wrap me up, unfold me

your girl is lovely, hubble.

Wed, 23 Aug 2006 21:35:40 GMT

So basically.....
we're all like, not here anymore, right?
I thought I'd check in and no one has posted in a century. I see LJ tryin' hard to keep up with the blogger converts, and it makes me feel kinda sad in a way, but you know, whatever.

Remember Diaryland?

I used to have a diary on diaryland. I wonder if it's still there. I wonder what it says. It's probably mostly me talking about food (because that was all I could think about when I was trying to eat as little of it as possible) and about random people at Michigan who, in their own uninentional way, made me feel hopelessly alienated, lonely and scared.

This thing though, is a serious diary. I should print it all out before it gets tossed.

I only write on my blog now. It's not so personal, but I think that's a good thing.

This Girl Called Automatic Win

like beatlemania, only gay, and i don't scream so much, and i'm older

Mon, 08 May 2006 04:12:43 GMT

so...

I'm going to see Shane tomorrow! (click to my other blog, read all about it)

But I Just Had to Laugh, I saw the Photograph

Tue, 02 May 2006 16:00:29 GMT

hey, you.

BIG NEWS: Saw my hero, Kim from Americas Next Top Model on the subway. Unlike most celebs, she looked much more fabulous in person. But, as it often is when i see people like this (e.g. Kim from Interlochen Arts Academy on the subway a few weeks ago), I was wearing a hat and was on the way to the gym (that means unshowered, unsexy, uncool) and therefore was unable to impose my fabulousness on her skinny ass and her cute i'm-reading-a-book face.

LESS BIG NEWS:

I'm writing a book.

It's been so long since I updated, I can hardly think of where to begin.

I'm supposed to be doing this story for Marie Claire--'match the girl with her exes'--and I feel stuck and frustrated about it. That mag does a lot of matching stories. Basically it will be me and three other girls in a photo shoot. There will be tiny thumbnail photos of our 3 exes, and readers will guess who our exes are.

(I was originally roped into this while at nerve, under the guise that a major mag needs girls who were friends with their exes....which is not what the story is about after all...but now I'm trapped!)

So I gave her my whole rundown of all my relationships, and the editors wanted to use John, Jeremiah and Lauren. (of course, Lauren isn't really an ex, but I said I was bi and they leaped all over that)

Lauren agreed to do it, and by that I mean, agreed to lie and pretend to be one of my exes. John agreed, reluctantly. The editor wants to use Jeremiah for the "surprise" factor. He won't do it--in fact, he won't even talk to me.

I can't burn this bridge--I love Marie Claire, and if I ever save a rainforest tribe in South America, I want to be able to pitch them an article about it. Perhaps they know that....as a writer, I want the connection, I want to meet the editors, and I think a photo shoot would be fun. For that reason I'm willing to do this.

But I feel bad having to talk John into it, because his reservations are completely valid--they are also mine. I know it's just a tiny picture of them, and a few fun quotes from me about the joy of our union, and I didn't say anything negative about anyone (except maybe myself), and left out all the ditry details....but still, it's odd to put yourself out there like that, on print, especially when we both have careers in the arts and hope to be visible public figures one day.

I think in the interview, which was actually really fun, and the girl doing the article is totally sweet and cool and really succesfull--I totally envy her--but now she wants me to ask Marc to do it...because he's also a republican, and therefore that fab surprise factor.

But ew! Embarassing.

I keep hoping I can just use Scot, because he's a cutie, but that's assuming he would even do it....

Right now, I'm hoping somehow she'll just forget, which is unlikely because she emails me a lot.

new blog: marielynbernard at blogspot dot com!

Mon, 10 Apr 2006 22:08:09 GMT

hellllo friends!!!

though i will continue to post on livejournal when i have something i want to say about myself, i have started a blog that will be more, um, open to varied audiences. please read it, kids, okay, it's good for you.

This Girl Called Automatic Win

i could go crazy on a night like tonight, when summer's beginning to give up her fight

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 02:11:19 GMT

"You can't ever really know a person and if you think you can, you're living in a dream world." (David, Six Feet Under)

Who's having fun in the dream world these days, anyhow?

A few photos of the party:

http://www.ahprojects.com/photos/060325_tonightsparty/

A party which was anchored by two very negative events had a fairly satisfactory middle; and it was good to see....

Lainey and Tara on this side of the Williamsburg bridge,
good to see Katy and Nicole and Eunice in rooms with bigger windows,
good to see Stephen and Cameron and Kat without stacks of unopened query mail at our feet (ok, my feet, i need to be better at opening the mail..),
good to see Matty who came out from Long Island for the party,
good to see Krista full of the happiness she deserves
(Krista got into Yale's MFA program!!!!),
good to see Alana and Malaina and everyone else I don't see enough...

Matty found a chair and stayed there with his beers, keeping court.
I sat on his lap and told Kat he was my brother.
"That's kinda gross, Marie," he said.
I've missed him and his frank funny insane prescence, and the bizzare way he and I get along. He wants to go to Iraq now, which he says is better than living with his mother. Fair 'nuff.
In the morning, he demanded the shitty coffee that will become the theme of this entry, and breakfast, and did his best to be the voice of reason amidst the madness...
oh, the irony....

Matty likes to give people nicknames; "Drama Club" is one of his favorites. He liked calling Krista "Drama Club." Funny, of course, that for so many months, my life was almost entirely consumed by his drama.....

but ultimately.......life is drama. So maybe everyone should just quit with acting like "drama" is implicitly negative.

I dreamt about Scot, it was strange and vivid. Sometimes I miss being in love.
He wrote me back and was talking about how impossible it is to plan our lives, and I guess that's the truth.
As Lauren said...all we can do is get up and make coffee...see what happens..
Or, in my case...not make cofffee, since according to multiple sources (krista, matthew, lauren),
i'm kinda bad at it.
(i like it strong. the nerve people liked it. because they're hard-core like me. or just tired.)

We all try so hard, though, you know? We try really hard to make everything effortless.
If I start thinking about next week or last week, this week slips away.
People love and break up and go to work and all that.
People fight and hate and love and go to work again.
That doesn't make it easier, at all.
But it makes it acceptable, at least. Something that's part of all this
instead of something that
we feel we ought to have avoided.

But I have these things;

I have the amazing feeling of being surrounded by new friends that I've made since I moved here a year ago, which for a socially retarded cynical brat like myself is quite an accomplishment,

my book, which excites me,

I am not quite myself these days, which you all need to read,

the way Lauren hops around the apartment when she's getting ready to go and making her peanut butter toast and checking out her hot ass in the mirror,

the way that she always hears me coming up the stairs and opens the door before I get there,

the unadulterated joy of netflix,

leisha hailey, who rules, eternally, and jenny's amazing description of her wedding outfit in the season finale,

the spring, FUCKING FINALLY,

the fact that every now and then, something actually does almost make me cry,

but most of all; words.
like the stupid ones i'm writing right now.

is that a periscope in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

Mon, 13 Mar 2006 18:42:38 GMT

I hate it when characters die on TV shows that I like (RIP Dylan's wife on 90210! RIP Nate on Six Feet Under! RIP Jen on Dawson's Creek!). I had heard rumors that Dana was going to die (yes, "rumors" means that I sometimes cruise L Word fansites...but Tara-the-Spoiler-Queen certainly helped in this regard..:--)), and I knew it would happen on Sunday. But I think that the episode was well done (aside from preggers bette and the randoms at the bus station) and the way that they spliced the intensity of Sharmen's make-up sex with Dana's sudden fall (Alice's reaction was so dead on and amazing and heartbreaking) resulted in a total emotional cannonball. I felt utterly emotionally drained afterwards (still), but, well, RIP Dana...

At least she got to tell Alice she loved her again.
That was cute.
The fact that Alice and Dana will never have sex again is tre depressing.

