Monthly Archives: October 2011

the devolution of an evening

1. Party tonight!  Halloween Party the First!

2. I should get dressed in my costume for the party now, so I am ready.

3. I’ll watch the pilot of Walking Dead, since there’s time before I leave.  It will get me in the mood for a Halloween party.

4. This is probably not something I should watch before going out alone into the night.


6. Google Maps says I have to walk through that area where a woman got attacked last weekend in order to get to the party.

7. I wish I had someone to go with me.

8. Why am I falling asleep? Stop falling asleep, it’s 10:30.  Fuck, I forgot to take a nap earlier.  That’s what this is about.

9. Maybe I should stay home.

10. I am going to a Halloween party tomorrow night, too. There will be other chances to get drunk with costumed acquaintances.

10. I will stay home and drink beer and watch zombies drag their entrails.

11. No, I’ll make a whiskey with hot cocoa.  Better idea.

12. After this episode I’ll make that hot cokie, I will.  Also I should probably change out of my costume.  But then I’d have to take the Snuggie off.

13. Okay, really?  Falling asleep at the very end of The Walking Dead?  You’ve made it through one episode.  Jeepers.

14. I can’t get up from this couch.  Ever.

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dear diary: the past five days

1. heard a good joke (“So an untalented limbo competitor walks into a bar(re)”)

2. listened to Sage Francis

3. told a stranger in a bar about that time a poledancer, much to my surprise, flashed me

4. listened to Josh Lederman

5. told a hot dog vendor about the time I sold someone a Wiffle bat because, she said, her husband “liked to be beaten”

6. bought patterned tights

7. lost a swordfight

8. slowdanced with a stranger in a kitchen

9. won free three-month subscriptions to three ladymags, including the grandiose and absurd Cosmopolitan

10. built a heart from clockworks and glue

11. bought milk to replace my roommate’s, which I had used to make pasta sauce

12. launched a Kickstarter campaign for Broad!


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saying yes to m!ch!gan

Today I ate cherry salsa on cherry tortilla chips (???) and saw a dude drive by with his hand out the window, covered in a white handkerchief, shouting BOO! at passersby. Also there are no less than three “Oriental Health Spa” billboard advertisements on the stretch on 94 between Kzoo and Ann Arbor, and apparently around 3:35 this afternoon 88.3 FM was playing “Sitar Funk.” Only in Michigan, amirite ladies?

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an open letter to the concern troll behind me in line at the grocery store

Dear Sir:

The funny thing about my body –– y’know, the one with the big ass and big tits you were eyeballing and the big everything else –– is that it belongs to me.  (Who knew?)  Which means that whatever I choose to put in it is my decision and no one else’s.  If I decide I want to eat two Oreos a night for a few weeks because it’s the most cost-effective way to manage my chocolate intake, so be it.  Even if I decide to throw caution to the wind and disregard the exorbitant “healthcare costs you’ll be paying later,” as you so eloquently phrased it, in favor of eating the whole fucking box tonight, that is my decision to make and mine alone.  I could eat Oreos for breakfast if I wanted.  A whole sleeve for afternoon tea!  Because I’m a grown woman and what I put in my body is my own fucking business.

I went to the grocery store to get cereal, Oreos and a frozen pizza, not a lecture from you.  So you can take your expensive coconut water and your road bicycle and shove it.


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this is just to say

I have found
a totally heretofore undiscovered health foods store
it was on
oakland drive
vegan cream cheese was forty cents less than at the co-op
plus a 10% student discount

money which
would otherwise probably
have gone to support
a local community-oriented store
with an active membership

Forgive me
it was perfect
so cheap
and such an impressive bulk foods section


with respect to william carlos williams and batia’s kitchen curtain.

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“the record of a woman struggling for clarity in dialogue with herself”

So I started reading Anais Nin’s Henry and June.  Spoiler alert: Anais falls for both Henry and his wife June, though not in that order.

(“Pooooorn,” Emma said, drolly, when I picked it up in the bookstore.  “You would probably like it though.”  Good, I’d said, I read part of it before and liked it, and had been meaning to finish it for a year.)

Henry and June, as you’ll probs know, is made up of uncensored extracts of Anais Nin’s diary from 1931-1932, and it reads like it; the prose, even when it’s abstractly flowery, makes clear enough what happens with Henry, June, her husband Hugo, and a couple other men.  Put succinctly: there’s a lot of sexin’.  That doesn’t faze me.  What gets me are the moments when Anais writes, “I let [So-and-so] read my journal.”  These So-and-Sos include Henry, their friend Fred, and her brother Joaquin.  Those are the bits that catch me up and make me think: sorry, what?  How brave, and strange, to let someone read one’s diary.  Particularly that diary.  How bizarre to do that.  And yet what is blogging, if not the same thing?  Of course our thoughts are censored, edited, while Anais Nin seems to just let everything out there.  Still.

When I started Broad! and decided to open submissions to creative nonfiction, I hoped for pieces of a raw, true, personal writing, the feelings-heavy kind that the Rumpus or Thought Catalog specialize in.  Then I feared that no one would actually submit to Broad! and debated whether I should write something myself in case I needed to fill up some space in the zine, like the editors at McSweeney’s did when they launched.  But you submitted, so many of you!  Thank God.  I don’t want to exploit Broad! as a platform for myself, that’s not the point or fair, and even if I had begun with those intentions –– well, I do not have the guts.  Everything I’ve written that’s even close to Rumpus-like feels too personal to print.  I am not Anais Nin.

Except maybe I can be, a little bit?  The other day, the State asked me why I didn’t continue with my LJ (aside from the fact that I am not 17 years old).  “I’m a much more private person now,” I said.

“‘A more private person,'” he repeated.  “This coming from someone who now has nudes.”*

Anais Nin says in Henry and June that she censors herself as she writes her diary, only records the most exciting events, that her words are lies and embellishments.  She is “afraid of not having been truthful enough” –– to Henry, Hugo, herself.  Is that my problem?  I am not afraid to be honest with myself, but am I afraid to peel back the robot chest panels (so to speak)?  Yes.  And no.

I guess the point is, I have nudes now.

*also known as “photos from that time I did burlesque in July,” and sorry, they are not on the Internet (…yet)

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