Sunday Top Ten: I Was 27 I Was Sure I Was Growing Pains Like Lead in my Feet

Firstly, doesn't my brother look just like Michael Cera? I saw this article about Cera in the times today and it reminded me of this important thought, one of many important thoughts I have in my head every single day:

Anyhow, onto the Sunday Top Ten on the topic of aging. During my oft-discussed tenure at the Olive Garden Times Square I dated an older man. I was 18 -- a young spry maiden in the fresh poppy fields of her youth -- and he was 27; a freshly divorced law student. I've never been so acutely aware of what it meant to be my age as I was then -- "18" was imposed upon me like a personality trait, and it was the focal point of many relationship discussions with Mr. 27. Consequently 27 has become, in my mind, the age at which one becomes "older." 27 is the age at which I arbitrarily decided people became old enough to have their shit together.

18 was a good age to be. Ripe and on the cusp of something grown-up and fabulous but still charming. Now I'm 27, when youth loses its charm and becomes an old old song in need of a DJ Carlytron Mega-mix. Have I gotten my shit together? Obvs no, I was closer to having my shit together in 2003. But today I spent four hours in high heels, fishnets, gold-hot pants, a corset, and a giant blonde wig and insane drag queen makeup for a sex blogger calendar shoot. I mean who would've guessed? That's way better than a mortgage [which I just had to look up as I don't know how to spell it], which I hear aren't good investments these days anyhow. I'm gonna be whatever month Hedwig and the Angry Inch copulated with Celene Dion and birthed a spry shimmery Mousekeeter named autowin. So that's something.

See I progressed at a highly abnormal rate most of my life. Reading before kindergarten, writing novels before the invention of computers as I was born in the land before time. I started researching colleges and taking myself seriously as a professional something before I even went through puberty. I tried to get into college a year early but my Mom was like "No way, Josè." Basically I was on a fast-track and was convinced that if I didn't go straight to Manhattan at 18 and make it STAT, I'd let the best years of my life pass me by. I slowed down a little bit after that.

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Sunday Top Ten: When I'm 27


[stephen nibbot ]

10. Married!

I figured, at 18, that I had about 10 years of effortless sveltehood and charm left. My high school sweetheart had praised me for making him feel "like a boy again," and my 27-year-old paramour said I was "immature" and "SO 18." I wanted to keep that up.

See -- obvs I intended to spend my Cialis years in a perpetual never-never land of processed snack foods, vodka, carrot cake, anachronistic footwear and My So-Called Life marathons, so I knew I'd have to get married before I began that phase of my life so that I'd be settled in with my fried chicken babies and therefore rendered unleave-able at the precise moment I'd become unbearable and plump. I'd sit on the couch with my nuggets of children, reading great literature out loud like everything was a fairy tale and my husband would be like "I'd divorce that bitch, but she won't get off the couch," and then I'd be like, "go eat a apple pie!"

Instead I just went gay.¹ Marriage is illegal and "letting yourself go" is de rigeour, so I'm good to go.

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9. Live in an unbearably cute apartment on a cute tree-lined block.

I think I've been over this a few times already.

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8. Be a fabulously successful writer, associate editor at New York Magazine, the next new thing prize-winning young novelist, news journalist a la Lois Lane or have started my own magazine, which is still my number one dream, although it's now starting my own online magazine, obvs.

Reality: 2nd Place in the Hot Blogger Calendar Contest, 2nd place in the Lesbian Blog of the Year, 2nd place in the 50-yard dash 1990.

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7. Have a savings account with actual money in it

I think I'm going to start one before I turn 28.

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6. Enter a fabulous job market, flash my diploma all the way to the top.

When I was applying for schools in '98-'99, the future wasn't just bright, it was blinding. Kids like me -- smart, well-read, completely pretentious asshats from academically inclined families -- believed the world was totally our Oyster 2.0 and we were gonna grab it by the horns and make sweet love to it, call it performance art, and collect our big fat checks. Within two years of matriculation, the world became a very different place. Also there's just a lot of us now. Like, by the numbers? A lot of kids in the city who want the same things.

My best friends were entering schools to study the following trades: acting, art history, directing theater, piano, set design, poetry, filmmaking, violin, modern dance, women's studies, etc.

When I transferred to University of Michigan to get a B.A. in English Literature, I thought I was being really fucking responsible, 'cause I'd left Sarah Lawrence where I'd planned to shell out $160,000 to get a degree in "Liberal Arts." In retrospect I should've learned a trade I could stick my hands in like they had in the Olden Days before the economy was invented, like basket-weaving or glassblowing.

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5. Some version, however abstract, of the [Artist]'s American Dream. Warhol-ish. Obama-ish

And maybe that's what I like about Obama. That he seems to believe in the dream we were sold -- the dream of a meritocracy. But our government for the past 8 years hasn't been a meritocracy, it's been some bizarre combination of theocracy and aristocracy. Bush wasn't even elected, but his arm weilded its power and the people fell in line.

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4. Have massive amounts of ass-kicking fun/adventures!

You know what I just fully wholly 100% realized just now is that in the mess of things that so many things have become over the years, there's also the other things, as in, all the things I never ever thought I'd have the chance to do in a million trillion years that I've done in the time between then and now, like some of the purest funnest fucking fun I've ever had like ever. So much fun, seriously, so much fun. Crazy fun. A dream world for everyone involved so much of the time, but maybe that's what makes it feel like so much magic, laughable magic ... that so many times, if you closed your eyes and tapped your shoes it could be a dream world that beat the hell out of any other dream worlds I've known. Years of memories of adventures burning way too bright to last the night, but believing every time that it would was half the fun.

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3. Watch Amèlie

I bought Ameliè in like 2002 I think, 'cause I thought I would watch it on my laptop on our way home from Ohio one Thanksgiving. Unfortunately my boyfriend was being an asshole and said it would be rude for me to do that when I could just be awake listening to him annoy me with assholery. Now I'll never watch it, 'cause it has subtitles and that means I'll be doing two things at once, which makes it hard to do yet another thing, like write my blog or clean my room , while I "watch" the movie.

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2. Get a six-pack

I think I want more apple strudel.

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1. Have health insurance

SCORE! Howevs, if I ever accomplish any of the other things on my list, I'll stop qualifying for my health insurance. You win some, you auto-lose some. Vote Obama! Then we'll all get health insurance!

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¹ I still identify as bisexual but often play with facts for the purpose of a good sentence. Even for a mediocre sentence. The point is that we're all queers, labels are for pineapples that have labels on them. Cans of pineapple.

We Will We Will VLOG You

So much footage and so little time! Speaking of time: time has a way of ticking on, 'cause of clocks, and before long it'll be Thursday night and The Rockford Peaches (a prestigious team including all-stars like me, Carly, Caitlin and Alex) will be playing their second basketball game in reportedly ugly shirts. I missed the first game, which was probs best for everyone. In this vlog, we discuss our impending athletic doom (facilitated by Carly, who roped us into a NYC Professionals Basketball League even though I'm defo not a professional. I actually thought it was a lesbian league, which'd mean all the players are bonded by sexuality and therefore not implying particular athletic prowess by participating. This is not the case. Mostly, we're hoping it'll provide fodder to make fun of each other afterwards).

Also, Haviland's here, we snatched her up at the airport on Monday night at about two hours past my [aimed-for, but never achieved] bedtime. The whole place smelled like B.O., but we waited, which is true love/friendship, clearly.

Riese: "I'm gonna sweat so much at the basketball game, it's gonna look like I just took a shower in all my clothes within 20 seconds of the first quarter. I'm gonna be like the Swamp Thing."
Caitlin: "Everyone will be sweating."
Riese: "No one will be sweating as much as me."
Haviland: "Riese, you published an article in MARIE CLAIRE about how much you sweat. You won a sweating award. I think everyone's fully aware that you have hyperhidrosis and will be sweating."
Riese: "They'll probs just think I'm a cokehead."
Caitlin: [does the groan she does that means the same thing as Haviland's "Really Riese? Really?"]

As I've mentioned probs 500 times this week, I haven't played basketball since my 5th-8th grade tenure on The Emerson Eagles, which concluded just before puberty (I was a late bloomer). We played spring ball in a Rec league & fall ball in a special private school league, and managed to lose every single game except one. Emerson performed a lot better in Mathletes, Quiz Bowl and Magic the Gathering than it did in girls' b-ball.

So. Today I have this pebble for you. A vlog of some quality featuring Carlytron & Matthew as well as never-before-seen footage starring Haviland and Alex. This is what's in it:

1. Discussion about Incest.
2. Haviland's reading of Supr's supreme drunken comment from autowin.
3. Our basketball team.
4. A preview of our basketball game.

And also, so much more.

Tuesday Top Eight: Time, You've Got Me Running

Clearly I'll believe almost anything for at least a minute if you yell at me loud enough, but it's never been difficult to win me over re: the possibility that we're spiraling slowly/quickly into mass apocalyptic extinction -- especially after George W. took office. Then, last year; getting my nails manicured black, listening to Lavar Burton (from Reading Rainbow and Star Trek: TNG, two of my fave shows!) and James Earl Jones perform The Book of Revelation for "The Bible Experience" audiobook (I like to educate myself via i-pod during mani-pedi time) (I'm a weirdo), I looked outside at April's snow and thought "yup, we're totally in for it."

Luckily, I'm Jewish and don't believe in Revelation, and 'cause the Jews are Chosen I'll probs survive the apocalypse anyhow ... um ... I actually have 'the apocalypse' as a tag, which is telling ... Where was I? I'm sick. I used Carly's chapstick last night before confessing my sickness, so I've been trying to downplay my sickness since then to relieve the guilts I've got over that. Coincidentally, I'm also getting way better.

