fuck you. JK. Only if you're a girl. JK again. Kinda. I polished my own nails tonight.

Also I know Quickbooks! And I somehow kicked ass on all the tests at the temp agency. Seriously, I was as surprised as you are about that. It was misleading.

OH! Also! So last week I said I thought I was developing the most loser-ish injury ever which I cited to be a bruise on my right wrist from typing too much, and actually, I was wrong. This is the most loser-ish injury ever:
That's from writing a lot of emails on my Dash while at "work" last week. Yes, that'd be a popped blister on my thumb.

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Wednesday, August 22nd: Riese Goes To Work

HOME

6:18 A.M.: It must be so early. It's still dark out. It's probably 4 A.M. I'm tired. It's probably 9 A.M. Oh fuck. I've slept through my alarm! OMG. Neither of those things. Ew, it's 6:18 A.M. I have to wake up in 12 minutes. This is not the life for me.


6:30 AM: I wonder if Ryan notices that I'm awake so early! He must wonder if I have a job and I'm going to work today. Doo-dee-doo—look at me! I'm in such a hurry! I better make some coffee! I have to be at woooorrrrk at 8:30 A.M.!!

7:30 AM: I just got dressed in like, five minutes. Probs because my "clothes suited for an office" wardrobe is pretty minimal and I need to do laundry. Wow. I'm so good at budgeting time, I should put that on my resume.

7:35 AM: I should probably check my email before I go. Even though obvs I'll be online all da-yay. Unless maybe they have like, soooooo much work for me to do.

WALKING TO THE SUBWAY

8:10 AM: Leaving the apartment. It's still remotely possible that I could make it to Park Ave by 8:30 AM. It's not likely, but it's possible, because it's not 8:30 yet.

ON THE SUBWAY

8:20 AM: On the A-train. It's still not eight-thirteeee! Look at all the other grown-ups on the train with me. Hello! I'm going to work too! What smart shoes you're wearing. How are you? I don't think I like the book I brought for myself to read (Mysterious Skin). It was a good movie. I wonder if people are looking over my shoulder and seeing that I'm reading about cocksucking.

WALKING TO WORK

8:40 AM: Never-Eat-Sour-Wheat—a-HA! Park Avenue. My shoes go clop-clop-clop like horseshoes. I hate it. Oh well, the life of a working woman.

IN THE BUILDING

8:43 AM: There is no one here. Oh! Hello!

8:50 AM: I'm meeting my supervisor. I forget her name so I'll just call her Cherie. She's telling me all about my JOB, which apparently involves doing absolutely nothing all day. Answering phones (luckily, that's my area of expertise) (Kidding, I am so bad on the phone, it's ridic). Perfect. I don't mind having nothing to do because I'll be online all dayyy! I can finish my blog! Hm. Why won't this turn on?

I'll ask Cherie: "How do I turn on the computer?"

[I cannot transcribe her response as it was too shocking for me to really register her exact words.]

Wait—WHAT?!!!! NO INTERNET? NO COMPUTER???!!!

[Fighting back tears]
[This can't be real. This can't be real!]

9:05 AM: I bet I could kill myself with that irrelevant mouse cord.

9:10 AM: I'll just post from my Dash. Maybe I wasn't trying hard enough when I tried to do this before. Publish. PUBLISH. Fuck. Impossible. It's like G-d is laughing at me.

9:15 AM: I'm sitting in a semi-cubicle in a poorly lit room; about four other women are here--not temps. The woman directly next to me looks like she woulda been super-fly in high school and now's a little worse for wear, like it's possible she's got a grown son [update: she does.], but I like her 'cause she seems Sassy. You know, like the magazine, Sassy, where I'd be working if it still existed, Sylvia Plath/Mary McCarthy/Joan Didion - style. I'm going to refer to my cubicle-neighbor as "Molly," 'cause she's Irish. Also, she's got an incredible Brooklyn accent.

Molly [to Cherie]: "It is freezing in here." [to me] "Isn't it freezing in here?"
Me: "Eh, not really."
[Molly shoots me look of death.]
Me: "I mean, OMG, it is so cold in here, brrrr, I'm getting delirious, I think I have frostbite, I can't move."
Molly [to Cherie]: "See? How ridiculous is this? I mean, for Christ's sake, it's not like they're doing anything down there, they can't just come up and turn off the air conditioner? I'm not a mechanic, I'm not gonna get down on my hands and knees and tinker around with that thing."

9:20 AM: Better email Carly to tell her how miserable I am ASAP. Writing emails on the Dash is like being a morbidly obese middle-aged man eating a Tasti-D sample with a teaspoon. Can I get a contraction up in this bitch? Jesus.

9:25 AM: I'll write a letter to my Grandma! What a fantastic idea.

Dear Grandma,
I'm here at a temp office job, clawing my eyes out with boredom. Send money.
Love, Marie.

9:30 AM: There're so many things I could finish today if I had internet, I should make a list of those things. Wish there was an envelope I could steal to mail this letter to my Grandma.

9:40 AM:

Molly: "Pretty fun, huh?"
Me: "Yeah, I just wish I had a computer."
Molly: "They won't let you on the computer? They didn't give you a password?"
Me: "No."
Molly: "Jesus Christ. What are you supposed to do all day? Just sit there?"
Me: (sitting here) "I guess so."
Molly: "Jesus. Are these maintenance guys coming up or what? I mean, if I need to go out and get a pair of gloves, they should just say so, alright?"
Me: "Totally."

