So basically, I’m Jemaine

Carol Brown, by Flight of the Conchords


Most Embarrassing Fanfiction-Related Move Ever and Other College Things (September 5, 2011)

Aw, fuck. It’s one year later and I’m back at the start. You would find it utterly pathetic and lame, WordPress, but I find it poignant, or something.

Last LJ entry, for realz, WordPress. I swear.

(All names changed, once again, except a couple of great schools, because who the fuck would remember I went there? And despite the fact the whole Internet could easily realize which ones the other two are. I’ve already spent this strange Livejournal -> WordPress experiment covering my ass, though.)

September 5, 2011

Mood:  cranky

Most Embarrassing Fanfiction-Related Move Ever and Other College Things

Giving it to a professor to read.

No, seriously! I was in this class, and I’m gonna name it by name here, even though libel, blahblah, legal yadda.

Grub St Inc is this great nonprofit organization in Boston, Massachusetts, and you can pay reasonably small amounts to take writing workshops there with real professional instructors, with classmates who vary in age and life experience.

I made the mistake of taking a writing workshop there, because it was six weeks of embarrassment, but I had to get my shit together. Despite being the black sheep of the workshop group, I kinda wished I had done it earlier, because the year before, I had paid out the nose to take a class at Emerson College. But on the whole, I’m gonna name them because both Emerson and Grub St are kickass. But Emerson, being a college, and one of the most well-known colleges in the United States, is mad expensive. It’s just a fact.

So this was during my four years of shlumping around not knowing what to do with my life.

Anyway, I told them I wrote fanfiction, and of course it was very amusing and confusing to everybody, and then when it came to write some fiction, I wrote something adapted from An Eternity in Cheese Country. 

Well I gave it to the professor, and she was like, “Hey this is actually pretty funny. With revisions (a lot of revision), it could be really good.”

I ended up using that piece as a jumping off point for the treatment I sent that college in New York for my application, but here I am, [upstate].

Okay since I don’t have anything negative to say about them either, I’ll say it’s [the college in New York City] I didn’t enroll in. There was another, more famous school I DIDN’T get in (in Boston; you can guess which one), but here I am [upstate] and it could be good if I actually get up off my ass and start focusing on my next move.

But then again, one of my professors said last week that for this fall semester, we should just focus on our classes and not worry about next summer. That’s the opposite of what the folks in Career Services said, who were like, “GO FIND JOBS. GOOOOOOO.”

I have a feeling I’m going to aimlessly drift my whole life, really, but I base that on my drifting through high school, drifting through undergrad, and drifting through the four years after undergrad. That’s 12 aimless years.

I mean, high school was all targeted towards getting into undergrad, but undergrad wasn’t targeted towards anything. I just sort of did what I needed to do to get the credits to get a degree. I decided early on that since I didn’t know what to make my focus, I would take classes in as many subjects as possible. I was required to do the minimum English Lit classes (because I was English Lit), so I got some literature in there. I was required to take weird-ass honors classes ([My undergraduate university] had a really unfocused honors program) so I made as many of them as I could film classes, and then I decided to do theater and film. I also took general education requirements in the social sciences. Even my biology class was human-being-related, because it was biological anthropology. My astronomy class was mainly, “Flirt with/play footsy with or avoid/glare at [The Stoner] for an entire semester, in a big lecture hall where our primary focus was playing around with the device that took attendance.”

Literature, theater, film, and creative writing. Those were the things I spent my time on. I was at one of the most esteemed research universities in New England (despite its students’ constant drinking, [my undergraduate university] really is admired for its science departments) and I had made myself a curriculum like I was at a small liberal arts college. Oh, and I fled for an entire year to go to England.

The aimless four years of my life while I lived at my parents’ house twiddling my thumbs was really just a vacation from real life. But I’m not in real life now, either. I’m in school. It’s graduate school, but it’s school nonetheless. It just seems very strange, because you have the same things: parties, drinking, drama, feuds, jealousy, me going batshit crazy, other people scratching their heads about it, and lots of wine. I think I already said drinking, though. And there is a lot of beer.

Where is the school part of this school experience?

One of my classmates said something interesting, though. She, and several others in my program, is continuing straight out of undergrad. And she’s also continuing straight out of an undergraduate program here at the same university. Oh, dear. One of our professors asked how many of us felt like this was “just year five,” and a few raised their hands.

She said she thought it was a little disappointing we’re in classes with undergrads (but I’m only in two classes with undergrads, and it will only be one if I drop one of them), because she feels like even being one/two years older (nevermind my four/five years older, or one of our other classmate’s eight/nine years older), she’s more mature. She may be correct. Someone pointed out that we’ve chosen to be here, whereas the undergraduates are required. Having a degree is something you just do now, much like how high school diplomas used to be. You need it to find work.

But we’ve all come back, or continued on. Why have we done that? Why did my classmate do it? Well, she said, she feels less like it’s year five, and more like it’s “a reality check.” She said she was impressed our instructors tell it like it is: the entertainment industry is difficult, really difficult, and you have to have focus and quite a lot of drive (and skill), to make it.

I came here because I want skills I can actually put on a resume. Of course, then, our instructor said a resume is meaningless in the entertainment industry. The interview is what’s more important, and the sort of thing said on the golf course or at brunch is even more important than that. But luckily our other instructor saved him (we were being spoken to by three of the instructors we’ll have this semester all at once for our first session of that class): she said we need the skills to back up what we’re saying. I’m hoping this is the case. I’m hoping I’ll feel more confident next May when I’ve learned a bit more.

