Merry Chanukkistmas! #2: If I'm Gonna Go Down, I'm Gonna Dehydrate with Style

Every year around mid-November, my Mother sends my brother Lewis and I an over-punctuated email requesting our Holiday Wish Lists ???????? and, consequently, she shares her & My Other Mother's wish lists with us, just in case we've become "people who think ahead" since last Hanukkah. Two years ago, my Moms' lists were ripe fodder for bloggetry comedy gold and included "queen size flannel sheets -- no flowers!", "Mac Word," "No-Batteries Flashlight," "Gas Card," 'Beading How-To/Starter Set," the uncharacteristically specific "Sharper Image Digital Dashboard Compass & Weather Station-CE352" and a Lawn Tractor, Snowblower and a Reciprocating Saw.

Last year, they failed me w/r/t providing comedy gold via wish-lists, possibly on purpose. Suddenly Mom #2 lost her zest for power tools (thusly eliminating a re-run of my favorite dyke-with-power-tools graphic) and wanted jewelery (?!?!), and my Mom shifted her passions from apocalypse survival gear to ... an electric toothbrush and a copy of a mix tape I made her in the 90's.

Not like it really matters what they ask for, it's a charade to me as I'm gonna go ahead and buy them books I think they should read instead, just like I do every year. I know my Mom thinks she wants a remote car starter, but who needs to start one's car remotely when all the adventure you need is right here in a wonderful work of LITERATURE? Right? RIGHT!

Anyhow imagine my delight when my Moms' Chanukkistis wish-lists arrived this year full of potential. Perhaps they think that after last year's "Riese being kicked out of the house and sent to a motel" incident, I wouldn't dare continue to lower my potential esteem in their eyes by making fun of them on my blog. Well I just so happen to like motels, so.

Also, "making fun of you on my blog" is the sincerest form of flattery in my world. Obvs look at my list of weirdos. And my other list of weirdos. Those ppl are all my friends. Even Tegan & Sara. I'm calling Tegan right now. She says what's up guys. I told her you said what's up.

So. The following is the wish list. With commentary.

[OH! BUT FIRST!

Look at the buttons !!!!! We got so many orders, you guys are Obvsing all over the place, keep ordering ... this product does not disappoint! I'll announce a new giveaway soon ... omg!

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Wish Lists.

My Mother:

Tickets for the Mandy Patikin & Patti LuPone concert in Detroit, 4/14/09-4/19/09.
Thanks for the deets on date & location, this'll ensure I don't accidentally pick up tickets for their engagement at the Key West retirement community the following week. Also we took my Mom to see Patti LuPone in Gypsy when she visited me in New York, what am I, a Patti LuPone machine. Patti LuPone doesn't grow on trees. Switch it up! It's not like I go see Uh Huh Her ten times in one year and four times in one week or anything.

Almost any other live theater/performance event (includes DSO and opera.)
Almost? See what she's doing here is expecting me to fill in the blanks. Just 'cause I came out of her womb doesn't mean I can read her mind. Even when I was in there I couldn't read her mind, so how could I possibly do that now, I'm not Magnito. Or maybe I could, 'cause she was a McDonald's manager while preggers with me, and now french fries are my favorite food.

Anyhow obviously I'm getting box seats for "Kwame a River: the Chroincles of Detroit's Hip Hop Mayer," it's at the Second City Detroit, family fun will ensue.

Or movie, or museum.
I can't afford to buy a whole movie so obvs I am going to buy my Mom The Ann Arbor Hands-on Museum (that's where budding lesbian moms take their daughters for early bird training, just look at the logo. Here's the hand, here's the hole, go to town) and request that next year that she give me the Giant Bubble or if possible any kind of human body part I can walk into, ideally a heart and barring that, another tunnel or cave where I can hide.

Actually though, um, I just went to their website and they're for real selling exhibits. I didn't know museums could do that? I could play with Ollie Oxygen, Holly Hydrogen, Wally Water and Mr. Catalyst forevs, I wouldn't even need Hav to vlog with me anymore. Also before I give it to her I'm gonna eat all the Astronaut Ice Cream.

Remote car starter.
Why can't my Mom start her own car? wtf? Where does she want to start it from? A lot of questions about this. I think people should start cars up close and personal, like in the driver's seat.

Cooking/baking dish that can go on stovetop and in oven.
Why would you want to put a baking dish on the stovetop? Isn't that what the oven is for? Personally, I know the oven's where you stick your head if you wanna die a là Lady Lazurus, and also for chocolate chip cookies. Maybe she wants to cover the burners so I won't stick my hands on them like I did when I was a kid. I'll find new ways to re-direct the room's attention onto me, mother, don't worry.

Earrings, (gold, hoops, gemstones)
Who do you think I am, Haviland? Hello remember raising me "gender-netural." I am not Haviland. I am Riese. When I get angry, I like to break things. Speaking of ...

Fiestaware pieces to complete my sets: Purple dinner plate and mug, Tangerine dinner plate and mug, Cobalt Blue mug and 19 oz bowl, Heather dinner plate, 19 oz medium bowl, and mug, Ivory dinner plate, 19 oz medium bowl, and mug. (last time I looked, Linens and Things had a great on-line clearance sale)

This is the internet age, I need to be entertained constantly, and I was tuning out already at "plate." I re-attuned at "Heather," since I know lots of cute lesbos named Heather, but then I dropped out again at 19 oz.

Also I fully appreciate that she's given me permission to snag her front-row seats to "Steve Harvey's After Party" but has specified the size of her required tangerine mugs to the decimal.

What happened to the originals is what I want to know.

-Instruction and guidance, sans ridicule and teasing, on FaceBook, etc. usage. (stop giggling and rolling your eyes!)

1. Absolutely not.
2. Not without giggling and/or rolling my eyes. Actually I can do it without giggling, but I have to roll my eyes. What else are my eyes supposed to do? Look at my Mom's facebook profile? "Maureen has become a fan of Patti LuPone"? "Maureen threw a plate at you?" "Maureen would like to invite you to throw a snowball at her vampire environmental cause?"
3. If I srsly can do this and have it count as a gift, that means I'd save myself the price of a gift, which means I'd save myself the work of earning money to buy a gift, which means I can basically think of this as a job, which I would do.
4. Except I can't. I just can't do that absolutely not.

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Before introducing you to my other mother's list, let me remind you that I am flying to Michigan from New York. Last year I drove. That turned out to be a bad idea, especially when I cut my finger open with a nail about an hour before departure time and consequently bled all over the steering wheel.

I cannot make fun of my Other Mother in-depth because she didn't give birth to me or adopt me and therefore her love is not unconditional. However, my Mom wrote out this list for her, so really again I am making fun of my Mom.

Food dehydrator (to make her own Beef Jerky) - though I admire the DIY spirit, I cannot admire beef jerky, and possibly would have considered this request were it not for this unnecessary detail. For example, on my:
,
I include The Cultural Resistance Reader. Innocuous enough, but what if in parens I added (to start a revolution, kill people, a là the SCUM MANIFESTO, which I expect in my stocking or pay the price). You know?

Kayak, (our stretch of AuSable River is too shallow for a conventional canoe.) - Right. Two years ago y'all wanted a canoe ["We're not getting a canoe, because then they're gonna want me to ride in it." -my brother], and now you want a kayak? Next year you'll be asking for a Moped (global warming has melted AuSable River entirely) and I'll wish I hadn't carted that effin' Kayak onto AN AIRPLANE.

Belt Sander - I don't know what this is. One time at band camp in the psych ward, my ex-girlfriend made me a belt in arts & crafts. Is this like that? I'm just trying to relate to you, bisexual-to-lesbian, it's like mano a mano but en engles.

A large/tall cactus plant and/or a Jade plant. -I'll leave "large/tall" alone, but I think cacti are Weapons of Mass Destruction, so praise Allah I will not bring it on an airplane, but you bet the first stop when I get into Michigan will be the Giant Cactus store to get one of these. Actually I'm quite serious, obvs this is what I'm getting, it's not every year you're actually asked to provide someone with a house plant.We can put it in our new Hands-on Museum.

Readers Digest subscription - The one portable item on this list has already been snagged by my Mom (see Mom, now you can't tell my Other Mom to read this, 'cause then you'll spoil it, like when Lewis told you that we got you a bike, which you no longer ride, good thing we didn't get that Canoe or it'd be collecting dust too, along with my ice skates from the 80's and all the books I try to force you to read).

I shared my concerns w/Lewis re: the portability of other mother's list, and he told our Mom about these concerns, and Mom suggested that, pending security clearance of said cactus, we could get Other Mother a "recipe book to use with a food dehydrator." Or: "Socks, she can never have enough of them." Truer words were never spoken. I mean, who says "I have too many socks?" No one, right.