Sidenote, not related to apocalyptic anything -- in fact quite the opposite! -- we went to the NewNowNext Awards last night and Alex and I pretended to be real reporters (and Cait pretended to be a real cameraperson) for "The L Word Online," the video's gonna be kickass!! I just need to learn Final Cut. Erum today maybe? Look at Michelle Paradise and Tinkerbell! They're so cute and clearly in love!

"What's that, Tinkerbell? You wanna go to the awards with me?"
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Seriously, this video is going to be amazing! More about that later. Back to Top Ten Signs of the Apocalypse! I feel like this post is old-school autowin.
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... Right! Yesterday at the gym I was watching The View (cue endgame music) and all these ladies -- there's four of them, they're all shiny with serious hair and they are all Not Rosie -- agreed that the end is nigh. They were so casual about it. "Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised," etc.

Then I flipped the channel to MTV during a commercial and confirmed immediately that the world'll probs end in 2010 for sure.

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Tuesday Top Eight: Signs of the Apocalypse

8) My Super Sweet 16

The birthday girl hopes it'll be Usher, or someone like that, someone with a name like Skee-Lo or Lil' Romeo, and meanwhile in a gigantic clear wind tank labeled 'Daddy's Money,' other sixteen-year-olds have 20 seconds each to grab for dollar bills. Some kiss the money, some stuff it in their shiny white suits (they're all wearing white, it's a white party), omg, it's the musical guest -- but it's not Usher, it's two ballerinas. They're not wearing white, but they're graceful and talented and for the first time since the 45 seconds prior that I flipped to this channel to begin with, I'm actually interested. Something beautiful is actually happening.

The birthday girl disagrees -- she's horrified, "Oh my GOD this is so embarrassing, what was he thinking?!" she says. She's losing the crowd, her friends are giggling/whispering/aghast. She has failed to provide K-Fed or Kriss Kross. Her father slips into the background, avoiding the camera's reproach, as the birthday girl asks the DJ to stop the music right now, everyone hates it. "I'm here to party, not to see the like, ballet," one dude, the scent of money still fresh on his skin, laments. Anyhow, all is forgiven, her present pulls up outside: "Oh my God," a friend drops jaw for the camera. "She got a new Lexus. I'm so jealous."

All is forgiven. Let us rejoice!

I actually didn't know anyone who had a Sweet 16, is it normal to have one? I guess I went to a lot of Bar/Bat Mitzvahs, though.

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7) Another Shot at Love With Tila Tequila

Ok so let's say hypothetically that you're in a swimming pool with a girl you fancy. There's approx. 50 others in the pool, one's named Glitter, the dudes are named Bo, Jay, etc. -- one-syllable words they'll later hurl at each other with the fury of a thousand tattoos of suns. Then, your fancied girl starts making out w/three other girls, and then she makes out with two other dudes, and then makes out with about 100 other people right there.

Would you:
a) Think "OMG, I love this girl, she's the one for me."
b) Try to start a fight with whomever's kissing her.
c) Boil over with jealousy because she is your one true love, you guys hung out for three minutes yesterday, it was awesome, you're in love, wtf.
d) Get out of the pool and be like, "this show isn't about bisexuality, it's about polyamory, which is totes fine, but also not my thing clearly as I've been brainwashed into believing she's my one and only soulmate, and also, Tila is dumb, I'm gonna go nap on that big-ass bed while all these losers duke it out in the pool."
e) Make like Ophelia and drown.

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6) Our Stummies Hurt

As a wee lassie, I'd call my stomach my "stummy." Get it? Stomach + tummy = stummy. It often hurt. Everyone's stomach often hurts. In fact, I don't know any woman who doesn't have some kind of serious stomach issue. I think this's 'cause the food industry's semi-evil. We eat crap, everything, unless we're just eating organic, which's expensive, and sometimes not organic. I love string cheese, sidenote. Maybe I'll have one right now. I try not to eat lunch-related foods before 11:15. That's when Fourth Hour starts at Interlochen, a.k.a first lunch period.

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"The world is ending out there and people are just getting cosmetic surgery and watching debutantes get screwed up the ass."
(Claire, Six Feet Under)

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5) OMG WTF LMAO ROFL

I read this article and my first thought was, OMG, if the Sex and the City movie is already sold out, I'm gonna be so pissed. THEN! I saw this, which is a timeline of when things'll go extinct in the future, and thought OMG, it's fate. Then I realized "I just thought 'OMG' twice and it's only 9:30. I've been awake since 7, when I awoke to cough. It was so much fun I figured I'd just stay up, and write nonsense all morning long. OMG. Blogging is supposed to go out in 2020, which is good, I'll probs run out of ideas by then. Or perhaps I already have!

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4) Save the Cheerleader, Save the World

I started watching Heroes last year 'cause Haviland wouldn't stop yapping about it. After Episode One I told her I couldn't go on, it was making me feel crazy -- believe in magical powers, especially w/r/t apocalypse prevention -- but I started watching again. I'm about six eps in. It's making me feel crazy again, but I'm at peace with that, 'cause it's just so good.

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3) My Requisite Angela Chase Moment

Things are one way, here's the evidence, things are another way, here's more. Write someone off, then back in, love them then hate them. It's easy, then, to make a case for just about anything ... for or against almost anyone. I'm gullible, sure, but I don't know many people strong enough in their convictions to never change their mind, or flip-flop. I used to think it was me -- I'm the one changing from one kind of person to another kind of person -- but now I think no; the facts can often line up neatly and eagerly on both sides no matter how still I stand, almost everyone's got a case, and no-one really knows what happened. The world is ending, it'll go on forever, it's ending in 2010, if we lived in Burma or Iraq, it's possible we'd feel it's already ended.

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2) Check this out:
Monday 12th - Tegan & Sara concert
Thursday 15th - Uh Huh Her in Philadelphia
Saturday 17th - Carly's housewarming (gay!), Alex's friend's rooftop b-day party (kinda gay!)
Monday 19th - Logo NewNowNext Awards
Tuesday 20th - Uh Huh Her in NYC

That's what I've been doing. Seriously, gayest.week.ever. After tonight I'm not leaving my apartment again until Ellen & Portia's wedding. This has nothing to do with the apocalypse, I just wanted to chat.

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1) Doesn't this feel like a countdown? Like now I'll be like, kazaam! Where's Will Smith?

But there's lots of reasons why the world might not be ending: like the gay marriage ban being lifted in California, or that right now most of my friends seem to be recovering from things rather than going through them. There's forgiveness still, and hope. There's misunderstanding, too, but also hoodies and lip gloss and kissing and Uh Huh HER.

You know how when you're sick, you hear everything like you're stuck inside a giant plastic bag? That's how I feel now, but it'll pass. It's like jittery and hollow and rainy, and made me write all this nonsense. Which is incoherent, but in my mind, has a thesis, maybe even five paragraph, and fireworks at the end.

For now, the world spins madly on. I'm hungry.

Sunday Top Ten: Promise I'll be Perfect From Now On

This week's Sunday Top Ten is Crystal's fault, kinda -- I like to absolve myself of blame straight away. I'd told her a hands-down totes fantastic story about listening to The Bible Experience on audiobook, which I later related here, and she suggested: "That would be an interesting/hilarious blog, you could call it 'Sunday Top Ten: Times I've Cheated to Win the Hearts of Others.' Actually that's a really crap title. This is why I don't have a blog audience." She's just being self-deprecating, obvs, she's got quite an audience considering she deletes her blog every two days, an action I've only had the courage to do once, and I didn't delete it, I just made the whole thing private for about ten hours. Everyone freaked out and thought I'd died. Seriously, if I'd died, I wouldn't've deleted my myspace profile first, which I did that same night. Rough night.

Anyhow, I tried but honestly couldn't think of ten times I've cheated to win the hearts of others ... then I considered "Things I've Done to Win the Hearts of Others" ... salivated over the idea of publicly stating my heaps of selfless grand gestures, supreme gifts and extraordinary efforts of relationships past, then realised that'd mostly be an exercise in self-congratulatory pride, fun for me, less fun for you ...

... then several un-interesting topic-morphs later, this became what it is, "Things I've Picked Up from the Fire" .... or "You Might Wanna Change Me, If You Met Me," which's funny because halfway into this thing I saw Crystal'd updated her blog [she's likely to delete it before I finish this paragraph so that may be a dead link] and she'd touched on this topic -- you know, but maybe not funny, coincidence = "clear signs of divine oversight" ... Anyhow, on seeing her ex next year: "I'd like to make some changes before then ... not because she didn't like me, she really did, that's the problem. She likes retards, so next time I see her I'd like to not be retarded. The need for change is not only about her though, she may be the least of it. It's also because if I keep going to the way I am ..."

Sooo .... relationships are not easy. I'm not in one or anything, but I've been, and I've got friends that are/were and it seems the topic of "how much can you change for someone" has been consistent issue and conversation topics w/my friends over the past several months -- how do you draw the line between what you're doing in light of them and what's too much? -- as Carrie Bradshaw said: "When does compromise become compromising?" For example in my last relationship I was unwilling to give up Satan-Worship, gluttony and my relationship with Lozo, I felt that would've been compromising. JK. Long story. [Good story.]

Sometimes, people want other people to change. Change is also not easy. Howevs, sometimes you're like: you know what, good point. This is something about myself I'd like to work on, and this is something that would benefit both of us and me especially in the long run, or like I wanted to read that book anyhow.