Someone warned me a while ago, when I was looking at schools, that [my university] has the disadvantage of being only a one year masters program. You don’t get to really learn as much as you would like. But at the same time, I wasn’t looking for a mastery of these skills, because I didn’t intend to become a filmmaker, and certainly not an independent filmmaker. I think it will be okay for me if I even make it out of Massachusetts and into the entertainment industry. I know that sounds naive and really, REALLY vague, but my ambition isn’t…how do I put it? I’m not all that ambitious. Part of the reason I’m so insecure here is because I’ve met a few very ambitious people who want to accomplish a lot of things. They want to tell their stories, and they want to do it well. One classmate hopes to someday be so successful he can merchandise his creation.

Another person I know, over in journalism (prepare to hear way too much about him on here), wants to start his own business. Or rather, he already has one, sort of, but he wants to actually make a profit. That’s his goal.

My goal is to be happy for once.

Maybe I should just do what that one prof said: concentrate on the work for this semester, and then next spring, really start to panic. We have an internship fair coming up, and I would scramble to prepare for it, but it’s during one of our class times. What the hell? Will I get to go? Would I have even wanted to?

(Well, YES, I want an internship for next summer, and I want one in production! Even if I end up fetching coffee, I want to be near the real meat of what’s going on.)

(That metaphor came out weird.)

Point is…what was the point? Oh. My fanfiction. I didn’t even send a writing sample here, which indicates to me that they weren’t really keen on getting the best and brightest for our program. The journalism students had to send their writing, and how! This is a journalism school first and foremost, and although this is the 64th year for the TV/Radio/Film students, we take a bit of a backseat.


Labor Day. I don’t think I’ve done any work. Which is the point, but I spent the last couple days chilling out, relaxing, sleeping, shopping. I even went to CHURCH! And I’m an agnostic! (My Christian friends think I’m an agnostic, not an atheist.) And I went to the New York State Fair! I thought, “Okay, I’ll spend Labor Day doing work. It’ll be funny. But it’s 1 o’clock and I haven’t started yet. One thing I have to do is watch a movie and write an essay about it. I decided it should be “Inception,” because everyone in my screenwriting class has seen it except me.

AUGH. Livejournal. What have you done to me? Conditioning.

Tags: bloggy

I is a college graduate (May 27, 2007)

I’m surprised, with all the old crap I posted, that this isn’t on here.


Icon: Lulu serious

subject: I is a college graduate

eventtime: 2007-05-27 01:47:00

itemid: 5675

Mood: drained

Today was crazy. Couldn’t sleep and got up ass early to write only 4 pages. Printed it out anyway. Packed everything, showered, and headed out. Put the 4 pages of my final paper ever in my professor’s box, and headed on down to commencement. Hung around feeling pretty awkward since I didn’t know anybody.

Kept seeing people I recognized, though. Also, to my mortification, ended up next to [The Stoner], my boyfriend from freshman year. This made me quite happy later though when we finally spoke and said goodbye. He’s in an honor society, for crying out loud. Looking through my program at all the accomplishments people I know have made makes me feel like a ‘tard. But then again, there was a professor sitting next to me who, after I awkwardly stood up for the [honors college] and honors announcements, congratulated me. I said, “Eh it’s just cum laude,” and he was like (much like [my uncle] tonight on the phone), “That’s quite an accomplishment.”

Saw people I knew who gave me the cold shoulder like [Isaac] and of course [The Musician], who was doing security, nach. I couldn’t believe it. He looks so handsome. Blar. As for [Isaac], I was impressed seeing him come down from the commencement band. I was like, “Whoah.” Anyway he didn’t see me, or if he did, walked away.

Ya know who else looks good? [Mikail Stephanos]! Another blast from the past from freshman year. He finally fuckin graduated. I was so happy. I hollered out. I had to. He turned to look and gave me a smile. Or at least he smiled for some reason. There was plenty to smile about today.

But not me. I’m way too confused and weirded out by this whole thing. Not to mention lonely, since I’ve lost my senior friends, or have or had friends who are juniors, graduated, or super seniors. The comradery in the crowd made my heart ache. At least there was last year’s end-of-the-year stuff. Like I’ve said before, when we were all leaving England, it felt like probably what most of these people here were feeling.

Maybe I’m wrong. I dunno. I just feel like it’s all very unreal. I was mortified I sat near [The Stoner] but glad in a way because it brings me full circle, to the very beginning of all this. He said, “These four years went by fast,” and he took off his sunglasses to rub his eyes or look for someone or something, and they were so very sharp blue, and I remembered why I’m a sucker for blue eyes. My grandmother on the other hand said, “Does he still have that stupid looking beard?”

SO. The ceremony. “Dullsville,” as [my uncle] says. Also very hot, but not too hot that it was unbearable. BUT I have a sunburn on my face where you can see the lines from my hat and my sunglasses! The only good thing about wearing a gown and a hat is that the rest of me isn’t burned at all.

People are rude too! Everybody left before the ceremony was even entirely over! It was a chaotic milling around of people. I ran into [Tom Paine] which made me happy too cuz he asked me about my film. Which is crap but I’m glad he asked anyway. I saw people from a distance but me and the family stole a bunch of food from the Humanities and Fine Arts tent and then got the heck out of there. They had delicious cookies and salmon sandwiches.

So we packed up the rest of my stuff, took some snapshots, and took off for [home]. I can’t believe it. I got so anxious and worked up so I unpacked EVERYTHING. Tomorrow morning I re-pack for my trip with [Navy Guy], which should be even crazier!

I’m so exhausted. And sad. And I want to go back to school!!! It’s the only thing I know. I want to go to that school in Waltham. But now [my grandmother] is cynical about it. She’s like, “Hrmm, don’t jump into anything.” How can I? I can’t apply ’til this autumn or attend until the following September.