10 AM: It is freezing in here. I've never been so cold before in my entire life. Molly's planning a vacation online. ONLINE. My jealousy of her internet access and her vacation is a burning bitter kind of jeaousy, but it's not burning hot enough obvs, otherwise I wouldn't be freezing my ass off. Maybe I'll go check out the break room and get some coffee.

10:05 AM: Seriously, does no one drink actual cream anymore? They have hot apple cider, for Chrissakes, but no half-and-half. Oh! Here it is. Hm. I'll just open a new container. No one cares, I'm only here for three days. Little floaties at the top of my coffee. That indicates sour. Oh well. Maybe I'll get stomach flu and be sent home on sick pay.

10:20 AM – BATHROOM

Randomized Woman: "Pretty boring around here."
Me: "Yeah, I just wish I had internet. Then it'd be like, dream job!"
[awkward laughter]

10:30 AM: It's so cold in here. How early's too early for lunch? 11 AM? I think I used to eat lunch at 11 AM. When I was ... 11.

10:45 AM: Better email Carly again and let her know that I'm both cold and w/o internet. I should roll down my sleeves. Oh, they're too short. Like all my sleeves. Because I have monkey arms. WHY IS LIFE SO HARDDD?!!

10:50 AM: Major action: the temp supervisor just called to check in. She advised: "Pick up as much as you can today!" Hm. How about my SPIRIT? How about my WILL TO LIVE? Who's gonna pick THAT UP?

11 AM: Durrrrrrrr. What's cooler than cool? Anyone? Anyone? ICE COLD, y'all!!

11:05 AM: I should write a webisode for "Living it Out." Hm.

Morgan and Sam are in their dorm room.

Durrr.
How many times have I written that line?

11:07 AM: DURRRRRRRRR. My stomach is growling like whoa.

11: 10 AM: Molly's trying on her new glasses. Cherie is planning a vacation to Las Vegas, she's leaving tomorrow. I wonder if I can use her computer when she leaves. I hate her and her internet and her vacation.

Molly: "Do you like my lesbian glasses?"
Me: "Yeah, they're hot."
Molly: "I can call them lesbian glasses beause my sister is gay. She's gonna love 'em. Her and her girlfriend will hang out with me. I think they make me look smart. My boyfriend doesn't like 'em. 'Cause he doesn't listen."
Me: "Why doesn't he like them? I think they're hot."
Molly: "Oh whatever, you know, men. They don't like anything. I like my lesbo glasses. He doesn't have to like them."
Me: "I like them."

Coincidentally, her glasses look just like Carly's new glasses, which I am wearing in this photograph:
Also, Carly is a lesbian.

11:15 AM: Okay I am freezing to death. Gonna go get some hot tea. Then I'll hold it to my face so everyone can see my misery. God, I could be writing so much email right now! WAAA!

11:17 AM: I'm gonna use like, every single kind of tea they have. That'll show 'em. Lipton-check. Green Tea-GOT IT! Peppermint-DONE. English Breakfast-YES PLEASE. This's gonna be a flavor explosion.

11:30 AM: Lunch. Fo'real.

LUNCH BREAK

11:35 AM: Hello, workers of midtown! Here I am! On my lunch break! I'm going to Barnes & Noble ASAP. Luckily I know the exact location of every B&N in Manhattan. These are the kinds of things you learn when you don't usually go to work every single day in the morning in an office. I refer to this kind of information as "useful information."

11:45 AM: Barnes & Noble
Why does this "going to work in a terrible office thing" feel so weird? I've been working between 20-60 hours a week in office-y environments for years. I think it's two things: location, and well, it's so – JOB. Like, the lit agency always felt like play-time. So did nerve, and--well--every job I've had since moving here. I mean, it was serious work, but I could be still drunk from the night before/wearing jeans/wearing yoga pants. But now I have real authentic misery job. I guess that's why those other jobs didn't exactly "pay a living wage."

NOON: I'm getting The Bell Jar.

12:30 PM: Hale & Hearty Soups is PACKED! Probs 'cause of the cold weather. I used to call Lo from Veronica's, when I worked for her, and moan: "All morning is anticipation of Tuscan White Bean Soup. Then I get my Tuscan White Bean Soup. Then I eat it. From there on out, it's all downhill."

12:45 PM: Guess I should check my voicemail before I return to the office. Oh. God. Whoa! Voicemail from ex. Isn't it weird how you can get so used to hearing someone's voice for hours and hours and hours and hours every single day and then you hear it again after not hearing it for a while and you're like, oh, you. She read my blog? HOW?! Awesome. Waa. Wish I still could get on blogger and delete everything like a totes reactionary weirdo.

BACK IN THE OFFICE

1 PM: Not screaming or showing emotion. I am totally fine. I bet Carly's wondering if I'm still miserable. I should email her. Done and DONE.

1:10 PM: I might cry. Not crying. Man, I could go for a good two or three extra hours of sleep one of these nights.

1:15 PM:

Molly: "No calls?"
Me: "Nope!"
Molly: "At least it's not too much work."
Me: "I think I'm addicted to the internet."
[silence.]

1:30 PM: OMG the phone is ringing. What do I do? What do I doooo?
Okay. It's for Vivian. I'll just put them on hold and figure this out.

