I don't really hate god. I don't even know what it is! I'm just borrowing from Fred Phelps because it helps chip away at what little power he has. Plus it makes me laugh.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