One thing I do know, is that although me and [Cindy]’s film projects were pretty crappy, I really enjoy filmmaking, especially the editing. I’d be wicked good at it, and to not apply to that art school would be a shame.

But I really shouldn’t think about it. Make money! Get experience! SLEEP 8 HOURS A NIGHT


Spoke to [my uncle] about [my younger uncle]. He was scared to death and flew out to Massachusetts back when it happened to watch over him. I feel so bad I wasn’t there. Maybe everyone’s right and I would have just freaked out. I guess my grandparents, [Lyn], and [my older uncle] all helped [him] out, and he had some migraines but those went away, and the doctors said he was lucky there wasn’t any brain damage. I’m glad he’s okay. Auuugh.

Everything is so unreal.

I find myself constantly quoting movies. I did an asshole thing the other day when talking to [The Teacher]. Back junior year of highschool, I said this is like a movie, and [J.P.] corrected me that life isn’t a movie or a tv show, it’s real, with real people and real emotions. [The Teacher] commented like our situation was a movie, and I said a similar thing as JP did, that this isn’t a movie, that life isn’t anything like that. My film professor pointed out that a lot of our assumptions about life or what life should be is from the many movies we’ve seen. We assume things should have a beginning, middle, and end, when that’s not at all the case. We start to confuse the fiction with reality, in a very subtle, back-of-the-mind sort of way.

But this isn’t like a movie. I dunno. It’s just….

All too fast.

booo to repeating history (April 9, 2008)

So I do one of those dumb things on Facebook saying, “Leave one word about how you met me.”

The Musician leaves the word “Police.”

I’m really stupid, so I message him.

“I probably shouldn’t remember it was pizza with [Ted] and I was sitting in your chair wondering who on Earth can drink so many Diet Cokes, when I turned around to find you wondering who on Earth was sitting at your desk”

I suppose The Musician would roll his eyes and go back to his life wondering why I take everything so seriously. I can still picture “Ted’s” room, but mostly because all our dorm rooms looked the same back then, and the account of our meeting is actually evoked by the several times I’ve written it down and re-read it. One such retelling was around the time I met up with The Musician the summer of 2008 and there was Drama! It was right before we tried to have sex with my vulvodynia, my disastrous visit to “Lea’s” apartment (except for the sushi, that was pretty good), when I ended up rebounding with The Teacher and then falling in love with The Mechanic. Yup. That same spring. Isn’t spring magical? /sarcasm.

Here’s also a great example of my insanity: the extent to which this is bitterly written four years later.

Icon: Yuffie serious
subject: booo to repeating history
eventtime: 2008-04-09 23:57:00
itemid: 6461
Mood: lame
Music: lol Placebo?
Tags: relationships, [college], life

Saturday’s gonna suck. No way is he thinking the same thing. I mean…sure I’m cute and he’s a fucking ferret. But [our college] is weird. [Our college] is full of girls who will inexplicably fuck ferrety men. (Sadly, myself included.) I mean, look what happened sophomore year. What the flying fuck. Like…I don’t know how he managed it. Five girls in four months. Okay, not exactly the most accomplished of players, but you gotta go, “Damn. Ferret-boy is a player.”

I remember when I first met him. I was visiting my friend [Ted], who had moved to [Pine] Hall and was talking about how much his roommate sucked but we’d have pizza and watch a movie so it’d be alright. ‘Cause I would be there and hopefully his roommate wouldn’t. Not a chance. It was a weeknight. Anyway, we go across the hall to hang out with these girls who lived there, and I ask them about [Ted]’s mysterious roommate. “Oh no!” they say. “That fucking prick! We hate that guy.” So I laugh and laugh and we watch Eddie Izzard.

So I’m sitting in his chair and [Ted] and I are thinking about ordering food and we were watching TV or something. It was 2004, so there probably wasn’t anything good on. And I hear footsteps and turn around and this guy with a backpack and jacket on comes into the room and puts his bag down or whatever, and I’m like, “Oh shit I’m in your chair, dude,” and he’s like, “No it’s okay, who the fuck is this?” and [Ted]’s like, “Oh that’s [Eris]. This is my dipshit roommate.” And I’m like, “Hi, ohmyfuckinggod you look like Adam Busch.” And he’s like, “Hi ohmyfuckinggod [Ted] has attractive friends.”

So anyway I’m like, “Whatthefuckever, [Ted] has attractive friends.” But no, that’s not it, because on the surface I was sayin, “What a dipshit tool motherfucker, those girls were right, because he’s a tool, and he like radiates toolness.” But my heart, instead, that traitor, goes thumpathumpathumpa and down south is like, “HELLO,” because HE HAS FUCKING PIERCING BLUE EYES. And I am one big cliche.

Because this kid, no you don’t understand, he is a fucking ferret, I swear to Christ. He is. So I like move to [Ted]’s bed, and [Ted] sits at his desk, and this dude sits at his own desk and starts inhaling Diet Coke like it’s going out of style, and doing homework or something. Bear in mind, I am wanting his ass while he simultaneously radiates assholishness, because I am dumb.

He totally showcases how much of an asshole he is when he goes to the wrong door (stupid [Pine]/[Johnson Hall]) with ALL OUR MONEY so that we have the pizza guy calling us like, “Um excuse me, I have your pizza, give me money,” and [Ted]’s roommate is at the other door like, “I’m gonna hit on the girl doing security la la la.” Me and [Ted] are pissed when he returns because we ended up having to use credit after all. Lame.

So we all watch cartoons from the 1980s and Red Vs. Blue, for some reason, and a grand time is had by all, and then I return to my harpy roommate and go on with the rest of my semester.