Angela : So, you and Kyle broke up? I mean, was there like, a reason?
Sharon : I guess -- I'd have to say -- it was my beliefs. I didn't feel -- like I should -- give up my beliefs. Even, even for Kyle.
Angela : So how do you, like -- I mean, you just -- *told* him that you didn't wanna have sex with him, no matter how much he was like expecting it?
Sharon : Oh, no. Oh, no, no. We had sex. I'm saying I had a belief that he was being a butthead, which was true.
-My So Called Life, Episode #13, "Pressure"

So anyhow, sometimes, you fight about behavior for eons, try to change for each other, flip fault like your brain's alternately treading water and breath-holding diving ... only to discover underneath all of that effort: you've just got different personalities. No one's wrong or right, no one's got big problems needing immediate fixing ... you're just not right together right now or possibly ever.

Sometimes, I feel like it's almost easier to be with someone who's nothing like you on the surface 'cause then you're forced to look for more essential similarities right away, rather than proceeding on a base level assumption that you're on the same page when in fact, you just like the same movies and have similar friends. You know?

When do you stop trying to make it work? When does it stop being good enough to be worth the actual time -- the actual minutes of life you're willing to devote to something ultimately temporary, preventing the entrance of other possibilities -- it's often argued that people don't ever really change, or that you can't change who you are, you can only change how you act or react. I think people can change, but finding a person at a point when the change you require is the change they can provide--that's tough. So often we're propelled into things when a piece of our soul recognises something beautiful and similar in the other but so often, timing is everything. So often, timing is tragedy. So often, timing is nothing, people are tragedy, so often, who the fuck knows.

Larry: Everyone learns, nobody changes.
Anna: You don't change.

-Patrick Marber, Closer
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"People don't change, Wolverine. You were an animal then, and you're an animal now."
-X-Men 2
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"There are 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
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"I won't mistake you for problems with me."
-Tegan & Sara, "I Won't Be Left."
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Sunday Top Ten: They Made Me Do It
OR Things We Picked Up in the Fire,
and Either Kept or Discarded
in which I refer to many different people as "X,"
don't get confused. Not all the same person. That'd be a very schizo person. Haha! HA!!!
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10. Smoking (Doesn't Stick)

I'm the most impressionable cigarette smoker ever. I've previously met non-smokers whom I've told "Oh yeah, smoking, gross, would never do that," revealing nothing of my past affections. Meanwhile, I'll date a smoker, and then start smoking. I never get addicted [Seriously; no denial here, I'm pretty open about my vices], it's just like "Oh, you're having one? I'll have one." Things'll end because things often do: and always, always, a partial pack remains. Theirs or mine --so I open the partial pack, I finish it. Ash builds at the base of a glass jar that once held a cheap candle. And then I toss it.

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9. Lifting (Didn't Stick)
X asked me to meet him at the gym. I didn't know, I was 18, was it a date? In public high school, it seemed date #1 --for my friends obvs as I got no play in public high school -- was "making out while drunk in your friend's basement," and in boarding school, I dunno, the same thing but in the woods? No, JK. The Mel-Caf obvs. X told me it was a date, later, after, when we were at dinner.

X was 27, I felt grown-up like a girl in a magazine. X made me do stuff with free weights. "I just do the lat pulldown and cardio," I'd confessed though really I knew better. But X made me lift with him, said I needed to get strong, and then I got comfortable enough to do it on my own. Then I left New York, and him, and muscles eventually too. I prefer to be dainty, like a willow in the breeze.
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8. Watching Movies Again (Stuck)

Me: "Whatcha doin'?"
X: "Lebowski."
Me: "Again?"
X: "I love Lebowski."
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Me: "Whatcha doin'?"
X: "Watching Super Troopers."
Me: "Again?"
X: "It's so funny. Wanna come over?"
Me: "And watch Super Troopers?"
X: "It's so funny."

I'd never really understood why people re-watch movies, I'd get so restless. It was hard enough for me to pay attention the first time around, let alone the second time -- I get it now, all the things you miss the first time around sometimes, and it's satisfying in that way as life itself rarely is -- do-overs, you get it, really get it this time. Or something like Reality Bites that seemed boring and retarded the first time (1994) and like it'd been coiled straight outta my soul the second time (2005). But then I started to understand the entirely separate but totes valuable aspect of re-watching films, one of these being that if you wanted to make out instead you could I guess -- anyhow it provides something else entirely the 10th or 11th time, it's like soup or a blanket or something. I own DVDs now. I like them in the background sometimes; Gia, Almost Famous, St. Elmo's Fire, Breakfast at Tiffany's.

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7. December is Darkest, in June There's The Light, But This Empty Bedroom Won't Make Anything Right, June July August September October I'm Alive November December Yeah All Through The Winter I'm Alive (Didn't Stick)
It seemed like X and I had tickets upon tickets to things; like every time we considered breaking up, in the back of my mind I'd be like "Fuck, what about the Pistons tickets? What about the Unwritten Law tickets?" or whathaveyou. Life became concert-and-sporting-event-centric, which felt-grown up to me, like these suburban pleasures based on national tours 'cause nothing exciting happened organically out there, but really, that was just the beginning of what X was willing to line up overnight for, I felt like X was on a calender that was light years more organised and boring than mine, that X knew where he wanted to be next year and what row and aisle number, I didn't even know what music I'd like then. Or maybe my favorite player was about to get traded, or maybe I'd have finally run away.

I want to be able to plan that far in advance. I want that really bad, sometimes.

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6. Embracing Debt (Durrrr)

Before I met X, who was in Law School, I was unaware that one had the option to NOT pay off one's credit card at the end of the month. X was a Master of Debt. We'd get back to X's Brooklyn Heights apartment and X'd beeline for his computer to log that day's receipts on Quicken. One summer in L.A., X lived off of credit cards -- making cash withdrawals to enable minimum payments. X often said: "I'm the master of my debt" and "I have perfect credit." Amazed by the unused line of personal credit I had available, X encouraged me to take advantage of it, not be so uptight. And so: here we are, kids.

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Maybe I would have been
Something you'd be good at
Maybe you would have been
Something I'd be good at.
-Tegan & Sara, "Call it Off"

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5. I Bet it Stung, Don't Get so Uptight, Don't Get So Uptight ... (Didn't Stick)

X didn't like it when I made fun of him. Something about our sense of humors didn't exactly work together, which was odd, as we were described as "the funniest guy in school and the funniest girl in school," as if our relationship was instant comedy gold. Sometimes it was, but sometimes it really wasn't. I'm aware that making-fun-of-someone often veers into cruel and low-blow territory, with humor used to mask deep-rooted and vicious truths, but I don't do that, I'm just mean when I wanna be mean, not funny, anyhow I tried to be nicer. Now I just know I can't deal with sensitive people, or people who are sensitive to me specifically for whatever reason, like past insecurities/problems whatevs whatevs. You've gotta be able to take it -- and dish it out -- or it just won't work.
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4. Blogging my Life Away (Stuck, Obvs)
I don't think I ever woulda started a blog if X didn't have one. I was like "what is this blog thing? And how is it different than livejournal?" She showed me the light.

Also, I've literally had three requests for additional photographs of X's ass, previously the center of attention when I used these old photos of us in my Dream Jobs Sunday Top Ten and It's Not What You're Like, It's What You Like Sunday Top Ten. I'd ask her if it's okay to post additional photos, but that'd be a little awkward, so I'll just do it. If I had that ass, I'd want it photographed and displayed as often as possible.

Also, FYI, this was X's comment-response to the multitude of ass-compliments received following the March post, which's brill: "Oh my ass is FAMOUS! There are so many people that I would like to thank ... Riese for making this public announcement on my "somewhat perfect' feature (and for buying us those amazing matching boy shorts which read "Hands where I can see 'em" and which perfectly hug my curves), Blox-tox for saying 'Carmen Morales perfect' which made my day, my Mom b/c I believe I inherited this ass, and by gym Maxim where cardio machines make it all that it can be!"

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3. Being Blonde (Stuck)

My hair stopped being naturally blonde in the early 90's, but I've been dying my hair for so long that I forgot what my natural hair color was 'til I let it all grow out about two years ago as part of my Low-Maintenance Movement. Haviland [no point in X'ng dear Hav] saw my old photos and immediately launched a personal campaign to convince me that I had to go back to blonde, get highlights, etc. I'm not opposed to these campaigns--I wouldn't kiss my high school boyfriend unless he'd done his hair the way I liked it. When I showed up at her apartment re-blonded, the second line out of her mouth was "Omigod, we're going to look SOOOOO hot on the cruise!" Agreed. See, here's a "before" and "after":

*

"You're happy if the thing you naturally want makes the other person happy.
If it's not that way, then I don't know. I guess you're in limbo."
-Richard Ford, Wildfire

*

2. Ending Teeny-BopHood (Stuck Obvs)

Email, 1998:
This following excerpt is from an email I sent Jake on May 13, 1998. It's brill in how it addresses how Ryan changed me and also how little I've changed since then. Also, "phat as hell" should probs like, come back. That's ace.

"This summer, I'm gonna tear down all those fucking pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes and Jared Leto from my wall. And take down that stupid bulletin board. If Ryan's taught me anything, it's that the whole Leonardo DiCaprio thing is totally fucking crazy ... I mean, what is that? He's not even fucking real! I need to get that shit off my walls, or get over that phase, as Ryan calls it, my 'teen bop' thing, but I can still have my guilty pleasures, e.g., 90210. I saw Dawson's Creek today! It was fucking awesome, just because it sucks that much. i think it's hilarious how stuff like that can almost make me cry. But I'm going to tear down all those pictures, throw them away, and turn half of my room into an office, like where I can write, and its' gonna be my computer, like maybe some pictures, like those postcards, and I can sit there and work on my novel, write letters, listen to music. It'll be phat as hell."