1:32 PM: Who is Vivian?

1:35 PM: Vivian is not on any of these spreadsheets ... Vivian. Vivian. Hm. I wonder if she's here. She must have an extension, this mysterious woman.

1:37 PM: Maybe if I just sit here, it'll go away.

1:40 PM: Is he still on hold? Was he ever on hold?

1:45 PM: If he's still on hold now, he's clearly got some issues. He and Vivian should try to work their shit out.

2 PM: So cold. OMG, unexpected loaded text message, waaa. How do people do this? I'm at work, hello!!! Phone is dying. I've never seen my phone die before. I guess that's 'cause I don't talk on it.

2:30 PM: It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs ...

2:35 PM: Just LOLed remembering how Lo and I had a friend who was always depressed about something and so we called her "The Bell Jar." Ha. Oh, life. You and your jokes.

2:45 PM: It is FREEZING IN HERE. I am shaking. I keep thinking I could somehow get wireless somehow if I just tried hard enough. But with what? How? My teeth? Like that Daniel Pinkwater novel?

3 PM: What if my phone dies while I'm emailing Carly about how miserable I am? Fuck.

3:10 PM: I'll write my ex a letter. That would be therapeutic I think. "Dear Ex, I hate you. Love, Marie." Good. [JK!]

3:15 PM: Going to read this Writers Digest. I feel very good reading this at a job instead of at home, like I can take it or leave it [re: their advice]. This is the longest day of my entire life.

3:20 PM:

Molly: "I want chocolate. It just never ends, you know? It never ends."
[WORD.]

3:30 PM: notthinking about blog

3:35 PM: I would kill to update my blog right now. This is all my worst nightmares about work coming true:
1. My clothes are uncomfortable.
2. I cannot get on the internet.
3. Emotional issues are infringing with work. [Not that I have any, but whatevs.] [I should specify: I have no work, also I have no emotions.]
4. I had only one simple task and I could not accomplish it.
5. My phone is dead.

Just overheard the tail end of a conversation between two women down the hall, and I've got no clue what started it, but I mean, just, yeah:

Random Office Lady: "He should take the blood from the dog and wipe it on every single one of those guy's faces. Maybe they get turned on by that. Pigs. It just amazes me what people do for sport."

Seriously, I couldn't have made that up even if I'd really wanted to make some shit up.

4 PM: I'm so excited because the end's in sight. Also, I love Molly. She's talking about how her boss is single and lonely and her birthday is coming up and she's gotta get her something good.

Molly: "I'm gonna get my boss an edible creation. Ohhh! Juicy pineapple daisies! I mean, I gotta, you know? She's not married. She just works all the time, if she could be working 24/7 she would be. Who's gonna get her something nice? It's not like the dog's gonna get her something ... well, you never know."

.
She's talking about her lesbian sister now because she just used the word "lesbo" again and wants me to know that she can say that because her sister is a lesbian, and a cop.

I just nod absently, like someone who is not a lesbian or related to any lesbians. It's like, where do I begin?

Wow, I didn't even realise there's all these awkward conversations I haven't even figured out how to have yet. I mean, I've only recently figured out how to slip in a casual: He's dead when people ask "What does your Dad do?" and: She's gay when people ask if my Mom is re-married or anything. Or both of those, when asked about my home life in a seemingly innocuous way by a total stranger.

God, I'm like – I should be on Montel, what am I doing here? I should be on the g-dforsaken internet.

4:10 PM: I miss Tegan & Sara, the internet, oxygen, my bed, my iPod Sparky McNanostien and my Macbook Sparky McMacbookenstien.

4:45 PM: DURRRRRR.

Molly: "See, my son doesn't want clothes. I said I'll take him shopping for back to school – what am I, like he's six years old or something? He doesn't want to go shopping. He'd go to school barefoot, I swear to God. Mom, I don't want clothes. Mom, I don't need to get up, it only takes me five minutes to get ready, I'm not a girl. And you know what, he's always late. But he's growing up now. Mom, my phone doesn't work anymore. He says his phone doesn't work anymore!"
Me: "It doesn't work?"
Molly: "It can only take incoming calls. He can't make outgoing calls. Well, maybe you shouldn't've taken it swimming with you, like, what am I, a freakin' genius or something? God, I hate Algebra, but I've gotta do it for this online course on Phoenix Online to get my associates? Why do I have to do algebra? You know? I'm almost 41, I don't need to know this stuff. It's just cause I smoked so much pot in high school. I ask my son to help me, he's like, Mom, I don't know algebra. Oh, he knows algebra."
Me: "I like solving for x."

4:50 PM:

Molly: "I can't believe these people with the air conditioning. Did they come up there already? she says. I don't know, why don't you get a like, a system or something, where you write down when people want service calls and then you follow up and put a little check mark when they've come up I don't know, Diane. I love how this morning I was like Hi, it's a little chilly up here, and now it's like, five o'clock, and I'm like Diane, don't make me have to smack you. I know those guys are just downstairs, talking about what they're gonna do this weekend. I see 'em when I come in and out. I tease 'em about how they don't do any work. My boss is gonna flip out if she comes back and the air is still on. Flip out."

5:00 PM: OMG, now I just have another "boring day at the office blog." I'm supposed to be the anti-office! You are at your office, and I'm reporting live from the center of the dream! From the middle of the world! From New York City!