Except then that winter, around ye olde Christmastime, I find [Ted]’s roommate online and start talking with him over messages. And then over instant messenger. And then flirting. And then wanting to meet. Oh, no.

So we meet, and sparks fly! What the fuck? There’s this inescapable, unexplainable chemistry between us, that results in an adulterous affair, calzone sex, the best kiss ever ever ever, something to do with a paper flower, Valentine’s Day 2005 sucking, more infidelity, my friend from [my hometown] letting me in [Pine] Hall at 3 in the morning, everyone waking up, the girl down the hall promising to call the cops on me, internet stalking, therapy bills, a broken umbrella, coitus interruptus, fake Polish, Battlestar Galactica, the ruining of Dr. Seuss, psychologists, and huge penises. This all ends up with me leaving the country to avoid the situation. Or, ya know, getting accepted into a prestigious university. Either way, I was gone.

When I returned in 2006, we met again and reconciled, but then, it was another blistery winter (in early 2007), except this time I was actually single, when we met up again and had the second best kiss ever. {Some more} stalking later, we were out of each others’ lives, once again swearing to never see each other again for fear of bringing down the Apocalypse upon all of [Our College].

Wow. To see it all retold again is to…Definitely see why this is a terrible idea. But the thing is, I really couldn’t give two shits about what happens next week. All I know is I still have a commitment to AmeriCorps through July, a kick-ass vacation after that, and a long life ahead which includes finding a steady paycheck first and foremost. Does whether or not I’m getting laid really matter now? It seems like it was easier to lose focus at [my college], ironically enough, because I was alone and feeling the icy grip of Well Who The Fuck Cares If You Get An English Degree upon me. Now I suppose acting like a dipshit is against one of the House Rules, since I live with my parents, and with any luck [my uncle] can get me to see sense if I act like a drama queen and QQ about this kid.

Goddamn, I need to cancel my travel plans ASAP and never touch this kid with a twenty-mile-foot pole.

Then again, it’s hard to describe the good times. Oh. Right. Because they tend to be rated NC-17.

i’m leaving this place forever in may anyway (February 1, 2007)

subject: i’m leaving this place forever in may anyway
eventtime: 2007-02-01 21:04:00
itemid: 5273

What do I want?

To be used for sex? To be loved? Why did I break up with [The Drop-Out]? Is it because I don’t want a boyfriend? Do I want a boyfriend? Am I sick of sex? Am I sick of love? Am I sick of myself? Am I sick of being responsible for another person?What do I want? To use others? To be left alone? To see what it’s like to be alone? To see what it’s like to love being alone? To see what it’s like to not get attached? To flirt and nothing more? To talk and glance and raise a glass and toast and love the air? To forget skin? To touch the stars? To dream? To not feel guilt anymore? To not feel shame? To feel self-respect? To stop worrying? To stop the ulcers? To stop time? To learn?To stop being dependent.To depend on myself.

To realize myself is all I have, really, to depend on.

And I can be “high maintenance” all I want.

‘Cuz I can roll my eyes at my flip-flopping self and hug myself and say, “Shh, calm down. It’s only a fruit roll-up.”

What fruit roll-ups have to do with anything, I don’t know.

I want no more attachments. I want to be on my own. I want my body back. I’m sick of skin. I have enough vivid memories of skin to fill film reels. To fill artificial realities. To type the word and give a man a hard-on. Skin. Skin. Meaninglessness. Detatchment. Escape. Escapism. Skin. Loneliness. Ache. Passion. Forgetting. Blankness. Sensation. Pain. Pleasure. Skin. Skin. Skin.

I want to look into a pair of eyes and see respect. I want to see someone seeing me as an upright, not uptight, not loose either, in between, hair loose, clicking heels, and a straight back, woman. A woman. Not a girl. Someone who can be by herself. Someone who can smile and raise a glass to a group. To come over, sit on a backwards chair, and say, “Hello.” Someone who can touch skin and stop and say, “That’s enough. I don’t need you.” Or to entwine fingers and lay a head on the shoulder and say, “This is enough. Just what I need.” Or to look into eyes and see what’s being said. And listening, and hearing, and understanding. And knowing what to say. And that it’s not sweat, blood, tears, or any of that. It’s not forgetting. It’s not losing. It’s not escaping. It’s just sitting here in reality and looking.

It’s stopping second-guessing. It’s living.

And to live…right now…and stop this worrying…

I need to be my own lover/sister/mother/daughter/fuck-buddy/girlfriend/angel/temptress/goddess and student.

Or something.

Not to say “skin” is just empty. It is also. Love. Connection. Friendship. Comfort. Blanketing. Real. Momentarily forever. Valued. Satisfied. Enveloping. Surrounding. Electrifying. Affectionate. Skin.

(January 31, 2007) (all names changed, even nicknames)

eventtime: 2007-01-31 23:15:00

itemid: 5270

I feel so torn. I like those ridiculous stoners. But they are so cruel. I don’t understand why, or how, but I like [The Engineer], and I care about him, and I feel caught between, even though it’s very very simple, that I cannot respect people who treat one of my best friends like The Court Jester.


Where am I gonna get my pot? 😉



But we’re not best friends. Nowhere near BFF. In fact, we can’t stand each other. But I don’t see why….I don’t know why I don’t see it (perhaps I have a soul)…why it’s funny or fun to treat him like a doormat, a pet, a slave, and a jester.

Nor have I seen people turn so quickly from amused cruelty to oozing charm, just from someone leaving and entering a room.

I sat there listening also to these two boys who were supposedly his closer friends, laughing about how many times he’s been taken advantage of. [Lara], this upright, attractive, polite young woman who’s going to be a lawyer, laughing about the pranks she herself has pulled, and how many many times they have tortured [the Engineer], my [Engineer], for their amusement.

