New Life

I think I've come to the end of this blog. My new life awaits over at www.pillheadthebook.com, I'll be blogging in the news section there from now on. Thanks so much to everyone who has been following me here. It evolved a lot, and pretty much lost its original focus (didn't I start out anonymous??), but it's been a blast. xxxo

Done. Next...

I ended up writing that entire ghostwriting job in seven days after procrastinating for four months because I hadn't been paid. Now that it's over I don't have the same hateful feelings about my subject. We went over some edits on the phone tonight and then instead of just hanging up, we shit the shit for a while and I learned all sorts of crazy scandalous secrets about the show he's on. It's the type of stuff tabloids would have a field day with, but I'm going to take the high road and keep it to myself. Something tells me it's better to have that show on my side, and apparently right now they are. They all love the book, it's being passed around in between takes.

I found out yesterday that this guy who did heroin for the first time in my house after I gave him my old dealer's number has become a total junkie. I feel responsible and am going to try and help him get on a Suboxone program. He claims he wants to quit, and hopefully he means it. So few junkies really do, it's just something to say, like "I'm hungry," or "Where's my shoe?"

Come this this tomorrow. I'm not a judge this time around but it should still be fun. A writer that I've had a crush on is going to be there. I have no idea what he looks like but his writing style is super weird and funny and reminds me so much of my younger sister. Dear God: please make him cute and then make him have a crush on me.

I Guess Technically He's Right

I just came across this quote from my subject while combing through 268 pages of interview notes. He's talking to me after I asked him why he thought it was okay to not wear underwear to a job interview where he knew he would have to change clothes.

"You nasty little boy. I knew you were trash. I saw it in your eyes the first time we met. You pretend to be some innocent little country white boy. Yeah, right."

He also used up fifteen minutes of interview time yesterday to talk to me about fisting.
There's no emoticon for how I feel right now.

This Is What The Inside Of My Brain Looks Like

28,000 words to go.

Krull and the Fear of Vagina Dentata

I'm really catching up on my cinema this week! Last night I also watched Krull, a sci-fi/fantasy flick staring Liam Neeson and a bunch of unknowns who were trying to capitalize on films like Conan, Clash of the Titans and Beastmaster. The best thing it had going for it was a genuinely creepy scene with a giant spider trying to attack an old wise man. I think the reason the scene worked is because the spider was skinny and white, which is far more repulsive than thick and hairy. Which reminds me - I used to work with a woman at Toys in Babeland who had an irrational fear of white poop. The idea totally freaked her out.
Anyway, I spent the whole film picking apart its homoerotic undertones. I won't bore you with those, but I do think I need to point this out to you. Observe:

Our hero must enter this dark, mysterious and shaved cave as a boy, and emerge as a man with a tool he needs to rule the kingdom.

Inside the cave it is hot, wet and mysterious! He's terrified and doesn't quite know what to do.


It turns out that the secret he must remove from the cavern is a sharp set of teeth hidden deep inside! Once he plucks them from the moist depths he has conquered the hole, becoming a fierce warrior.

In other words, MAJOR VAGINA DENTATA SUBTEXT!!!!

Up With Dead People

I'm really off my game. A gay zombie movie has been out for a whole year and I didn't know about it! I discovered Otto; or, Up With Dead People by mistake on Netflix and now I feel just like I did when I finally found my retainer in the garbage that one time at McDonald's - happy and grossed out.
Everyone knows zombies are just metaphors, but this movie keeps upping the ante. Zombies and the eating of flesh represent pretty much every societal ill the film can think of - disaffected youth, AIDS, porn stars, porn itself, schizophrenia, heteronormal culture, gays acting heteronormal, idolizing Che Guevara, getting dumped, pollution, unsafe one-night stands, the fashion industry, independent filmmakers, and that's just off the top of my head. There's also lot of gay sex, even a cock shot of one zombie fucking a hole he's eaten into the side of his boyfriend, who he just turned into another zombie. Even more profound is the dialog, which runs along the lines of the following: "Considering that all the dominant discourses are defined and controlled by the ruling class, the first step to being a revolutionary is to act out against any consensual reality."
Word. But I'm gonna stick to stealing the fancy hand soap bottles from the Ritz Carton's lobby bathroom instead of boning someone's pancreas.

