know your shame

I'm sorry, VVV, I just didn't want to be the bad guy, either. I didn't understand.

and I didn't realize I was being so intrusive. I mean, you called me this weekend. you just sent me this fucking e-mail. how did you expect me to know I was harassing you? why didn't you just say so? I would have left you alone.

frankly, I don't think I'll ever understand, but at least now I know. it won't happen again. look, VVV, I really loved you. I wish things could have been different for us.

I'm sorry that it's come to this, but I guess it's time. and I'm sad you've stopped caring, but I'm looking forward to forgetting you.

please let me go, now. we've been apart too long for me to feel like this.

Oh, this again. Dear reader, you know what is most shameful about this e-mail? That none of it needed to be said. It's all been said before.

Reader, you believe me, right? You know that if someone told me I was harassing them--no matter how much I do love to harass a person--I have pride enough that I'd let it go. Well, you know what, reader, VVV should have known that , too. But that last line is unforgiveable. I pride myself in being able to reclaim my shame, but that, dear reader, is too weak. Too shameful. Learn from my mistakes.

You see, dear reader, there are some things you can't understand, but you have to know. And once you do, that's all you get.

musical shame

exhibit A:
as soon as I said yes, I immediately regretted it. oh well... but, you know what I think I like him. oh, I say that about everybody I guess...

exhibit B:
yeah, well, a hate fuck is a hate fuck. but it was fun I guess. he's cute. had to fucking bail afterwards though. I should really stop doing that. guys think it's weird.

exhibit C:
I'm so sorry--I know that out of context that must have sounded bad. um, right. I'm that asshole. but for whatever it's worth I meant it when I said I had a good time.

Oh, dear reader, did you miss me as much as I missed you? Did you think that perhaps your friend AAA had stopped humiliating herself via the written word? Of course you didn't, you're far to clever for that. You knew that it was simply a short attention span that was keeping her from you. Well don't worry, all that is over now.

To celebrate this return to shame, I've composed a medely of ill-fated text messages for you (which is fitting for a varitey of reasons we won't get into here). I call it: "Ode to a Hate Fuck."

Let's start with exhibit A or, as I like to call it, the begininng of the shame. Here we have a clear-cut example of sending a text not to the person you're trying to write to, but instead to the person you're writing about.

Ehibit B sent a week or so later is, of course, more of the same. That's right dear reader, double shame for me!

And ehibit C is what's known in shame circles as "making a bad situation worse." Due to the mysteries of my particular cell phone, the recipent never actually got exhibit B. so I sounded like even more of an asshole than if I'd never sent it. Great. Really fucking great.

Anyway, Hark, the herald angels sing!, etc, etc., becuase taken together these three texts offer a peculiar insight into the evolution of a hate fuck. What exactly is a hate fuck, you ask. (Dear reader, you are well adjusted aren't you?) Well, I'll tell you: hate fucking is something done either becuase you hate the person in question, a third party, or (most likely) yourself.

You begin with something normal--in this case a, er... date (for lack of a better word) with a reasonably cool guy, but for whatever reason (read: problems with intimacy) act so strangely and send so many inappropriate missives and are generally mean, cold, and indechipherable you eventually stir up enough shit that at the end of the day you could never possibly have any kind of actual, interpersonal exchange with this person.

Even if at some point durring the dissolution you were telling yourself that this already was a hate fuck, you realize that you were just being defensive. Of course, now you really have relegated the whole thing to the realm of hate fucking which--though it doesn't really matter in this case--is kind of tremendously shameful, regardless. The point is, dear reader, I've really got to stop doing that.

a quiz for you!

I don't want to do my work, but now you're gone and I have to procrastinate all on my own. are you curious how I'm spending my time whilst avoiding responsibility? well you won't be after you see my list things I'd rather think about than orange juice studies. I wrote it in quiz form just for you!

1. what's more fun than sending an inappropriate, uninvited e-mail at 2 am? not writing a book report, that's for sure.

2. I'd like to see your newly cleaned apartment. you should probably have a dinner party. what are you going to serve? something delicious? ice cream? do you really not like root beer? is this one of those cultural differences?

3. re. people's crazy insecurities: what I was trying to say earlier, before your obfuscating stories distracted me, is that of course you're not responsible for making everyone you meet feel okay about themselves. that would be absurd. likewise, I'm not responsible for sweeping my craziness out of the way just because it's crazy. or someone says that it is (people are always doing that, it helps them ignore their own fucking weirdness).

in fact, it's quite the opposite: I need to make room for craziness. it's like making room for messiness. I may be totally, out of control disorganized, but losing my keys 2 million times taught me to I keep 3 sets around. now when I lose one I can find another and go about my day like a normal person.

so when you say it's my muddled brain that makes me feel undesirable, not your lack of enthusiasm it just sounds sort of absurd to me. obviously I'm insecure, but what the fuck do you want me to do about it? turn it off? I can't even keep my room clean. I can, however, spend time with someone who's actually into me rather than feeling horribly unattractive as I do when I'm with you. what most people don't know, you see, is that crazy is always just a matter of context.