And how many times [Marina] talks him into forgiving them. And how many times he does. And how many times they abuse his trust again. And again.

And me in the middle, attracted to these cruel people? I am possibly a joke as well, except I somehow manage to be suave. Well, except when they see, and point out, how much the two of us probably belong together. But I try, I try, to be likeable, and they “genuinely” like me.

That must be the thing about these three. They are smooth talkers. Con artists. Not much more.

Although I have seen [Marina] be more. And saw intelligence and spirit I admired in [Lara]. Though not much in [Patrick]. But…but…but….What about when they’re stumbling around, drunk as hell, laughing at us?

They KNOW we hooked up. They know how much emotion I invested in it. Last September/October I practically created a huge neon sign pointing at the two of us. I included those three in it.

[Marina] asks me, “What happened after you two left?” and wisely, this time, I said, “Nothing.”

But then I get drunk and tell that asshole longhaired guy everything, and he feins the marriage counselor, before getting so drunk he knocks us over. I rightly smartened up and told him off. But it was probably my fault too, to even include him, to even acknowledge him, to even answer [the Engineer]’s questions about what’s between us or not, when we’re surrounded by these people.

That’s the thing about alcohol and drugs and the people who do them. And assholes. And banter. And cruel jokes. And the weak guy. And the clueless guy. And the shots. And the touches. And the drama.

It’s just so much more interesting than Renaissance Studies.

But the thing I gotta realize, is it’s all bullshit.

And I’m glad I live on the other side of campus.


I was in this situation once, long ago. It was elementary school, and during a very brief period of time, I was a fairly popular girl. I remember one day I was surrounded by some people, and we were playing or whatever. Then they began tormenting this little blonde girl, [Lizzie]. Me and one other girl became angry, and defended her, and ran off to comfort her as she cried on the other side of the playground.

The girls said to us

“What are you doing that for? It’s just [Lizzie]”

It was middle school. I never liked [Lizzie] much, but her spirit and optimism amused me (when it wasn’t pissing me off) so I hung around with her on field trips and music class and things. In middle school we became closer, and started hanging out together, when my friends from elementary school became “popular” and I labeled myself as misfit.

We were at the YMCA and we found a dying bird. We wrapped it in a towel, and tried to save it, but then it turned out that ten 6th graders do not Animal Rescue Services make. So we had to let the bird die on its own.

There was an argument over the towel. I can’t for the life of me remember why. But this very tall girl began approaching [Lizzie] and they began to argue, and the taller girl threatened [Lizzie], or so I thought. I very suddenly, without thinking, decided to step between them and defend her. The girl did a “Yeah so?” kinda thing, so I punched her.

Or at least, I tried to punch her.

I never punched anyone again. (Except [Navy], but he doesn’t count)

I grazed her jaw. The girl was too shocked to respond. Probably too smart, as well.

For some reason I can’t fathom, perhaps our being ditched by our parents, we remained at the Y, and went swimming. Then we went in the sauna, and a trial was held, condemning me to…well, if we’d been boys, an asskicking, but I suppose my punishment was general Exile. It was asked, why on earth would you punch that girl? I said I had believed I was defending [Lizzie]

They asked why

I said why wouldn’t I


Highschool saw me lose my honor, though, because there were countless times I took the wrong side, just because it was easier, or amusing, to make fun of someone. I only remember two distinct times I was loyal, and they both include the same woman, but I think I’ve lost my guts, because I want to be accepted much more badly than I did back then



There’s this strange thing with names.

I knew a guy named [Jackson]. I was hurting from (who else?) and yet still drawn to Assholes, and when I met him, he was funny. The second time I met him, he was kind. The third time, he was flirty. I was sold.

The MAIN reason I like [Jackson] was because he was so fucking bitter and angry, and I was so fucking bitter and angry, and we could be fucking bitter and angry together.

Everyone called him [Jackie], which he said once he didn’t much appreciate, so I decided to call him [Jack].

I later found out we didn’t have much in common, he thought I was unattractive and crazy, he was the most obnoxious man on earth when he was drunk, yadda yadda yadda, I left the country, he graduated.

The main drama at the time was he had split himself away from this group of friends, and there was all this stupid drama and shit, as usual.

But I just remember the way they would say [Jackie], and the way they would speak about him like he was less than human, even though in this case he really did deserve an asskicking, because he was a huge asshole. But I could relate, because at the time, I was one too.

(Though he was never a huge asshole to me. He was always patient and kind. He was the sort who talks behind your back, as most of us do, and the memory I have is of someone who was thrown the hardball of hooking up with the crazy girl, and who stayed and helped her anyway because he had gone through the same thing)

What does any of this have to do with anything?

Well…everyone calls [the Engineer] “[Salian],” which is a name he coined himself, but has since garnered the “[Jackie]” status of meaning, which is to say, “Oh that’s just [Salian],” with all the amusement and disgust one could possibly put behind the name when uttering it.

So I don’t call him [Salian]. I don’t even call [Jack], [Jackie], even though I hate him now. There’s such a weird vibe to the nicknames that leaves a bad taste in my mouth, because I feel I knew [Jack], not [Jackie], and [the Engineer], not [Salian], and that, in some way, the two names actually refer to two entirely different people.

Okay, I swear I’m not smokin dope

Enough of this…


Later Later:

OMG They conned him AGAIN

He’s having their fucking party

What the fuck, [Engineer]

And now I’m tempted to go, even though I just told him I wasn’t going to, because I know there’s gonna be a fight (it’s like, unavoidable).

(December 11, 2011)

I’m not sure why on Earth I’m putting this here. It was hard to change all the names, but I’m paranoid.