Lewis asked what my plan was and obvs I told him I will be getting a gigantic/significant cactus plant and he responded: "Now that you mention it, a giant Cactus would be pretty awesome to have around ... if you got space, why not fill it with the most dangerous plant known to man? I'm serious. Add that to my list too. I wonder what it would taste like dehydrated ..."

Clearly it's things like "food dehydrator" that get me going on a nonstop internet investigation. We need a word for that. "The act of investigating something on the internet like a crazy person all night long, prompted by something small and innocuous, convinced that JUST ONE MORE SEARCH WILL BRING THE GOLDEN TICKET."

Apparently, one can produce pretty much anything with a food dehydrator. E.g., "cosmetics, mushroom soup, sloppy joes, pesto and moist banana bread." MOIST banana bread! That's like the Cracker Barrel version of the band Limp Bisket.

What if I just got her a lifetime supply of beef jerky and cut out the middle man? This woman Mary Bell is like a Beef Jerky superhero, and her hairdresser called and says he thinks she's a gay. Whatever, she's still no Kwame a River. I bet she never even drinks water. She's just got no need for it you know. Give me that sandwich, let's dehydrate that stucker STAT.

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My brother's wish lists remain similar in spirit over the years though specifics change. As he grows, he changes. Instead of A MILLION DOLLARS!!!! he asks for An American Express Gold Card.

He's also asked for "something that will make my honda ruckus go faster except for the nitro kit." It's like he speaks another language.

Furthermore he has requested a jetpack. With a link, in case we can't find one at Wal-Mart while Kayak-shopping.

He also asked for "anything from thinkgeek.com except the t-shirts," so I had to go look at thinkgeek.com, and I found this, which was special too, and I would get it for myself as a joke but it's too expensive. I also saw a "LIttle Einstien" bobble-head I wanted to get for A;ex, but then I forgot:

Luckily Lewis has learned to ask for "books Marie thinks I should read," so I can do what I was gonna do anyway without being asked "where's my kayak?"

Oh also, wanna see a dyke with power tools? She can sand my belt all day!

UPDATE: My Mother e-mailed, two days after sending us her wish list, with a mesage entitled "wish list addition" and the following request: "consistent weekly phone contact from each one of you. and at the very least, my phone calls returned w/in 24 hours, as you would expect from me." Obvs I called her back immediately, between that and the Facebook lessons this is shaping up to be a cheap Christmas/Hanukkah, I'll just get a cactus from the wild, done and done. No I can't do the Facebook thing. Gold gemstone hoop-has, here I come.

In two days I will be in Michigan.

Yup.

Autowin Exclusive! Alice Pieszecki Interviews Sarah Palin ... like O like BAMA in your VLOG

Hey there! Remember tonight when Joe Biden opened up a can of whoop-ass on Sarah Palin? That was cool. Not mooseburger-cool, but cool. No, cooler than that. I bet you're wondering about Haviland Stillwell, remember her, my best friend, she moved to Los Angeles, leaving me here in the dark and heartless city of non-angels. Well, I have a video. Maybe it's related to both Haviland and Sarah Palin, and maybe it's not. Maybe it's not stellar quality, but I know who we can blame for that. Um, well, I'm not going to blame all of man made actions on the quality of youtube videos, but I don't really think that's the point. The point is there's a problem, and I'm not fixing it. I wouldn't run this country if you paid me. JK. I'd do anything if you paid me. Hand job anyone?

Also, if you've got a youtube account, please rank it five stars. Some asshole voted 1 star, probs it was Piper, and we're trying to do some damage control. You know how I am about winning.

We VLOG So Hard We Look Obvious

Remember 2007? Me too. My fortune cookie says: "there is a gradual improvement. feelings are sweet and tender." That's nice, it's like custard. I keep thinking that PB&J sandwiches are a real meal. We made a vlog in 2007, it took many hours and many miles in my moccasins. Well ... "we" made a lot of footage. R2-D2 handled the vlog. And it's pretty RAD! I think by Year 10 of writing this blog, I'll have started writing only in iambic pentameter, or switched over to only blogging cartoon drawings produced in MacDraw by me past midnight. It's like automatic writing. It's like automechanics. That's what I need on this blog. A good mechanic. Someone to answer questions people have while on the road of life, and etc. Once again my back is killing me, because I love editing vlogs so much that I ignore my posture, which is an important part of the body.

Anyhow. So we made all this footage in 2007. Today, I woke up and had my coffee and I thought: "Let's see what this footage can do." Then there was nightfall, and now it is now, and I made a vlog. I have to warn you that I'm slightly irritating in this video. Also, there's a part in the vlog where I say I don't wanna vlog anymore, and obvs I'm JK'ing about that. Though I really am considering talking less often. Because of the self-loathing. JK. Love it! La-la-love it. Also, if you're my Mom, I love you too! Hi Mom!

So, here's more vloggy goodness (100% ALL NEW FOOTAGE!) resulting from the filmathon with Semicolon & Stef as well as a few remaining bits of some Carly stuff. It's long, but also worth it. To buy the undergarments discussed in this vlog, please go to The Auto-Apparel Store and you can choose if you want Haviland to wear it for a day first or not.

Also: do you want me to provide lists of what songs are in the vlogs? Do people care? Discuss.

Sunday Top Ten: Live-Blogging Every Thought That Comes Into My Head

10. Did You Know I'm Half-Quaker? Even Though I Had a Bat Mitzvah?
I'm in Pennsylvania, The Quaker State. Great state. Very large. Lots of driving to do here: some turnpikes, highways, significant fog. You guys, driving is dangerous! Seriously, it's been a while since I've driven outside of NYC -- which is different, 'cause driving in NYC is certifiably dangerous so everyone's on alert. Out here in The Rest of the World, people are not on anything remotely like "alert." They're just doing whatever they need to do while they happen to be driving a car, like how I read magazines and watch teevee and write email and just happen to be on an elliptical trainer sometimes. Luckily, elliptical trainers can't run into trees.

9. You're Too Sexy For Your Shirt, Get One of Our Shirts
As I may've mentioned or possibly even dedicated an entire post to, we've been pole-vaulting the Auto-Apparel Store into business! Vega and Stef have been working super-hard, they're better (and cuter!) than elves. We're starting small, and then building/marketing, like right now it's very mom-and-pop, like the corner store, so this is the part where you'll still get cute personal touches, like an index card stating that "I.O.U a sticker when they come in!" (first week of January) and a lock of Haviland's hair (I'll save them when she sleeps over) (just realised I could probs actually do that if I wanted to) (which I don't, 'cause I'm sure she'd give me lots of locks if I just asked, no need to be all creepy about it). But next year we'll start rolling out more merch, like hoodies for critters and black t-shirts because that's Crystal's colour.

I'm so excited about all of this just 'cause Vega's designs are so hot (which just goes to show you that if you win an Auto-Win Comment Contest, you're clearly on a fast-track to success), and I don't mean that in a Tila Tequila monotone kind of way but in a really genuine, critter jumping-up-and-down kind of way.

Because of Jesus, the first shipment won't arrive on your little doorsteps til after Christmas, but it'll totes be pre-New Years for you U.S. residents. Like, actually, many of you will be sporting your Auto-Wear NEXT WEEK!!! You must order before Christmas however if you wanna get the free Auto-Win Soundtrack CD. It's really hot. I might run out of CDs though and have to come up with a new bonus gift. I guess I could just buy more CD-Rs. Good call, self.

So ... do You Wanna Look Very Automatic Today? How About Next Week? Okay Perfect:

8. On the Road
Man, when I lived in Michigan and had a car I used to drive around not paying attention all the time, I can't believe it. I mean human beings must've really had to get used to being so blase about barreling these suckers down the highway at 1,000 M.P.H. Especially truck drivers. My grandpa was a truck driver. Before that he was a farmer. If this was 20 years ago on December 23rd, I'd be at that farm right now, inhaling the sweet scent of fertilizer, a.k.a. manure. Instead I'm here, and then tomorrow I'll go to the house they bought after they sold the farm. There'll be no pigs, cows or horses at the house I'm going to tomorrow unfortunately, because I love farm animals.

7. Year! In! Review!
I'm actually making a lot of progress with the Year in Review, but there's just been so many things to talk about this week! And I have to keep posting these things! But I will be posting! The Year in Review! Before the End of the Year! I! love! Exclamation! Points!