5:05 PM: The phone's only rung once all day and I fucked it up, which is a pretty solid track record. I love big corporations who pay people to do nothing.

5:10 PM: DURR. I need a new job. This one sucks. Also, I need internet ASAP. Better call Pam for job next week before she finds out I'm incompetent.

Pam: "Oh, that job was cancelled. So-rrry!"

Excellent. See, this is exactly what I hate about my life. Huh. What can I do with Liberal Arts? I wish I had the trust fund to go along with this attitude.

**

Day Two and Day Three I brought my laptop with me to work so I could get something done and on the pipe dream of wireless [obvs not] but I clearly I did not get anything done at all whatsoever. Howevs, I was able to use Photobooth to document my misery:




(By Day Three, I was clearly attempting to communicate my sexual preferences without having to actually vocalize them.)

In contrast, this is what I looked like on my first morning:

Though that photograph suggests otherwise, I was not on my way to work at a banana stand or anyplace else requiring massive amounts of joy. On Day Two, I typed some stuff on a typewriter and answered the phone twice. Day Three required two photocopying-related tasks and a few more answer-phones, and helping Molly with her algebra.

It was, howevs, surreal: I had this little gadget--the Dash--with it's limited access to the world I'd grown so accustomed to accessing constantly in a wider screen with full interactivity and an actual keyboard-- so accustomed to this that I'd in fact counted on it when I'd conceptualized the blog I wrote last week -- also, I suppose, counted on my ability to delete things as I receded, changed my mind about what I wanted to say forevs and evs.

I could read comments, I could fantasize about impailing myself with staples every time I spotted a typo I couldn't fix 'til hours later ("hart"! "on"! an accidental name-drop!), but I couldn't interact. Maybe it was good for me to be like that; to step back, concede control over this, too. Ultimately that was almost part of the unfolding: my daily web-impotence, knowing I'd have to simmer, wait, observe, feel. Wallow in reverb.

Also, I clearly started losing my mind from no sleep. I got super good at typing on my Dash though. I sent a few relatively long emails.

For some reason on the last day when Molly asked me what I 'do,' I started laughing and said I was a writer. She asked me why I was laughing. I didn't know what to tell her. It just seemed hilarious, saying "I'm a writer." It just made me laugh at myself.

Sunday Top Ten: Gay Rosie Cruise Blog, Part Two, with VIDEO

7/14/07: The weirdest part of returning from the cruise is remembering that everyone's not gay anymore. You re-adjust your mindset to auto-gay while aboard, and I today on the subway I thought: "Wow, there're so many hot gay girls in the city these days!" and then remembered: "Oh yeah. Those girls look straight because they ARE straight."

Also weird: I got about 1.5 hours of sleep last night and I'm still awake. I don't know why. It's either stimulants or insanity or both. When I first woke up, I wasn't sure if my dreams were reality or not, and I had to double-check with Hav that no one had a foursome last night. Also, Lainy somehow packed one of my Chuck Taylors and both of my flip-flops (I hate flip flops in non-cruise context, so this's not a big deal, but man do I miss that Chuck Taylor) in her suitcase, and I'm supposed to go to her place to obtain it, which seems unfair. I cannot do this. Instead I will just wear my cowboy boots.

Somehow I managed to get off the boat without my passport or filling out a customs form and possibly still fucked up from the night before. I'm like Johnny Depp but without a stunning jawline. Where is my passport? Good question. I haven't seen it since I boarded on the first day. I've been feeling like Natalie Rabey lately [she likes to live on the verge]: though I frequently lose things like hats and sunglasses and umbrellas, it's rare for me to misplace a key item like a passport and I've never lost a phone or a wallet (howevs: the Philly phone theft was not my fault whatsoever, and I mean that: I'm really good about accepting blame for things, even things that aren't my fault, so when I say "not my fault," I'm serious). I'm really on a roll these days, though.

The most brill event of the cruise, as featured on broadway.com, was the reading Heather and I put together for "Living it Out"/"Live it Out" (I like the former, Carly prefers the latter). Everyone seemed concerned we weren't enjoying our vacation. However, relaxing gives me anxiety attacks, so I may as well be anxious, you know? It's more productive. Heather, who stage manages Altar Boyz and pretty much whatever else you throw at her, assured me it was "fun." It was fun! So yeah, we did a reading starring Andrea McArdle and Haviland Stillwell ... omg I have so many bug bites I am going to scream or itch all my skin off. Probs the latter.

[P.S. I stopped taking photos. Layla has a bunch, which I'll post as I get them.]

ALSO UPDATE: Speaking of the cruise ... I wrote an essay about the R-Family Cruise I went on last year (Alaska 2006) and my dear friend Haviland, and it just went up on OurChart! Check it out and write me something nice.

Sunday Top Ten:
Really Just "Cruise Blog, Part Two" but Told in the Format of a Top Ten, Highlighting the Highlights of the Last Four Days of the R-Family Cruise.

10. Night Watch: 7/13-14

Jenn, Riese [me, obvs], Heather, Megan, Haviland, Mary Mitchell

On the last night, backstage, following Annie: champagne for everyone and their mothers. Andrea threw Megan against the wall: "This is for the DVD extra deleted scenes, when Sydney pushes Parker against the wall and shows her who's boss." [Seriously though, that's only the beginning of the amazingness Carly and I have planned for the DVD extras.] Anyhow, the champagne: entire bottles. Of Moet. So Heather slipped one in her bag, later we uncorked it in the hallway with surprisingly minimal poppage.