The [Kid] Complex

…Then I went over to the premiere and run in mostly late and all the food is already eaten, but [The Kid] tells me to come up and sit with him. (And [Jose].)

So we watch the show, and there are annoying girls behind us but they know [Linda], and people like the show, such as it is, and the last two episodes are AMAZING.

So we all get applause and stuff, and we take photos, and then I grab [The Kid] and we run off to [the bar] so I can get some food and we can get beers.

About 10:15 we start heading over to [Jack]’s house, but we arrive at 10:30 on the dot to find no one there.

[Nate] and [Jack] drive up with beer, and then people start slowly showing up while we hang out playing beer-less beer pong with [Jack] and [Nate]’s roommates.

Eventually lots of people from [our TV series] show up and we dance and drink and play games and talk and all that party stuff. Lots of shouting “Eyyyy!” when people enter the house, which reminded me, of course, of high school. (And [my old gang].)

We shoot rum and [The Kid] gets sick. Later, [Jeena] gets sick.

[The Kid] and I sit down on the couch and he makes that comment, again, saying,

“It’s stuff like this that makes people ‘ship us.” or something like that.

I get upset with him

(and every move I make this whole night I blame on the vodka and rum and beer, but I have so little, I lie and lie and lie)

and say he shouldn’t have brought it up. HE gets upset and passive-aggressive and guilty. (But does apologize.)

I want to be explicitly clear about why I act the way I do about all this and say,

“You do know how I feel about you, right?”

And we make a truce and he has to remind me, sternly,

“You’re the only person in this program I give a *damn* about.”

The kerfluffle leaves me flustered, of course. Everything that bothers me leaves me flustered.

So I grab [Tina] and this is when I start using vodka as an excuse. She hears the whole story and tells me to seek out a guy that’s older than me. She points out that young men are immature, and gestures at the table of people playing flip-cup as evidence.

Later that night, we run out of beer, so the plan is to go to [Marty Lipman]’s house over on [Shade Street]. [The Kid] says he’s going home. And so he does. So does another girl I don’t know.

He looks at me walking away sort of reluctantly, but I wave and turn and head onward.

[Marty Lipman] Is Really Gay 

(No, really, he tried to “convert” [Joshua Lir])

The party doesn’t surprise me at all. It, like every undergrad party in [this town], reminds me of undergrad. We find a lavishly decorated house covered in Christmas lights, and inside the expansive attic, which has a bar inlaid with bottlecaps on which attractive young women dance, (and later [Cully] and [Kirk] leap on top of it), and a large beer pong table. Christmas lights criss-cross the beams.

I get separated from the group, though, who all followed [Kirk] to his house on [Hoop Ave].

I talk to undergrads (and [Tom]) about life and being 27 and crap, (I forgot to mention, me and this kid [Tom] won two rounds of beer-less beer pong at [Nate]’s house), and [Joshua Lir], [Michael], and [Bea] are there. [Bea] says, like she told me and [The Kid] earlier in the night, she had wanted to avoid [Nate] and [Peter] “until (she) was intoxicated.” Finally [Nate] and [Peter] enter the attic and have a serious powwow with [Bea]. I think there’s a truce, but I leave them alone to discuss.

Then I spot [The DJ], of all people, and he is pretty drunk. Then again, he acts like he always does around me, too, so I don’t know. (Funny aside: [Karen] is angry at [The DJ] because he fucks with the computers in the editing suites.) I spot [Mack Gregson] (carrying a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke mixed with Jack Daniels) and am very happy to see him because some things don’t change. He doesn’t see it, though, because I’m anxious to get out of this attic. I have my down jacket on and tell the pair I was heading out the door to go to [Kirk]’s house. They try and talk me into staying. A curious interaction happens which just makes me feel like a lame-o. [Mack] grabs me in for a one-handed hug and kisses me on the head, but I can feel his lips mostly on my forehead. I stammer a goofy, uncomfortable, “Uhh, okaaaay,” and he immediately says, matter-of-fact, “Don’t read into it.” Are people psychic, or something? That I read into everything with everyone? Or is he just being [Mack] and would’ve said that to anyone who squirmed away uncomfortably? I hate being myself and having my imagination.

(“[Michael] kissed us on the head, too,” [Tina] says. [Michael] is shorter than the towering [Mack], though, so I dunno how that worked. Probably more uncomfortable, haha.)

[The DJ] and [Mack] are trying unsuccessfully to play beer pong with some people who can’t decide on team members. I keep trying to get away but I feel conflicted. I have had hardly anything to drink but two very light screwdrivers, half a shot of rum, and a solo cup of beer. I did this because of the Lamictal, and because of [The Kid], and because I didn’t want to get sick, but I want to remain. It’s only 2 a.m. But [Mack] points out, when I keep annoyingly asking him how he ended up at [Marty Lipman]’s house, of all people,

Paraphrased – “I like these undergrad parties because it reminds me how much more mature we are now.”

([Kirk] walks in, so it turns out everyone’s either going home or coming here. Unfortunately, [Jeena] was very sick and [Aaliyah] was exhausted, so they headed home and tried to get me to come with them over text.)

I go downstairs to the bathroom and [Tina] and [Danielle] have showed up to retrieve me and drive me home. I go up to get my coat and say goodbye to [Mack] and [The DJ], because honestly, I barely know them and I feel like something’s ending, this semester. They asked me if I planned on coming back for spring semester, and I said yes, I am. They said good, and they’ll see me when we all come back.

/sigh. I dunno why I care about these people. Most of the time I hate their guts….

(December 10, 2011)

So today was a BIG day for me. It was the second-to-last day in [TV Production class], and second-to-last day on the crew of [our show.]