6. Dasher and Dancer
What are you guys doing for the holidays? Do you think you spend MORE time reading blogs during X-mas break, or LESS? I just don't wanna put out an effort for no reason. I love Twix bars. I live in New York, so when it's time to eat a lot of food, I have to drive to the Midwest. I could fly, but I have mixed feelings about Al Queda and R-Kelly. This is one of many reasons I wish I was a superhero, then I could fly for reals, and it's not like a terrorist could hijack my plane, because there'd be no plane, just my smokin' hot body, flying through outer space and the clouds, like Gonzo:

5. Like Steel in my Palm
So today I thought I'd probs leave NYC around noon. Five hours later, I'm hauling stuff to the rental car, like boxes of merch to mail out on Monday or Wednesday (kinda depends on what happens to me on Monday, I may've mentioned my grandparents live in Reeseville - REESEVILLE! - population 63) and my brother calls to see where I'm at, and is clearly impressed that I'm making such good time (as in, I've made it all the way from my apartment to the street directly below it, almost in Ohio) and I'm like "OMG, my hand is gushing blood," and then I have to call him back later 'cause my hand was covered in blood.

My brother drove to Ohio from New Orleans. Clearly I'm not that tough, I gave up in Pennsylvania. On Monday we'll both drive to Michigan where my Moms live. Or Tuesday. I don't know what's going on, I'm just here for the cookies.

Anyhow, yeah at about three or so, I was moving a box and somehow managed to get my hand caught on this pesky nail and it sliced clean through the skin on the front of my hand between my middle finger and my other finger and it was really intense. I've actually sliced my palm open many-a-time in the food service industry, resulting in fainting and stitches, soooo compared to that, this was nothing. Still though I freaked out for a little bit, and thought "I wish I knew someone who'd accidentally cut herself with a crack pipe before who could provide emotional support during this trying time," and luckily, I do, and she did. Then later I actually tried moving my hand normally and it started bleeding all over again, I almost fainted at CVS and wanted to kill everyone there who doesn't understand how lines work, I needed band-aids goddamit.

4. Peaceful Easy Feeling
I love classic rock radio. You know how when you're flipping radio stations, you're not really looking for a song you like so much as a song that indicates you've hit a station that could possibly continue to play music not entirely offensive to your earholes? That's how I feel when I flip upon some Pink Floyd, Beatles, The Who, Rolling Stones, Journey, The Eagles or Van Morrisson, I'm like, solid. I'm here, keep on rockin'. Sometimes they'll break out some new wave, sometimes it'll be Brit-heavy, you never know what delights lie in store! Even if it journeys too much into Billy Joel territory, really, whatever they do, even American Pie, I'm into it. I'm rockin'.

3. BTW
I think this is the fastest blog post I've ever written. Seriously, even faster than when I just talked crazy for like, 20 paragraphs.

2. And also. also. also.
Probs part of the reason it's been so quick is because I've just written down every thought that's come into my head.

1. L'Title
As you may've noticed when they busted out "Livin' La Vida Loca," The L Word is totally running out of L Words, which is actually semi-ridic, there's plenty they haven't used. I mean, I'm sure they want to use Labia Majora again, or Land Ahoy! or Long Time Coming.

These are Carly's predictions for Episodes 506 on (summaries of the first five eps are already sitting in a document on my desktop thanks to my good friends at Showtime, but I refuse to give myself Spoilers) : "Lady or the Tiger," "Laundry Day," "Leif Erikson" "Lenin, Vladimir," "Lanky Loungewear," "Left turn at the third light, second house on the Left" and the finale "Let this show end with dignity, please?"

I totally LOL'ed at Leif Erikson. That would be an incredible episode. I have such funny friends, especially Carly. Lesbians. LOL. Lolita. Lozo. LK. Lick. Lawnchair. Loop. Loser. Lazy. Lexapro. Haha. "Lexapro: In Which Jenny Gets Her Shit Together."

Sunday Top Ten: Anyone Living Anywhere Else Must Somehow, In a Sense, Be Kidding

I'm in Washington, D.C., home of the world-famous United States government, with Haviland and Cait. The hotel just hooked us up with a free bottle of wine to ease the pain of our recent move from the third floor to the fourth floor on account of the heat being broken in our previous room [Haviland's resting body temperature is -56 degrees, and it's wintertime]. I said I was gonna drink it 'cause it's hard to turn down free alcohol, but then I tried to, and turns out that Merlot tastes like ass. But, I keep drinking it and I'll tell you something, it gets better and better. So ... D.C. -- on Saturday night, we had dinner at this restaurant called Manhattan's, and it closes before we're done drinking. I ask an employee for a bar rec. He asks "What kind of scene?" and I say, "No douchetards or assholes." And he says, "There's [BLABLA] bar or [BLABLA] bar but you should go to [TURNED OUT TO BE LAME] bar, I say that because you're wearing black nail polish." I've got no clue what he means, so I ask: "Black nail polish? What does that mean?" and he says something lame and clearly not memorable about my alternative lifestyle and I'm like "Oh, is it really dark? Do they play goth heavy metal music?"

[Disclaimer: This thing needs to be proofread like WHOA, will do in the morning/afternoon.]

Unfortunately for me and my dark dark soul: no, it was packed tight with douchetards, the music was way more Hootie than Ozzie. We went somewhere else, it was awesome, life is awesome, I could never live in this city, there's a lot of pearls and Republicans. I've been here many times, and on recent trips I just feel like I'm in enemy territory. Apparently, according to Hav and Cait, it's unwise for me to keep yelling "Praise Allah!" in public. Whatevs, Shalom, Republicassholes.

I can't imagine a job in D.C anyone'd hire me to do [cash register at the HRC shop? They've got cute Marc Jacobs and Heatherette tees, seriously, buy one!], but regardless: absolutely could not live here right now. I'd considered Georgetown once, but when I visited, my friend advised against it. She said all the guys were ugly and wanted to be politicians or news anchors, and all the girls just wanted to marry them. She said it was grey all the time.

So Cait, Haviland and I started talking about where else in America I could never live. Then I had to write a Top Ten, so here we are.

SUNDAY TOP TEN:
MAJOR AMERICAN CITIES I'VE BEEN TO THAT I COULD TOTALLY NEVER LIVE IN FOR THE PURPOSES OF LIVING MY ACTUAL LIFE
FOR A PERIOD OF AT LEAST ONE YEAR

First of all, if you live in any of these cities, I'm sure you're very nice and your city is secretly awesome, because you're reading this, and people who read this are the best kind of people. In fact, many of you do live in these cities. I know this 'cause I've got a sitemeter, though it thinks I live in Virginia, so who knows, maybe by "Cincinnati" they mean "Bangladesh."

Second of all, I'd live just about anywhere if I was building houses or helping people, even in D.C. I'd live in D.C to teach kids to read or make birdhouses. OK, mostly I'm talking about New Orleans -- obvs I'd live there if I was building houses or feeding people or performing juggling for people w/o houses, but I couldn't live my normal life there.

Cait suggested a major city in Alaska for a spot on this no-go list, because it's always dark, but I love the dark. As I've mentioned, I'm a vampire and I find dark days verify my negative attitude. Also, everyone's cuter in the dark, dark come soon. I can't stand the rain. This Merlot is supposed to taste like ripe plum, maybe they mean "ripe bum." I don't like intense heat or locales where people are always wearing bikinis. I hate New York, it's unbearable, but I love it too, it's beautiful, so what can you do?

10. Atlanta

Firstly, it was really hot. Oddly enough, I've dated or bffriended many Georgia citizens and thus been there many times, which's weird, since I'm super not-Southern -- I'm not particularly polite, I'm not into facades, racism, the cotton gin, slavery, heat, willow trees, or massively confusing endless highway systems. I just felt like we spent every day stuck in traffic with a bunch of sweaty people in business suits. It was really hot.

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9. Orlando

Firstly, it's so hot there, and there are fireants. If Carly and her hip friends like Cesar hadn't lived in Orlando as grown-ups with free will [as in, they weren't born there or forced to move there as slaves or prisoners of war or managers of Darden Restaurants], my overall impression of Orlando would be 100% negative instead of 99% negative [the 1% = obviously cool people do choose to reside there for college and consequently kinda enjoy themselves]. So, that withstanding, it's about a thousand degrees, filled with tourists and amusement parks and is in Florida, responsible for the impending apocalypse via the Bush Administration. It's just got no discernible personality besides headquartering a million bizarre corporate commercial entities, like my former employer Darden Restaurants and Universal Studios. Strip mall, strip mall, $9.99 All-You-Can-Eat Crab Legs, Mickey Mouse tickets.

Also, I love Disneyworld, seriously, I love visiting Florida and surfing on the sandy beaches. Just wouldn't want to live there.