We all needed to sleep, to pack, to get up early ... instead, we drank in the piano bar while campaigning for Megan to sing, for Hav & Megan to do "Take me or Leave Me," for more champagne, poured into flutes, filling empty air with sugary bubbles. Later in the night--though I don't know when, because I wouldn't let anyone tell me what time it was, Megan noted: "I have no recollection of any time before this conversation." It feels that way sometimes. We spent the last two waking hours -- Heather, Haviland, Megan, Layla, Maddie and I -- laughing in the smoky darkness of H+H's stateroom. The sunrise, I hear, was perfect.

9. Boogie Nights: 7/13

We're admiring A.McArdle's Juicy separates -- in particular, her bedazzled ass -- and telling her how smokin' hot she is, and she says: "But I'm like: the 70's!" This was much funnier in person. I don't know how to tell you that.

8.Wild Things: 7/10

Drinking Party, Courtesy of Room Service and the Pirate Liquor Store

Since I'm the Queen of Smuggle, I picked up some Smirnoff at the local liquor store in Key West and then poured said Smirnoff into water bottle and then re-boarded the boat. They don't let you bring liquor on board : I guess it's mostly so they can make more money, but perhaps there's more to it than that. International Outer Space Laws or something.

It just occurred to me: maybe I am invisible? I feel like I've opted out of everything required and all the rules all week, and no one seems to notice or care or I guess just dare to challenge me, which makes me worry perhaps I have no more skin and everyone can see through me?

I mean ... wow. OK:

I smuggled some prohibited things onto the ship.
Boarded without a ticket, also not on the room list.
Skipped the lifejacket drill.
Drank vodka from the mini-bar and replaced it with water, avoiding cost.
Smuggled Smirnoff onto the ship in a Dasani bottle.
Made about 400 copies without paying until the last 15 or so, when they got a new desk clerk.
Stole an inner tube that's supposed to cost $20 to rent.
Scheduled an event which conflicted with a already scheduled activity and got that activity canceled. for our event.
Enjoyed free drinks at private events simply for being best friends with Haviland .
Ordered room service simply to obtain mixers (juices are not free usually) for our smuggled alcohol.
De-boarded without a passport.
Walked right by customs, since I hadn't filled out a form yet, because I'm stupid and didn't know we had to.

I think that's only the tip of the iceberg.

---

7. Incredibly True Adventures: 7/11

I'm not big into the beach, swim suits, sand all over my skin, etc. But this private island at Grand Stirrup Cay was too beautiful for me to be cynical, even when I got my hands sticky from watermelon. The Island was my only shot at getting tan but Haviland made me put on suntan lotion. Boooo . By this point, I'd totally stopped taking photos because Heather and I were so busy putting together the reading that I couldn't really think about much else, like pictures. But other people took pictures. Like Jenn and Nick, photographed on your left.

We stole a big raft/inner tube thing and laid on it--Heather, Lainy and I--talked about Susan Powter and stared at the clean blue sky and big sun. Then we heard a little voice yell "Heather Joy!" and turned to see a cute Havi-head bobbing in the water, nearing us. "Heather Joy I'm swimming all the way out here I better get a kiss!" And it was so funny. Almost as funny as my bathing suit which did not match. Layla's got a photo or two of that situation.

That's Jenn and Nick on the left.
Jenn, Ross and Nick after that, and then a lovely photo I took of Heather and Haviland on our way out to the island.

Heather and I had to go back to the ship to make fliers and stuff for the reading, confirm space and actors, etc., then we came back out for the island dance party and drank a lot of tequila really fast, then spent the night chillin' with Caroline, who works at Cattyshack and is Heather Matarazzo's girlfriend. Later she called Heather-M and I talked to her on the phone and was like "What's up? Why aren't you here?" because I've been her fan for like, for-ever, since Welcome to the Dollhouse, obvs.

---

6. Boys on the Side

'
This is a photo of the one time I did not either eat at
The Garden Cafe
or skip a meal altogether.

I keep walking into the kitchen with my plate but there is no food to put on it. Where is my food? Do I have to make it myself? I'm gonna walk into another room with my plate and see if I can find some food. Perhaps some hummus or salad? The worst part of the cafeteria (it's called the "Garden Cafe" but we all know what that means: dining hall!) was that the fries were in the kiddie section, which is blocked off with little fences, a la McDonalds Playland, so I had to fully bend over to access the knee-high serving area to get fries. I'd eat adult food, but it looked un-tasty.

---

5. High Art: 7/10

"I am WAY BUMMED to not be on the boat and the reading sounds like the most
exciting thing to ever happen to me - slash - not happen to me, as I
am not there."
-Carlytron

I wake up on Tuesday morning with my mind a-buzz, thinking: "We should put together a reading of this teleplay." I go to Heather and Haviland's room, relay this idea. Then Heather morphs overnight into Super-Producer. Seriously: Heather Weiss, you are abso-fucking-lutely amazing.

There was so much talent on the ship. Casting was fun. Most important of all was getting someone amazing to play Sydney and Andrea McArdle said she'd love to do it. And she effin' nailed it, it was brill.