We did something [Chuck] told me was very unique and “interesting,” and that he had never experienced before, and [The Kid] was terrified beforehand, relieved after, and [Bea] started crying. No, we didn’t all have an orgy.

Relevant, hilarious Torchwood scene:

[Our professor] critiqued and, at times, graded us in front of the entire class, and then other students piped in with their observations and opinions, both positive and negative. They tread very lightly with me, probably afraid I’d burst into tears like usual, and I felt like they let me off easy. [Bea], though, honestly thinks I have potential.

Poor [Bea] got a shitty review, because although we will all freely admit she is FUCKING BRILLIANT, only [our professor] told her this in front of the class. I forgot to. [The professor] and others piped in with her negative qualities, and [Bea] started to tear up and hid her crying.

Other than that it was interesting. I, of course, ‘cuz I’m wicked lame, spoke up for [The Kid], and got [Cully] to admit that “[The Kid]’s the fucking man,” and if we didn’t have [The Kid], we wouldn’t have (the character) Paul. (They too all liked his new shaven look and haircut.)

Tension this week was amplified by my own psychological fucked-up-ness, but on Sunday I said, “Last night never happened,” and [The Kid] agreed it should remain forgotten. Okay, so he actually said, it IS (i.e. WILL BE) forgotten told me no, it didn’t, and to “forget it.” And when I Google shit like, “What happens when you get turned down by that weird beardy dude who might be gay and he’s your best friend in the entire state of goddamn New York?” the blogs all say, “Move on and don’t mention it again.”

So he didn’t, but I did, more or less, by my skittish behavior around him, which was more skittish than usual, because in the past, who knows how he interpreted it, and now it was obvious why I was behaving that way. Then again, none of this leaves his mouth. In our continuing discussions to get to know each other, I found he’s very much got that manly trait of only saying things that are relevant, and a sort of old-world quality, especially when it comes to texting and instant messaging, (both of) which he dislikes.

Anyway, things got tense and I got lame and pissed off [Dee]. She made some good points I think I remember her making all along throughout the year, since July, that this is graduate school, and the work is what is most important. There’s a part of me that prays that [Dee] and [Ling] will forget, and along with [The Kid], really, about 98% of the personal things I’ve shared with them this year and this semester.

Work on the project was paramount, but it was never in the forefront of my mind until this week, when completing our research paper was our most important task. With others handling [our TV show], [The Kid] and I were free to concentrate our energies on our research project with [Dee] and [Ling], but I wasn’t the only one to let my mind wander. Even with whatever else is going on in his head, it’s less than what’s going on in mine (not less important, especially with the despair he said he felt back on Saturday night, but he’s so calm), and yet [The Kid] did as little, if not less, work. Then again he’s background guy, like we said to him in TV Production today. He did all kinds of miscellaneous tasks and writing we needed completed for the project. He also wrote some essays that were incorporated into our final paper. But honestly, all three of them admitted, with all my faults, I’m the best writer in the group. Okay, so maybe they didn’t say that. But it was hinted. (‘Cuz it’s true. LOL)

So what does any of this have to do with any of the crazy, stupid bullshit I pulled this year? (Or more specifically, this semester.)

If I really had been in love with [The Kid], of all goddamn people, I would have worked harder to make things civil. I would have done more work on our research paper to get us, and him, a better grade. I would not treat him like a psychiatrist. I would not clumsily try and launch myself at him. I would be nicer.

I sit near him though, and even with the things I projected onto this BROTHER of mine, and foolish things I said and did to him, I feel comfort. I don’t want to fuck him. That’s too…I mean, it doesn’t cross his mind at all. I’m not that. But I told [The Photographer], self-deprecatingly, that I would fuck anything that moves, provided I can actually fuck again. (Goddamn vulvodynia! Annnnd falling in “love” with people that don’t want you. And school. And bipolar disorder.) This is the [Eris] I feel haunted by, even though she was young, reckless, stupid and is, most importantly, in the past. I even said that to [The Journalist], that I wanted to change. But I blew him anyway.

Not that blowing [The Journalist] (who I keep running into in hallways) was necessarily a “return to form” for me, but I remember having a depressive episode and thinking that was the case.

I wonder if he knows I’m bipolar?

But then again, as [The Musician] said this weekend over IM, “It’s a problem, not an answer. One that REQUIRES a solution.”

So let me get back to the feelings I felt today with my…feelingness. /sighs. I’m going to have to say goodbye to this, whatever the fuck it was. “It’s all over,” he said, meaning TV Production and [our show]but this whole bizarre stupid experiment dream crap in my brain is also over. Companions no longer.

We’ve been project partners since July. That’s the only reason I ever hung out with the kid, until I found myself wanting to. I told him I was lonely and desperate, to try and explain my repulsive, desperate behavior (Saturday night), but he’s…

Every place I end up, I end up, if I’m lucky, with some kind of anchor.

But that’s not the case. /shakes head. And not only because we’re just classmates, neighbors, and I’m “a good friend,” and when he’s drunk, like a “sister,” but because…[The Kid] is a disturbed young man with a lot of problems he needs to figure out. Why do damaged people get drawn to each other? We wondered on Saturday.

But I’m not expressing it, I’m psychoanalyzing bullshit again. No, today, all day today, even as [Dee] and [Ling] were crumbling before our very eyes, when it came to completing our research project, I was happy to be next to him, to look him in the eye (which we do, now, and didn’t at the beginning of July), and to see…You can see his face, now, which…

Man, if you saw a picture of this kid, you would laugh at me SO hard.