1. Attempting to Understand Republicans (Ugh.)

Sometimes I joke that if Kerry'd won in '04, it's possible my relationship with X coulda lasted a little longer, though ultimately we just weren't right together and X was ready to be a grownup and I was ready to make out with as many girls as possible. I had a lot of anger towards the Republicans and the Country and 'cause X was really the only Republican I knew, I took a lot of it out on him. X wasn't a fan of Bush, but X said "I'm not gonna vote for fucking KERRY," and then I stabbed his eyes out with the overgrown fingernails of unaborted babies and fire-bombed his room, killing all the women and children. And (and!!) the rest of X's family was totes liberal. Last time I saw X, he said he's a registered Democrat now, "cause of Bloomberg." Amazing.

*

"I'm not unfaithful,
but I'll stray."
-Tegan & Sara
*
*
We're left with style,
a particular way of standing and saying,
the idiosyncratic look
at the frown which meas nothing
until we say it does. Years later,
long after we believed it peculiar
to ourselves, we return to love.
We return to everything,
strange, inchoate. Like living
with someone, like living alone,
settling for the partial, the almost
satisfactory sense of it.
-Stephen Dunn, "Essay on the Personal"
*

Sunday Top Ten Part Two: I Refuse To Believe That It's Only Me Feeling

First of all. Good news. Good good news. The source of HPS's email conundrum: her signature. This issue has been targeted and subsequently conquered.

So: more questions in life, not in dreams. I have weird dreams. Last night, I was on vaycay with my Dad and my brother, and then we went home and I had all these Calvin & Hobbes books, and I was like, "I should text Carly about her tattoo." That's not supposed to make sense, it's just what happened. In my dream. Haviland was sleeping next to me, dreamily, with her earplugs. Platonically, obvs.

Questions. Things that I do not understand. I gotta say, the first round of this was pretty hot. The "59th Annual Kings County Tony's" are still raging on -- but Jaimie's informed me that they're possibly not incorrect -- AND we've fixed Haviland's email, I've got plans to fix my phone problem, and Stef was not The Biggest Loser. Um, did anything else happen? I forget what my questions were now. Oh, yes! I encouraged one person to buy a book, so we're closer to fixing that problem. I should ask "Why Is There World Hunger?" But, you know, that's awfully ambitious, and I am, as we all know, a bit of a self-depricant. I just made up that word, P.S. Actually, I thought it was a real word until my auto spell-checker underlined it, informing me of it's Non-Reality.

SUNDAY TOP TEN, PART TWO: ITEMS 5-1 OF
THE GREAT MYSTERIES OF LIFE THAT I DO NOT UNDERSTAND

---

5. Why Do Men Yell At Girls On the Street?
I've gotta say first off, the short hair's reduced this by at least 85% which's, honestly, fucking amazing. This city is a hotbed of women who've got interesting methods of dealing with women. I don't get it. Does it work?  I look down, and I walk, and I seethe, 'cause I've got my little baby wrath. If I'm eating an ice cream cone and some dude yells that he'd like a lick -- chances are pretty high I'm not gonna give it to him, unless it's like, Leisha Hailey, or um, Abraham Lincoln. 'Cause you gotta admit that actually, it'd be pretty awesome to hang out w/Abraham Lincoln. Also, if I'm with another girl and you tell me that it's "a beautiful thing" or that you support gay marriage or something, I hope you vote and masturbate a lot. I don't know what I hope or what that means. type type type. I'm fairly confident that there's not a huge crossover between Cajolers and Autowin-Readers, so this is really just me doing what I do best, which's complain to no avail. To hell with all that progress we made earlier this week, let's WHINE.

---

4. Why Does Everything Take So Long?
Like, when was the last time I said to myself "Wow, that was quicker than I expected?" Um. Hahaha. No, seriously, a long time ago.

---

3. Why Does my Gym Suck So Bad?
New York Sports Club sucks. I'd join a more expensive gym, but: 1)I've got no money and NYSC currently just continues to charge my credit card obvs, 2)NYSC is already about as expensive as gyms go. I mean, the next step up'd be like, Equinox, or Reebok, or New York Health & Raquet Club, but then I'd be surrounded by Serious Douchetards and it'd be farther than two blocks away. New York Sports Club charges $90/month and what do we get? Crap. I've complained about NYSC before, so I'll be brief and only mention here New Complaints:

-Many of the machines (about 33%) audibly creak or make otherwise unbearable noises, and there're rarely signs warning you of this. Really the best you can hope for is that no-one notices that it's you doing all that creaking, 'cause then people will start glaring at you, like "get off that machine, it is creaking super-loud and annoying everyone," when they oughta be glaring at the maintenance staff, who're doing nothing.

-The magazine rack is a total tease. I don't even know why it's there. I've stumbled upon an Entertainment Weekly maybe twice and GQ once, but generally it literally contains CATALOGS (Like, is that good gym reading? Maybe it is if you can afford things in catalogs. Also I'm not talking good catalogs like delia*s, but useless ones like um, furniture homewares whatevs. I don't know, are catalogs good gym reading, you tell me, I'm the expert.) and back-issues of Cookie (a parenting magazine, not, unfortunately, a magazine about Cookies).

-Jackie Warner does not work there.

Does your gym suck? Does everyone's gym suck? My gym in Ann Arbor, Liberty, was awesome. That's the Brazilian Women's Soccer team in the picture, no joke.

---

2. Why Does [redacted] magazine continue to rock my world, month after month?
Although it's clearly just the nature of the beast [is that the right expression? Whatever means like, obviously, "a natural consequence of the freelance writing biz to begin with"?] that just happened to befall me at The Worst Moment Ever, one might think my affections for this publication would've lessened following the Great Article Kill of '07. I've tried to hate them but I don't. It's my favorite magazine. This isn't even intended as a way to sleep myself into the "comments" section they've recently added to the front of the mag, which, p.s., I think is totes retarded [and you can quote me on that] or garner a staff position [though obvs I wouldn't mind one, I suspect this isn't the most mature path to such a thing], I genuinely find this magazine to consistently rock my world.

I've blogged about them before: on their bizarre habit of declaring the Mood-of-the-Moment and then contradicting themselves the following week, the "I am" cover story about the "ME" generation which inspired me to create Riese's 15-Year-Old MySpace Page, their "Best of New York" feature which inspired my short-lived "Best of Not New York" feature, um, and, etc., etc. Bla bla bla, me me me.

Okay, so:
1. (August 27th) This story, "Conspiracy of Two: Why did Artists Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake Commit Suicide? A Chronicle of Their Descent Into Madness," literally gave me goosebumps and actually partially inspired my August OverShare; "they were artists, after all, and artists are allowed a degree of lunacy" ... looking at this article gives me goosebumps again, all over again, it like, stabs me and guts me, this fucking article.
2. (October 1st) On a lighter note, the unthinkable's recently happened to me: my agoraphobia's resulted in a lessened desire to go to the gym, previously cited as the One Thing I Always Can Do. No longer true. Even though my habit of exercising is not an attempt to get thinner, as I am already thin, I still enjoyed "Does Exercise Really Make Us Thinner?: The Scientist and the Stairmaster: Why most of us believe that exercise makes us thinner--and why we're wrong" it's like, the ultimate validation for lazy-asses everywhere. Genetics is Destiny, y'all, so give the fuck up, sorz. Personally, I can give you this advice: when depressed or overwhelmingly passionate regarding someone who's got my heart and/or body, I get emaciated. When not at this elevated or rock-bottom state, I stay the same. Exercise's pretty much irrelevant, but it gives you endorphins and has kept me alive even though most other parts of my life are dedicated to the pursuit of pleasures that're not so good for my heart, like drugs, not sleeping, drinking coffee, drinking alcohol and heartache. Also I'm always letting things tug at my heartstrings. Haha. Puppets. Ha. Hm, you know Heart the band? Good band. Know Heart the song? Good song. Know heart the organ? Good organ, beware of attacks.
3. Other articles I've enjoyed recently include: August 13th's "The Near Fame Experience," about the aftermath of Bravo TV-reality stardom, "The Deliverymen's Uprising" about the shitty conditions and attempted unionizing of NYC's delivery guys [I always overtip, now moreso] and "Awkward Phase" about Michael Sera, August 20th's "Why New Yorkers Live Longer" which points out why you totes should exercise and reinforces my monthly hypocrisy theory about this magazine and September 3rd's "Watching Matt Drudge," because I'm always intrigued by the simultaneously famous & illusive. Also, August 6th's look at secret gay relationships enabled by craigslist: "Married Man Seeks Same for Discreet Pleasure," and July 2nd's reminder of how much cooler everything was before we were born, "Long Hot Summer of Love."
4. Following the "1" theme to "stories about quasi or completely insane artists": Sep.24th's "How Edward Mapplethorpe got His Name Back: His long, tortured road through art, drugs, and brotherhood," October 1st's "The Life Obsessive with Wes Anderson," September 17th's "MisShape's After-Party" (I just noticed this was written by one of the best editors I've ever had the pleasure to work with, at nerve obvs, Michael Martin, which's also funny as we were banned from pitching party-photo-related stories at editorial meetings, in addition to any Scientology, Star Wars or burlesque related stories) and 'Spring' Allergy: Jonathan Franzen because I love Jonathan Franzen and Spring Awakening: The Musical both.
5. Just today: Totes overstayed my elliptical trainer's welcome reading a solid cover story about the hypothetical Hilary Clinton presidency re: Bill, "The First: Female President, Male First Lady, Former President in the White House" and, for some bizarre reason unknown to me as I find real estate to be resolutely Not Interesting, "Apoplectic at the Apthorop." Like, I was glued to that article. Sometimes their cover art is totally retarded though, I gotta say.