These Things Take Time

I've been speaking with the Brooklyn DA's office about providing a background deposition about George Weber's sex life and history, to help them build their hopefully already-solid case against John Katehis. John is trying to plead self-defense which is bullshit because A) he stabbed George 55 fucking times and B) George was a masochist, 100%. He never would have been the aggressor in ANY sexual situation. I'm also suspicious about the duct tape. George liked rope and he would have been especially safe with a new guy. This makes me wonder if it wasn't the first time they met up. I'm trying not to think too much about the whole thing, I've processed it as much as I can. In a way it's like a chapter of my life finally closing but before the door is shut for good I want to help make sure that demon kid is locked away.

In lighter news, I saw Morrissey perform at Carnegie Hall other night. He ripped off his shirt at one point and was shockingly buff. He sang "Death of a Disco Dancer," which will always have a special place in my heart because I slow danced to it once with Joe, my college housemate who died of cancer after we graduated. That same night I ended up hanging out with the actor who plays my favorite Gossip Girl character and had to listen to a tirade about "faggots" coming from the backseat of my truck. But later we met up with another of my favorites from the show, one who was really sweet and genuinely excited about my book and even wanted to get an early copy. So yay, maybe my book will end up on a coffee table in the background of the show someday!! Better that than Ann Coulter's new book -- that was the weirdest product placement I've ever seen on GG. And why the hell did they work it into the script?? A certain leggy blond Nazi must have a rather powerful friend at the CW.

Tomorrow I'll be attending the Nylon 10th Anniversary party. I will try not to get drunk and accidentally push Peaches Geldof off the balcony.

Still In Shock

A few posts down I mentioned that I heard about a 16 year-old kid who had posted videos on XTube, posing as an 18 year-old, so I took down the link to another XTube video because I had concerns about how old the people featured in it really were. Later I went back to reading about the kid and how he had killed a man. Then I saw a picture of that man. I know him. Intimately. A long time ago, when I was a very different person, he was a steady source of cash for me. I'll leave it at that.
I found this out an hour and a half before I had to leave for the big gala benefit. What should have been one of the biggest nights of my life floated in front of me like a blurry parade. It had no meaning, no resonance. I can't remember the name of a single person I met. I'm really lost and fucked up about this and my shrink is on vacation for the next two weeks and I have to interview the most vapid, insipid and self-absorbed F-list celebrity in an hour and I'm pretty sure that I am just going to pretend we have a bad connection, hang up on him and crawl back into bed.

Tonight's The Night

Tonight is my big major debut as the author of my first book. I have no idea how or why, but somehow my publisher got this huge institution to consider me worthy enough to host as a literary host for their annual benefit gala and award party. I'm on a list of co-hosts that includes Wally Lamb and A.M. Homes. I have to host my own table at dinner and entertain these huge donors and major lit types. I am fucking terrified. I've never even done a book reading before. And to make it worse I woke up this morning and my brain is playing one of its awful tricks on me again, making me doubt myself in every way possible. I have two hours to pull my shit together and fake my way through this night. Best case scenario - I have really fun stories to report tomorrow. Worst case scenario - I eat some pills, get tanked and hit on the married President of a rival publishing house before puking outside the Ritz and crashing my truck on the way home. God help me.

People On My Shit List

Kelly Bensimon - Congratulations, you wretched excuse of a human. You've done the impossible and made the rest of housewives look like somewhat likable people. Team Bethany all the way.

The Recorded Voice When You Call Time Warner - You sound like a smug, nasty old church lady who thinks that just because your husband is the organist you can piss all over the rest of the congregation. I get three words deep into your self-satisfied, smirking voice prompt and I want to hurl my cell phone against the bricks and scream scream SCREAM!!!!! Please die.

That's it, everyone else is golden.

The Cutest Li'l Porn Stars

I stumbled across a gay porno last night made by this guy who goes by Chrezzz, aka Tobey aka Christian. It does nothing for me sexually, since these guys look uncomfortably young, but they are so adorable in a My Little Pony kind of way. It's really intimate, weirdly innocent, and once it gets going becomes totally mesmerizing and more like an art film than anything else. The music at the very beginning is awful, but around 1:14 this really awesome Go-Gos meets surf rock meets heavy breathing kicks in and makes the whole thing really fun.
Watch it here. If this guy really wants a porn career I bet he's going to go far, but I kind of hope he gets it out of his system and goes into real filmmaking. He's a tiny genius.
UPDATE - I took down the link to this after reading that a 16 year-old kid who is suspected of murdering a radio announcer had an Xtube page claiming to be 18. NOT COOL and now I just feel creepy and gross for posting this since these guys really do look ridiculously young and I should have realized that site has no real way of determining someone's actual age. Ugh.