OPTIONAL EXTRA CREDIT: did you mean what you said tonight? would you really trade your time being single in LA for a relationship with one of the girls who got away? sometimes I'm not sure where you're coming from when you wax nostalgic about them, but I'm always curious and I'm always afraid if I ask it will come out wrong and you'll think I'm being combative and then I'll get upset and will actually be combative and blah, blah, blah. that's why I made this an extra credit question, so you can deem it over-personal you can still get full credit.

write soon: I'll be waiting on your endlessly unsatisfying, two-word response with bated breath!

xo,
AAA

Oh jesus, things really are getting blah, blah, blah around here, aren't they? Quick, someone please send me something funny to post so I don't bore myself to death. Even though we both know that the more bored I get the more likely I am to do something really awkward and embarassing and probably in writing. God, even that is predictable.

clap your hands say bored

really, what does a girl have to do to get a response around here? you understand I'm high-maintenance like that, right? I mean you can fuck whoever you want and we don't actually need to see each other or really interact, but I am secretly driven insane when people ignore my missives. sheesh. maybe if I keep trying different mediums you'll eventually pay attention to me. carrier pigeon is next, dude, so watch out.

when did I get so boring? admitting I need attention? that I'm high-maintenance? this is a little crazy, but hardly even worth mentioning. I'm running out of embarrassing-yet-laughable e-mails, here. I have a few posts I'm still too embarrassed to post, but really they're all either too crazy or too boring to properly laugh at. sigh. I'll work on the other ones (yeah, yeah, I know, reclaim your shame) but in the meantime, will you people please submit some submissions? I know you're out there. I can hear you breathing.

reclaim your shame

I know it's all cute and funny, this carrying on. but I think even if sober I would want to get drunk and smooch you. I think I have a crush. are u grossed out?

great news, special reader! this is my first friend-submitted post which is fantastic for three reasons. 1. my lovely and hilarious friend, YYY, did something retarded and humiliating enough to merit posting here. 2. she's letting me post it. 3. for once in my life it wasn't me who did the retarded and humiliating thing. horray!

what happened? a girl of many charms, YYY has been seeing a new gentleman named Matt. the two had been texting for days--nauseatingly lovey messages she horribly forced me to read. (and yes, texts count as e-mails, so let's not get into the whole title thing, okay?)

the point is, when manpanion Matt wrote thanking her for a "smooth week" it seemed kind of weak. and being a lady after my own heart (see below) she called him out on his wishy-washy message (see above) and boldly pressed send. bravo, YYY!

but then she looked at the "smooth week" business again.
it wasn't from the manpanion Matt.
it was from the co-worker Matt.
as in her boss Matt. who she'd been working with for about 2 weeks. oops!

the brave YYY had to call boss Matt (who, of course, was out with all his friends who, of course, were laughing hysterically at her) and explain. boss Matt told her he was a bit "freaked" as they "had to work together and all" and was "relieved" to hear it was a "mix-up." did he believe her? maybe. will his friends always laugh at her? definitely.

but wait, there's more! when I'd copied the text into this vortex of mortification did she close it? No! She pressed SEND again! double shame for YYY! well played, sweetheart!

you may think I'm a jerk for making YYY relive the awkwardness, but I did it for you, dear reader. for your amusement and mine and most importantly, for her's. I mean, if everyone else is laughing at you, you're just going to look like even more of an asshole if you can't join in. really, the only way to overcome such stupidity is to reclaim your shame.

I promise you, one day you'll send an e-mail you never should have sent. double checking and self-editing and social savviness will not save you. YYY is as savvy as they come and look what happened to her. but at least you can remember this and know you're not the only one. hopefully that will take the edge off the unbelievable shame you'll be feeling long enough for you to call your bff and wail and cry and eventually laugh about what a screw-up you really are. because darling reader, if you can't find the humor in disaster, your life is going to be pretty fucking rough.

happy typing!

curiosity never killed anything

look, I don't know how you did this and I don't want to, but it's totally unnecessary to make me feel like I fucked up here.