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1. Why Aren't We Massively Faboulous/Achieving Our Wildest Dreams In Life/Writing and/or Starring In "The L Word"?
[This question, unlike, say "Why is my phone bill so high?" is more-or-less rhetorical, like, I'm not asking anyone who's reading this to help us in this area, as you've (you=readers) all been remarkably and inspirationally helpful in every way you possibly could be as far as this is concerned, OBVS.]

Eddie: Your epitomb. What is that you want on your epitomb?
Patsy: I want: "She was fantastic...."Patsy was here."
Eddie: No, daring, you can just have "Patsy Stone".
Patsy: Oh, Eddy, Eddy. Wait for this. Wait for this: "Eddy: Still no thinner."
Eddie: These are really funny. We could sell those.

[She calls it "epitomb," I know she means "epitaph."]

Did you read The Devil Wears Prada? That book sucked. Also, The Hills? I just don't get it. There're so many things that I don't get. The L Word? The weirdos that always win America's Next Top Model? Elisabeth Hassleback? I may've mentioned this before.

I feel like this one -- "1" -- is probs inappropriate on a number of levels, including: totes biting the hands that [literally] feed and validate and agree with us, there are children starving AND un-fabulous all over the world, I think I've talked about it before, probably more than once. Just pontificating, and sharing with you a piece of our world, because ...

It's just that: to be honest, this is, seriously, our Number One Mystery of the World Conversation Topic. And for some reason I continue to feel like I must always Be Honest. Srsly. (It's less serious when you spell it like that.)

I mean, did you hear Haviland sing "Part of Your World" on my cruise video? Well, yeah. I've been described as probs no less enjoyable than whomever wrote the copy for my smartwater bottle or wrote some crap somethingsomething. Why aren't we [we=all my wonderful talented friends] as fabulous as Eddie & Patsie, Paris & Nicole, Ariel Levy & The Wife of Ariel Levy or Ernie & Bert? Like, I want to be like in the Oliver and Company song: "Perfect Isn't Easy," which COINCIDENTALLY I happened to lip sync ON MY FUTON in the mid-nineties, and I think I used a necktie as a boa, which was a little forewarning of things to come.

One might argue: in order to become a famous author, I need to write a book. To which I would say: touche.

It's weird, over here, on this side of things. It's like we're so close we can touch it, we can wear its wigs and its shoes. But it's also very distinctly Not It. I guess we don't know if we'd like "It" either, we're just guessing, and mostly, we want stability, somewhere good to start from instead of to look at. Somewhere with less roadblocks.

I clearly can't talk about this in any rational sense. Because -- because life is irrational, p.s.

Off topic, kinda: Sometimes, almost anything seems better than this, even things that are worse, or were worse, at the time. Sometimes it's refreshing to get shaken to the core -- no, it's actually terrible -- but it's more exciting while surviving the shakedown than to be wrecked on the other side, which's like, not only just as depressing, but slower, and with no chance of instant turnaround. I clearly am no longer talking about anything. Let's segue, shall we?

Yes, lets: fear is the color you've all exposed, now I gotta get up here and prove the importance of my clothes of my pose ...

---

So there're a lot of other mysteries of life that didn't make the cut, which means I might continue on this topic for a few more posts, even though it'll no longer be Sunday or officially part of the Sunday Top Ten or potentially "good." Many interesting topics've been passed over, like "Why does Kozmo.com not exist anymore?" and "Who watches Everybody Loves Raymond even though My So-Called Life got canceled?", "Iraq: WTF?", "Why do I wear makeup to the gym?", "Why is it so difficult to perform very simple tasks?" and "Why does that one Rilo Kiley song have like, a whole minute of empty space at the end?" "Why doesn't i-tunes sell every Tegan & Sara song ever written?" "Why're we perpetually out of paper towels and/or toilet paper even though we're all super good at stocking up?" "Why do all music lyric sites have 500 pop-up ads?" etc. No seriously, there are other good ones I promise. All up in the ol' noggin. Tick-tock.

Soon my face will be on every magazine
and then my voice will be on every frequency
take my heart while you're at it
why don't you sign me up to sell me out,
Hard core superstar by far you're the ultimate star,
Hard core superstar by far, you're the ultimate star,
Do you wanna be a superstar?
Do you wanna be a superstar?
I am my angel 'til death I do
I saw my first angel and it was you.
-Tegan & Sara, "Superstar"

Oh, you know what. False alarm. One more question:

---

0. Does Anyone Feel that "Serving Size" is an adequate serving?

I know why serving sizes are oriented as they are, obvs, as my mother was a professional Nutritionist and I know way more about food, nutrition, the food pyramid, calories, diets, carbohydrates, food groups, vitamins, low-fat cooking etc., than I ought to, but I feel like the word "serving" is misleading, and it annoys me when the lady & fitness mags try to "remind" you how big a serving size is, as if that's the source of your dietary issues--going over a palm-sized amount of chicken -- as if that's actually an adequate amount of food for anyone over the age of 8 months to consume. Also, I think I use too much coffee, because I seem to go through a bag of coffee and a thing of creamer in like, three days, and I only make coffee in the morning, the rest of the day I go to D2. That's all, fo'real.

Seriously. Srsly.

Sunday Top Ten: I Saved Up All My Sunshine Just To See You More Clear

Clearly, there are a lot of things about life that I don't understand. That's right, M[redacted] V[redacted], my English 125 professor who drilled that we shouldn't ever open an essay with a trite & broad generalized statement: There Are A Lot of Things About Life I Do Not Understand! Also: the world is composed of many different kinds of people, since the beginning of time human beings have grappled to comprehend the meaning of life, literature explores topics that expand our views of the universe, and the personal is often political.

[One thing I don't understand is why M.V. was such a cunt ... but English 125's how I met Natalie! I should probs adjust that name in case M[redacted] V[redacted] googles herself. Done and Done. She seems like the kind of person that would. Let me google her right now, BRB.

Holy shit. "Rate my professors dot com"? Why didn't this exist when I was in school?!! Whoa. You can indicate if your teacher's HOT OR NOT. This is brill. Anyhow, she's got a 3.8/5 for her teaching skills. Hm. Oh wow, someone wrote that she accused them of using someone else's paper to write theirs. She totes did that to my friend Inga. Looks like she's still up to her same old tricks. Tsk tsk. Oh man. She won something. A Fulbright? Damn. I guess she wasn't that bad. I loved her class, actually, it's just that she accidentally caused my One and Only Actual Mental Breakdown. Did I have a point? Chances are good that I did not.]

OMG, someone's grilling cheeseburgers or something outside my window. It smells like childhood. Usually people're getting shot outside my window, so this's pretty effin exciting. Seriously last night someone got shot outside my window. Not kidding.

Sunday Top Ten: The Great Mysteries of Life That I Do Not Understand, PART ONE

(Items 10-5, Posted Early, For the Reason Why, See "9.")

10. Why's My Phone Bill So High?
My phone bill inspired this post. I've had this issue since 2000, when I got my first cell phone. Somehow I talk less than everyone I know, and yet I always have the highest bill. My total text messages sent/received number (837 in August) is higher than my minutes-spent-on-the-phone. My phone got shut off for like, 24 hours, earlier this week and though I found it slightly odd that I seemed to've lost communication with a few key players, I wasn't necessarily shocked by the silence echoing from the chambers of the Dash. I just thought "Oh, Haviland must be busy," etc. But um: totes shut off. Apparently I owed them $250. I don't understand this. Can someone explain this to me?

I want a no-phone Phone Plan. I just need email and texting, and the calender and calculator. The rest I could do without. I don't need voicemail or any kind of minutes--I'm equally uninterested in daytime, nighttime, weekends, and other T-Mobile customers. I mean; I got T-Mobile 'cause my girlfriend at the time had it, as does Haviland. I tend to pick my phone companies based on who I'm dating at the moment I need a new phone, that's how I got stuck with Sprint for three years, thanks Scot.

[This's what I've got: 600 Whenever minutes (I use about 200/month), unlimited text & picture messaging, unlimited nights and weekends, unlimited tmobile-to-tmobile, Total Internet Add-on, equipment protection, and er *cough* late fees. Also last month I sent a text to Australia, that cost 0.15. That's really the only place I see where I could possibly cut back, and I'd rather not. That's right Crystal, you're WORTH IT]

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9. Why Don't We Get Drunk and Blog?
I mean, you know? Why not? Really, I'd like to talk about something else. Why is Stef losing Lozo's join-my-top-25-blog contest by such a gigantic margin? That's why I'm posting this right now as opposed to three days late, per ush. Stef was kidding when she nominated herself and she doesn't want to win 'cause she doesn't really want people to read her blog, and I probs don't have enough readers to make her win anyhow, but she'd like to lose by a less significant margin. Please go here and vote for her, thanks, you have 'til Sunday night at 10 P.M. I can't relate to the not-wanting-readers thing, as I clearly want everyone to read my blog, obvs, esp. Ilene Chaiken, Shane and G.W. Bush, and, whenever I blog about doing something fabulous, I hope all my exes are reading it and feeling bad for cheating on me with 16-year-old synchronized swimmers.