I MUST OWN THIS RING

It's the one worn by ladies who either graduated from or are currently enrolled in Miss Porter's School for girls, home of the evil secret society of rich girls called the Oprichniki, named after a 16th century Russian torture squad. Thank you NYT. I am now officially obsessed.

Stairway to Gilligan's Island

I think maybe this is supposed to be funny, but I think it's eerie and sort of beautiful.

"Come Fold Your Black Wings Over Me"

Sorry I've been such a bummer lately. It's really up and down, and now suddenly I'm in an up moment. I just got a CD in the mail from a guy I went to college with named Nick McCarthy. He was a junior when I was a freshman and he was one of the most beautiful men on campus (evidence above).

My friends and I called him Nick Cave because we only ever saw him at The Cave, which was a once weekly open mic event in the basement of the liberal arts building at Purchase. Mostly it was a bunch of people on heroin, drinking and rolling around on the stage in the dark, reciting bad poetry. But sometimes bands would play, including my favorite, US Hairforce. Nick played drums, and they sounded so much like how it feels to be on drugs that they were my soundtrack through all of college. They disbanded after a few years and all I had were a few shitty audio cassette recordings of them, and the past few years I've been afraid to even touch those tapes for fear of disintegration or breakage. But thanks to Facebook I found Nick and he sent me a CD full of US Hairforce songs that I've been blissing out to ever since the mailman came.

And they don't even make me trigger happy. Just nostalgic, and sad about all the people who were so insanely instrumental to my development who are now dead because of drugs. Oh no, I'm back to being down!! Up up up up up!

.

Lame

I just got a dose of what I forgot is the worst part of getting sober - sudden, random crying bursts that come out of nowhere. It is fuck all embarrassing. Especially for a big burly man like me. But then, as quick as it started, it's gone and you're back to just feeling like a razor blade is scraping across your bones.

Pied Piper on E

Worst Week

I haven't thought about Herman Hesse in years, but a friend brought him up the other day. I remembered how obsessed I was with Demian when I was in college, especially the line "nothing is more distasteful to man than the path that leads to himself." It sums up the past week nicely, but also the past six years, which is how long I've been eating opiates. I've only just recently realized the effect I love is less about dulling my senses from the outside world than it is about keeping me from my own thoughts. I think this is why I've had such trouble with the whole 12 step-program and why I've always rejected it as an option for me. The whole idea of one day at time is bullshit. It is one second at a time. Every single second of the day I have to fight with myself not to pick up the phone.
That's a lie.
Every single second of the day I have to fight with myself not to open my lock box and take what's still in there.
This is what's so evil about painkillers. They trick you into keeping you from yourself while you're on them, and then when you are off them, they still keep you from yourself because you're too busy fighting off the urges to spend any time figuring out how to stay off of them for any real length of time.
Obviously I had a major slip-up this week. I spent all of it inside, eating Percocet. I don't even like Percocet. A friend of mine was making an analogy about something else that fits nicely with how I feel about that brand - it's like when you're having sex and you're almost there, but you can't have an orgasm no matter how hard you try. With Percocet I am constantly chasing the full high but I can't quite reach it, no matter how many I take. There's too much acetaminophen in them I guess.
Add to this the fact that I upped my Lexapro dosage on Monday (doctor approved, not on my own), and my body waged full on chemical warfare with me all week. I spent a lot of time thinking about the man above, who was my first real, true, hardcore love. We were even going to get married. Before I discovered Vicodin, he and I got messed up once by smoking pot and eating tons of Tylonal with codeine that he had gotten from Canada. I only remembered this recently, after going through some old journals. I've always equated my first experience with opiates with having my own full bottle for the first time. But I guess technically that one night with him was my first. Besides trying heroin with him once too. Maybe that's why I am still so in love with him. We broke up and got back together countless times. The last two: he dumped me because he found out I had a steady side job turning a trick. He rightly called me a whore and walked out, after we had gotten wasted at a Sonic Youth concert in Central Park. We got back together on the Fourth of July a few weeks later, when we ran into each other at a party on the roof of a sugar factory in Williamsburg. The Secret Machines were playing and fireworks were going off when we locked eyes and just started making out and it was so beautiful and, I don't know, young. I swore I would never turn another trick again. I dumped him for the last time not long after, on the day of the blackout. I had recently gotten my first bottle of Vicodin and we had been downing them in earnest and I had secretly gone back to making money with my side job and I knew I couldn't make a commitment to anything true. He told me this was the last time, that he meant it for real, and that if I did this there was no going back.
I counted out 15 Vicodin, put them in a plastic baggie and gave them to him as a consolation.
I hate myself so fucking much right now.