So Wednesday, we're making invitations, securing space, inviting actors, she's calling Michael The Event Coordinator drunk after our night at the beach luau dance: "The thing is, Michael, that there are a lot of important people coming to this reading, Andrea McArdle is reading the lead ..."

Then he gave us permission (which he tried to redact the next day) and then we started handing out fliers. By that I mean we collapsed laughing in the hallway and handed out fliers with relative abandon. I think my flip-flop fell off. I don't know what happened, all I remember is sitting on the carpet while Heather was laughing.

---

4. If These Walls Could Talk 7/10-7/12

Our girl ... Shaana? I forget her name. Anyhow, she rocked. We filled out a recommendation form for the desk clerk ... "Dude, she's gonna be promoted to ship captain." She even crossed her fingers for us when Heather was talking to Michael.

---

3. All Over Me 7/12/07

"9:30 movie has been canceled for an event in the cinema. We apologize for the inconvenience."
-sign outside the CINEMA

Me: "This is the best thing I have ever seen in my life."
Heather: "We need to photograph this sign and then save it for our hypothetical scrapbooks. This is amazing."

(We totally forgot to do that, but it's true: the joy that swelled in our ambitious hearts when we saw it ... it felt real. So many of my projects exist only in theory--this one included, of course--but the fact that this reading was coming together, was official, had displaced The Pursuit of Happyness ... made me feel pretty excited about pursuing my own happiness. And Carly's, obvs.)

Because circa 24 hours ago, we'd reserved the space (or so we thought), confirmed it's availability ... and then seen The Pursuit of Happyness on the schedule. Obvs Heather took care of that immediately by opening the display case and removing that information, lest anyone get excited. I suggested we post a sign indicating "the movie's been relocated to your room, where it happens to be showing on your in-room movie channel at this exact moment,which's brill planning on behalf of the Norwegian Dawn."

I refused to accept that our reading could be displaced by a crap Will Smith movie (confession: I kinda love Will Smith sometimes, I mean, "Fresh Prince"? Holla! Also I.C. used to write for that show).

Back Row, L to R: Esera, Janet, Andrea, Craig, Anne, Jen
Front Row, L to R: Tara, Megan, Haviland, Riese, Nick, Lainy

So, that night, if anything could be more exciting than that sign, the men in black showed up with fruit and water and chairs and music stands and then our cast:

Andrea McArdle (Broadway's original Annie, obvs) as Sydney, Meeeeeee as Morgan, Haviland Pekor Stillwell as Samantha, Craig Ramsay as Caleb, Janet Caroll reading stage directions/etc, Megan Jacoby as Parker, Nick Nerio as Joe, Anne Steele as Courtney, Esera Tualo as Aiden, Tara Michelle as Kyra, Chelain Goodman as Hannah, and Jen Namoff as Deb/Lizzie Marriot/"Angry Dyke."

---

2. Saving Face

"What're you gonna say before the reading starts?" Everyone assumes that because I don't like talking to humans one-on-one, I'm similarly frightened of crowds. So not true. I was an actress once upon a time in my youth, and though that was eons ago, I'm not afraid of stages, talking on them, or speaking to audiences. I love readings! Hello, sex and dating panel, anyone, obviously not. Howevs, I didn't know what I was going to say to introduce the reading, and I actually don't remember what I did say.

But I had this really fabulous idea to say: "HELLO! I'm Ilene Chaiken, creator and executive producer of Showtime's hit series The L Word. Today we have a special new project to share with you, starring Jonathan Rhys Meyers..."

Here's the thing about that: it's really effin' addictive. Once you start saying "HELLO! I'm Ilene Chaiken !" in an Ilene Chaiken voice, you can't stop. I kept saying it over and over. I wish I could've introduced it like that, but what if no-one laughed? What if they thought I really WAS Ilene Chaiken, you know? [Then I could probably get this show made tomorrow, even before Carly and I go back to do more revisions. I could be like: "This show isn't the greatest, but it's about lesbians!" and then, BOOM, made.]

---

1. Imagine Me and You

There's so many good things in the air right now. It's hard to know which one to face and run at full-speed, and it's hard to know what full speed even is. I think I/we've done our best to go for it, though, re-channeling negative energy into progress and direction and dream-making.

Our cruise, in fact, was re-routed: apparently we were owed another day at the private island, but the boat was unable to run at it's optimum speed and we had to cut out the extra morning to make it home in time. I didn't care because honestly I had no clue where we were going in the first place.

That's probably a good metaphor for life. I could use a lot of boat and water related metaphors right now, like stuff about going with the flow and seeing where the wind takes you or something, but those are all pretty passive. I wanna be a little Jet-Ski like zzzzzzzz.

Really though: one of the best things about coming home was checking my voice mail to hear one from my grandmother: "We saw your article in the magazine," she says, Ohio accent in full force. "Well, sweetie. We didn't realize you were in such a state!" Yes: Marie Claire magazine, this time featuring an article written by me and no terrible picture of me, is in stores now and buy it!

Below I've tried to construct a graphic like the kind they have in restaurant windows with the mag-cover and a little snippet of the article they're referencing. See, it's my first byline in a major magazine!! By Marie Lyn Bernard! It's like, 4 pages long, 'cause I tend to go on for a bit, but ay! Go buy Marie Claire. Anne Hathaway is on the cover, and she is smokin' hot.