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8. Oklahoma City

Firstly, it's so hot there. Strip malls, real malls, cars, houses like other houses, houses not unlike other houses. No cowboys. Tornadoes. Where are the gays? I feel like OC is one big chain restaurant that serves baby back ribs and the waitresses have orange tans and serious push-up bras. The best part was Frontier City. Here's the thing: I can live somewhere totally ridiculous for about a year. Baltimore? Nashville? Miami? Sure, I'm totally in, hilarious. That's sort of my policy for life: you must be good, or you must be so bad that you are hilarious. Unfortunately, the ratio of cowboy-themed amusement parks to insane churches in OC doesn't enable it to cross that line from "bad" into hilarious, sorz.

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7. Detroit

I just wrote this whole graf about Detroit and then looked it up on Wikipedia to verify my facts and learned that apparently people do live in Detroit and it's on the up-and-up, which's awesome because in addition to losing sleep thinking about the state of the publishing industry and what'll happen if musicians run out of melodies, I spend a lot of time worrying about Detroit. I just can't believe how empty so much of it is, and how badly the automotive industry's outsourcing has affected what was apparently a once extremely prosperous city. Anyhow, before I learned that somehow I've managed to miss every populated area of Detroit proper on my 10,000 trips there (Also: I'm not counting suburban Detroit, which is super-duper populated, obvs, my Moms live there, clearly, and also Somerset Mall, also a lot of annoying Jewish girls, I can say that, I'm Jewish. Also: if you think you've been there you probs haven't, the suburbs are where the Pistons play, and the aiport.) I'd written the following: it'd be hard to live here 'cause there's not much housing anymore, it's like ghost-city, all depressing dirty streets and blown-out buildings, remnants of the '67 race riots and the GM factory shut-downs. Honestly to geek out for a minute; I'm utterly completely OBSESSED WITH DETROIT. I'm intrigued by its downfall, its rapid ruin, the fact that white flight's enabled suburbs to thrive while the urban fabric crumbles and crumbles and then; crumbles. One of many interesting things about Detroit is [still here? still listening?] is Woodward Ave, where I've been many-a-time for concerts or shows at the Fox, it's nice and busy, about five solid blocks of bustling commerce. But literally one block further east or west and you are in a completely dark scary ghost town where most of the buildings are literally abandoned, just giant empty buildings.

This website's got a really through visual archive of Detroit's ruin, I find it endlessly interesting.

There's a pretty hot music scene in Detroit (seriously, like punk, techno, indie rock stuff), and one sumer night we came in for a Saturday Looks Good to Me show at this hot bowling alley venue, then went to Mexicantown for dinner and on the way home it was raining so bad the streets were flooding, but we sped through in Jake's bright red mini-van and the puddles splashed up against our windows like a car wash. It was like driving through Haunted House/Splash Mountain.

But seriously, there's not a lot of places to live there anymore, so I'd either be living on the streets drinking Mad Dog from a paper bag or with Eminem in his trailer. That's fine, trailers are hard-core and portable, probs bigger than most NYC apartments, but Eminem has serious issues.

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6. Salt Lake City

Because of the Mormons. You know like Julie on The Real World. They don't like lesbians/gays or alcohol, my two favorite things. Once I went to Mormon church with my ex-boyfriend to see his friend speak about his trip to the mission, but it wasn't in Salt Lake it was in Vegas, but whatevs, so, they let all the kids run around in the back and scream during the service. Seriously, it's hard enough to be holy without babies screaming and hurling plastic toys at the wall, I've got no clue why premairtial sex is a sin but being annoying yelling children is totally encouraged. My agent's family is Mormon and we had dinner with her sister and I got drunk (surprise) and asked them a lot of questions about if it was hard to not have sex and they were like "Nope, my relationship with G-d is really important," and I was like wow. Seriously, that's impressive. Good job.

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5. Houston and/or Dallas

Firstly, super hot there. I'm breaking my "no cities I've never been to" rule, 'cause I'm confident I'd hate both these places without stopping by to check. It's hot, I think everyone likes football and eats a lot of meat on the bones like ribs and steak, and G.W. was once the governor. I'd like Austin, but the rest of this state I'm skeptical of. If you live there though, you're awesome, there's an exception to every rule. Um, nice boots. Love cowboy boots. On the floor bedow bowwwww.

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4. Cincinnati

Seriously, what's in Cincinnati? Besides some of my family members and The Reds? I don't know. I don't even feel like looking it up, I get bored just thinking about it. Oh! The Abercrombie & Fitch headquarters is there, I think, right? Totes.

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3. Las Vegas

Firstly, it's really hot. What's brill is once upon a time I considered living here 'cause my ex-boyfriend hoped to move there when we were grown-ups [in his weird fantasy world where I could spend one additional minute of my life with him w/o clawing his eyes out] because there's no property tax in Vegas. That's really why. I don't know why I thought I could do that. I guess there were a lot of things I thought I could do then that really don't make any sense to me now, like be his girlfriend. How could you possibly live in a city that exists for tourists who come to Vegas specifically to do things they wouldn't do at home? I don't even gamble or know how, what a waste of money, I'd rather go to a strip club with Lozo and let him waste his money. 'What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.' What if your LIFE happens in Vegas? Is it all giggles and buffets? Because that's a lot of buffets.

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2. New Orleans

Firstly, so hot. My brother lives here, and la-la-loves it. We're very different. E.g., he's an engineer and works to help get this city back on it's feet, I'm an aspirant and I work to tell retarded jokes at the expense of myself and others. I went to his graduation and lost my mind, though I felt exuberant when Ellen & Bill Clinton spoke at graduation and I enjoyed seeing my brother & his laid-back friends. The Ninth Ward made me despondent. Though my reputation may suggest otherwise, there's nothing about "The Big Easy" that appeals to me. [Ha! Ha! Seemed funny when I wrote it last night.] Everyone in NOLA's so chill, which gives me anxiety, I've got this New Yorkish affection for anxiety, depression, misery and multi-tasking. Also, they had this Hurricane, our retarded government completely fucked up, and a naturally chill attitude combined with missing street signs, no housing, a reduced labor force and people who've been seriously neglected with no-place to go equals a really long line at Rite-Aid. Also, really, girls show their tits for BEADS? Beads? Are they magic beads? There are so many things about the world I don't understand.

Anyhow, see disclaimer above, I'd live in NOLA if it was in a helping-people situation, just not to like, live normal life.

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1. Washington, D.C.

Hiya. Seriously, this wine gets better and better. Maybe I coulda lived here when my fave prez Bill Clinton was in office, but it feels funny now. I don't know. It's corrupt here, isn't it? They got a rough treatment in my "Fucking Around" story, to be featured in the "Dirty Girls" anthology. Most people I've passed on the street look like someone I wouldn't mind punching in the face, though I love the bookstores especially the incredible gay bookstores. Pretty streets. I'm not a salesman or a politician, I'm too into honesty, obvs, to a fault ... though I hope to be a full-time activist one day, you know, to change things. Education, mostly. I'm ready for a new president. I miss Bill Clinton. What a multi-tasker, that one.

In any event, it's been a fabulous weekend, we walked a million miles today. The city's essentially deserted on account of the holiday, it wasn't that cold, and I like just being away, from my little emo cave, and everything. Love this hotel. We'd all like to live here and be little Eloises, just bathe and wear white bathrobes and drink coffee and eat fruits and things. So good to chill w/Cait and Haviland, who're both tucked neatly into bed and sleeping while I type away like a lunatic.

It's been such a strange fucking year. It's funny; my animosity towards D.C isn't so violent as it was a few months ago, it's like, everything is a mess, what do we do? Pick up pieces, move on. Look forward. I've got hope there'll be space in the clear on the other side for a reconciliation of some kind for this effin country and I'm praying that that isn't all there'll be room for ... we do small things, here and there, press on, wait for the next joke and laugh at it, we crescendo, we dance. We wait for the next joke, even when it's on us. I feel like laughter's pretty pure. There's lots of pure pretty lovely awesome things actually, and friends. I look at New York and I wonder how she does it.

Slum-Day Top Ten: Back to Sleep to Re-Dream Me

I say "that'd be like, my worst nightmare" a lot. It's an odd phrase, as I'd never use it to describe a nightmare I've actually had: Oh, man, Al Queda attacking Manhattan in glass-bottom boats? WORST NIGHTMARE, or like: The dead coming back to life on the condition that my living family dies? WORST NIGHTMARE, or Getting kidnapped by Willow? WORST NIGHTMARE.