At Sea

In a terrible mood and seriously depressed for some reason today. I miss human interaction. Here's a picture I love, just so you don't have to look at that stupid man down below anymore.

The Snuggie Wars

This war about who invented the Snuggie is way off base. Like most things, the Snuggie started with the gays!! This is the ORIGINAL Snuggie - the International Male catalog has been selling it since at least the early 90s, when I discovered the catalog and how to jerk-off in the same afternoon.
But not to this picture. Shudder.

UPDATE: I've been searching the IM website, which is now folded into Undergear, but it looks like they no longer sell it. Just this gross oversized t-shirt.

The Kittens' Voyage!!!

Digging through bags of old photos the other day, I found one of my all-time favorite books from childhood. Thought I'd share a few pages since it's so damn cute.

Also, 10 for 97 cents? Jeeeeeeesus.

My Only Fashion Week Opinion(s)

Honestly, Rag & Bone? Tourniquets below the knees on the outside of a pair of pants? I'm all for daring and odd fashion but this just seems like a pain in the ass to maintain and really unflattering on most men.That's all.

Oh, except for these stupid purses on top of models' heads. I don't even have the energy to really comment further, except that those poor ladies must have been gagging.

I did however really love the Odyn Vovk show.

Coraline. Sigh.

It was so beautiful to look at, so why did they have to go and ruin the movie by making Coraline such an insufferable little brat? I would have ignored her too if I was her father. Christ. My friend who I saw it with felt the same way, we just wanted to smack her! I need to discover what the Pink Floyd/Wizard of Oz equivalent to this movie is. So I can own the movie, but just turn the volume all the way down and find the perfect record to play in tandem with it.
Despite my disappointment with the casting and script direction, I'm still mad crushing on sexy animator Brad Schiff. I want to lay perfectly still on a bed with him and have him move me around in the slowest and most imperceptible ways.
Sexy or creepy? Don't care. I've decided that dating a stop-motion animator is probably the best idea in the world, especially for someone like me. Think about it. They have INFINITE PATIENCE! What more can I ask for in a person?

Darlin' Don't You Go and Cut Yer Hair..

I did anyway. Except that I don't know how to use scissors, I've always used a straight razor. It used to work out great for me in the 90s, but I was scared of how it would come out this time since it's been so long.
I gotta say, not bad. At least in the front and on the sides. I'm still too scared to check out what the back looks like since I didn't use a mirror and I could feel myself going a little ballistic back there. Thank god for my collection of 143 hats, until I actually come into contact with a human being who I know and trust. I've been in lockdown, writing and sending out galleys with notes attached, praying for blurbs. And I gotta say, the ghostwriting is actually coming along well. The big turning point was when I realized I can use his basic life as a framework, and then make up whatever the hell else I want. I've clocked 6,000 words in the last four days, I am just going to bang this fucker out as fast as I can.

A Quick Note on the Friday the 13th Remake

I know I should probably be enraged about this remake, but the truth is that I'll see ANY horror movie that comes out, no matter what. So, so much for that protest.

But what's really bumming me out is that they are giving SO much away about this "re-imagining" from the commercials. I can already tell that they have combined key plot points of Parts 1, 2, and 4 from the 40 second commercial. So far we can tell that they're using the origin story from Part 1 (duh), Jason grabbing the boyfriend through the window in Part 2, teens staying in a house near Crystal Lake and the guy looking for his sister who has disappeared in Part 4.

Why give so much away? We also know from the commercial that the black guy gets it. Hmph.

(PS - I have been obsessed with Amy Steel (above) for YEARS. She was always my favorite Friday Final Girl).