Sidenote, 9a: Lozo and I were discussing our lovely inter-blog traffic flow, and how it's resulted in many new lady commenters for WDWGDB, but not necessarily vice versa, though Lozo brings me lots of traffic which's fabulous, mwah. Anyhow, Lozo said it's "intimidating" to comment on my blog because my commenters are so awesome. Is this true? Do you people feel this way? This is sort of a retarded question to ask, as probs if you do feel this way, you won't comment, which is totes fine. I think it's a Catch-22 or whatever. I mean, because srsly, say whatever. Long, short, true, false, funny, insightful, brief, beautiful, retarded, whatevs. I talk in abbreviations, have a compulsive urge to overshare, and I frequently live-blog my emotional breakdowns and I can't spell. Again: not complaining, I totally understand, there're lots of blogs I read & never comment, and I don't really know why, I just don't feel like I can. I love & appreciate all my present commenters and I would make love to all of them if I wasn't so busy being Emily Dickinson, or if I hadn't already, or they actually wanted me to, or whatevs.

Lozo: Commenting on your blog is intimidating.
Me: It's intimidating? Really? But I comment back! I'm so nice! You're like: "Alex: Fuck you. Gina: I'd only do you if you had a bag over your head. Matt: You are wrong about the Yankees."
Lozo: lol. Not in that sense. Your commenters write lots of deep stuff.
Me: I'm like "Alex: I love you!, Gina: You're so special!, Matt: Good point! I feel that way too sometimes!"
Lozo: But my commenters are one-sentence people. Yours are people who tell stories.
me: I know, but I like one-sentence people too.
Lozo: It's a fitting in thing. You know what would have made this conversation awesome?
me: If it had been live? In person?
Lozo: Naked girls and drinks.
me: In bikinis?
Lozo: I like that you have my setups to my jokes read already.

---

8. Why Does Haviland Still Use AOL?
She's answered this question approximately 500 times, I forget the answer. I think it's got something to do with her career and keeping the same email address or something. But! AOL's just started doing this thing where they insert about 40 yards of white space to the end of all their emails. It's insufferable. I've communicated this. Here's what a quick gmail search turned up:

-August 17th, ME to HAVILAND: "Why does your email attach 30 pages of blank space to the bottom of every email? It's maddening and it must stop."

-August 20th, ME to HAVILAND: "The white space that follows every email is ruining our friendship."

-August 30th, ME to HAVILAND: "Dude that white space at the end of your emails is the most maddening thing on earth. Does anyone else tell you about this? It's going to make me into a crazy person. Oh wait, I already AM a crazy person!"

-September 12th, CARLY to ME: "I liked the unnecessary amount of white space at the end of your email, I thought of Haviland's emails when I saw that and then I laughed."

-September 13th: ME to HAVILAND: "1. Dude, you have to do something about this space Is there any way to fix it? Can I write someone at AOL? It's really maddening and unbearable."

Another question would be: Why do I repeat myself so often? Or, better yet: why does AOL make me repeat myself by sucking so hard?

8a. Why Does my Mom Still Use AOL?
Mom?

---

7. Why Don't More People Read Books?
It's just that I get depressed when I feel like people don't read books, and then I use that as an excuse not to write mine. "It's not like people read books, anyhow," I'll say. But actually, the real mystery to me here is: who doesn't read books? Everyone I know reads books. You probably do. So why's publishing in such a dismal state? I don't know. It keeps me up at night, obvs. I also enjoy listening to books, like right now I'm listening to "Lucky" by Alice Sebold. I get really into it, I listen to it at the gym. Ppl are all like "what's up, gonna do a delt fly," and I'm like "She got raped in the tunnel!" It's like, serious.

I feel like books can be a lot better than movies or the teevee, cause there're books about everything. Books can offer special POVs and voices that you can't get from most movies or teevee, which first must receive "funding" and "distribution," which means that someone with money has to like the idea. It just becomes part of this big system. I mean, so is publishing, but you know what I mean, yeah? Here's some of my favorite books.

They're definitely better than doing nothing. E.g., on public transportation, while waiting in line, while walking (books-on-tape), while sitting on your ass, waiting in a doctor's office, waiting for your life to begin, waiting for your date to show up so you look smart, sitting at a bar alone not like I'd do that, etc. I dunno. I guess that's just my opinion. I also enjoy magazines.

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6. Why Do People ADD Apostrophes to Plural Nouns?
There's this poster on our wall in the living room that makes me want to tear my hair out. It's a drawing and it reads: "The 59th Annual Kings County TONY'S." Probs it was drawn by some kid who's dead of a drive-by shooting now or something, and I'll feel really guilty when Zoey sees this and clues me in. Or maybe Zoey drew it herself, in which case I'll make fun of her about it. Starr's boyfriend was here last weekend and also got annoyed by it. He pointed out two additional errors, further fueling my fire. Sometimes, during Writeathons, Carly'd suggest we switch seats 'cause looking at that poster made me miserable and I commented on it often.

It's just that you have to ADD AN APOSTROPHE. WHY?!!! What goes through your head when you add that in?!! Like, what are you thinking?

This would be a good opp for y'all to inform me that I don't know the difference between "its" and "it's." I know. I'm working on it. (Kinda) I'm v.busy.

Bring it Up, and Bring it In, And We'll Get You Fixed Up in No Time

**
i. And The Closet's Been Shaking With Bones

So I wrote this post here, then removed it 'cause I thought it was sort of whiny. I stated, re: my intention to write a new one: "If the old post was a petulant screaming child on a streetcorner, dripping popsicle onto his or her terrycloth separates, then the new post will be that same child the next morning in a cooler outfit not spilling anything. Perhaps this child'll be eating something more user-friendly, like a little cup of Tasti-D." There's a lot of problems with that analogy, clearly. Like that it's not true.

Yesterday was an amazing morning and I'm hoping that there'll be many more mornings just like it in the future, and then I'll just post pictures of sunshine and ice cream, like Cute Overload. Ha, just kidding, you can't take pictures of sunshine.

Also, Lozo and I are going to consolidate our blogs into one blog. What do you think? We're pretty much the same person, except different. I'm gonna learn the rules of football. Gmail Adsense might freak out over this idea: "L Word Ringtones! Yankees tickets! Get Over Your Ex! Hookers! COFFEE EXPOSED! Get bigger muscles! Meet lesbians!"

JK. (Kinda)

[Due to my erasure of the previous post, not to be confused with the band "Erasure," some comments might not make sense right now. It's mysterious, like Unsolved Mysteries, one of the best teevee programs of all time. Have you ever drank Sugar-Free Red Bull? I'm drinking some right now. It tastes like liquid hellfire.]

**
ii. You're Still In My Blood:

First graf, old blog: I would undertake a number of death-defying life-threatening actions right now in exchange for a back massage. I'd even undertake a girlfriend for that purpose. I've taken like, eight Bayer Back & Body Pain, and my back is still in pain. Why? I don't know. Something that happened during the half-minute/5.5 hours I was actually comatose last night.

[South of Nowhere Recap Here]

***
iii. Time, You've Got Me Running

This Friday night felt like college; strung out and fading then coming back strong then losing it then wondering if we had anything left in us and then going over it and then coasting and then crashing, leaving pages of accomplishment and emptied Red Bull cans in our wake. But we've targeted the ways in which it's unlike college, and the main one is that we're not going for a grade. Everything now is pass/fail ... you either get the job or you don't, you publish the article or you don't ... and this week is turning out to be one of the most challenging in terms of hours-to-work ratio that I've had in a long time.

I often wished I could grade query letters at the lit agency: "You're a great writer, this just won't sell, B+!" instead of giving out 1,000 rejection letters, 3 "let's take a look at the first 50 pages and then reject you" letters and one "send the whole thing, this might actually be awesome" letters.

My room is in an absolute state and I'm running out of cute underwear. Luckily, my not-cute underwear is still cuter than most people's underwear. My starred emails (star=Reply!) are sinking into Page 2 of my inbox, a.k.a. the no-reply zone. I don't think I've communicated with an extended family member in like, months. Apparently my cousin's given birth, and my other cousin's wife is about to give birth. Who knew? Probs most people but not me.

***
iv. Cute Overload

Wednesday!! We filmed some stuff for a thing that might lead to some better stuff. Look:

Converting To Digital

Let me feel your heart beat

You say potato, I say potato

High Kick

Just try it on!

Key Gripper

OMG Are We Really Doing This?
Let's do this every day, forever and ever,
except let's not wake up at 6 A.M the next time.

Hi Mom!

LOLLLLLLLLL


v. The Thunder and the Laughter

Back on the roof. Last week, Carly and I, seeking new perspective, held a meeting up here: as soon as we got up here, though, I realised I'd let the door close behind us [not the first time I've locked myself on the roof, obvs]. I wanted to crawl down that death-space between the buildings and try kicking in our bathroom window but Carly said she'd freak out if I did that, so I settled to climb the fire escape down to our kitchen window and remove the screen door and crawl in like a SWAT team. I felt slightly like MacGyver but also just slightly like a babysitter who'd just locked the kids out of the house, which I think I've mentioned I did once. Oddly enough, babysitting was one of the jobs I was best at of the myriad of occupations I've attempted over the years. I have a lot in common with toddlers.