What if the things we said are our dreams [as in "hopes and"] were the same things that happened in dreams [as in "while sleeping"]? What if I dreamt every night about being a fabulously successful writer with a hot girlfriend who looks like Jackie Warner and possessing an endless bounty of peanut butter M&Ms? Maybe I'd wake up able to make dreams come true right away; maybe I'd walk like the ground is a trampoline and life itself a boundless and sunshine-streaked sky. Or I'd just have a LeanPocket and sit in front of my laptop and make dying ferret-esque low-pitched moaning sounds, per ushe.

I seem to recall referring to something, in the comments, as my "worst nightmare," then acknowledging I overused that term, then announcing my intention to use that as my next Sunday Top Ten topic. I can't find evidence of this, but I'm pretty sure it happened. Or I've got no excuse for this slap-shot presentation of pathos. I talked about dreams in like, February. 'Dreams You Want to Hear About.' Times have grown dark since then. [What am I talking about?!!??]

SLUMDAY TOP TWELVE: THAT WHICH I'VE REFERRED TO OR THOUGHT OF AS "MY WORST NIGHTMARE"

TO BE PRESENTED IN TWO INSTALLMENTS

INSTALLMENT ONE: 12-6

To evidence my over-usage of this term, I searched my blogger and gmail to find how I've [mis] appropriated it in the past. That's in here, too, along with things I just thought up, just now, all by myself. It turns out I have a lot of fears, y'all. The way I use 'worst nightmare' is pretty specific though. Like, I know what I mean. Also, I feel like all the sentences in this intro are a grammatical nightmare.

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12) From a Feb 22, 2007 Blog Post: "I Love The Subway, Unless I Forgot to Put on Deodorant": Missing Your Subway Stop, Even If Making It Presents a Great Emotional Price

"Really though, this applies to all morning after subway rides, not just "morning after" subway rides: As your stop nears [after, if it's someone you don't know so well, you've inevitably asked, "What's your stop again?" 30 times], even if you're having a fight hurdling towards divorce/breakup, or a discussion pointed towards marriage proposal --when their stop arrives, convo OVER. You've got no control over this. Your fate's the subway engineer's whim, his fast/slow hands your doom/gloom. At a house, people'll stick out the extra ten minutes to finish a discussion, end a fight, complete confession ... but people will not, under any condition, suffer the unbearable consequences of riding the subway even one small moment further than where it JUST WAS, if where it JUST WAS is YOUR STOP, and G-D FORBID you'd encounter the worst nightmare ever, which's if you actually RIDE ALL THE WAY TO THEIR STOP. When the discussion's over, you're now forced to exit the subway at THE WRONG STOP, and, in some cases, you must actually exit the station, cross the street, and attempt to get back onto the subway going BACK towards your stop."

Ideally I guess all that drama took over 18 minutes.

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Interlude:

Okay so I'm trying to think of these, and somehow, they're all related to losing technology of some sort: a computer crash, the swift&sudden death of a well-functioning iPod, the [formerly] hypothetical restriction of internet access. 'Cause it turns out you actually can't control life at all, these gadgets and gizmos a'plenty just keep telling you that you can, if you buy more of 'em, but it's a lie! Still, all I ask is that I'm able to select my own soundtrack for being mercilessly trapped underground on the A train for twenty of the best most beautiful minutes of my life or directly after spending a day staring mindlessly at "access restricted" computer screens. Like: life is hard, here is Frou Frou.

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That Being Said:

11) Spilling Water On My Laptop

This happened once. I'd just bought a new iBook and I moved a glass of water and it spilled and just like that, everything: vanished, after only two days prior undergoing severe trauma when my first iBook crashed, requiring the purchase of this new one I'd just destroyed. You know when you start like, developing complex relationships with the men at the Genuis Bar? They're like "Oh: you again." My Genius was a photographer and asked me to model for him for his fashion portfolio. I looked at his stuff online and it was good, but I felt weird 'cause I'd already almost cried in front of him. It's like he already saw the most spoiled, stubborn, codependent side of me, after all that I couldn't just show up and be like "What a pretty dress!"

Krista spilled scotch on my ibook once when we lived together.. That wasn't pretty at all whatsoever. The sitch upset me beyond belief, and I took it out on her, as I had, really, no other options for resentment besides Steve Jobs or like, whomever invented this stuff to begin with. The fixed computer was returned with this "sticky" on the desktop:

MLB: this is your happier and healthier-than-ever computer, back in your life to stay. It respectfully requests that you back up your work in case other future unexpected events (i.e. accidents) result in the compromise of your life's soulful records. This said, we promise that your roommate, scotch, and your computer will never ever again share the same small space. The divorce between the scotch and aforementioned i-book is complete and non-negotiable with no chance for reconciliation. However, if you can explore the deep back mildewing recesses of your heart and find there, trembling in some dark corner, forgiveness - - feel free to invite him up to the light and share him with your roommate who loves you desperately and cannot live up to her full potential when she is wrestling with guilt and the vengeance that you cultivate in times of asthma ridden - bad days. peace in the middle east. love, kcw.

I love when we sign letters "peace in the middle east." I feel like it's saying: "There are bigger problems than ours, obvs," though I originally picked it up from a sk8er boy I'd email alot back in the mid-90s who I had a big crush on. He told me everything in email and ignored me in school and that's how he signed his letters. Oh, him. Also, I love Krista.

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10) From the annals of the G-chat archives: Having an Extended Conversation Regarding How Much I Like Someone and How Much That Person Likes Me

me: I mean, we're fully having a three hour convo about how much we like each other, which is totes my worst nightmare, but obvs not right now, because you're like, my greatest dream.
[redacted]: You like, totally make my day. And night. ... God, I want you.
me: I hate you.

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9) Waking Up in a Borough

I don't do sleepovers. Lately, this's been a totes non-issue. But, back in my former life as a more emotionally ambitious person, I tried to avoid this at all costs. The worst was the morning I woke up mid-morning at [redacted #2]'s Williamsburg loft on a mattress underneath the bedroom she shared with her then-boyfriend, who hated me with the fury of a thousand suns. It was four or five A.M., maybe, I'd just developed a sudden need for tampons, and I was ten or 100 blocks from the L train, in Williamsburg, where I'd never been before. I was defo still drunk. I remember walking in the dark out by the water, seeing the bridge that I knew linked me to home but having no clue how to reach it.

An empty bus came by, I got on it. It was a bus like in a movie where innocent young girls get killed in mundane blue light. I asked him where we were, if he knew where the train was, I didn't have enough cash to get all the way to Sparlem via cab. I musta looked super hard-up 'cause he took me directly to the L station, which I took to 14th street and then took a cab uptown, slept for about an hour, and then went to work at nerve.com in Hangover Shirt.

Hangover Shirt, which I actually inherited from my Dad, is what I wear to let people know not to fuck with me. I've been doing this for probs like, seven years, which's why there's a lot of holes in Hangover Shirt (aside from the whole "existing since the 70s" thing). I can't believe I used to have jobs where I could actually have a "Hangover Shirt" that looked like this, and wear it to work. Waa. Anyhow, I love it because the drawing in on it is of an old-school computer. "My system is down." Get it? Ha ha.:

Coincidentally, [redacted #2]'d won a nerve photo contest a year prior, so I could explain my wrecked state to my best work-friend Jason not only via audio but also w/visuals: I quickly found her picture in the archive. He approved. He was one of those people I could talk to forever. That morning, prior to the A/V convo, he IMed me [everyone at nerve communicates via AIM 'cause we're all socially awkward weirdos] --my IM name is Plaster176 -- "You're plastered176 today." Obvs, I was wearing my hangover shirt. Which I still have on 'cause I just took those photos. I love it.

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8) From A Blog Feb 1, 2007: "Come On Ilene, I'm Begging You Please!": Going to a movie with my friends at the age of 15 and seeing my Mom and all her lesbian friends in the back row.

"At 15, I saw All Over Me [my mother and her lesbian crew occupied the front row, my friends and I took up a front few: more or less an encapsulation of my worst nightmare ever]. Later, I'd fantasize about that scene where best friends break a barrier I once considered unbreakable: that skinny blonde badass girl, in bed, straddles Claude like it's all she's ever wanted [at least right then], which was so much more than my previous concept of "never." When the movie was released on DVD last year, I re-watched it and was surprised to see: the scene I remembered was not even a sex scene, though I'd remembered it as such. It was just a kiss. They just kissed! But it meant so much more to me than that."

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7) From the GMail Archives: Being Trapped in a House W/O Wireless, Car, Gym or Soy Products

Seriously, reading this email just now, I was slightly taken aback by my own insanity.