Jesus, Kill Me

Fuck. I was propped up in bed this morning with a cup of coffee, Ollie tucked in beside me, returning emails on my BlackBerry and checking all the news and blogs on my iPod touch and suddenly I had one of those split second moments where you marvel at how far we've come with technology, how much information we have access..to....how we've become obsessed with..info...and how, like, I'm sort of an...INFO FREAKO!!!!

And the song of the same name by Jesus Jones swept through me like rush of pure China White.

But unlike heroin, no amount of naloxone is going to strip my body of this drug.

Something New

Just for the hell of it, and to keep me out of trouble:
http://gut-pageant.blogspot.com/

Galleys

I got my galleys in today. I should be thrilled, and most of me is. I know they are uncorrected proofs, but I didn't realize the version they were sending out for reviews was one that had all these bizarre punctuation errors that were input by someone who clearly didn't understand all of the copy edits made on the page by me and the copy editor. There are random commas hopping all over the pages like fleas. I wouldn't care except that the opening paragraph, the very first thing you read, the one that is supposed to draw the reader in, has a weird comma in it that throws the whole thing off.

My agent gave me a stern talking to about developing a thicker skin because if I'm reacting like this now over an uncorrected proof, then I will go totally insane when the book actually comes out and people start slamming it. I'm going to reprint what she wrote because I think it's good advice for any author who has a book coming out:

J,
You have got to calm down. Nobody thinks that this is your fault! All galleys have copy errors. ALL OF THEM. This is the publisher’s responsibility. You have got to relinquish control.

Also, you need to put things in perspective. When this book comes out you are going to be dealing with a windfall of criticism and praise. If you don’t get a handle on it now you are going to lose yourself in the process and become a giant liability to yourself. I recommend to ALL memoir writers that they have a good therapist who they trust and who they can dump this stuff on throughout the process. I know you’re just venting because I love you and I want you to vent to me, but trust me, if this is bothering you now then I promise you that what’s to come will literally drive you insane if you let it. Please don’t let it.

You’re very sensitive and you have to be careful because it can really affect you. Wurtzel is an extreme example, but I think she’s a good example of what can happen when your first book is about yourself. People who read it are going to identify with your story, they’ll see themselves in it and they’ll relate it to their own lives and distort it accordingly. This is a book that is largely going to appeal to drug addicts and the people who love them. That’s a huge swath of the population of Crazy. At first you’ll try to connect with your readers personally, so moved that they took the time to read your book or recommend it to their friends, but soon you’ll realize that not only is that extremely difficult to maintain, but a lot of these people will punish you for it. You’ll receive lots of reviews on Amazon that will make you want to cry – one star reviews with quotes like, “This is the worst book I’ve ever read in my life. I wish I could give it zero stars but stupid Amazon won’t let me.” And you’ll be criticized for not embracing sobriety through 12 Step programs. People will judge the book the way they judge themselves or the addict in their lives who broke their heart. Learning to let these comments roll off your back is as important as not believing the hype such as, “This is the best book ever written! It changed my life.” The latter of course is preferable, but if you let it inflate your ego for more than 5 minutes then your outlook about your future as a writer will be completely distorted. Elizabeth got boxes of mail a week – someone in Italy tattooed her face on his bicep - but she couldn’t maintain an actual relationship in life. And the success of her first book only ensured that she became a drug addict during the writing of her second. So the moral of the story is check yo’self!

God, she's a good agent.

Calvin Klein Jeans

I can't believe this Calvin Klein jeans ad got banned from being shown on television. Not because it's good or artistic and deserves to be viewed by the masses, but because it is SO LAME and SO PREDICTABLY BORING. Not to mention the jeans are clearly custom stitched on.
Honestly, corporate-entity-that-now-owns-Calvin. If you guys really want to shock me into buying your jeans, show me you can make an off-the-rack fit that doesn't give guys weird Ronald McDonald hips and a baggy ass.

The Thief of Always

This is one of my favorite Clive Barker stories. I think there were several different illustrated versions of it, but this one, by Gabriel Hernandez, is my favorite. The story starts with Harvey Swick being eaten alive by The Great Gray Beast of February.
It's happening to me, too.

A Fitting Death

One of my old beauty editors gave me this bottle of Chanel no. 5 lotion because I loved the design and the really pale pink color of the lotion. I thought it was an exercise in perfect luxury product production. Last night I was opening a door on the shelf it sat on in my bathroom when the entire structure fell off the wall. I caught the shelf, but the bottle slipped and fell on the ceramic tile and shattered. I'm really bummed -- it's one of those things I'd never go out and buy for myself because it's so totally gay to even own.
But I take great comfort in the fact that even though it slipped to its death, it went down rather beautifully.