I wish I'd written "Discover your Inner Fembot!" I mean. Wow. Who knew, you know?

Where Do Gay Sitcoms Come From? They Just Appear!

Seriously though. We actually did this? Go Team.

So ... tomorrow I'm getting on a boat with a lot of homosexuals and those who hang out with homosexuals or are partial to the practice, including: Haviland, Lainy, Heather, Jenn, Craig, Layla, Karen, Janet, Joy, Anne, Rosie O'Donnell and Erasure. Because I clearly have some sort of internet "problem," it's highly likely I'll be posting often from the ship. [And by often I mean at least once. Or twice?] I think it's one of those wireless ripoffs like Starbucks that only people with serious problems use. I am one of those people.

Thanks for bearing with me through this period of comment moderation. I'm hoping it'll be over soon, etc.

Also Carly used the three whole punch somewhat recklessly and my floor's covered in tiny white circles, like a snowstorm in like, Paper-Ville.

Dear Haviland,

I confess:
I have not packed
anything
for the trip

which is tomorrow

Forgive me,
I'm no further along in the packing process
than I was when you were here at five in the afternoon.

Howeves I will not be late.
Nor will you. In fact,
chances are
you won't read this before I see you tomorrow
because you are far more responsible
than I am
but I would not be surprised
if you check your myspace.

Everyone keeps telling me it'll be good to get away. In a way, leaving the city right now terrifies me.

But like most things these days/and likely always, I know once I get there, it'll seem like just the thing; maybe even the only thing. Anything seems really important when you're staring right at it. I would like to stare at some french fries, or possibly a large deep body of water, or possibly an island.



Also by this time tomorrow I'll likely have listened to "We Are Family" 100 times and then will ram my head into a Bugaboo.

Sunday Top Ten: It's Hard Out Here for a Luddite Without a Cell Phone

[I wrote this in about 30 minutes in Philadelphia yesterday afternoon. Probs needs some work. But I gotta dash to the doc and etc., and I need to post this before I do that, just to make myself feel better. Thank you for your participation.]

Once upon a time, I had a phone. Then, circa witching-hour last eve on Market Street in Philadephia, PA: my T-Mobile SideTwatWaffle got stolen. That's fine. I don't like talking on the phone anyhow. TB offered me her Crackberry Pearl, but I want no such things. I prefer to write letters to my beloveds, like Griffin and Sabine, and send smoke signals. Also, I think it's funny that TB-the-sociopath's got a Blackberry and a MySpace profile, and I'm like, the Helen Keller of technology. I'm not making fun of Helen Keller or other deaf people, obvs, I love deaf people, like Jodi on The L Word, and I especially love blind & deaf people, e.g., the aforementioned Helen Keller. That thing she did with scratching words in palms? S-to the-E-X-Y. If you're blind/deaf and reading this, I love you most of all.

We're in Cosi on the U-Penn campus. Cosi blows, but they've got wireless. On our way down/up [What am I, Carmen Sandiego ? I don't know how we got here. I got into the car, and now we are here. Perhaps if I had a better sense of direction, my life wouldn't be such a fucking mess], we stopped in New Jersey to retrieve literature from TB's storage shed, most of which's been destroyed in a flood. She revealed to me the true source of her astounding intelligence and love of madness theory: she's read like, 5,000 books. I've read like, Goodnight Moon. Anyhow one of the books we picked up was Kathy Acker's prose poem "I am Erica Jong." It's really good. Y'all can buy it from us for a million dollars. Here it is:

JK, I've read more books than anyone I know besides TB. But she beats me by like, 4,500.

They're playing some sort of Satanic Swing music in Cosi:

"I should just get up right now and like--fling you around! You know those movies where they just get out of their chairs and dance around? This music's so gay, this's the gayest shit ever, seriously. I gotta put on my ominous death music right now, I gotta listen to my Depeche Mode."
[TB, just now]

---

Obvs I'm gonna replace my cell phone, probs tomorrow or one of the days after that, but what if I like, didn't? I think people were much more reliable before cell phones, yeah? Anyhow, I was thinking, I'm not the only person in the world without a cell phone, right?

SUNDAY TOP TEN: CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? NO? THAT'S 'CAUSE I DON'T HAVE A PHONE, WEIRDOS!

LIKE THESE PEOPLE!!!

10. My Grandparents:
Just got an answering machine like, last year. Once my Grandma wrote me an email, it was really cute. They're home alot though. It just occurred to me that I've got a land-line at home. [Right, Roommate-Ryan? Hiii!] I need to figure out how to work that gadget, I bet it'll solve all my problems. I'll just stay at home all the time, which's what I want to do anyhow. I wish I had a ceiling fan to stare at though, that'd make everything more perfect.