From: Riese.
To: Haviland.
December 2006

"I am in Michigan. There is no wireless. I have cramps like WHOA but I guess i'll just be waiting it out sans Midol considering that I cannot get to a drug store or anything because I am trapped without a car, which is...um...my worst nightmare! Ack! I don't know how I am going to survive the next three days...no car...no wireless....NO GYM I AM GOING FUCKING INSANE CRAWLING ON THE WALLS I NEED A HORSE TRANQULIZIER, SOME MIDOL, AND MAYBE SOME MARAJUANA ! STAT.

Don't people come home to get fed? SOMEONE MAKE ME SOMETHING I CAN EAT SOMETHING THAT WAS NEVER EVER EVER ALIVE!!! NEVER. ALIVE. SOMETHING. NOT DEAD. SOMETHING NOT ANIMAL PLEASE NOW PLEASE THANKS.

I am losing it, and it's called good old fashioned Midwestern Despair.

Tomorrow Lewis and I are going to go to Home Depot to buy power tools for our Moms and then kill each other with chain saws and hammers and overpriced drills.

I am going to go jump off a bridge, but because I am in Michigan all I can do is jump off a highway overpass.

GOD Marie, you are so negative!
Jesus!

Speaking of Jesus, how was the rest of your xmas? Did you eat any dead bovines?"

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6) Having Everyone I Know in the Same Room:

Lo and I threw a housewarming party (one of our "reminder" invites, to the left to the left) in March '06 for our Brooklyn pad, and the night before I almost had an anxiety attack thinking of how it'd actually play out: I realised I was hopelessly and irrevocably fragmented and thus, in preparation, I drew a diagram to ease my mind. Lists help me. Each box contained a different set of guests and the personality they expected from me.

These are those categories/personalities, literally, transcribed word-for word (I do not include the friend/s who apply to each category, as that would be TMI) (haha):

1) Bitchy, smart-ass, distracted, hot, damaged, gay.
2) Crazy writer girl, talented/insane.
3) Emotionally distant, erratic, bi, impulsive, self-destructive.
4) Nurturing, creative, loyal, illusive, smart.
5) Goddess of mythical proportions (obvs does not know me at all whatsoever).
6) I am exactly the kind of person who'd have such disparate groups of friends. [sidenote: Krista was the only person in this box, obvs]
7) Ambitious & "quirky."
8) Undependable, tease, exciting/fun but flaky.
9) Workaholic, starving, anxiety-ridden, insecure, vanished.
10) However Lo's described me to her friends. (annoying? amazing?)

Obvs I delt with the panic that ensued when all these people did come together in one room by drinking heavily. I was so amazed that so many people'd shown up in the first place. It was weird.

A few weeks after that party, I started this blog. I hadn't wanted to ever start a public blog because I didn't think I could ever be happy with an image anyone who knew or didn't know me could consume. Except my grandparents, they can't read it because they don't understand the internets.

Consolidation of personality was part of the idea, actually, and in my first entry I said : "I think, especially now, my personality has become kinda fragmented. And although there are far more important things in the world then the Generation X Search for Self, it might be a good idea for me to try to consolidate myself into someone I recognize, and therefore not feel this deep panic when someone random asks to be my friendster."

And you know what's funny? It worked. And the difference between Marie and Riese and Auto-Win has continued to narrow even further than I'd originally imagined; not that in I'm revealing more, but that I'm becoming comfortable with this image, whatever it may be, for better or for worse. This flawed, half-finished, grappling, strange totes randomized weirdo of a girl. The idea of having a party and inviting everyone doesn't panic me at all. Well, the "inviting everyone" part doesn't.

The "having a party" part does though, clearly, because like, Who do I think I am?

"What I, like, dread is when people who know you in completely different ways end up in the same area. You have to develop this, like, combination you on the spot."
-Angela, My So-Called Life, Episode 1.2

"There are so many different ways to be connected to people. There are the people you feel this unspoken connection to, even though there's not even a word for it. There's the people who you've known forever who know you in this way that other people can't because they've seen you change. They've let you change."
-Angela, My So-Called Life, Episode 1.8

Carousel of Progress: Beverage Bottles, Google Empire, Transportation, Interns

It's been a fantastic week for Progress. I'm now [sorta] employed, I journeyed to Pathmark for groceries [and stepped directly into a lagoon of tomato sauce, facilitating a somewhat sensual experience between my foot and the cleaning-man's mop], replaced my gapingly-holed Chuck Taylors with brand-new-[sized-too-small] Chuck Taylors [the ten minutes allotted for this errand did not provide for additional store visits to hunt down proper size, whatever, my feet'll shrink or my shoes'll grow, it takes two to tango], got my hair did [Visa's especially excited about that], and....yes...!!!...although the globe is warming, my room is cooling because...

(!!!)

Roommate-Ryan, who coincidentally happened to read my blog for the first time this week, removed those soul-stifling bars from my window, AND, before I was able to jump out, filled said window with my AIR CONDITIONER! Ryan's the best roommate ever, besides Zoey. And me, 'cause last summer, I installed THREE air conditioners in Lo and I's apartment, inspiring Lo to comment: "You're such a lesbian today!" That's right. But now that I'm the girly one in my lesbo-ation-ship, I've got no time/strength for such things. I have to do my hair, etc. Anyway, enough about me. Go Ryan!

a power of butterfly must be the aptitude to fly

So, re: hair? On my first visit to DRAMATICS NYC [also'd be a good name for Nation on Saturday Nights], I thought "Hm, my stylist's name is TRAFFIC? That's weird. Maybe his parents were drunk, or Nascar fans, or both." But this time, my stylist's name was ZONE and his assistant's name: ENERGY. Today, at my new job, I commented to the girl-who-was-training-me: "Everyone who works here has a porn star name!" [E.G., Denver, Rod, Asia, Javier.] Then I said to myself: "Riese, you're not in your room anymore, shut up, weirdo!" She laughed/agreed though. Because I was funny/right. Not really/kinda.

Anyhow I wanna go to hairstyling school so I can get a job at DRAMATICS NYC and change my name to TOXIC.

Onto installment TWO of The Auto-Win Carousel of Progress: Winter-Fresh Edition. I don't know what I'm talking about anymore. Like I ever did. I mean, it's getting worse. My brain is tired 'cause I woke up at 6 A.M. to go to work. That's right, WORK. Did I mention that already? Obvs I'm not cut out for this "working" thing, I'm never going to work again ever. Over it. Totes tiring. What am I talking about? Right: the wheel. You know what though? That was a good one, yeah? The wheel? That was a fucking amazing idea, the wheel.

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BEVERAGE CONTAINERS:


W/O: The New Poland Spring Bottle Caps...

Are accidents waiting to happen. Not even waiting, really. Rather: "actively exploding all over my bag/bed/floor/what-have-you." Has happened approx. 100 times since the cap's introduction, including this morning, when, as you know, I was on my way to my JOB. I didn't have time to check the front bag-pocket for damages--and, fast forward to several hours later: I reached into aforementioned pocket for emergency tampon to find it'd taken on the form of a dead jellyfish, if jellyfish were made out of cotton and not jelly. Why change a good thing, Poland Springs? You had the right idea by bottling water, which's a classic choice, so you had to compensate by inventing a new kind of cap? Seriously, what?!! I'd like to sit it on that meeting, which probs went like this: Hey, this is nice how I can suck water out of this bottle like a baby suckling his mother's breast. Let's change it because we hate women.

W/: Screw-Caps for Wine Bottles

Because I can't possibly go a single post w/o mentioning the Olive Garden this week: we had this wine called Lambrusco--probs sells at Pathmark for about $4.99/bottle. It had a screw cap, but this was back in '00, before screw caps were hip, so we were trained to cover the "opening" process [which in all other instances involved a flourish of "wine key" and a rare opportunity to demonstrate hand-eye coordination or really any useful brain activity whatsoever] with our napkin¹ to hide the cheap-wine-giveaway suggested by the screw cap. I'm glad this stigma is gone, and now there's nothing embarrassing about ordering Lambrusco at The Olive Garden, except that you're at The Olive Garden.

I prefer 'em and love their proliferation: easier to store in crowded refrigerators, easier to tote and easier to open and subsequently hide if one is drinking in a place where one is not supposed to be drinking, e.g. work [not my new job that I started today, obvs, but other jobs I clearly no longer have for whatever reason], and doesn't require purchase of ghetto wine opener which breaks on first usage. Much like my heart.