Ghostwriting Job Might Be Off

Contract negotiations for my ghostwriting job are disintegrating fast. Ha! I love saying that, it's so douchy. But it's true, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. On the one hand I'd lose a nice chunk of cash for a quick turnaround. But on the other I really don't feel like working on such a rushed deadline, especially since the material needs so much editing. Also: I don't like being "accidentally" shown photos of my client having bareback sex when he's looking for something else in his iPhotos. And I've already done soooo much work on the project while his lawyers and my agent duke it out.

If this book doesn't end up happening, I don't know what else I'd do in the time between now and when my own book comes out. I don't do well with idle time, it tends to get me into trouble. I'd hopefully at least get a kill fee and turn over all my transcripts. Actually, they'd BETTER do that, I have some pretty incriminating stuff in there and since I haven't signed a single thing yet, I'm under no confidentiality agreement.

Nah, I'd never do anything like that. The karma would take decades to reverse itself. I offered to be TV watcher for Gawker for free, since they were looking for a cheaply paid intern. It might actually happen, I got a response back. I've got a date tonight, gotta go shave.

A Stipe Joint

I'm a little weirded out about how much Michael Stipe's apartment looks like my new place, right down to the big white statue. But I got to say, I think my place is totally better! I have cooler art and a much better layout. Michael lives there with his boyfriend Thomas Dozol, who was just incredible in his role as the waiter in American Psycho 2: All American Girl.

Sorry, That was bitchy. I'm just jealous because I've had an inexplicable crush on Stipe since I was in college.

What's in the box??

I watched the inauggie with my favorite dykes this morning. After the swearing in, I felt just like Nancy's mom did at the end of Nightmare on Elm Street. Remember how she opened the door and it was all sunny outside, and she turned to Nancy and said "You know, I think I'm going to give up drinking. I just don't feel like it anymore."

Purists out there will remind me that that Nancy's mom gets sucked through the door window by Freddy right after Nancy leaves the house, but still, that one moment of clarity and hope remains in my heart. Especially after seeing Bush fly away in that helicopter that looked like a Transformer.

"Witch Hunts are my Valium"

Somewhere out there, Richard Lawson is coming up with his initial ideas for tomorrow's Gossip Girl review. What will he focus on??? I'm betting the opera since it tied so many themes together - class, war, tragedy, revenge, Chuck's Beefeater Gin jacket. But nothing he comes up with can possibly beat the fake Page Six headline "Bass' Exit From Brooklyn."
It's 10:05 PM and I'm still in my pajamas. Happy MLK day.

Are You Sure?

The writer wrote to me last week, with the speech about how he really meant it when he said he hoped we could be friends. Everyone gets this email at some point, right? So I told him I was cool with that (which I am) but that I needed to come clean to him about something, so I admitted that I stole pills from his medicine cabinet while we were dating. I think he was more surprised that he actually HAD pills in there, he'd forgotten about them. He politely thanked me for telling the truth and that was the last I heard, so I'm guessing the offer of friendship is off the table.
I don't blame him, but it still sucks.
I'll be watching the inauguration at Sunshine tomorrow, my friend who works there is sneaking me in since it's supposed to be a madhouse. In other weekend news, I baked my first apple pie. It came out as crunchy apple soup with a burnt top and a soggy bottom. I also had lots of much-needed sleepovers with a friend. No sex, just intense cuddling. Our restraint was commendable. But lord it felt good to be held.

Maybe They Finally Got One Right?

This time something feels nice and empty, like an Ellis adaptation should. Rather then stunted and WB-esque, like the other attempts have been. And they got the music right. But it remains to be seen. Ha, get it?

AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!

God, she was the WORST boss ever. I mean, a total sociopath. Although I did admire her ability to discover someone's one weakness within ten minutes of being near them and then using it to rip their soul to shreds. My other favorite thing about her is that all the women in the office said that whenever she walked into the bathroom she would start to drop her tights the second she walked in the door. She'd then waddle into a stall, and then leave it while still pulling her tights back up and walk out without washing her hands. I obviously have no way of knowing if this is true, considering that anyone who has ever worked with her loathes her and would probably also make up rumors about her spreading her own feces all over the bathroom mirrors.
Side note - isn't it weird that there's always ONE of those types in any college dorm? The things I've seen, attending a state college.