9. My Ex-Boyfriends:
I had a thing for boys who couldn't pay their phone bills. Most've 'em had home/dorm lines, which wasn't much comfort: the land-line-only access method enabled things like getting drunk and passing out on the street and having affairs with 16-year-old synchronized swimmers. When my [not ex-boy]friend/neighbor Matty's phone got cut off, he called from pay phones, which meant I had to be on top of my shit: like answer the phone when it rang, even when it was an unidentified number. That was a weird time in my life, suddenly I had to talk to all these people who I woulds typically avoided forever, like DirectTV, just in case it was him asking when I'd be home so he could come over and eat my food. Remembering this time inspired me to ask TB if, instead of replacing my cell phone, she could just give me $500 in quarters. Then I'd need a wheelbarrow to tote it, or a "serious Sancho basket." When S and I broke up the first time, he cited problems with the intensity of our relationship and said: "I wanna be able to take my guitar down to the river to play and not have anyone know I'm taking my guitar down to the river." I was like, Umm...well, if we break up, no one'll pay your phone bill anymore, so you could drown in said river and no one'd know where to look, especially since "play guitar" is clearly code for "Tony Hawk," and "independence" is my campaign promise, so let's get down to the real issue here, yeah?

8. Dogs and Cats:
When a dog needs you, it's just like "Ruff ruff!" And a cat's like: "Meow!" And you're like: "What's up, dog/cat? Are you hungry? Would you like me to scratch behind your ears? Would you like some dog and/or cat food?"

7. People from History:
Another book we picked up was the letters of Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West. They were lesbos, sorta, like me! [I'm a bisexual=half-lesbo. But I've got a whole girlfriend. This's important information for those of you who've never read this blog before EVER.] If they'd had cell phones, it woulda been all like "What're you wearing?" Which's much less mysterious and fun, and doesn't make for good reading. Also, the pioneers on the Oregon Trail didn't have cell phones. If they had, someone coulda called from Oregon and been like, "I know a shortcut."

6. Alexander Graham Bell:
He invented the telephone, so obvs he didn't have a cell phone, because the egg came before the mobile egg. After inventing the telephone, he got really famous and could make love to any woman or man he wanted to. Thanks to AGB, people learned how to be even more annoying than usual, and started moving far away from each other and then civilization slowly crumbled into this giant disconnect of randomness where true love's as rare as true love and we use the word "love" like it's a free lollipop at the dentist, especially 'cause it's easier to give out not face-to-face. Right before you hang up, just throw it out there. You'll usually get it back, unless you're talking to someone who really matters, but not that much yet.

---

[This's me trying to get TB to hold her hand to my ear like a phone. I asked her to find me a banana,
so I could photograph myself pretending that a banana was a phone. Unfortunately she did not do this,and rather than holding her hand to my ear, put my headphone back in so I could blast off
into Ave Maria-land again.]

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

---

5. Homeless People:
Thing is, if you're homeless, you really need a cell phone, because you can't have a land line if you don't have a land to line. You know? Hopefully a homeless person's got my phone right now, and is using it to find a place to crash, call his Mom, or to go into my gmail, get all my passwords, and steal all my money. JK! I don't got no money, fools. My Thief can hijack my friendster and say that The Princess Diaries's my favorite movie or something mean like that. I didn't shut off my phone though, because if they're trying to use it and it doesn't work, that'd be really disappointing, after going through all that effort to steal it. TB just reminded me: WEEKEND MINUTES! So it's free for them to call whomever, awesome.

4. Carrie Bradshaw:
I know she got one in the series finale ["Hi, Mr. Big! I mean, John?!"], but, for someone who so enjoyed talking about herself, she held out for quite some time. I found that to be inspirational, unlike the rest of her personality, which made me wanna punch my television and throw a small cuddly animal out a window onto a random totesbagged passerby.

3. David Sedaris:
He says people don't call him that often. If he was my friend, I'd call him 'cause I bet he'd make me laugh. That's why people call me, obvs. JK, no one calls me anymore, cause: 1. I never pick up, 2. I don't have a cell phone anymore! He makes me laugh really hard, but I also stopped reading his books after Me Talk Pretty One Day, so maybe I'm biased. His sister Amy's the real deal, too: fully embracing art/life integration and guerilla humor, because if no one reads books or watches quality television [oxymoron, natch], then you've gotta find the forum where people are paying attention, like Letterman, and do your piece, burst boldly into whatever format'll take you and shake it up a little. We're all so self conscious these days--who's watching? Is this gonna be on youtube? How'll this clip make me look?--and seem to forget that the world around us's gotten so absolutely fucking ridiculous that actually behaving feels sometimes like sleeping. At Amy's photo shoot for Paper magazine, she asked to be made up to look beaten/bruised. Like, F-you, tortured models. Here's some torture: eat me! have a cupcake, etc. She makes cupcakes, which're delicious.

SIDE NOTE: SERIOUSLY THEY ARE PLAYING LISA LOEB'S "STAY" IN COSI RIGHT NOW. I'm trying to listen to "Ave Maria" on repeat, as I usually do during trying times like this one, but "Stay" is even louder. OMG NOW THEY ARE PLAYING THAT RETARDED SWING MUSIC AGAIN. "WHAT IS WITH THIS MUSIC? WHERE ARE WE? LIKE, THE SWINGING TWENTIES OR SOMETHING? " (TB)

2. All of Us, not that long ago:
Seriously it was not that long ago. I could wax over all the things that've changed since we got cell phones, but I think I did that in an earlier post, and I've got this funny feeling I wouldn't be the first person to write on this. All I'm saying is: it must be possible, right? Possible?!

1. Me, Tomorrow:
OK, I'm gonna get a new cell phone on Friday. In the meantime, either you know where I live or you don't, and you can try calling my girlfriend, who can then type to me on gmail chat, or you can type to me on gmail chat too. Also you can send a messenger, especially singing messengers, those are the best kind. Or letters, duh.