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THE RAPIDLY EXPANDING GOOGLE.COM EMPIRE:

W/O: [certain elements of] Gmail

Sometimes, in an attempt to prove a point about why I couldn't have Barbies or go to the cool-kids party, my Mom'd say: "Marie, if all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?" And I was like, "Um, obviously. Why would I want to be alive if all my friends had just jumped off a bridge?" So, I got gmail. I even suggest gmail to my friends, and then shun them if they don't join up [except you, dear Haviland, and your adorable AOL]. But for reals, it drives me crazy that I can't put mail into good old fashioned FOLDERS. Labels? Wha?! I've never enjoyed labels much. Some of my least favorite include: top/bottom [re: lesbian sexual assignment, apparently for life], "artsy," bisexual, bi-curious, slut, JAP, slacker. I don't need my "Hav" label to indicate which emails are from Haviland--that much's apparent by her email address in the "FROM" field, yeah? Seriously: do you know anyone who's like "Thank G-d for those labels, totes helps me organize my life. Vigilant about the labels. I can see clearly now the rain is gone." This's what I want, and it's what I had on yahoo/hotmail/other retarded email servers: my inbox is just for emails I've gotta respond to. I'd like folders for the rest of it, and I don't wanna "archive" everything I've responded to, which'd be Gmail's solution. I tried indicating emails-needing-response with "stars," but then they slip out of top-spots and my starred emails end up being people I never really intended to respond to, like random dudes I met on J-Date in 2004. That's not a hypothetical. Also I label my emails anyhow, just cause I trust Google blindly, like I'm that douchebag and Google's jumping off the bridge, and I'm like, wait up! wait for me!

W/: Google Reader

I love Google Reader for what it truly is:"Google Reader helps you keep up with it all by organizing and managing all the content you're interested in. Instead of continuously checking your favorite sites for updates, you can let Google Reader do it for you. From news sites to your friends' blogs, Google Reader helps you keep up-to-date with all the online information that matters most to you."

I love Google Reader for what it is accidentally: Say, hypothetically, that one's girlfriend compulsively erases her blog posts at a rate so rapid it'd be hard to keep up if one wasn't informed of each posting more-or-less immediately: well, luckily, it's all stored in the Google Reader cache. Every last redacted word. Holla!

I've refrained from lauding the glory of Google-Reader on this blog because: 1. Google is evil, T.B. read all about it, they're spying on us, etc. [I use "google is evil" and "Al Queda" in this post. And "DRAMATICS NYC." And "porn." P.S., I hate George W. Bush and I love Rosie O'Donnell.] 2. I suspect that when people read this on G-Reader, it doesn't show up on my site-meter. But I'm abandoning pride at the gate, kids.

I actively monitor about 75 blogs right now, a feat only possible with the help of my third favorite site (GMail and this blog being first and second, respectively) on the internet, Google Reader, a site I would make sweet, gentle (and occasionally rough) love to were it physically possible (Don’t even get me started on what I would do to GMail, and as for my own site, well, let's just say it does just fine.)
-Amish, NYC blogger and a member of my social web back at the ol' alma matter, University of Michigan.

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TRANSPORTATION

W/O- AIRPLANES:

Absolutely everything about travel-by-plane is resolutely unpleasant. I know planes've got advantages: e.g., they move super-fast, which's especially important for overseas travel, as no-one wants to spend their vay-cay on an ocean liner. [Except cruise -ers, obvs, like me, but then there are people who get seasick, like Haviland, which's why she took sea-sick medicine and then started hallucinating: Everything's just so--BRIGHT!]

It's not the "flying" part that I despise, it'd be fun to learn fly a jet or go-go-gadget copter. But large commercial airliners are floating torture chambers: we're willingly strapped to Gravitron -esque "seats," we wait like Patient Robots for the moment we're permitted to recline half-an-inch, relish this moment...and then, for anywhere between 30-500 minutes, we experience unpleasant physical sensations like fresh-oxygen deprivation and virus transfusion (transmitted via little devil robo-tit fans) and THEN! THEN!, the half-inch recline is snapped mercilessly from our hands [often by a tired/hungover flight attendant while we are literally unconscious, which's like someone waking you up by whapping you on the ass and screaming MAKE ME SOME COFFEE WOMAN! not that anyone ever did that to me every single morning ever], like a stork bending to snatch up a chortling child. Then you land--which's when you're pretty certain you're about to die--and are spit out into a huge building that smells like rotten festering dehydrated humans. Sorta. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up in a paper bag. That's why I take trains from New York to Wisconsin. Also because I'm afraid of Al Queda.

W/- LEXUS (I want to make this plural, but how? LEXI? LEXUSES?):

Once upon a time, I bought myself a car. Before you run away with any Riese-was-wealthy? ideas: Lexuses, moreso than other brands, maintain value, and I knew I needed to sell my car within a year of purchase 'cause I planned on being a part of it in New York, New York post-graduation. I wanted to maximize my return, like a year-long car rental?

Anyhow: driving it was like dancing! I'd never liked driving really, it was fine, got me from here to there. I thought shiny expensive cars were just shinier than other cars, and somehow grinned with bling-teeth-money-tongue-cash-tingle, I didn't realize it was almost like a different kind of car. Like, totes AS ADVERTISED. When I was really sad, which I was often then [the heart breaks into small pieces, etc.?], I'd drive it around Ann Arbor for hours, singing along to Fiona Apple: Cause I do know whats good for me, and I've done what I could for you, [imagine me pounding dashboard with I-Am-Woman triumphance] and you're not benefiting, and yet I'm sitting, singing again SING SING again! [almost yelling now, getting very upset] How can I deal with this, if he won't get with this? Am I gonna heal from this, he won't admit to it... Or I'd just park it in the parking lot of my elementary school, Eberwhite, and take a nap with the air conditioner or heater still on. Depending on the season.

The Lexus was white. It was so not-me. So entirely thoroughly not me, it was like floating through life in a stolen spaceship, which sometimes happens to be exactly what you need.

WHY HASN'T THIS HAPPENED YET?: Teleportation.

Even those of you w/o several seasons of Star Trek in your brain's back-log have certainly wished [out loud, probs] to be teleported. I usually declare this particular desire while sitting in someone's apartment or house late at night, imagining my own commute home: bus, cab, car, train, whatevs--anything besides the only other tolerable commute I've experienced, which's "falling asleep and having A Parent lift me and deposit me instantly into my bed, a.k.a. falling asleep and having A Parent lift me, deposit my body into a car, drive me home, and carry me to bed," which hasn't happened since the late 80's.

But if there were teleportation, I could import Unpaid Interns from all over the globe. Especially now that I've got an actual job, time's tight. A.K could flow my paper, Lozo could blow on my hands, Razia could stick it to those mofos and unintentionally practice precognition, Moonkiller could tote my things because she invented the totem pole, Mercury obvs is doing my hair and "word verification" was the cleverest thing EVER for number #1, M could recite Run DMC's It's Tricky which is no small thing, the spaz's ass is black man's kryptonite [making us quite a planet], kate'll let me use her hair products and can count words in her head, and carlytron wouldn't even need to be teleported, she totes lives here, could take a cross-town bus to perform a skit, a game, whatevs. And I need carlytron because we gotta bring The Truth About Stacey and Mallory and the Trouble with Twins to the screen ASAP.

And lk coulda written this post, if she'd wanted to, then I coulda been that black [dirty] angel, yeah, tooth to nail and [perfectly] translating [vain] words [are what sticks to the real]...crawling underground, lifting the phone [could hear our] voice, no black mark [upon their foreheads], yeah, yeah, environmental transformation. That's some translation, ghostwriter.

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¹: Also known as the "tail," required to be on our persons at all time, lest someone place a scalding hot lasanga plate into our hands. Once I was delivering lasanga to a table and I handed it to the server and said: 'do you have a tail?' and he said, No, I don't need it, and proceeded to handle 5,000 degree plates with his bare hands. I decided he was my hero, and now I can do the same thing. I was an excellent expo for this reason.

You Got a Fast Car, I Got a Plan to Get Us Out Of Here

A lot's happened lately in the smokin ' hot life of Auto-Win . Not "good things" necessarily [besides the Marie Claire article, yow!!!], like winning the lottery or surviving cholera, but "things that've occupied significant mind-space." What follows is the result of "space-mind."

[Speaking of space; moved on Monday night, with assistance from the Man-with-a-van, Little Fierce Haviland, Tara "I Haven't Worked Out in a Year But I'm Still 10 x Stronger than Fitness-Fanatic Marie" D, and my new Angelic roommates Ryan and Zoey. I'm still unpacking, a.k.a. co-existing with chaos, but I'm gonna be happy here. It's delightful. I haven't been this close to a New York Sports Club since '04!!]