Anyhow so last week, near the end of our totes productive re-evaluation of direction meeting, this guy came up to the roof wearing a Wal-Mart style vest and he talked to us for about 15 minutes about why we shouldn't walk around on the roof. Something about the rain and how we'd fall through and die. We couldn't understand a word he said, his English was pretty bad, so mostly we concentrated on not looking at each other, lest we start cracking up, which would indicate right away that we didn't really intend to take his advice. I like to live on the edge, obvs. OF THE ROOF! JK. Remember this?:

Speaking of not sleeping: I slept for EIGHT HOURS LAST NIGHT. EIGHT!! (!!!)

Now I'm going to summarize my old post for you, which's good practice for me, 'cause I'm supposed to be summarizing our pilot right now. I have troubles with brevity [surprise!].

The post that was here before covered the following areas:

1. My inexplicable back pain, for which I tried a few remedies, including a pill Pharmer.org identified as Robaxin (left over from when I slipped on the ice in 2003 and tried to go to work anyhow but I was bleeding through my shirt and couldn't walk, so my manager was like "Urm, go home weirdo,"), about ten Advil, marajuana, some Bayer, spaghetti, moaning, more moaning, and additional moaning. I mentioned that I'd like some Percocet, which I've never taken but I imagine must be good because it's addictive, and then Zoey (my roommate) came to my room with a Vicodin, which I'm still saving because I think the back pain is returning right now as I sit here on the roof.

2. Things that I don't do when time's tight, including returning/placing phone calls, laundry, socialising, MySpace, going to therapy and sleeping.

3. Things I still do when time's tight, which include going to the gym (didn't go today though!), eating too much food, emailing Crystal, and writing my blog.

4. I not-preached to the not-choir, which I acknowledged I do often, as Mr.Duane Reade, G.W Bush and Ilene Chaiken also do not read my blog, yet I continue to call out to them like a ghost in the night who is screaming a lot.

Sometimes, when I've been out of touch for too long, my close friends protest reading my blog on the grounds that it's not a substitute for speaking to me. I then explained why I think that's retarded, in summary:
4a. If you read it, that's less backstory I've gotta provide when we finally do talk, thus increasing the amount of you-time. 'Cause I love you and want to know about you, obvs.
4b. It stresses me out to talk to The Protesters, because I get overwhelmed thinking about all the stuff I've gotta go over that I've already discussed at far too much length already right here. There's plenty of private stuff left over to talk about, obvs, this is just a good starter.
4c. It's my writing, it's a big part of my life, and it matters to me, so I find it kinda hurtful when you don't. (I didn't actually say that, but it was implied by my caustic and abrasive sarcasm.) Maybe it does feel weird to be an intimate friend of mine and read something accessible by people that don't know me like you do, but even though it's called a "blog," I spend time on it, and it matters to me.

From SIX FEET UNDER, the best show ever to be on the TeeVee:

Nate: Why do you treat me like shit all the time?
Brenda: Because I had a really fucked up life, and I use sarcasm to hide how ridiculously vulnerable I really am, okay? C'mon, Jesus, you know that.

***
vi. We'll Get You Fixed Up in No Time

I'm sure you're all on the edge of your proverbial seats regarding my back pain. Soooo ... last night I went to the gym and ran on the treadmill, which was bad idea Numero Uno. In my defense, I needed a brainstorming session and I can think really well when I run, and "Top Model" was on. In my offense, I ran for eight minutes. The rest of the time I spent on less demanding pieces of equipment, then got annoyed that it was so crowded (I'm used to the afternoon lull) and went right back home. Then I moaned for about five consecutive hours.

We have a subletter right now named Star, because Ryan is opening a show in Seattle. Because she's only here for a month, I can whine alot w/o worrying she'll worry that I might get annoying in the long term, and she still finds it endearing or at least pretends to. Also, she told me today that she DOESN'T KNOW WHAT A BLOG IS! So, there's that. What was the point of that? Oh yeah, she listened to me moan last night.

So, today: there's this place on 81st called Super Magic Fingers, and NO, that's not Haviland's uptown hideaway. [I love all the places in NYC with ridiculous names. You wonder why it is that nowhere along the "business creation" process did someone say: "Hey, P.S., 'No Pork Kitchen' is a stupid name or 'NO EFFIN APOSTROPHE'" or whathaveyou.] It's like, good massage place and it's cheap, and they fixed my back. Howevs, here I am on the roof, sitting with world's worst posture, thinking: Fuck. It hurts again. Also I just smoked like, 10 cigarettes in a row, and I don't smoke. Clearly I enjoy digging my own grave.

I think I saw your airplane in the sky tonight, through the window lying on the kitchen floor.

vii. Also ...

This is Uh Huh Her, which Roy amazingly called "Mmm Hmmm Her" and Natalie called "Uh Oh Her":

"You say that you're broken,
I just wanna fix you.
Tell me what to do
baby I will listen
Days will go unwritten
All the things you're missing,
tell me what to do,
baby I can fix it."

-Uh Huh Her

Last week we saw them and then talked to Leisha Hailey. Also last week, Stef took Carly and I to see Northern State and they were also amazing. I've met a lot of blog people in real life lately. I guess that means it's almost time for Lozo and I to go to a strip club. First I just need to finish this stuff.

SlumDay Top Ten Part Two: I Look So Hard, I Look Obvious

[This post is supernBad right now becaue I took an ambirn so i cannot see teh srcreen, it is like advancing s w===iS I===o I will have to type tommorw to fic his blog becauer it his very bad norw.]

[OK: I'm proofing this right now -- Monday, 5:00 p.m. -- but I can't bring myself to delete the above gibberish in brackets, because I think it's the best thing I've ever written. I also woke up this morning and thought "I have to finish a Sunday Top Ten today," and was surprised to see that--OMG--I already did!!]

I don't think I'm going to have any actual worst nightmares or greatest dreams if I don't ever sleep. Carly and I were up all night on Friday for The Write-a-Thon, which we planned to start 'round 9 P.M., directly following the South of Nowhere viewing. However, due to a number of factors including the presence of Natalie my BFF from the University of Michigan ("We fell in love in English 125" is how the story begins), Vicky, and alcohol, we didn't start the write-a-thon 'til 1 A.M. Twelve hours and many pages later, Carly and I emerged into the brill light o' day and determined it was the brightest day of all time and it was possible we were no longer walking in a straight line. It didn't help that everyone in my neighborhood is psychotic and was wearing things like bright yellow see-through tracksuits. I say something a lot like this right here.

Anyhow, this is a continuation of what I got started earlier this week: an evaluation of my overused phrase "that'd be my worst nightmare," which's applicable to situations that're actually possible in real life and I'd probs not have an actual in-sleep nightmare about. Just things I'd call "my worst nightmare." Get it? Got it. Good.

When I was writing this intro on Saturday, I wrote: "My hair is so greasy right now, I could start my own line of hair gels and mousses simply by extracting natural oils from its silky strands." Now it is Sunday night, and I'd like to amend that: "I cut my own bangs today before I went to Cameron's wedding. I've had better ideas, but also worse."

SlumDay Top Twelve:
THAT WHICH I'VE REFERRED TO AS MY "WORST NIGHTMARE"

Installment 2: #5-#1

---

5) Spilling Something On my Clothing And Not Being Able to Change

I'm the clumsiest person I've ever known. Therefore, it's odd that I've chosen this neurosis, as I get stuff on myself all the time, but basically; when I do, outing over, I'm going home. Usually I don't wanna be out in the first place, so I'll force whomever made me leave the apartment to switch clothes with me if they want me to stay out. Surprisingly, this works. In other situations (e.g., work) I'll take a swing at stain removal or find a way to hide it -- borrowing a scarf, throwing on another top, etc., and I often bring back-up clothes for this purpose if I'm wearing white or eating anything tomato-based (which I'm not supposed to do anyhow 'cause I'm allergic to citric acid, but I like to live on the edge). I didn't do that tonight at the wedding, even though I wore a white shirt, 'cause instead I was just super careful. I realised it's really hard to eat food and not spill on yourself. How do y'all do it? Like, weird. You are all Jedi warriors.

Like those mortifying moments in Seventeen Magazine. Do you remember those? It was like, girls bleeding all over themselves with a big hole in the ass of their brand new jeans while singing off-key in the talent show in front of the cutest boy in school and his parents.

I actually switched "my drink" from vodka-cran to vodka-tonic to prevent impending spillage. 'Cause tonic is clear. Like windows. Not like doors though, doors are different. You can't see through doors but you can see through windows. You know where I learned that about the doors/windows? My Mom, when I used to stand in front of the teevee while singing/dancing and she'd say "Ree-Ree, you make a better door than a window." I was a dancing fool! Kazaam! [I'm running out of words, I swear, I need a new language, I'm running out of words and repeating myself like a broken record being sung out loud at the talent show by a beaten horse.]

I've been known to actually purchase new shirts post-spillage because New York makes it impossible to just swing home and pick up a shirt and this's probs one of the 50 million reasons that I owe Visa my first-born child and you probably do not.

---

4) Not Having Immediate Access to Coffee

I just need it. Some might call that an "addiction," but I think "affection" is a better word. I wake up and I need it right then. I've got a vivid recall generally only applicable to trauma re: the one morning I went without: I was running late for my indentured servitude at Banana, I hadn't time to pick up an iced coffee. Worst. Morning. Ever. First of all: all their clothes that season looked like bad window treatments, secondly, my head hurt, thirdly, I thought I was preggers, fourthly, I was nauseous, fifthly, I was wearing tight pants, sixthly, I was wearing the very same shoes I'm wearing this exact moment which're about as comfy at whatever that dude had going on in the opening scene of Dances With Wolves, seventhly, I needed coffee, eighthly, everyone there hated me, I felt, especially the customers, who I ignored to sit in the dressing rooms and massage my temples/try on tight pants.