Anyway, tomorrow is the last day I’ll see him before next semester, unless I bump into him or he wants to see me, or whatever, that never happens unless we’re stuck somewhere like the set of [our show], in the scene dock, bored out of our minds, eating chocolate or complaining about something or musing on life and entertainment or teasing each other. Driving a jeep two hours away to [an animal rescue]. And driving the two hours back again. Downing a bottle of red wine and cursing shitty Internet connections.

I knew as soon as I met him I would fall for him, in some way or another. I knew it when he sat down in my kitchen and we argued the existence of God, and I got in his car, as he drove, and saw those ugly, bitten-down fingernails and took his hand to get a closer look.

It’s all irrelevant, [The Kid] would say, or doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care. And what I pray, as well, is that he doesn’t care how mad or crazy I get. That he’ll be there.

But that’s not gonna be the case any longer. It’s…

It’s winter now. New beginnings for the spring.

That didn’t explain it either. It’s the way I can…

(It’s the way I psychically reach out behind me to feel his warm presence there. It’s the way I try and ignore it when he’s there and I can’t bear it. It’s sitting across from a table with him or in a car on the road or…So dumb. I feel sad, now.)

He didn’t mean it the way I interpreted it that Friday, but it was like gravitation, this year. /sighs.

I want him to go to the party tomorrow night. I’ll stay sober, this time, but I want one last big hurrah. And I want him to be there with me for it.

I wonder if he will go? Do I have the power to make him go to such things, anymore?

(February 28, 2012)

It’s been a long time. I think I developed this at a very young age. Probably when I was just a kid. I’ve known all that time that I was “crazy,” as I put it. My family is very old-fashioned and always assumed I’d grow out of my “phase,” but the phase continued, and continued, and finally my freshman year of undergrad – 2004 – a lover told me to go see our college’s mental health services.

It was a disaster, which is just as well. The following year I had a bit of a breakdown, but determined to continue school, I did two things: I went back to mental health services, and I went and did study abroad in another country.

There I had a miserable time, at least according to my old diaries, but my memories are positive. I remember being in love. I remember being bad at the relationship, but ultimately I idealize it in my head. Because although it wasn’t the most functional romance, it was still the best sex I ever had. To date. I was 20.

I’m 27 now. And that year, 21 years old, I went back home and went back to mental health services. Finally I went on meds, but they didn’t know what to put me on. They put me on an SSRI. I also requested Wellbutrin. Celexa and Wellbutrin I had for a while, until I went off Wellbutrin and then went on Lexapro. Then I went into my most dysfunctional relationship yet…

It was a disaster. I was paranoid all the time. That crumbled after I cheated. A lot. I think I have hypersexuality…But it could just be normal sexuality…I don’t know. I’ve never known any different. I don’t hold onto female friends very easily and the female friends I do have, I’m always too embarrassed to talk about sex or relationships because I’m afraid they’ll find out what a whore I am.

Crazy whore. That’s how I think of myself. I can’t help it.

Finally I demand to quit Lexapro. The doctor doesn’t think I should. She still thinks I have anxiety and depression, even though I exhibit powerful anger. Blind, blind, blind.

I change insurance anyway and have to leave my oblivious psychologist and psychiatrist.

I end up with a different pair – a nurse and a social worker – who immediately know what’s up. The anger MUST be dealt with. They don’t have a definitive definition for me but they badger me to take Lamictal.

It’s like a transformation, but I don’t see it at the time. I’m resentful the entire time I’m on it. It doesn’t change my personality, just the intensity of my moods and frequency of my episodes. They cut down significantly. I find a paid job and a couple of volunteer jobs. My anger doesn’t flare up. I keep them.

Finally I quit Lamictal. I insist and insist and the two of them have no choice but to help me titrate down off it. I blow up again. I’m in denial that it’s the withdrawal. I’m convinced I can help myself “naturally.”

I get into graduate school (I had done all the work to get in when I was on Lamictal) and I move out there. I immediately fall head over heels for a lover from the journalism department – I’m in film/TV – and he’s taken aback, to say the least. We have to split up.

I obsess and stalk and berate and harass him for months.

Luckily I fall for my best friend. I don’t reveal to him for a long time how I feel, however, convinced that one day he’ll reciprocate. That he’s just not sure. That the feelings are growing.

I end up telling him and I’m shattered. The thought never once crossed his mind.

My grandmother almost dies so I topple a bookcase and break a lamp and cause a scene.

The doctors save her.

I go back on Lamictal.

Once again, it’s like a transformation. I see it now, how different I feel on the Lamictal and off of it. I regret everything that’s happened, every class I missed crying, every classmate I alienated with my anger and pathos and stupid bullshit. Every horrible, hateful thing I said to the Journalist and about him. Every tearful scene I made with my crush.

So Christmas break comes and I’m coerced into hooking up with a long-time Internet lover, but IRL. And it’s horrible.

I’m told I’m the horrible one, however, for coming online and complaining about my problems every day to him over instant message. That I’m a hypocrite. That I use him.

But I think back to crying in bed with him. High and hating myself. Hating him. Giving him what he wants. That’s what I do. That’s what I’m good for.

So I come back for the spring semester and this Biologist shows interest in me. He kisses me. I act weird. I suck it up and a couple days later text him asking him on a date. He says we have “very different ideas about sex.” He wants a casual fling until his girlfriend comes back.

I used to be that casual fling until the girlfriend came back. I used to be the crazy whore who gave blowjobs but you wouldn’t bring home to your mom. I am totally that chick! What happened to me?

I keep falling in love instead. It’s more powerful all the time. I yearn for touch, I yearn to have sex again, but I fall head over heels for anybody who’s even nice to me. My crush…my friend…I act so weird around him. I still want him. I’m still “just like (his) sister.”

I wonder how much is me and how much is bipolar.