However, I learned a lot about myself while packing, e.g., I own eight sticks of Secret deodorant and six travel-sized tubes of toothpaste. This means I often leave home unsure if I've adequately transformed my body's natural bacterias from "gross" to "powdery/minty freshness" and I attempt to immediately remedy this at my local Duane Reade. Because of "love thy neighbor," etc.

Today on This Automatic Life: MY GREAT ESCAPE PLAN

**

"[W]hen you are twenty-two or twenty-three, you figure that later you will have a high emotional balance, and be able to pay whatever it costs. I still believed in possibilities then, still had the sense, so peculiar to New York, that something extraordinary would happen any minute, any day, any month."
-Joan Didion, "Goodbye to All That

**

There's this sensational moment in Beverly Hills 90210 when Brenda discovers that Kelly n' Dylan have been riding the hobby horse and she's like: "Look, I hate you both. Never talk to me again!" and walks off into the California sunshine. Next season, Brenda's in London. Poof!

[I fully realize the lead sentence of that graf is possibly the best way EVER to begin a sentence.]
[Besides: "So, I saw America's Next Top Model at the gym today ... [or "Last night, while Haviland and I lay naked in a field of poppies..."]

I really liked that scene, so I re-enacted it in 1997 by running away to boarding school. All my friends cried. Leaving home felt like actual flight, even though we drove there and I cried for the first three days and wouldn't let my Mom go home. Luckily [!!!] I still wore ski caps then--every day, even in the summer, ALWAYS--so no one could see my puffy eyes anyhow.

The point is: even if we haven't personally been betrayed by Dylan+Kelly, we've all felt like walking off into the sunshine sometimes. It's an itchy instinct: you face disaster, heartbreak, challenge, loss -- you flee -- If the life you lead is not the one you dreamed about, then flee. [-Micheal Cunningham, A Home at the End of the World]

**

Like many New Yorkers, I've dreamt of living here all my life. [Read: threatened to run here all my life.]

Now when I get pissed off, I can't say I'm leaving you for New York City! so I just say really crazy things, cause what do you say when you're already living out your escape plan?

I think we've all got our "Screw it all, I'm moving to ______" plans/threats. Right? Yeah.

Ryan, mid-mental-breakdown, often announced he was: becoming a monk or moving to Africa to feed the children because food is the only joy in my life now, and I'd like to share that joy with others. Krista fantasized about a custom-built lakeside house in the woods, in Northern Michigan, Scot often threatened to flee for Chicago [home of his brother and The Cubs]. My Mother's announced more than once that she's moving to Australia: we have family there, and the gays can marry.

What's your great escape plan?

**

Plan of Escape:
Or, What I Think About When I Think About Saying Goodbye to All That


Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying

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Bring it Back Home Y'all: Michigan
This's a common narrative thread in my blog. You know the deal: no DSL (or DHL), no Duane Reade, no MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF KICK-ASS FUN, no Haviland, no Tasti-D-Lite. Possible job involving pantyhose, e.g., a cubicle, GM, Bob Evans.

**

Reno, Nevada:
I haven't spoken to Kim in two months. Somehow, because I too have delusions, I still imagine her going "sure, friend, come stay!"

**

Flowers in Hair, etc. ..San Francisco, California:
Reno's appealing partially cause it's close to San Francisco. I imagine many New Yorkers threaten to move to San Fran when times are tough. Some people threaten L.A., but those people are not the kinds of people NYC wants anyway. Like, take your sunshine and your plastic body parts and your smoothies,whatevs, see you at the End of Days, suckers.

Which leads me to this hypothesis:

The most common escape-routes of New Yorkers are, in order of popularity:
1. San Francisco
2. London
3. The suburbs
4. Home, wherever that is. Sometimes, home is "New Jersey," but that doesn't stop you.

**

"My God, how much there was then to leave behind and forget."
-Rilke, "The Prodigal Son"

**
No-Sin City. Las Vegas, Nevada:
I don't understand the appeal of gambling. I'd only gamble if it somehow involved Scattergories, but even then, I'd rather just chill and play the game. [Which I'd Automatically Win, P.S.] Isn't money enough of a game as it is, and therefore, isn't gambling kinda meta? And therefore Already Over?], TB and I enjoy tossing about the moving-to-her-parents'-house-in-Vegas idea. Like Jack and Diane, Sid and Nancy, Jack and Dean, and Waldo of Where's Waldo?:

"I could be a bartender, and you can be a cocktail waitress."
-TB

[Relationship metaphor, anyone?]

When we aren't working or sexing, we'd be writing/reading. A few miles away, lights would continue blinking, cash-ching-chinging, coin-clattering, pop-crooner-gay-magician-showing, but in our hideaway, all that would feel so far away from our Waking Life that it'd almost not exist whatsoever.

Challenges include: TB's employed in NYC, The U-Haul joke, and if Al Queda attacks, they're definitely hitting Excalibur or Tropicana first. After totes smashing the hell out of Circus Circus. Not that we'd be in any of those places, but we could be passing through on our way to the library .


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"You got a fast car/I want a ticket to anywhere."
-Tracy Chapman, 'Fast Car"

**

Astoria, Queens, New York City, New York:
Astoria's practically on a different planet, just because I know if I lived there, I'd never leave my apartment. I'd start thinking about the Q train and get super overwhelmed and need to lay down. So I'd lay down and stare at the walls of my big 500-dollar room, drink something fizzy with a lemon twist--and decide to stay in Astoria. Maybe I'd go out with Vater, cause she always meets weirdos in Astoria at the Athens Cafe. Then I could start a blog about being a twentysomething upwardly-mobile entry-level-employed savings-accounted gal in the big city, except it'd be about Vater's dating life, not mine. That would be the "twist." To seperate it from the other 65 already up on that topic.

**
Summer Camp:
I don't know if I'm qualified to teach a child to do anything besides how to cook Easy-Mac, but it'd be fun to be like C'mon kids, lets go eat worms! and stuff. Or direct plays. Or make poetry and lanyards. Then I could get away from all you people and be around the children because Children are the Future, just like Whitney said. Also, I imagine getting very tan and sheperding the cool kids into the counselors-only area to smoke and talk about lesbian sex.
**

"We were all delighted, we all realized we were leaving confusion and nonsense behind and performing our one noble function of the time, move."
-Jack Kerouac, On the Road

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Wilmington, Ohio:
My Grandparents wanted all their grandchildren to land in a top-tiered University, and if not: Wilmington College. Even sans college, they'd take me in with open arms and I'd feel like the Best Grand-Daughter Ever. But sometimes it gets so quiet there at night that trucks whizzing by are comets through a cornfield; I get scared all over. Like all that space, that quiet must hold a really dark secret. Also, I'd find a way to go into debt at Wal-Mart or Odd-Lots.

**

" 'I'll be thinking of you,' he'd say at the door,
while already he'd be in his car,
singing, the music all the way up."
-Stephen Dunn, "Often The Pleasures of Departure"

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Wherever Ryan Is:
He won't disclose. Apparently it's top-secret. [Still more reassuring than last year, when he lived in Beirut.]

**

With Ryan's parents on the ranch in Oklahoma, regardless of Ryan's actual location:
Because it's beautiful there, and I love Christy and Ted and Grandmother. I'd be like, Lets go round up the horses! or whatevs. Chop chop! Gallop! Then we could go into town 'cause there's tons of good food there if you like BBQ Ribs and coronaries. Also, Poteau, Oklahoma is home of the world's highest hill [in Ryan's backyard!]. If it were one foot taller, it'd be a mountain.

**

"My wife has disappeared along with her clothes."
-"My Wife," Raymond Carver

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Chicago:
Anyone who grew up in a Midwestern state without any of it's own super-hip-cities [e.g. Michigan, Indiana] knows that Chicago's always the default escape route. Everyone's got a friend or two in Chicago. I've got like: six [I rarely talk to, which doesn't make them any different from my friends here]. Ingrid would take me in. She'd cook me filet-with-fancy-sauce and I could read her Harper's and New Yorker and listen to The Roots while Ingrid furthers her Art History knowledge. I could work for Oprah or Barak Obama. Or both.

**

Eugene, Oregon:
Everyone's happy here, I think. You can't be like "Oh, I'm sad, and I live in Eugene." Right?

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Missoula, Montana:
Delp, our Interlochen writing teacher/surrogate father, often scoffed at our stress over the college admissions proccess, admonishing that if we knew what was good for us, we'd move to Montana, where we could fish and write all the time. I've never been, but he was right about everything else, you know?

**

That being said: I've got no escape plan right now. This is good: right here. This apartment, these roommates. My friends. Whatever life I build for myself over the next month. TB, striving towards perfection, etc. All of us, all of us, all of us.