In other news....isn't this THE BEST PICTURE EVER???!!

blood and fire are too much for these restless arms to hold

Mon, 06 Mar 2006 07:10:11 GMT

Our heroine gives herself thirteen minutes to write something smart. At two in the morning, she plans to curl up for sleep. Jake, do you remember "Dinner Number One" and "Dinner Number Two"? Dinner Number Two always involved massive amounts of dairy products; either in the greasy pizza cheese dripping from the firm crusts at Backroom, laid out on rectangular pieces of tin foil or those gooey sloshy milkshakes from Pizza House.

Josh had a pick-up truck. At night, we'd lie on our jackets in the back and stare at the stars. He worked at Backroom , and he told us about how he cut his hand open once so he could go home for the day. I thought, wow, he must really want to go home for the day. One time I cut my hand at the Mac Grill, but that wasn't on purpose. I almost fainted.

I started missing Becky a lot today, Becky from U-Mich. She was a wonderful friend. Totally honest and loyal and fun and exceptional. It's odd, but I think she annoyed me less than any best friend I've ever had; and this although she was being practically my roomate--we had dorm singles next to each other. Then shared a dorm room at NYU for the summer. We got along surpsingly well, but it ocul dhave just been that she was more stable than I'll ever be, which also meant she could not relate to me on many levels, but still. She was awesome. I don't know. Some days you just start to miss a certian friend for no good reason. I wonder if she's still working at Next. Hm. Mysteries abound. Becky just was a good one I let her get away and that's sad.

So, crash, huh? Odd, that's the only one i Managed to see this year, too. This works back to Jake again, 'cause I'd like to mention the year I thought You Can Count on Me could possibly win.

I've been working on a book lately, which has taken time. Reading so much, even without the five books I left in the taxi cab, and trying to be smart and creative and always interested.

On Friday, I was shuffled from room to room at the Metropolitan Hospital to see a doctor on the crisp edge of senility, ushered around with a true pyscho who needed more than what I needed ("Are you sure you're not just bipolar?" the doctor said when i told him about the ADD. "YES, I AM PRETTY FUCKING SURE!!! BWAHHH!!!!") because when doctors walked by, my crazy companioe said:

Doctor, I have a lot of problems. I have a whole lot of problems. Can you see me now, I'm not normal. I used to have a Camaro.

If you want to communicate with Lauren or I, I'd reccomend you please go check out the film Pretty Persuasian, so that you will know what we're talking about when we ask Do You Fuck Dogs? WONDER TWINS!!!

do you fuck dogs?

On Friday night we watched lesbian movies and Lainey made cake that looked like breasts and Tara and I wanted pizza just not enough to move, except Haviland fast forwarded to all the sex scenes in DEBS.

On Saturday Lauren and I saw Red Light Winter in the west village. The humor was cutting and lovely and it was sad and fantastic, and I felt a bit extra cultured for spending a Saturday afternoon at the theater. Afterwards we had greasy food at the Waverly and in my head, I heard fiest or maybe just bob dylan.

Last week I had Viatnamese and free wine with Krista, who reminds me of things.

I didn't watch the oscars, I watched The L Word. I saw thirty seconds of The Oscars beforehand, enough for Jake Gyllenhal to remind me that I am at least 50% heterosexual.

Last weekend was cold and tense, this week eventually calmed into submission. I felt like I spent a lot of time on trains this past week, but maybe it's cause I just spent two hours getting home without The L train. I relaly need to make paece with the JMZ.

There's an Annie Lennox song from Lauren's new CD stuck in my head.

I fixed the TV and then it broke again.

If it doesn't warm up, I'm going to freeze to death some night on an under-funded train like the J.

BIG NEWS!!!!!

The newest member of THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY is....

yes....that's right...

my ex-boyfriend Jeremiah!

He will no longer be in the party that elected this guy:

Gawd! I'm so proud of him. I didn't like having a Republican on my sexual history.

I've started watching Season Five of The West Wing too. So I can be in almost complete denial that our country is going to hell in a handbasket at the promptings of a bone-head.

home is where my habits have a habitat

Fri, 17 Feb 2006 06:40:24 GMT

I was inspired to write my first-ever amazon book review after reading the worst book I have ever read (yes, worse than a devil wears prada, if such a thing was possible): PURE.
Rebbecca Ray dropped out of school at 16 to write this pile of nonsense.
Meanwhile, I was in the woods with my nonsense, learning to make it better.
And I still am.

You can read my compelling review here:
pure crap.

the black hearts party

we went out to the chelsea piers while it was snowing, and to a boat called the frying pan. crazy guest-listed event, wow, we thought, is this really happening? i think, after all, that's why we came to this city. because this is where bizzare things like this happen, and where you get black vodka all over your lips and end up begging for a cab in the middle of a blizzard by a pier with your coat flapping behind you like clumsy stupid wings.

Jenni took us to this event to corrupt us and she left her phone behind.
That was Saturday night.
Look at how me and Lauren do the same things in different contexts:

Friday night was....LAINEY'S BIRTHDAY!!!
Everything made us laugh.
In all the pictures, we look enormous
and my face looks really red. I
had an accident
(at the tanning booth)
called
(going tanning)

I heart livejournal scrapbook. You can look at mine. It has photos in it. It's public, like public space, but with photos.

So, Matty is getting evicted, but I don't know what to do for him.

Lauren and I went to Jane for Valentine's Day, dressed up like actual lesbians.
(This is one of those moments where my mother would give me the evil eye and say something about how people like me mess up gay rights for everyone, and I would say well, that's silly, isn't it?)
Blazers, collars, the works. Our gay waiter was a cutie, too.
It was, actually, one of the most pleasent V-Days I've had in some time.

It's hard to compete, really, though, with the Valentine's Day that Natalie and I spent at CVS. I was crying, she was trying, we both were kinda miserable and sad, and I just wanted my medicine and I didn't want to pay for it. It was really, really romantic.

But, though I don't miss the CVS RX counter,
I do miss Natalie.

Throwing conversation hearts at boys with greasy slicked hair with Christyne was a good one too, but mostly because when we came back home and were eating pizza, Scot showed up like a knight on a proverbial horse and swept me away with kisses and an embrace I lost myself in. It was warm there, and I liked it. Loved it, even. That was my year of magical thinking....

I'm reading that book now.
The Year of Magical Thinking.

At two o'clock today, I decided I wasn't certain I could do any more work.
Then I opened almost all of the mail.
I love Macromedia.

Things I heart today:
livejournal scrapbook
macromedia
joan didion

everything i love is ugly, i mean, really, you would be amazed

Thu, 19 Jan 2006 18:57:19 GMT

Someone from the neighborhood told Matty "I saw you getting into your car with that guy and that girl last week." The girl=Lauren. The boy=ME! ???!!!!

He was like "she's not a boy, she's just a tomboy." I guess i had a hat on and a coat and pants (not my yoga pants or anything) and everything and it was from a distance. Don't know what to make of this, though I'm fairly used to it, considering everyone thought I was a boy between the ages of 4 and 8. Guess it'll save me from getting raped for a little while, in the cold when I'm bundled into androgyny, or, I guess, until summertime when I wear slut-tastic skirts and other feminine apparel. Krista says I walk like a man. You know, like the song. Well, a lot of people tell me that. A soccer coach once told me I ran like an elephant. That was cute.

When Shane wore the fancy Quincinera dress with her converse sneakers,
(The L Word, sunday night, at chez chelain/tara)
I was like "Wow, that's me." I mean, literally.
Ryan used to make fun of me for wearing my converse sneakers to church (I would go to church with him). I think I tried to make the puma/converse/adidas-and-dress outfit stylish for a million years before buying my first pair of heels last year.

"It's so Sporty Spice!"
-me, on my desire to wear sneakers with dresses.

On Friday, we yelled, then talked, then yelled, then talked. I was going through old e-mails and thought, when did this happen? "Is that all life is, replacing people?" David asked his Dead Dad on Six Feet Under. He said "Yes, some of us faster than others."

Matthew has, essentially, moved in.
I feel bad about moving, so maybe I'm making up for it by letting him come over pretty much every day and get out of his cave, because he's going crazy alone in there (well, more crazy).
He smokes ciggarettes out the window, watches bad movies on television,
while I write on my computer, waste time I should be spending wisely, talk on the phone.
Cook, eat, wash dishes, sleep.

We're like an old married couple where one of us is a manic bipolar schitzophrenic in a deep period of mourning and crisis.
We aren't sexually involved in any way,
we can be in the same room without feeling the need for direct interaciotion,
and he wakes me up in the morning by grabbing all of my toes, and screaming "Fix me a Sandwich!"

"Um, so, you told me about Marie's crazy friend from across the street, but you failed to mention that he is an ICELANDIC GOD."
-Krista's friend, Erin, who was our houseguest for some time

Recent concepts (proposed by him) for what he will do when I move to Brooklyn:

1. get a dog
("can the dog cook, matty?" -krista)
2. hang himself
3. play in traffic
4. move to bermuda

Marie: Remember when I made the password on your computer "michigan" so you'd remember where I was from?
Matty: Yeah, but then I fucking stabbed that computer with a really big knife.

I had a date last week. Cameron and I smoked weed that made me crazy. I told him a lot of stories about myself that aren't 100% true and decided he wasn't attractive enough. I also started a fight with him about the institution of marraige, and confirmed that he hated everything that I love (incl. Grey Gardens, "Everything is Illuminated," and "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genuis," e-mail, computers in general, literature written after 1900.)

"If I had your standards for attractiveness for boys, I would never get laid."
-Krista

Eh.

Moving, moving, moving, moving.
Moving moving moving.

I smoke and I drink and every time I blink I have a tiny dream

Mon, 09 Jan 2006 23:16:22 GMT

I'm listening to Reckoning/Reveling (Ani DiFranco), on my ipod and it's making my gut hurt. But I can't stop! I don't know why I feel like this today, but I do.

"i've been frantically piling up sandbags against the flood waters of fatigue and insecurity"

I'm reading Prep and I can't stop but it's also making my gut hurt.

Interlochen people: Have you read Prep? Did it suck you in and drain your heart out? Did you stay up all night reading it? Did you feel like you were sleeping with it?

"but as bad as i am,
i'm proud of the fact
that i'm worse than i seem"

I feel a little bit like I'm on anti-depressants, but I'm not. It's just the way I've trained my mind to work.
I've gotten really good at not having feelings, after spending two years as a walking emotion, as this gross gushy sentimental breakable thing---I've gotten back to where I was before all that happened, to the girl I was way back when, with the brick wall.

"so here i am at my most hungry and here i am at my most full, here i am waving a red cape locking eyes with a bull"

I got home late last night, after The L Word party and a late night drop-by to an old friend, and I realized:

gradually, then suddenly

And I told Krista so.

"what kind of paradise am i looking for, i've got everything i want and still i want more,
maybe some tiny new key will wash up on the shore"

She said, she knows, and she thinks it's all her fault.
It's not a matter of fault, really, not anymore.
No amount of anger can change the fact that I've been walking and moving and changing too fast to even allow myself to care that I've had someone surgically attached to my brain/heart/psyche for a long time now and that it's been removed in an ungainly and disgusting kind of way and I'm just like, fumbling with big fat bandages and pretending it's a goddamn fashion statement.

"and my little pink heart is on its little brown raft
floating out to sea
and what can i say
but i'm wired this way
and you're wired to me."

She said "I feel like we're getting divorced or something and we have to split our assets."
I said: "We are getting divorced."

"we thought we left possession behind
but truth is i was yours and you were mine"

It's sad that she didn't even ask about the party, after last year us designing our week around our Sunday nights with Ingrid and The L Word. Dinner and red wine in big goblet glasses and she'd light all the red candles and the Jesus candles and sometimes Ben would be there, his shaggy hair and silly comments, and sometimes not, and the four or three of us would cram in our tiny couches and I knew exactly when Krista would laugh, and I knew exactly when I could look and see that Ingrid and Krista were both crying, too. I remember the silly noises she'd make when there'd be a hot scene-- "Oh my God. I just had an orgasm," and Ingrid pretending to be exhausted like she'd just been there, really, fucking Shane or Bette or Alice or whomever, or squeezing my leg that was sitting on top of hers on the tiny futon.

"and it's hard to feel like you are free
when all you seem to do is referee
remember when it was just you and me
steppin' up to bat?"

Sometimes I wonder if I love "The L Word" so much because it displays a world where girls don't grow up and leave their friends for husbands. It's a world where--even if two of your friends become a couple, you can still be friends with both of them, instead of a boy-girl couple where you're sort of limited in your permitted interactions with the boy and therefore always slightly removed when hanging out with both of them at the same time. I don't know if that makes sense, it makes sense in my mind though. it's just not the same sort of restraint.

"but with you down on bended knee
always looking up at me
that feeling of standing up together is gone

and though i love you through all time and space
my love always seems to take second place."

I'd be lying if I said this was the first time I just turned and ran from a best friend without having the right feelings about it. I know I will be sad about it but right now all I can do is get sad and then angry and then run.

"and she felt like an actress just reading her lines
when she finally said yes, it's really goodbye this time."

My thoughts right now are pudding.

"what kind of scale compares the weight of two beauties
the gravity of duties
or the ground speed of joy?"

My brain is pudding.

I hate Chase bank because they lose things, they're supposed to make my life easier, not harder. It's hard enough, really. Really!

Lauren slept over on Friday night and Saturday we went to sign for OUR BEAUTIFUL NEW APARTMENT
in WILLIAMSBURG PROPER
(more on that to come, when I'm in a better mood)
Matty hung out for most of the weekend, contemplating suicide and watching
silly movies on Showtime while I slept and did work.
He talks, I listen, and so on.

I'd also be lying if I said it wasn't getting a bit exhausting,

all this

cheerleading

"and i don't expect
that he'll have much sympathy for my grieving
but i guess that this is the price that we pay for the privilege
of living for even a day
in a world with so many things
worth believing in."

"i don't care how fast you run, just tell me baby, when you're done
with your little marathon, you still got cab fare home
cuz the finish line is a shifty thing and what is life but reckoning
and you know you are still the song i sing
to myself when i'm alone."

the red isn't the red we painted, it's just rust

Wed, 28 Dec 2005 16:26:20 GMT

joey: people change, dawson.
dawson: they don't have to.
joey: yes they do. people die, and they move away.....and they grow up, dawson. everything changes eventually.

"It seems like Christmas gets a little shorter every year," my cousin Glen said. Grandpa was already down for the count, reflecting our general sentiment by conking out in his armchair. "I think the amount of time we like to be around each other just keeps getting shorter."

At the risk of sounding like Prarie Home Companion--

My Cousin Natalie (not to be confused with my Best Friend Natalie) and I used to play Trivial Pursuit all afternoon (also known as "You Win" when Kyle plays cuz he's a genuis) but this year she brought her cute boyfriend she met in Columbus (where she lives now) and they had to leave right after lunch to go to his family's celebration.

My grandfather can't really move anymore. Physically.

When we were kids and my Dad was still alive and no one had cute boyfriends or husbands or wives and my Uncle Jack hadn't yet turned out to be a scumbag....me and carrie and natalie would dress up like Jem and the Rockers and make our parents take photographs and we'd make paper dolls and make movies, later, and i'd wear my moon boots when Grandpa would take me out to the farm and I'd look at animals like they were fossils. And we'd eat noodles cooked in lard and have three potato products in one meal.

I mean--we'd go to Ohio all the time when my Dad was alive, like every two months or so, but then we called it oh-ho-ho! Now we go once a year--and only for a day or two.

Lauren and I are moving to Brooklyn together, and Krista is moving in with Pete.
My psychiatrist, who made some extra holiday cash while I was in Michigan,
says Krista likes tree-lined streets in Propsect Heights, and I have platonic slumber parties with the fallen beauty lunatic drug addict across the street, so clearly we have a discrepency in what parts of life we currently are drawn to, and that's that.

I'm obscenly excited about the dream-life of tap floors and screwdrivers and bookshelves and mutual manhattan-oriented enthusiasm that me and Lauren will have in the borough.
I'm excited about being closer to a lot of my friends, location wise, and also to my favorite neighborhood of the east village. I'm excited to be close to Williamsburg instead of being close to the Upper East Side when it comes to things like coffee and music. There is no music on the Upper East Side, and Best Buy makes me feel dirty.

But it's sad, too--Krista--gradually, and then suddenly--isn't that what they say?

Maybe I'm just stubborn, some girl dancing in the club past sunrise, but I'm not really into this. The part where everyone grows up and gets married or gets into serious relationships that can't help but change your friendship. The part where people get old and stop moving and you start to realize you could lose them.

And you too, Joey Potter!!!! Shame on You!

That being said--

I feel like when me and Lauren get our place,
everything in my life will be really gelled and nice,
because most things seem to be going my way.

I'm just worried that one day all these people will be
gradually
and then
suddenly
and then i'll be irritating/irritated.

what did you do out there? what did you decide?

Sun, 25 Dec 2005 05:36:57 GMT

1. WHAT DID YOU DO IN 2005 THAT YOU'D NEVER DONE BEFORE?
So many things. Said 'do whatever you want' and meant it. Was outgoing, happy, and reasonably succesfull. Got a job I was good at and related to my actual interests. Did NOT dye my hair. Did NOT, even for one second, work in a restaurant. Was truly and willingly single for 90% of the year.

2. DID YOU KEEP YOUR NEW YEARS' RESOLUTIONS, AND WILL YOU MAKE MORE FOR NEXT YEAR?
According to my livejournal on January 2nd, I made the following promise:

new years resolution:
stop eating thesse planters mixed nuts, especailly since i am picking out all the almonds and cashews and leaving just peanuts for whomever wants to eat them later and that person will be for certain ME. right now.

I would guess.....no. For next year? I think we're going back to NYR2000: "Get it together."

3. DID ANYONE CLOSE TO YOU GIVE BIRTH?
Britney Spears, duh.

4. DID ANYONE CLOSE TO YOU DIE?
No.

5. WHAT COUNTRIES DID YOU VISIT?
Carolina in my mind. Fuck, that's not even a country.

6. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE IN 2006 THAT YOU LACKED IN 2005?
Um...money? Nice abs?

7. WHAT DATES FROM 2005 WILL REMAIN ETCHED UPON YOUR MEMORY AND WHY?
Feb 10th-a bike ran over my foot and i went to the hospital.
Feb 20th-L WORD PREMIERE PARTY
June 25th-saw scot in chicago
July 7th-cake party with tara, met matty.
july 26th-the weekend i went to michigan for mark's wedding
august 29th-started at nerve
november 14th-10-year anniversary of dad's death
november 30th-nerve party, met will.
december 11th-NATALIE comes to visit!!!!!

8. WHAT WAS YOUR BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT OF THE YEAR?
Kind of being okay with myself.
Breaking up with someone without breaking down.
Publications. Job at Lit Agency. nerve.
Making new good friends; tara, lainey, lauren, matty, melaina, among others.

9. WHAT WAS YOUR BIGGEST FAILURE?
i didn't find a way to be strong and still have feelings. i didn't find a way to protect myself without avoiding intimacy. still reliant on prescription medications, still see no way out of this. still not sure why i think i need a way out.

10. DID YOU SUFFER ILLNESS OR INJURY?
Well, there was that guy who rode his bike over my foot and turned it purple, large, and incapable of usage for activities like walking. That was on February 10th.

11. WHAT WAS THE BEST THING YOU BOUGHT?
ipod.

12. WHOSE BEHAVIOUR MERITED CELEBRATION?
kanye.

13. WHOSE BEHAVIOUR MADE YOU APPALLED AND DEPRESSED?
Tyra Banks, George W. Bush, Charles.

14. WHERE DID MOST OF YOUR MONEY GO?
if i knew the answer to that question, I'd have a lot less problems.

15. WHAT DID YOU GET REALLY, REALLY, REALLY EXCITED ABOUT?
going to the hamptons with natalie,
every time something i wrote got published or accepted for publication,
RENT the movie,
natalie visiting, ingrid visiting, noah visiting,
the o.c season 2 on dvd, stephanie's birthday,
getting paid for writing,
the l word premiere,
pride,
visiting scot in chicago,
fiona apple's new album.

16. WHAT SONG WILL ALWAYS REMIND YOU OF 2005?
winter-cannonball, damien rice.
spring-new soul song, bright eyes.
summer-these words, natasha bedingford.
fall-breathe me, sia.

17. COMPARED TO THIS TIME LAST YEAR ARE YOU:
a) Happier or sadder? happier.
b) Thinner or fatter? the same.
c) Richer or poorer? oddly...the same. i guess i am slightly richer, because i have less debt. does that count as richer? jesus christ.

18. WHAT DO YOU WISH YOU'D DONE MORE OF?
seeing movies. going to museums.

19. WHAT DO YOU WISH YOU'D DONE LESS OF?
shopping.

20. HOW WILL YOU BE SPENDING CHRISTMAS?
on an airplane.

21. DID YOU FALL IN LOVE IN 2005?
nope.

22. HOW MANY ONE-NIGHT STANDS?
um...zero.

23. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVOURITE TV PROGRAM?
the l word, the west wing (tie)

24. DO YOU HATE ANYONE NOW THAT YOU DIDN'T HATE LAST YEAR?
tyra banks, chris klien.

25. WHAT WAS THE BEST BOOK YOU READ?
Bad Behavior, Mary Gaitskill.
Bright Lights Big City, Jay MacIarney.
(TIE)

26. WHAT WAS YOUR GREATEST MUSICAL DISCOVERY?
Leonard Cohen.

27. WHAT DID YOU WANT AND GET?
A job I like.

28. WHAT DID YOU WANT AND NOT GET?
Time, sleep, finishing my novel.

29. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVOURITE FILM OF THE YEAR?
Me and You and Everyone We Know

30. WHAT DID YOU DO ON YOUR BIRTHDAY, AND HOW OLD WERE YOU?
I was 24, and i had dinner with My Love Krista.

31. WHAT ONE THING WOULD HAVE MADE YOUR YEAR IMMEASURABLY MORE SATISFYING?
Money.

32. HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONAL FASHION CONCEPT IN 2004?
Jeans; tight enough to be sexy, baggy enough to ride hips. Mens wifebeaters, v-neck t-shirts, hoodies. i'd like to imagine it's tomboy-hipster-chic, but in truth, it's probably lazy-chic.

33. WHAT KEPT YOU SANE?
adderall. wine. the west wing. natalie.

34. WHICH CELEBRITY/PUBLIC FIGURE DID YOU FANCY THE MOST?
Shane.

35. WHAT POLITICAL ISSUE STIRRED YOU THE MOST?
EVERYTHING. Every time that fuck-nut got on television and opened his ridiculous mouth. But probably the fact that John Roberts was actually put through was fairly appalling. Gay marraige, reproductive rights, etc etc. Katrina, of course. I could go on. Harriet Miers? I mean, REALLY??!!!

36. WHO DID YOU MISS?
Krista in the summer, Natalie in the fall.

37. WHO WAS THE BEST NEW PERSON YOU MET?
The fact that for the first time in my life I can't decide who the best new person I met is says so much about how much I've changed that I can't even believe it.

38. TELL US A VALUABLE LIFE LESSON YOU LEARNED IN 2005:
Stand up for yourself! Always!
Never explain, never apologize.

39. QUOTE A SONG LYRIC THAT SUMS UP YOUR YEAR.
"i was so much older then, i'm younger than that now."

i can now die a happy woman

Mon, 19 Dec 2005 16:26:09 GMT

My Life Is Now Complete.

you've got to give up a lot to make it last

Mon, 19 Dec 2005 05:05:30 GMT

natalie, marie, lauren, malaina
Originally uploaded by wrap me up, unfold me.

Well, so.

I feel like I've been going like I'm in the final lap for a few weeks now, sort of like it's finals week and I keep thrusting all of my energy into one exam, trying to forget that the next one is coming. I think I've over-extended myself, and I've started to feel like I'm doing everything half-assed, but trying really hard to tell everyone that I can do it all. I seem to have succumbed to the clerk, eager to say yes...which is odd, considering I've spent most of my life as a "no girl." Also I could use some better time management skills. also it would be nice if I spent less time on transportation.

Lauren's stayed with me this week. Because a Type A Asshole finally enacted his Ultimate Blow Of Asshole-ness. I think...

I'm moving to Brooklyn.
Callie, this means all that hang-out talk we've been talking can become actual truth, and, perhaps, even, regular truth.

Matty came back. He had no electricity--no heat--no food--no money. When I could, I tried to take him in and feed him. Sometimes I could still see, under the scruff and the sadness, the beautiful boy who'd seduced me in the corner of a trendy party at Salon and taken me home with his hand on my thigh. He came back 2.5 weeks ago, and the first night we had fun, and he thanked me, told me he knows he couldn't have lived without me. I will always love that boy, but sometimes I'm exhausted. Still, if he buzzed up right now, I'd probably stay up until 3AM to make him dinner and listen to him. I know how hard it is to lose a parent, and it seems inumane that this should happen to him so soon after literally going insane--discovering he has a mental illness and needs medication to be safe and alive.

I've also, at least, had a fucking kick-ass time almost every night lately...which is awesome.

Tara's b-day was last weekend, and it was good to see her and Lainey. !!

Friday night Lauren and I went to Jenny's, hung out with her and Katy and laughed a whole lot. Last night, as displayed in the photoset captured above, we hit up a bust party and had drinks..

YES IT'S NATALIE!!!!!!!!
Who's been in town all week.

We had dinner at Agave on Wenesday, cuz Rachel is leaving the agency--
me, cameron, newly-exiled Lauren and Natalie,
and it was fun.

See, FUN!

And P.S...

FUCK YOU COLOR QUIZ!!!
I hate it when computers are right.

marie took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test!

"Takes easily and quickly to anything which provide..."

Click here to read the rest of the results.

she could see from my face that i was fucking high

Sun, 04 Dec 2005 07:38:31 GMT

I can't believe it's 2:30 AM and I'm still in Jenny's office because she's nice enough to let me use it to finish this essay for nerve which is pulling me in so many different directions, none of which, I fear, is "well-written."

krista (looking at newspaper, queens man pushed in front of train, dead): Fuck. Can you like, imagine that?
me: what?
krista: like, pushing somone? into the path of a fucking subway car?
me: yup.
krista: (pause) alrighty then. moving on...

It's cold outside
last night a street guy with a tarp of stuff asked me and lauren if we needed a handbag and I said "yeah, she does," and cracked up and she thought i told him that she had change for him and I was like no, it was funny because she already had about three bags on her right then, and I had my sixteen gallon backpack and I mean, come on, the last thing either of us needed was a handbag.
We had cheeseburgers at around-the-clock, sort of almost-buzzed from the standard mixed juice-vodka bottles and almost-stoned from a Found Joint and everything was delicious and freezing.

There was a nerve party several days ago
which was, really, quite fun,
though i threw up all day thursday.
I'm blaming the chicken soup i had Wenesday evening
because I only had four drinks--
two at the party--warm beer--and two after with a cute artist boy from princeton that i met at the nerve party.

Krista tells me bad things about my state upon returning home.
Luckily, she had already cut my hair the night before so she didn't have to hold it back for me or anything.
Poor Krista. Poor Me.

believe it or not baby, the joy you bring still outweighs it

Thu, 24 Nov 2005 02:27:37 GMT

Ha-Makom y'nachem et'chem b'toch sha'ar avelei Tzion v'Yerushalayim...

This is why I don't watch Reality TV. I like to imagine that Reality TV isn't scripted or plotted, and that instead of being teased and foiled by the typical twists inherent in a scripted show, things will work out as they ought to---people who deserve to win the "games" on these shows will win. But that's not true now, is it?

Kim. Oh, Kim. Maybe she can be on The L Word now. How hot was she in that blue hoodie and pearls and her hair and makeup all done?

Tomorrow Melaina is coming over for Thanksgiving, and I am gonna make some rockin' mashed potatos and probably drink too much wine, as is my general habit on holidays. My apartment cleaning was interrupted by sudden-onset depression, triggered when Tyra "Vagina Arms" Banks told Bre "Mega Bitch" Breopolis that she could stay. Even though she obviously won't win. Where are you LISA??

Last Friday night I took Lauren to the Kate and Camilla Blog Party for nerve. We were late, of course, so by that time there were no naked bartenders (as promised) or alchohol (as assumed), but that's fine cause Lauren and I spent most of the party in the hallway laughing at our own jokes about hanging up crossstiched pictures of ourselves in our friend Jenny's office. And getting stoned in the bathroom with people whom I will not reveal the identity of here. Oh, New York, I love you like a fat kid loves cake!

Oh! I just remembered about Rent!
That'll be nice. Good for the soul.

My Adderall cost 175.00.
Yup. Cause I couldn't get in to see my NY doctor,
and I'm still playing phone tag with pysch places,
so it wasn't covered by my insurance.

Okay, I think I should go to bed.
This day has gone on long enough.

Too bad I already took some of my expensive Adderall in my plan to do major cleaning before This Happened. Jesus Christ.

I know I had something important to say.....right?

The complete idiocy of this post, I'm hoping, will inspire me to write another one really soon.

i don't need to tell you what it's all about, you just start on the inside and work your way out

Sun, 13 Nov 2005 23:32:36 GMT

So, to begin with:

it's been ten years

"so we're speeding towards that time of year
to the day that marks that you're not here
and i think i'll want to be alone
so please understand if i don't answer the phone
i'll just sit and stare at my deep blue walls
until i can see nothing at all
only particles, some fast, some slow
all my eyes can see is all i know, oh
but i'm about to give this one more shot
and find it in myself.."
(azure ray, "november")

ten years since i lost my father. isn't that a weird word, "lost"? i haven't mentioned it yet to anyone, today. usually there are people who know, someone who says something, i can see that my aunt called but i don't think i can really bear it. i've always been a bit of a stubborn brat in my insistance that he's just as gone today as he is any other day, so why should I be any more upset about it today then I will be tomorrow? it sucks more than anything will ever suck, and that's true yesterday and today. but the truth of the matter is i will have to talk to my family today and that I'll have to talk about the fact that my Dad is dead and that it sucks, so that i'm not also a straight-up brat, and i don't think i can do that. my life is a memorial to him. at least, i hope it is. that's what i'm aiming for. if i ever really really thought about it...missing him.......i would just die.

The weekend:

"A week ago I didn't even know you, really," I said on the couch, the valuble couch in the muted-red club with the apple hookah filling our lungs with a kind of airy confidence, drinks in big martini glasses that tasted fresh-squeezed from a bush of grapefruit and vodka, and Lauren said "Yeah, but I knew that we'd become friends really fast." I've known Lauren for almost a year, but somehow we never got around to becoming actual friends until last week.

Nicole, in her black mini-skirt and tights, did her best Desperately Seeking Susan, her arms in the air like she was born in an underground club, falling from the sky like a stunt at a Bowie concert, a kind of lap dancer but without the laps and the nudity and the sleeze.

"It's everything I ever thuoght her life would be like, and more," Lauren whispered. How so, so true. Nicole has always seemed to have an awareness of where the pretty people go, as lovely Ani would say. And yes, yes she did.

"This is for sure blog-worthy." (also Lauren).

So here we are--blog-worthy, all of it!

The weekend was crazy and mostly intoxicated...and I was happy, that after dealing with the biggest asshole twat of a boy ever on friday night, that we still made Saturday night fun for Lauren's birthday....

I didn't go to sleep until the sun was already up either night though, which might be part of the reason why today my eyes won't open all the way.

I think I wanna cut my hair again. It's a pain. I need less hair in the winter so it won't take as long to blow-dry.

Is anyone gonna be in the city for Thanksgiving?

In 1999, Meg and Sheetal and Anna and Jenny and I felt like grown-ups in Meg's NYU dorm, making Thanksgiving dinner in dishes made out of tin foil, susbtituting mushrooms for the bird none of us understood. We watched them blow up the baloons for teh parade and ran around, drunk on wine coolers, in the absolutely unbearably cold air. I read Stephen Dunn. I drank Pepsi One, which doesn't exist anymore, and ate candied nuts and wore my favorite sweater.. Manisha Snoyer was there. Anna and I ran to the west village and back in the morning, in the rain, tracking time by the clocks we saw through deli windows. Mainsha Snoyer is out of her fucking mind, but in an amazing way.

I remember this conversation with Manisha, from Thanksgiving Day:

me: "How is Britney Spears not a feminist? She's all about girl power."
manisha: "Um, HIT ME BABY? ONE MORE TIME??"

I'd like to do something like that again.

some days the line i walk turns out to be straight , other days the line tends to deviate

Tue, 08 Nov 2005 20:01:38 GMT

"write something in your journal so i have something to read."
-Melaina, just now

I'm not feeling so well today. Or, as Jason so aptly put it:

JBHorns18: you are plastered176 today

Last night went to a party with Lauren.
I was, without a doubt, a a bad drunk. With the bruises to prove it. From running into things. Dancing? Um, playing? Slept at Lauren's until about 5am, when I woke up and wandered aimlessly in Williamsburg until an MTA bus drove me to the L station. Once in Manhattan, I promptly got out, went straight to an ATM and withdrew 80 bucks I don't have to take a cab home. Right.

I knew I wouldn't be able to make it all week without going out. Though I think this one'll do me for a while.

well, you were there--you saw how much it counts

Mon, 07 Nov 2005 03:53:46 GMT

So, Matty has dissapeared because his grandmother died.
I was informed of this via text message.
She's basically his Mom--esentially his reason for existance...
I told him (via text) that I'd be here for him, whatever, if he needed me...
I can't even imagine (okay, I can, pretty much exactly) what he's going through and I want to help him, and I wish he was here so I actually could help him, you know?

Then he texts me: "find my fucking money Marie!" because he is "virtual" and I can find his money, apparently, by typing his name into a search engine called "Fire Fox." He's said this before...he talks about how it's "all online," that all his money is online...I think it's cause he's recently discovered the internet and somehow his mind has wrapped itself around the idea that it's capable of doing things, like producing money...it's taken me a while to figure out how his mind works...but I get it, a little...of course it's impossible...but I wanted to be helpful...

When I asked him to explain to me what exactly what I need to do, he told me to stop asking questions because he's greiving and said he never wanted to talk to me again and hung up.

I don't know what to do....it's hard to deal with someone who's skitzo...and in the worst situation ever..and in Virginia...and definetly not taking his meds.

Anyhow...

January 8th
As it turns out, I'm still capapble of getting sexually excited about something besides scot....and kim from america's next top model. although really i thought the percentage of screen time given to shane on the "teaser" (not, really, accurately named) was pretty paltry. Really, really paltry.

So I'm sick of being in debt. It's just getting old,
like having a cold for two weeks and being like, fuckin' A, am
i still taking Tylenol Cold???!! So, this weekend,
I could have done these things:
-gone out with tara for her friends birthday
-met an old college friend for a drink
-gone to a coworkers birthday party
Okay..there are lots of things I could have done. This is making me depressed.
I was getting cabin fever by Saturday night,
and though I'm still kinda cranky,
at least I didn't do what i always do which is go:

"Eh...fuck it. I'll go out. Money is not as important as fun..."

Cuz it's easy to drop at least 80 bucks in a night going out...between substances and transportation, in NYC...and i hate going out if I'm not like, flush with cash. And the idea of flirting my way into getting drinks (on the off-chance I go to a hetero club) is so 2000-2004.

What I did do: work.
Which I needed to do, so it's good.

Had a really good conversation w/Lauren online last night though, that was good.

So I feel like--proud of myself.
Especially when working out in regular bra on Friday
because I forgot a sports bra and instead of picking up a cheapie
at Morells or something, I was budget.
It kinda hurt. Because of my gigantic breasts.

This week will be better in that sense. Then I can paint the town red this weekend. I'd like to go out right now.

Instead I will live vicariously through television.
Like, what if I was Jenny, riding up in my car and Shane and Bette were sitting on my porch? That'd be hot.

home is where my habits have a habitat, why give it a turn

Thu, 03 Nov 2005 04:01:13 GMT

It's been a disconcertingly vapid few weeks....so, in all major topics I feel comfortable discussing on the internet:

work and work.

on matty:

the last night i saw him, he slept over and i had to tell him
to shut up about the goddamn holy war so i could go to sleep.
the next day, he dissapeared again.

i miss my crazy friend.

as insane and irrational and irritating
as he is, we've somehow melded into each others lives
in a way that's often kinda cute.

also i like it for him to sleep over (it's not sexual)
because it's comfy.
although i imagine i'd get annoyed if it happened with any regularity.
kinda like i get annoyed when he comes over all the time, too.

on americas next top model:

kim was amazing last week.
this week was a fake episode, which was very dissapointing,
but there was this moment when janice dickinson was talking to
kim and was like "you're tough, you wanna be all tough"
and kim was looking at her with these like, incredible bedroom eyes.

also i re-love lisa. she's such a lunatic and she reminds me of me.
i think if i was actually cute (aka had a chin) and was on antm,
i would be like lisa except that i wouldn't tell anyone they were fat
or that they needed to stop working out or practice poses in the mirror.
but i would definelty run around in legwarmers and act like a muppet in the confessional room.

also kyle was always wearing this rec and ed softball shirt! cute!

Ew. What on earth is Kim Catrall thinking with this ridicoulous television preview? Jesus Freakin' Christ.

I HEART James Blunt.

I have nothing better to talk about than americas next top model.
OK, last week I had a lot to say, but I'm trying to let things simmer a bit,
or whatever.
God, that's one of my least favorite metaphors.

I miss Natalie.

I'm twelve. I'm gonna go write in my diary, think about david b. (i'm avoiding an accidental google, but you all know of whom i speak), figure out what contempo casuals flannel i'm gonna wear tomorrow with my stussy jeans, and dye my hair red.

Mwahhhhh

this little girl breaks furniture, this little girl breaks laws

Sat, 22 Oct 2005 20:39:43 GMT

"You're a bad drunk"
-everyone, to everyone else.

Although I've considered many of my friends "bad drunks" as I pick them up off the beer-crusted floor at Rick's or help them balance in their Steve Madden Heels on the stairs of their walk-ups or remind them who they kissed that night or held their hair back over the toilet bowl, I don't understand why anyone feels justified to refer to anyone else as a "bad drunk." We're all bad drunks! Or, for example, I felt the accusation was unjustified last night, when Krista told me what a bad drunk I am as she tried shoving a glass of water down my throat, which was quite difficult to consume while lying down even if I had been sober.

With the exception of Paul, I can't think of anyone who is worse than anyone else, consistantly, while drunk. Everyone used to call Tolliver a bad drunk, but he certainly wasn't any "worse" than any other Phi Sig brothers or groupies. They all acted like morons when they got drunk. And as much as I detest Lisa from America's Next Top Model, at least she's a funny drunk! I thought it was kind of cute and funny that she ran around the house in soap bubbles and talked to a tree outside when no-one would speak to her.

I think people should really be focusing, however, on the fact that Lisa is a twat and says mean things, rather than the fact that she drinks a lot.

I've certainly seen people be assholes while drunk--like boys who get violent, or girls like Melissa and Ruthie on The Real World who just become argumentative and emotional and unbearable--or, Mary from the Mac Grill who seems to do something embarassing every time she opens a bottle. But with the exception of last Friday night and two other nights in the last few years, I've never done anything ridiculous or regrettable and I've never totally blacked out either.

All the girls at Willard liked to call each other bad drunks, but they were all terrible drunks! I didn't drink that much when I was there, but some of them did and still felt alright about ripping on the other girls. What is that pristine perch of sobriety they felt so justified to sit on?

Anyhow, back to America's Next Top Model. I'm a bit concerned that next week will be Kim's last, and since she is the love of my life, this is troublesome. I also think it's awesome that every time a girl wins a challenge, she wants Kim to come with, proving my point that sexual tension makes every social event more fun.

(see?)=

She might be the hottest actual dyke on reality television, because usually they are nasty or ugly or just super-femme (which they do for "audience appeal"). Like Super-Twat from the first ANTM, who ruined the world for black women and lesbains at the same time, and the collective sigh of double jeapordy was heard twice the world over.

I know Kim's not the best contestant however and you can tell that she's being coached to act a certain way in pictures and at panel which comes off as artificial and forced and often just bizzare. I hope Kyle wins because she's from Dexter and worked at the Dairy Queen, or Bre because she's an Angel and we all Love Her.

(see?)

(janice loves bree, too:)

All the girls on this show are too short this time around. The funny part is how Tyra keeps pretending that something wonderful will happen to them if they win, and to that I say, where are you Naima? I rooted for her, too. I was all about the Naima. Although clearly I'm biased towards contestants from Southeastern Michigan. I mean, have you gotten any work besides the 'My Life as Covergirl' gig which is ridiculous because Naima is hard core and punky and from the Detroit-City and she should be modeling Spunky Punky Hair Color or something, not full-coverage liquid foundation. And Adrienne is on that ridiculous show with Peter Brady, which is also not okay, because she should be like, selling motorcycles or something. I think Yohanna and Eva actually do work as models?

Ingrid is here!! She's here for the week. Last night we went to Yaffa Cafe and then the Ukranian restaurant that Jake introdudced to me all those years ago. Okay, maybe just a few.

In conclusion: I'm a rock-star when I drink, Kim Is Hot, Dairy Queen is a breeding ground for future stars.

There is something rotting near this couch, and if it is one of Matty's fucking Spare Ribs, I am going to spare him some goddamn ribs.

P.S. I love you KIM!!

be kind to me, or treat me mean, i'll make the most of it i'm an extraordinary machine

Sun, 16 Oct 2005 22:35:46 GMT

friday. oct. 14th. noon:

still raining. unable to get my ass out of bed to be anywhere in the general neighborhood of on time. has been chronic problem all week, as despite the Indian Killer Holiday, I was too tired, apparently, or perhaps to overwhelmed by the intracacies of a Manhattan rainstorm-- (boots? umbrella? dark pants? crop pants? wind pants? rain coat?)-- to be a mildly productive person.

work: desks made of cardboard boxes.
home: disaster.

friday. oct. 14th. 7pm:

text from krista: 'matty says you two are going out tonight and that you'd better find him now.'

friday. oct. 14th. 9pm:

running 3 miles at the gym.

friday. oct. 14th. 11pm:

smoking pot, drinking, popping some adderalls at matty's.
significantly wasted. absolute maniacally wasted.

friday. oct. 14th. 12pm:

the best thing about getting ready to go out when you are already wasted is that the first outfit you try on looks so absolutely stunning you just can't believe all this time you've been such a fucking trendy hot ass bitch.

saturday. oct. 15th. 12:30am:

picking up lainey on the west side to go downtown to a club which i do not remember the name of. much of what ensued henceforth has been entirely forgotten. recall red lights, dancing, wearing sexy shoes. recall matty trying to start a fight with 7 guys in orange hats outside the waverly.

saturday. oct. 15th. 10am:

matty: "marie. i want you to know that even though we had sex last night, i don't want a relationship, okay?"
marie: "matty. don't worry about it. not a problem. i don't want a relationship with you either."
matty: "why not? I'm really hot and i'm totally skitzo."
marie: "see, somewhere between 'hot' and 'skitzo'...that's where ya' lost me."

saturday. oct. 15th. 10:05am:

matty: "if you get pregnant, don't worry, there's always abortion."

saturday. oct. 15th. 10:07 am:

matty: "marie, if you get pregnant, you better have that fucking baby. cuz that baby'd be a fucking genuis, marie. marie, do you understand me?"
marie: "i'm not having your baby. though it would be tall. and beautiful."
matty: "and it'd have a great ass. marie, we'd have a fucking superhero baby."
marie: "matty, i am never having your baby."
matty: "marie! you better have that fucking baby!"
marie: "i am a baby."
matty: "i'm gonna have five portugeese babies with wanessa."

saturday. oct. 15th. noon:

matty (to pete) "hey mr. onion. me and marie had sex last night."
marie: "jesus christ."

saturday. oct. 15th. three pm:

nice weather. possibly still drunk.
jenny picks me up to go to dirty jersey and IKEA.

saturday. oct. 15th. four-thirty pm:

still in traffic. going to ikea. ikea. comin' up. IKEA!

saturday. oct. 15th. seven pm:

purchasing things i don't need with money i don't have.
not entirely true. do feel i needed those things quite badly.

saturday. oct. 15th. ten pm:

moving large desk and chair and shelves from jenny's office to jenny's car to marie's apartment.

satuday. oct. 15th. ten-thirty pm:

matty: "marie. i don't have any dick for you."
marie: "i just want you to carry a desk up the stairs."

saturday. oct. 15th. eleven pm:

in creole restaurant on 118th with jenny, drinks once again are flowing like manna from heaven. i heart coconut shrimp.

sunday. oct. 16th. four am:

in camaradas on 1st avenue. sangria. more sangria. bar is empty and me and jenny are still drinking sangria. i am, once again, smashed.

sunday. oct. 16th. four-thirty am:

remember i told matty i'd go see him after dinner, which i had estimated to be around midnight. obviously wake him up, fall asleep.

sunday. oct. 16th. nine am:

matty: "I need to go get my friend eddy and help him out. i'm taking your phone. go back to sleep."
marie: "errhhm"

sunday. oct. 16th. eleven am:

return to my house. get into bed. so comfy and wonderful. sleeeep. have a dream that lainey sends me a long e-mail about what a bad friend i am, based on events i do not recall.

sunday. oct. 16th. one-thirty pm:

woken up by matty.

sunday. oct. 16th. four pm:

matty is driving me fucking insane.

sunday. oct. 16th. six-thirty pm:

drinking lemon-mint emetrol in midtown. ach.
having sixth successive dinner of tortillas and hummus.

I never stepped on the cracks cause I thought I'd hurt my mother

Mon, 10 Oct 2005 23:51:15 GMT

So it's been two weeks: it's Indian Killer day. It's grey outside and you shouldn't listen to Jeff Buckley when it's grey outside. It might make you want to drown yourself in the Hudson, or jump off the Brooklyn bridge with a brick laced to your ankle.

We were going to move and then we decided not to. Not yet. Krista is painting the back room yellow, like Easter. Or sunshine.

Matty came back, one in the morning, a little over a week ago. He tred upstairs with that discman in the little discman fanny pack I always made fun of. He hugged me for a long time. We rolled around together, holding each other, touching each other, kissing shoulders, foreheads, the places that friends kiss each other without evoking sex. He told me he loved me.

he had been to the mental hospital, he said. He had checked himself in. They had put him on medicine.

His apartment was a mess of broken glass and dirty dishes.

The next night he came over, crazy as ever. He hadn't had time to pick up his medicine, he said. He stayed and stayed and we fought. He accused me of being a lesbian, then accused me ten minutes later of wanting a sexual relationship with him (which is simply false, and I could tell him why, but I wouldn't be an asshole like that), and he put a pedometer on the gas meter and rearranged our furniture and all these things, and when I finally told him he had to leave because I needed sleep, he said:

"You're not cool anymore. I dont' like you anymore.'

I haven't seen him since.

In the meantime, there's been more work than ever, everyhthing happening at once at nerve and at the lit agency and with my silly little life.

I still have no friends, and no money.

I like fall though. Even when it's grey out.
I like this external confirmation that life is mildly dismal.

I spent 4 hours at the doctor today. It is impossible to get in and out of there in a reasonable amount of time. It's just impossible. I mean--today, I only waited an hour to get in to myh appointment, and then she wrote the RX on the wrong pad, and I had to wait another 2 hours for her to get back from lunch and re-write it. I know, right?

check me out:

http://www.conversely.com/Perso/pe035.shtml

too young to hold on, too old to just break free and run

Tue, 27 Sep 2005 06:24:37 GMT

We used to go to Cafe Motzart at eleven and split fat slices of Carrot Cake and bottles of Merlot or pots of coffee and wait for our violinist friends from Julliard to stroll in and make us feel like we went to Julliard, like we weren't just two girls and a boy who had moved to the Upper West Side because it seemed better than college did, then. I've been there with just about everyone....Sarah Fuller and Meg of course, Sheetal, Krista, Ingrid...Jake, Ryan...and the people I've taken there over the years like Natalie and Alina and Marc and Jeremiah....even though it's pretentious and likely overrated and filled with snooty kids who play woodwinds, I will eternally, eternally love that place.

On Friday I turned twenty-four, and so at work we had cookies, and at night Krista cut my hair because I wanted to look like Keira Knightly on the cover of Esquire and she told me to fix it but I don't want to, I like it.

And then we went to Cafe Motzart. I got an e-mail from Ryan Clayburn and I started talking about it and somehow my eyes went glassy, all that yellow light and olive oil and tears. An e-mail from Ryan is the most I could ever ask for on my birthday, that's it, that's enough. One thing is that Krista will always tear up with me, at times like that, because she knows what's sad, she knows the entity that was Marie and Ryan. It's funny on The O.C. when they talk about Marissa nad Ryan, because that sounds a lot like Marie and Ryan, and even though Ryan Clayburn is gay, he's physically just like Ryan Atwood in height and build and I'd like to imagine in my deepest movie star fantasies that my figure is reminiscint of Marissa's.

Krista made me an adorable card and got me a dish rack (long story, that one)
Lainey and Tara made me an adorable card, fully in my spirit, and a necklace should I chose to wear something pretty, which I just might.

Matty's still gone. I want his lightbulb to burst. I want a fuse to blow. I want his landlord to charge the apartment, knock things over, move that mass of white on the mass of blue that I'm forced to look at, like a frozen image on a TV screen, the moment your tape stopped working. I want to throw a rock at his window so it won't look the same anymore. I want it to snow five feet.

His voice mail box is full.
Krista won't let me do anything and I can't help but care, but wonder...and the truth is, I miss him...I miss him before he went crazy. He used to make me laugh. He didn't enhance my perspective on the great intellectual battles of our day, but he made me laugh, and I made him laugh. And, in his own way, he tried to show me he cared.

One of the last mornings he wrote this on my bathroom mirror:: "i am so lucky to have you in my life. Thank you so much." And he drew a little Alien next to it that looks like a Pac-Man ghost.

I want Jeff Buckley to start following me around and singing in my ear until Feburary.

My grandfather is sick and I somehow feel if my Dad was here he could make it better.

My Mom had me when she was twenty-four.
The idea of having a child is so laughable
it's almost pathetic.

I invited Jeremiah over and ended up yelling at him about Republicans again.
I need to find a new outlet for my frustration at the Bush administration.

the imagination. it's there to sort out your nightmare, to show you the exit from the maze....

Sat, 24 Sep 2005 22:32:25 GMT

have any of you known anyone schitzophrenic or severely manic? If so..please share.

He left the light on in his apartment when he left; I can see his window from mine. The blinds, a Calder triangle, gathered in the middle and splayed at the sides like an Oriental fan.

He left the light on because people are after him. “Marie,” he said on the phone, that voice I used to think was sex that now gives me chills, makes my hummingbird-heart just stop. “Marie, my computer wouldn’t work,” and I remember when I used to ask him, why don’t you ever call me by my name? You’ve never once said my name. “Marie, I had to smash it open, I had to take it apart, because Marie, thirteen years of my life, do you understand this? Thirteen years of my life are gone.”

And I think: You’ve had that computer for two months. And before that, you didn’t even know how to use a computer.

“Someone put a chip in my computer. I took it apart, because I know how to take things apart and put them back together. Marie, I know how to get Osaama, and Marie, I know how to sit him down and talk to him, there’s so much about me you don’t know. I have to go back to my childhood and get it, do you understand that, Marie? I have to get back on the path and remember my train of thought. I need that CD.”

I told him the CD was in Noah's computer. In Austria. He said he was going to 'get that fucker.'

I nodded. I was on the bus. I realized he didn't even need me to say "okay," or "i know."

The last time I saw his apartment, there were dishes piled up in the sink from over a week ago—they weren’t fresh because he hadn’t eaten all week. Or slept. He showered maybe once.

Roaches, everywhere.

His walls are coated in diagrams written on notebook papaer, removed and taped next to the thirty-some-odd post-it notes that line the walls. They say things like : “You can do it!” “Check your Assets!” “You wil buy the building!”

He was up all night last week, he would come over uninvited and talk about how to stop Al Queda, about rocket ships, time machines, buildings he was going to buy.

November 11th, the deadline for the government program to buy buildings, has somehow been engrained in his mind as the deadline for all of his "projects," his "equations"--many of which, I knew, he had taken from The Bible Code and The DaVinci Code. Which I made fun of him about relentlessly. Ha ha ha! Yeah.

He kept “losing”money, he said. Two hundred dollars in cash, gone.

He wouldn’t leave the apartment to go anywhere but my place—he would leave only if I was able to stay and look at his apartment—watch it. For...?

I wasn’t able to put it together---this boy I had known who had always been funny-crazy was becoming crazy-crazy, and I didn’t have the foundation to even make that distinction, to realize that perhaps he had one of those serious mental illnesses, the kind that appear and take over and boggle everyone.

I thought he was funny. I wrote down the crazy things he said, and laughed, and waited for him to laugh back. But some time last week, he stopped laughing back.

He’s either manic and was on a high
or skitzo. He’s joked about being schitzophrenic before,
but it’s also possible this was his first episode, since it often doesn’t surface
until your twenties. I didn’t realize this until I started talking to my Mom about it.

He told me he was going to give me money, buy me a building, these things. Offered me cars and more money.

Do I care about him? A little. I never really felt that he was important to me, or anything. But now I am starting to wonder where he is—he left on Wenesday morning—and hoping he’s like—in Bellevue, or with his mother (wherever she is? he's estranged from everything)—it’s odd when things that homeless people shout on the street are being said to you by a charasmatic male model with steely grey-blue eyes and a Blackberry.

and we turn him into an anectode, to dine out on, like we're doing right now. But it was an experience. I will not turn him into an anecdote. How do we keep what happens to us? How do we fit it into life without turning it into an anecdote, with no teeth, and a punch line you'll mouth over and over, years to come: "oh, that reminds me of the time that impostor came into our lives. Oh, tell the one about that boy." And we become these human jukeboxes, spilling out these anectodes. But it was an experience. How do we keep the experience?"Ouisa Kittridge, Six Degrees of Seperation