Anyway, weirdly, this picture came up when I was trying to google image Richard Lawson to see if he's cute. He is my new favorite writer and I'm going to tell my agent she should do a book with him.

Oh Wow

Yesterday I was asked to be a literary host at this year's Poets & Writers' benefit gala. I get a whole table at the Ritz and everything, just to be one of the featured authors there for people to talk to.

I think that is just about the funniest fucking thing I've heard all month. I'm pumped.

OLIVIA!!

STOP TRYING TO MAKE 'SOCIAL' HAPPEN!!!
IT'S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN!!

Success!!!

Last night I was catching up on my old New Yorkers and read the Will Oldham profile from two weeks ago. I was surprised and happy to see the name of an old friend of mine from college mentioned - Jeffrey Lewis. Apparently he had written a song about Will. I finished the article, turned out the light, fell asleep and had the usual nightmares.
This morning I was reading the New York Times and noticed a giant cartoon about the past year of Jeff's life in their music blog section. It illustrated him getting his heart broken and touring with the Mountain Goats, Jarvis Cocker, Stephen Malkmus and a bunch of others.
Sweet, cute little hippie Jeff got totally famous!!! I am very proud to say I knew him way back when. Check out his stuff here and here.
He is a great guy and deserves all of this.

This is What I See At Night When I Close My Eyes

Starting around 1:23.
Gonna go out into the winter night and see a movie by myself, but first I have to get sexually harassed by the guy I'm ghostwriting for while we work out our interview schedule for the week. His last text mentioned him filling me up with his "baby batter" while we work. Vomit. I can't believe I have to put up with this shit.

Compare and Contrast

SO Late To The Game With This One

But since it's mostly just my friends who read this, I know it will be news for you guys. You are all aware that I have an unhealthy obsession with both Princess Leia and Jabba the Hutt. So I didn't care at all when that cartoon movie The Clone Wars came out because obviously neither of those characters would be in it, right?
Wrong! No Leia, but the movie was all about Jabba, Jabba's BABY SON and Jabba's GAY UNCLE!!!!!!
How come NO ONE told me about this? The uncle wears feathers on his head, body make-up and talks just like Truman Capote!! The baby is nicknamed Stinky and looks like a small pile of elephant poop with big eyes!
I can't even type anymore because I need to start searching online for toys of these characters immediately.

Speaking of Impulse Buys...

I also recently bought the original plaster statue that Mihail Chemiakin (also called Mikhail Shemyakin) used to create the Vice of Ignorance for his installation "The Children - Victims of Adult Vices," located just south of the Kremlin.

Here's the statue in my place and a photo of the final piece, where he actually has arms (second from the left).

NYC kids will know his work from that sculpture on Prince Street in Soho of the woman with, like, fifteen sets of breasts.

I FINALLY FOUND IT!!!!!

It took three years and calling in favors to every single fashion editor I know, but I finally, finally got the Chanel pill necklace. I saw them in the showroom years ago but they only sent a few to American stores, the rest were carted off to Japan or Dubai. I paid a lot for this one but it's so worth it. It's the complete necklace/belt and has every single version of the pills they made. I don't think you can see it in this photo, but one capsule, instead of being filled with tiny colored dots is filled with teeny tiny silver double Cs. I don't care how shallow this makes me seem, I've been searching for it for too long. I love it so so so much.

Others news, I got dumped by the writer over email on Christmas Eve. He's Jewish so maybe he didn't think it was that big of a deal. Apparently I'm supposed to feel good about myself because I lasted longer than most guys he's ever dated. We only went out like, thirteen times. I was upset for awhile but am now mostly cool with it. At least now I understand why all of his books are about gay teenage boys who only exist in the very beginning stages of relationships. He has stunted himself and can't move past that initial thrill of a first meeting. I had a one night fling a few days later with a really hot blond guy. That helped take away the sting of rejection. And replaced it with a stinging sensation when I pee. Kidding, kidding.

In all it just reaffirmed my old mantra -- never date someone with a fan base. The person will always think there is someone better than you out there. And he really fucked up, because there isn't! Ha ha! Oh, leave me alone, I'm in a good mood today and feeling self-confident, let me have it while it lasts.