I would have fucked you anyway, XXX. you knew that. so there was no reason to go on and on about the last time we slept together and everything else. and there was certainly no reason to fall off the map.

your silence makes me feel like an asshole.

just say something. how about, "hey, I thought you were cool, until I talked to you..." or "I love my girlfriend you slut, so back off..." or whatever. ok? but this silence is awkward for everyone. or maybe just for me, but either way it's totally unnecessary so just spit it out. I definitely won't be broken (if that's what you're thinking), but I definitely won't feel as embarrassed as I do right now. so please just say it. ok?

dear reader, what’s worse: letting a fear of awkwardness keep you from saying what you really want or having a compulsion to say what you want (even if that's just wanting to know what the other person wants) despite a tremendous potential for awkwardness and/or personal humiliation? let’s discuss!

imagine, if you will, waking up--say around 6 am--drunk, not entirely sure why you're wearing your winter coat and nothing else, and saying to yourself, "obviously this is the perfect time to write some e-mails." you crawl to your desk, send a couple furious missives, and crawl back to bed idignant and incoherent and trying to keep the room from spinning.

oh the shame, dear reader, when you finally wake up. you really have to stop doing that. in fact, maybe you should make some weird and pathetic attempt to reclaim your shame through some lame narcissistic blog. totally. that's a great idea. you're on it.

but wierdly, one of the furious e-mails you've sent is gone. vanished! and while you'd like to believe you'd imagined it, you know you blurrily pressed send. but it's the most shameful one and you really want it. what do you do?

well, I certainly fucking hope you'd suck it up and ask the recipient to forward it back to you. I mean, at this point, you really can't embarrass yourself any more. and the best part is he will! (thanks, recipient)

what the fuck am I talking about, dear reader? I'll tell you: somehow this e-mail drunkenly illustrates a problem I’d never articulated before. I mean, yes, yes it's embarrassing on that "why doesn't he like me?"/questions you shouldn't be asking kind of level, but whatever--that’s not the point. the point is that most people are absurdly afraid of an awkward moment and it’s so fucking stupid I can hardly stand it.

look, if the recipient had said he didn't want to talk to me, I would have respected that. (after all you really can’t argue with it, can you?) however, he did nothing of the sort. instead, he let me write him these dumb e-mails and just didn't respond. so I embarrassingly kept writing. oops.

but really what the fuck? is it that awkward to write a girl and say stop? don't send these anymore? go away? no, it is not. and, dear reader, maybe you can relate when I say that nothing makes me more insane than people who pussy out at the first hint of awkwardness. in fact, all I want to do in that situation is make everything far more awkward than it ever was in the first place just to show the person how not awkward whatever they didn’t want to do actually was by compaison. and in this case that meant revisiting the awkwardness of the ridiculous e-mail by asking for it back. well, I guess sending the e-mail in the first place was exacerbating the awardness too. so it's a double.

I mean, have you ever tried making a situation more awkward? if not you really should because it’s both fantastically gratifying and highly entertaining. time slows down allowing you to really feel every excruciating moment. like being a teenager again. revel in it. even if you don’t get what you want (or what you think you want), you know for sure that you’re alive. isn’t that worth sacrificing a little dignity from time to time? feeling alive? I think so.

intro to shame

Why does this feel so awkward? I've never even looked at the "friends" ads before, but you seem like such a likable girl. And, well, who doesn't need more likable girls in their life?

So, I actually moved to LA about a year ago, but for a variety of reasons haven't had time to meet many new people. Most of my friends here I've known since college. I love them dearly, but a person has to branch out at some point, right?

Anyway, I love that you love all these Russian authors. Actually, I love that you actually read. I studied Nabokov in school (and wrote my thesis on Joyce), but am shamefully under-read when it comes to Pushkin, Tolstoy, and Turgenev. Maybe you could make some reccomendations?

For the most part I we have similar taste in music and movies (especially My Bloody Valentine and Blonde Redhead and Breathless and Sondre Lerche). I have to disagree about Big Fish, though. It was fine, but I really thought it was going to be Tim Burton's return to Pee Wee/Beetlejuice/Edward Scissorhands wierdness and was distracted by my disappointment when it turned out to be just sort of cloying and safe. Blah, blah, blah.

You say you're obsessed with grammar. I'm not. I believe in the run on sentence. And hyperbole. (And parentheses.) My pet peeve is hearing people misuse words in an attempt to sound smarter (or better versed) than they actually are. And I'm definitely not vegan, but have no special attachment to animal products. And I don't golf. But I love cooking and walking and reading and music and bands and bowling and the rest.

More to the point, I'm going bowling with a few friends at Shatto Lanes on Wednesday night. If you'd like, you're welcome to join us (and, of course, bring whoever you want). If you haven't been there it's kind of amazing. They have my favorite pinball machine in LA--GunsN'Roses--and it's only a quarter! Someone just told me it was mentioned in the Vice guide to LA which made me feel kind of weird, but whatever, it's a great fucking pinball machine. And drinks are dirt cheap, too.

Okay, I'm going to stop rambling on about myself now. Let me know if you want to bowl, otherwise good luck getting settled in LA. I'm sure you'll meet people soon.

Best wishes,
XXX

have you ever felt so sad as to look at the "friends and activity partners" section on Craig's List? well, some of you must have otherwise there wouldn't be any, but nonetheless it's not a shining moment for anyone. I hope this Russophile found her way in LA. it took me a long time. but you'll find out all about that soon enough.

welcome to my shame.

xo,
p