7 posts tagged “sad”
Yeah, this guy? He pretty much needs to kill himself.
Laugh Factory "Irish" redhead at Dane cook show 8/23 - m4w (Hollywood, California)
Reply to: pers-810781986@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-08-24, 10:57AM PDT
Hey, Red. You were there with an Asian guy (The "Future Doctor") You
were the almost Irish girl... :) I was the guy in the front row with
the glasses sitting on the end next to the three girls. (We were
looking at each other all night in the VIP and during the whole show)
I'd love to get a chance to actually talk to you (as opposed to just
staring all night) Write me back... I promise you're not going to be
disappointed...
This is an email I received around Christmas time that was just re-forwarded to me by its original author who follows my Twitter feed:
I can't believe I just spent 30 minutes reading your blogs.
They are like a bloody car crash, but I love them.
Can I just say for the record, that I am both completely conscious and unconscious of my utter lack of impulse control that often manifests itself as a blog entry? I know I'm doing it before, during and after doing it, but I don't know how to stop. Living extremely candidly when I feel the urge has been what's best for me in a lot of ways. Don't get me wrong, I'm not doing Julia Allison traffic over here-- hello bombs! It's a random personal blog that has some pretty passionate readers and stuff. Let's keep it loose. I don't want to drag everyone through the mud with me when I'm not feeling happy or snarky, but I am a person. I've got all of the emotions and sometimes I have all of them at the same time.
Yes, I have totally written things on this blog with tears streaming down my face so hard that I could barely make out the words I was typing (BTW, what an attractive mental image. Can you shoot me for including that? This is exactly what I mean. Thank you for allowing me to prove my previous point. Moving on...) Yes, I've been writing some things here and elsewhere and been simultaneously thinking "Molly, the consequences of putting this out there could be people thinking shitty things about you, those that you're writing about, and your mother for not raising you to just shut the fuck up and deal the way people did before blogs existed." I realize that there are quite a number of people I could have almost wrecklessly offended or hurt with some of the things I've said. Part of me completely hates myself for it at times... Am I going to die alone because I'm like this? Maybe. I have learned that even though that's the last thing I want, it might be exactly what I get. It's cool because I guess it just fucking has to be. [Note to LAT/NYT editors who will undoubtedly pick up this up for the think-piece you write about me: "It's cool because I guess it just fucking has to be." is the quote I would like to have next to the smiling picture of my face, blown up and in italics. I know you don't usually swear in the newspaper, but "fucking" is a helluva lot less offensive than some of your recent reporting. I don't need to give examples. Plus, I get all my information from blogs and second-hand from my friends. But you know what I'm talking about. Point: McAleer. Email me.]
If I write about being hurt or upset or scared, it's not an open invitation for people to validate me. As much as I am an attention-whoring love-sponge, I am also a big fucking girl. I just happen to document a fair portion of my life in a ridiculously public manner. Not every day is going to be sunshine and roses or iced coffee and bong hits. Not every boy I care about is going to feel the same way back. Not every work day, even at the best jobs, is going to be challenging in an interesting or fun way.
In an ideal world, I would wake up in a bed made of down feathers at 9 am, go swimming at the beach and spend the rest of the day watching movies and eating candy in my bathing suit. I'd have this really funny and awesome boyfriend who gets it and wants to pass the time with me whenever we aren't off somewhere being awesome individuals. But that's not my life or anyone's life. I would say that until up about a week ago, it sounded like Kate Hudson's life but we all know that even she can't keep her shit together.
If Kate Hudson is allowed to get dumped by a uniballed bike-jockey, then I am allowed to write about my feelings nearly inconsequentially all over the fucking internet. I'm sorry, that's just how logic works. If you don't get it, you must not have taken a logic class in school and therefor your issue is not with me, but your parents or whomever raised you for not making your high school education a sturdy one.
I hate to sweep something under the rug that started fairly earnestly with dumb jokes about testicular cancer. Here: If your read this blog, which the author herself is admitting is a completely self-indulgent, typically mindless series of anecdotes, jokes and shit she found on the internet, I expect that you're probably a mix of the following: horrified, intrigued, concerned, empathetic, mildly otherwise-amused, and possibly fairly indifferent but you have a lot of time at work/you masturbate while looking at the pictures of either myself or Ed. In response to all emotions listed above and more, I say this to you: I feel the same way reading it, too. I'm learning a lot about myself and that feels really good because I'm enormously self-involved.
And just one last final and completely unrelated note: My beloved partner in crime over at Bedtime had a birthday yesterday and he deserves something pretty awesome, but I was busy with me all day. The one thing he asked is that whatever I get him should be sexy.
Well, Alex. We talked about the nudie pics and I'm sorry, but no dice. What I can do for you is attempt to get you laid. and maybe a girlfriend.
Ladies, if you live in NYC, preferably Brooklyn and more specifically Williamsburg, email Alex. He's cute as cute can be. He's in a band. He makes movies on the internet. He respects the ladies and he's probably romantic and stuff. Someone I know once saw a video of his dick and said that it was "a good one." Let's put it this way: he's like bacon. He's super funny and has awesome taste in bad movies.
Hope that works, Buddy. If it hasn't worked by the time I'm in NY in the fall, I will buy you a high-class hooker and medium sized amount of the liquor of your choice.
About a year and a half ago I was really into making self portraits in which I was doing awesome things, like stabbing myself in the face with a pencil or discovering ants in my kitchen. Apparently Tiny Pic deleted them all from MySpace, so they are gone forever. That's pretty sad. Thankfully I found this one on Facebook of me scoring a slam dunk.
I've been really busy lately, hence the lack of constant updates. I still think I'm doing pretty well, huh?
Today is Mark Lisanti's last day at Defamer. It's something that I've known was coming for months now, but it probably won't start truly sinking in until Monday. I don't know if I've ever really gotten into how much I respect and admire Mark on my blog before, but now seems as good a time as any.
I first found Defamer when I was a junior at Boston College. I had never seen a blog before that covered all the topics I was interested in and did so in a way that was completely fresh... enlightening, snarky, playful, witty, smart, perfect. Reading Defamer in my bed between classes was something I looked forward to every day. One story I always tell, something I remember totally clearly, is how I was laying in my bed one day, browsing the site like I always did and thinking to myself "I really hope that some day I am lucky enough to work for a site like this." Like it. I never thought I'd actually be working for this website that made such a difference in my life. It seems silly to say that reading a blog can change your life, but when it's something so new, something that changes the way you digest your information, something that raises the bar for what you expose yourself to... well, then yeah. It can totally change your life.
Mark has been someone who has never been anything short of incredible to me. I am kind of a wreck, people. Everyday I've known him, Mark has not only tolerated my shenanigans, but always made me feel respected and appreciated. I would have done all the work I have even if he didn't, and I think he knows that. He just would never be anything short of sweet and funny and kind (and as I write all of this, I kick myself for my banal word choice, and it seems unfair to write something so poorly about someone who I consider to be one of the best writers ever).
Anyway, his presence in my daily life and on Defamer will be something greatly missed. I have faith that Defamer will soldier on as one of the best blogs in the History of the Internet, but only because of the man that laid its foundation.
I'm feeling kind of sad today. Everything was going OK until a couple hours ago. Now I'm having Sunday feelings. I don't want to work in the morning. I don't want a new week to start. I was tomorrow to be a new day of the week called "Cryday". It will fall between Sunday and Monday and it will be the day of the week reserved for crying in bed.
Here are some pictures from today:
My friend and I giggled for a few minutes over the name of this breakfast sandwich. It's the "two times" that was killing us.