Also, as soon as I get my coffee, I spill it on myself. Go up to "5" for what happens next.

---

3) Being Suddenly and Unexpectedly Without Internet For Extended Periods of Time When I Want to be Using the Internet

Last week, while battling zero phone reception and no internet at one of many resplendent temp jobs I've suffered through lately, I wondered when this changed for me. I'd always been slightly neurotic about being away from email for many hours 'cause I do so much professional correspondence on there. But last year on the cruise I was capable of not checking every day. Obvs this year I had to check compulsively--although part of that was because I was being cyber-harassed at the time blablabla you know what I'm talking about.

Seriously, I can't even get on the OurChart mainpage at this temp job! [Pause for the fact that I was trying to get on OurChart, which means that clearly I was scraping the bottom of the entertainment barrel without my typical entertainments available] It was randomly blocked there. That's a little weird, right? No OurChart? I can get on Gawker, but not on OurChart. You know why? Because everyone hates gay people.

Also Max: OurChart makes the DMV look user-friendly. Get your shit together already!

---

2) 10.11.06: From Email, Susie Bright was interviewing me about my my story "What Happened to That Girl," published in Bright's Best American Erotica 2007 ...
"Being in porn."

"Being in porn would be my worst nightmare. I'd die. Sex and the naked body and female pleasure and male pleasure are great, there's a huge "feminist friendly" porn industry totally growing right now, especially women making porn for other gay, bi and straight women (the heterosexual male gaze dominating porn has made it difficult for women to enjoy)—but I don't know—even seeing Paris Hilton getting fucked somehow felt uncomfortable to me and clearly I don't know Paris Hilton, I just feel like I do because I watch everything she does and listen to her album a lot. (I wish I was kidding, but I'm not). For me, sex itself is super-intimate, and super-private." (-me)

---

1) Reading Something Old And Realising I Haven't Really Changed That Much in Three Years, or Sometimes Like, 15 Years

I was often "awarded" "Most Improved" as a little girlchild, which I despised. It's not a real "award" obvs, it's simply a recognition of how bad you were when you started. It was easy for me to win this; I was desperately shy and awkward and the unfurling of this social anxiety had a way of manifesting itself as something resembling "improvement." My walls, under proper circumstances, might dilute to reveal a more brilliant, palletable and talented Marie at the end of the summer theater camp session or soccer season. But rarely had I truly become better at anything, I just became confident enough to actually take the ball down the field all by myself or to actually emote.

I was going through old livejournals in Carly and I's hunt to uncover the funniest jokes we've ever made (there's a point to this, I swear) and what struck me was how little I've changed, after all.

November 2003:

I'm sick, it's turning me into a little girl. It's a funny thing, being taken care of. Wanting it, not wanting it.

I think sometimes we all just want a break from holding it all together.

Sometimes, Natalie and I just lie on each other. And go--ohh.

I guess I don't know if I'm little or big at all these days. If I'm excited about graduating or dreading it. If I even care right now that my body is aching and I can't stop coughing, or that I'd rather just no-show tomorrow than have to call and deal with our insufferable managers?

One of my roommates, Megan, just broke off her engagement, and tonight she was talking about it, and she was like, but now, where does this leave me, I had my life all set up for me and now here I am with no place to live, no resume, no place to go, no job, nothing, and then Natalie said me too, and I said look, me too, and Celesta said me too, and Deena said me too, and it's true, it's all of us, none of us have a clue what the fuck we're doing. And all those e-mails from the career center are mocking, in their own way.

There's a center in all of us we can't live without, and I want to fall in love with mine again, and sometimes in pure moments I do, and sometimes I don't know who I am. sometimes I'm irritated by the quantity of reading we're forced to do, when all want to do is watch movies, sit in Barnes & Noble (see, not Borders, cuz they are evil right now) and read the first five pages of every book in the place. write postcards to people that I owe postcards to. Write stories, or write anything at all. Call my grandparents.

Tonight feels almost as bad as the night I realized there was something v.wrong with my body, which prompted me to go to the doctor and get diagnosed with fibro....it goes in and out and eh, maybe I'll just take some Vicadin, and forget about hurt altogether.

**

18th August 2004:

Seriously: I don't know anything right now. I don't know what I want at all but I'm not sure I'm ready to be an adult. Any opinion I have is a phase, a whim, a concept, an unfinished idea.

Why does uncertainty seem so new each time? It feels completely unique, as does that trite truism disguised as epiphany, promising to lead me to breakthrough but apparently I 'd prefer just to sit at the edge of breakthrough forever. Like it's the dock of the bay.

It seems like I've been battling the same problems for a few years now, and it seems like every time I advance somewhere, I take a few steps back in another area. I get on top of love but lose my money, I get on top of my writing but lose my friends, I get on top of work but lose my mind. You know? Like: I'd like, sometimes, for everything to just get up at the same time and come to the middle of the room. I'd like to rally all my troops.

I always freak out this time of year: I get heart palpitations and've been known to quit jobs, move apartments, drop or re-gain friends/lovers, cut my own bangs. [I also generally get one year older around this time of year too.] It might be related to the fact that I'm used to starting a new school or totally new school-related situation every September and now I just attempt to recreate that panic artificially, sans school.

Cameron, my agent/friend got married tonight. Her husband, Jay, is awesome. They are awesome. They should give everyone hope [they did]! We boarded the Lady Whitmore at the Chelsea Piers:

Stephen: Marie, I gave you very specific instructions on how to dress.
Marie: Wha? You said you were wearing a suit and tie. I couldn't find a tie though.
Stephen: I said a dress would be good for women.
Marie: I'm wearing a blazer! You said Don was wearing a blazer.
Stephen: [sigh]
Marie: Are you not gonna talk to me all night 'cause I'm not wearing a dress?
Stephen: You look great, Marie.
Marie: I won't steal any girls from you.

It was beautiful; the weather was amazing, the vows were lovely, the Rabbi was lovely, the sun was lovely, your girl is lovely, Hubble. I almost cried, honestly! They truly do have an inspiring partnership. Also they closed the ceremony with 'Love Song' [The Cure]. HOT.

J.Jackson [another agent from our agency] said: "She has so many bridesmaids!" and I said "I'm gonna have five." And she gave me a surprised look, since all night I'd been displaying nothing but cluelessness on all things "wedding," but what's funny is that's the only thing I know. I know fo' sure it'll be Krista, Natalie and Haviland, but the other two spots have changed and changed again, we'll see, I know how I am. Besides, Natalie and I might end up getting married, and then I'd need someone to take her spot. We always said we'd get a commune in Vermont together if no one else was willing to spend the rest of their lives with us. Which is likely. She has a boyfriend though, he's very patient and lovely also.

If I'd been giving a toast, I woulda talked about when I realised I needed to get a new passport in three days because Alaska is now, apparently, accessible only via international waters, and Cameron went with me to the passport office to be my "witness" at five in the morning just so I'd stop annoying everyone talking and freaking out about it. And she had to attest she'd known me for three years. She coulda gotten deported if they'd uncovered that lie, obvs. JK, like they never woulda done that. OR I'd talk about when we got stoned in the office and then she went to the gym and had the best workout of her life and I went on a date and made up a bunch of weirdo stuff to see if I could freak him out, and I mos defo did.

I realised, sitting on this boat in the water watching the ceremony, that none of my friends have gotten married yet, but I feel like I'm at the age where that ought to start happening, right? I've only been to a few weddings in my life: a half-cousin, a cousin, a half-grandmother and two commitment ceremonies: my Mom & Susan, my friend Marc from The Macaroni Grill & his boyfriend Mark.

Is it just us -- 'cause we're too picky, or career-obsessed, too restless, too "progressive," too busy -- ? -- too dysfunctional -- too gay?

I remember when I was 18, I had a 27-year-old boyfriend and the age gap seemed insignificant, we were at very similar places in our lives: fingering unpredictable futures, feeling time was running out to make those choices. I mean, we met as servers at The Olive Garden. My Mom didn't get pissed I was dating an "older man," she said I'd always been "very mature."

Was I a remarkably mature 18-year-old? Or is this constant grappling specific to the conflict between pursuing art/pursuing sense/pursuing the perfect scowl about the word "art" to begin with? Or is it possible that I'm simply an immature 25-year-old? [Totes.]

Not like having no fucking clue what you're doing with your life is something only done by the incredibly mature; but that at 18, I was already thinking I had to know all that, and soon, and feeling absolutely that no-one'd make that choice for me, or even encourage me in one direction or another. I started freaking out about this stuff when I was 14 and haven't slowed down since, except for when it made me sick [see: fibro] and I literally couldn't physically move anymore until I got my shit together.

Sometimes I wished a parent or boyfriend or girlfriend would say: "Marie, you need to become a schoolteacher or something pronto," or "Time to run the Fisher Funeral Home with us!" or "Move to Idaho!"

This is almost twenty years ago!:

I would totes wear that dress still though, it's so Margot Tennenbaum! Also I just gave myself that same haircut this afternoon. See what that is? That's "bringing it back around in the most suprising way ever, even to Me, and I wrote it."

I want my wedding, if anyone ever dares to spend the rest of their life with me and announce this intention in public, to be just like the one in The Muppets take Manhattan. Like when I walk down the aisle I want all the muppets to be there, singing. "Somebody's getting married ..."

Also, this is funny. Look how much I've changed since Apri 17, 2004: