Category — feelings

It’s for your own good. Trust me.

This Thursday I’m going to be telling a story for Backfence PDX. (For info on what the hell Backfence PDX is, click here. DO IT. CLICK)

Anycrap, what I have to do, what all 6 of us will be doing, is telling a six minute story about summer and love without any notes or paper or hints or black tar heroin. And my particular story has the potential to be so embarrassing and judgment inviting that I can’t believe I’m going to tell it, but I am anyway. Because I am an attention seeking whore.

So that’s happening and you should all come down and witness my abject humiliation and extreme blushingness. My story is guaranteed to make everyone feel just a wee bit uncomfortable in the pants area. And I bet you dollars to donuts my story has more cocaine in it than ALL OF THE OTHER ONES COMBINED. So I win. Maybe.

There is going to be a winner, right?

Speaking of winning, the internet has clearly decided that the Dane Management of Kiala/ Kiala Management of Dane Month of Doing Just That (I should probably think of a better name) is a good idea. So we’ve decided to start on Friday. I’m scared.

This past weekend we went out like we do every weekend because we are so very popular and important. The reason I haven’t written about it yet is because I am trying to decide whether people mind becoming blog fodder or not. Also, I just realized I really like saying “blog fodder” out loud. Try it.

We go out with friends because it’s fun and it keeps us from laying on the couch for 63 hours at a time watching eleven seasons of The Shield with a bowl of tortilla chips resting on our bellies chests for easy snacking. We do not go out with friends because I need something to write about so teh internet will know how very popular and important we are (Did I mention that yet?). And still I have no idea if people truly like reading about what they did and how awesome they were (because everyone we know is awesome due to how popular and important we are) and knowing that a good nine three thousand people know about it now, too. And are judging them. Harshly.

I’m curious as to what your thoughts are on this, internet? Do you think people care? Does it make them nervous and excited like they might pee a little or punch me in the neck AT THE SAME TIME?

Until I decide what is the proper thing to do, based on your answers and most likely my perverse reaction to them which will be to do exactly the opposite of what you tell me to do, I will tell you this story about a party I went to my freshman year in high school.

I had transferred to Santa Margarita Catholic High School, which is a Catholic prep school for rich kids (we were not rich, but my Grandmother paid for it) in Southern California and I spent the first six months of the school year eating my pain away at Taco Bell so I weighed about 40 pounds more than I do right now. I had this leather bomber jacket like the one Kelly McGillis had in Top Gun and I wore it every day to school even though it was always about a thousand degrees in Trabuco Canyon but I thought it hid my fat parts. I was wrong.

So I went to this party at somebody’s big pink stucco house and after I watched the girls sing Take me Down To Paradise City at the top of their lungs we all went upstairs to watch a movie - probably Top Gun because the Gods mock me - and it was cold up there with the air conditioning on so some of the girls went down to get their jackets and one of the nice ones asked if I wanted mine and I said yes and told her, “it’s the leather bomber jacket” and the guy sitting next to me turned and looked at me with the most malice I’d ever seen in anyone’s eyes and spit out, “Shut your FAT FACE.”

I guess he thought I was being arrogant about my leather bomber jacket and who the fuck did I think I was, having a jacket and talking about it and being fat and having a fat face? And what makes me mad is that I didn’t say anything to him. I just TOOK IT. And I’m not writing this to have you all feel sorry for me and soothe my 14 year old hurts because that is bullshit. I am writing about it now because THAT is blog fodder.

Right?

People are still mad at me for comparing my cold to cancer (Well, not cancer - we can rest assured people still think cancer is funny or at least inconsequential) and AIDS. I have now been invited via another blog post to travel to Africa and volunteer with some kind of AIDS prevention and treatment center and then blog about how funny or not funny it is. This, I suppose, will Teach Me A Lesson about Taking Things Seriously.

God.

I DO NOT THINK WATCHING A LOVED ONE OR ANY LIVING THING DIE OF A HORRIBLE DISEASE IS FUNNY. I think using humor to ease a bad situation is, however, funny and HEALING. It’s called gallows humor. Look it up.

And anyway, how did we get to this point? Comments taken out of context and reposted elsewhere, I guess - which by the way is just poor journalism - and reactionary blogging by everyone. I made a twitter comment about my flu, someone reacted to it badly, I reacted to their reaction, my readers reacted to that, and so forth. And that is how you start a war. It’s stupid.

Do these people really think that WE think a child wearing a silly hat who has tourettes and is dying of AIDS is funny? It’s not funny, although typing it did just make me giggle a little. And you know why? Because it’s inappropriate, like laughing in church (actually, laughing in church is the only appropriate thing to do, in my opinion).

I really did not want to talk about this anymore, but then I got called out again and I was all “It is ON” and my fingers were all “Let’s type this shit OUT” and also, no, I do not want the world thinking I’m some kind of hate monger who is evil and wants people to die of diseases so that I can make fun of them. Way to blow it all out of proportion, Portland.

Sometimes, I do not like the internet. I hops it gets the cancer.

Well.

We have fun here at the cookie don’t we?
Let’s have a little recap of what we learned today and yesterday…

1.) The Portland lesbian blogging community gets really, really upset when we make light of AIDS - but not so much when we make light of heart disease, obesity, mommy blogs, and cancer.

2.) Everyone is gay. With AIDS. That Kinsey was on to something.

3.) Saying things we’re not supposed to say outloud is liberating.

4.) I love my readers.

and

5.) Never assume that you have cornered the market on tragedy.

Who’s to say that your tragedy is more IMPORTANT than mine is? Why is AIDS the only thing these women are angry about? Why was my making light of cancer not nearly as angry making? Is AIDS still considered a gay disease? Does it matter if it is or isn’t?

It’s 2008 and we live in one of the most liberal cities in America. Nobody cares about your sexual orientation. WE ARE ALL A LITTLE GAY OR A LITTLE STRAIGHT. Get over it.

Anyway, it’s interesting to see how people go about the business of drawing a line in the sand. For me, nothing is sacred, so long as it’s funny. I give no power to “hateful” words unless someone personally attacks me or someone I care about - as in, “You are a whore and I am throwing AIDS at you because you are a fat dumb bitch.” Well, that’s just stupid and mean and PERSONAL. But if it’s funny and smart and poking fun at the world for taking itself too seriously, then I don’t give a shit. Poke away. Use all your words. Have a ball.

I didn’t insult anyone by equating my flu with cancer and AIDS. I’m just a baby when it comes to being sick. A sore throat makes me feel like I need a morphine drip, OKAY?

And that is all I’m going to say about that.

I am sick. And when I’m sick all I can do is talk about how sick I am and how much being sick hurts and sometimes burns my eyes and also, how I’m sick. And that is BORING, am I right? So I will attempt to not talk about how sick I am and how it BURNS. My eyes.

I had a deadline this morning for two film reviews and naturally, since I knew about them since last Thursday I got them both done right away Friday morning.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

No. I wrote them this morning. Because that is how I do it and THANK GOD no one from the Mercury reads my blog or I’d be in some hot wa-

Oh.

I actually spent the better part of yesterday picking away at one of the reviews but I was coming down with this flu aids cancer cold thing I have and so - oh! DIGRESSION. Apparently, according to some people on Twitter, making fun of AIDS is “Totally.Not.Funny.”

It’s not? Because I am fairly certain that Patton Oswalt, Sarah Silverman and anyone with a sense of humor will disagree with that statement. And since when did people start censoring other people on Twitter? Just stop following me for shit’s sake. And, AND..the statement I made was just the one I said up there…about having a flu cancer aids cold. It’s not like I wished AIDS on Twitter. Outloud.

Maybe this person was kidding, but it didn’t seem like they were kidding. I mean, people make fun of heart attacks and strokes all the time because that is how we deal with scary things in this world. Is it because it’s an epidemic? So now I can’t make fun of the flu or obesity or non emos rioting against emos? WHYFOR?

Also, this person is a respected blogger in the Portland Blogging Community (I KNOW. I’m already thinking it. So you don’t have to say it), which kind of blows because I don’t really want to start an internet war - AND I DO HOPE THEY WERE KIDDING - but I will. And you can be sure The Poor will pay for it in taxes and late payment fees. And AIDS.

See, NOW you can get mad.

So I went with this

Vegans.

And these

Not Vegans

I also went with drinking three and a half vodka sodas and either making three new friends or giving three new people a lot of ammunition if they were ever to, oh I don’t know, write about me in a slambook or just stand in the hallway at work and make fun of me. Because that is what I would do if the situation were reversed. I’m kind of an asshole that way.

So it was super fun last night and I hadn’t been to Club 21 in a million years which made feel decrepit but I am used to that. I don’t know why it bothers me when I’m older than people now - I’m older than Dane by a good five years (he’s 29) and that never upsets me. To make matters worse I end up saying mildly offensive things like, “I haven’t been here since I was 25 and I would usually end up crying in the rain around midnight because that is what 25 year olds do”…to the 25 year olds sitting next to me.

Goodness.

Anyway, Matt and Alison and Erik (and Melissa, of course) were all very charming and funny and fun (although I believe at one point Matt tried to talk about sports with Dane, who knows nothing about sports, which resulted in Matt calling Dane a girl nine or ten times - and I think this completely endeared him to Dane) and we laughed a lot and I learned about the King of Cocktails and the jiggling Guinness machine - although I have yet to see the jiggling Guinness machine in action so as far as I’m concerned it’s still a myth, like narwhals or the holocaust or global warming - and Melissa taught us all how to write a book using mathematics and we learned that Erik knows a suspicious amount of plot points concerning Sweet Valley High.

Oh, and Matt smoked the shit out of a cigarette.

And in the end, I lost track of how many times I put my foot in it. At my age, it’s all I can do just to stay upright after Final Jeopardy is over.

UPDATE - Oh! The vegan potluck was really fun and we had tequila shots and met many nice dogs and ate guacamole and now I am hungover and I just found out that this is following me on Twitter which just pushed my hangover into the suicidal region.

Tonight we are going to a vegan potluck at my friend Jen’s house but I’m a little tentative about whether we’ll make it there or not due to an exciting happy hour meeting we are having over in NE Portland with Melissa and some new writerly friends.

Apparently, I am going to be introduced to “The King of Cocktails” which I can only assume is a bottle of tequila waved lovingly around a wedge of lime. I’m probably wrong about this as I am about oh, so many things.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to both of these events and I’m sitting here - four hours to go - trying to figure out what I should wear even though I shouldn’t care because I’m all cerebral and erudite and learned and crap.

Jen’s friends are all Eastside vegans with vegan tattoos and vegan hairgel and vegan babies and the new happy hour writer friends have never seen me in person before and I would like to underwhelm overwhelm them with my presence so I should probably put some thought into you know, deoderant and fashion maybe.

I was thinking I could wear something kitschy and indie like Miranda July

but it would probably come off more like this

And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, actually. That jumpsuit looks like it could hold a lot of snacks and mentos and things.

Still, I want to put my best foot forward prior to putting it in my mouth as I will almost certainly do and I am ready and willing to take suggestions for wardrobe choices. Also, makeup and flossing techniques.

Bring it on internet.

Saturday night before the DJ Easter Egg Nemo party, Justin, Megan, Dane and I all went to dinner at The Gold Dust Meridian on Hawthorne. It was super dark and cozy in there (although for some reason Dane insists it was brightly lit, which is A BOLD FACED LIE but I love him anyway) and they serve lady cocktails which is perfect for me because I like to order drinks that would otherwise embarrass normal people.

So we sat down in the booth and Megan and I were ecstatic at how hidden we were from the prying eyes and judgment of sullen twentysomethings and then our waiter came over and smacked us in the face.

Ok, to be fair, we were sitting at a table with dirty glasses on it which is a restaurant sin and we were SORRY but it was the only booth available and I don’t think you can put a price on privacy, am I right?

Anyway, he was pretty peeved at us even though we apologized and looked chagrined and everything - and then Dane realized that he used to work at The Alibi (or maybe still does). I think we were both about to say something to him but when the lasers shot out of his eyes and his hands morphed into machine guns, we decided it probably wasn’t the right time for a reunion and maybe we’d better just do what he says and let him wipe down the table. So we did. Also, we may have given him all our cash and valuable jewelry. I can’t really remember. It was kind of harrowing.

And when he asked to see our id’s, we all heard him clearly except Justin who was busy sleeping with his eyes open because this was his second night out in a row and when you get to be our age that becomes a logistical impossibility.

So we all got out our identification and Justin saw what was happening and said to no one in particular, “Oh, I’m so glad you all knew what he was saying because I just saw everyone reaching under the table and I thought maybe we were all taking our pants off and wouldn’t I have been embarrassed to be the only one at this table without any pants on?”

And just like that, our waiter’s mood experienced an abrupt sea change and I swear to God if he could have hoisted Justin up onto his shoulders and paraded him around the restaurant, he would have.

And I would have taken pictures, I promise you. With the flash on. DANE.

We stayed up late last night to watch The Hills premiere (yes, I realize 10:30 may not be late to most of you, but to me it’s the equivalent of four o’clock in the morning - IT’S THE SAME THING OKAY?) and aside from the fact that Mariah Carey was higher than a kite and rambled on and on about burning her hair on a curling iron or something and really, someone should tell her that the smell of burning hair could mean she’s having a stroke, it was obvious to everyone that Whitney and Lauren were making her tremendously self conscious with their youth and useless beauty. She wouldn’t stop moving from one Top Model Trick of the Trade to the next - hands on her hips, twisting to one side, clavicle forward, CLAVICLE FORWARD, chin down, etc - and I was suddenly struck with the notion that I do all those things all the time. And I thought, crap, did I learn that from Tyra or Janice or what? And why for God’s sake? Why am I clavicling forward at like, the fucking bank or wherever?

Meh.

And when the lady asked Mariah about her figure, she said, I swear to Christ, she said, “The diet part is really boring but then we can fit into our dresses, right?”

And then I immediately got up, ate a bunch of chocolate, and cut all my hair off.

NO! No, I did not do that. My hair is my power.

And I know, I KNOW it is my fault for supporting shows like The Hills in a passive way, but even if I didn’t watch it, I’d still be all caught up in the Beauty Myth because I live here in America where nothing is ever good enough and these last nine pounds of divorce weight make me feel like a failure even though I bought the two best pairs of jeans ever yesterday and blah blah etc. Feminist, diet, etc, crap.

So what to do, what to do? I don’t want to bitch about it forever and I really like shopping and wearing lip gloss and thinking about shoes 30 percent of the time so I guess I’ll just suck it up and walk it off. Basically, I’ll pretend that being female in America is exactly like ninth grade gym class.

NO! No, wait, I don’t want to do that at all.

Sometimes I have stupid ideas.

I’m getting ready to go to a movie screening downtown so I’m preparing myself mentally for the onslaught of film critics doing their Portland best to ignore the hell out of me. I’m going to wear orange and maybe bring a book to read aloud from in the lobby. Something really pretentious, too, like Roland Barthes or Diderot.

Anywho, first I wanted to thank EVERYONE who commented yesterday. You made me feel so much better. I’m a big baby. I KNOW IT. Your stories were fantastic and remind me to tell you about the one time at every job I’ve ever had where I got sick of it and started coming into work drunk and stealing things. This was usually the first day.

I’m going to write a longer post this afternoon when I get back from “working” (my job is hard). I plan on eating a whole pretzel and drinking a gigantic diet coke and then blowing up like a balloon from all the sodium.

In the meantime, why don’t you read my friend Megan’s blog Nestmaker? Really pretty things to look at AND the smart funny.