I have decided that in my quest to become the bad bunni queen of the weblog world (again that german heritage) that what I really need is a cool logo. I stumbled on a website today My Cat Hates You Dot Com, which I think is just brilliant. The front page alone just made me burst out laughing. And then there is a MERCHANDISE SECTION-and I thought to myself "I hope they make greeting cards." Wouldn't that be absolutely excellent? You send someone some frilly looking birthday card-on the front flowers and rhymes and then on the inside it's all black and in big red letters it says MY CAT HATES YOU. I would just laugh. Then I thought the really untapped market here is break-up cards. I mean we all have that one ex who deserves a particularly nasty break-up. One of my friend's from high school said his favorite mean fantasy break up-he was way too nice to do it-was to send a girl a postcard reading "Welcome to Dumpsville-Population:You P.S. I'm gay." I like the more sophisticated "I'm hope you're up on your history because that's what you are about to become." Or if a guy break up with you and says "We can still be friends," respond with, "Yeah, your lips can become friends with my ass on its way out the door." But back to the break up card-I think this is an idea that's day has come. But I would love to send a guy that's all black and on the inside in red it says "It's you, not me-I didn't fake orgasm, I faked interest-I wouldn't even bother stealing your cds, and MY CAT HATES YOU." I would pay for that. Or even an e-card. I think I should inform the people at My Cat Hates You Dot Com (which somehow seems funnier when written out) of my idea. I just love this site. It shows you how something so simple can provide so much entertainment for hours and hours and hours.

Which bring us to the whole eric how could you not even say thank you letter thingy. So this is what I have been writing in my head so far:


(generic greeting)

Assuming that nothing has gone wrong, you will be graduating this May. It hurts me that I haven't heard from you, first because you were at my graduation. It also hurts because do you honestly think you would be where you are right now without me? When I met you, you were terrified of backsliding to Las Vegas. You weren't going to return in the fall, remember? And then, because of me, or so you claimed, you did. But even if you didn't stay at NYU because of me, think of how many things were different because I was there. According to your mother, I was your rock. Think of all the ways I helped you, and now you are going to graduate without a word to me:not an email, not a phone call, not even a post card saying "thank you." You re going to severe all contact with me without even a single word.

I'm not writing this because I want to hear from you. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you. In fact for a year I lived in mortal fear of seeing you. I spent the majority of time on campus pumped full of anti anxiety medication. Now I could care less. But there is a part of me that wants to be sure that you are alive. There is a part of me that wants to know that you are ok. I suppose I just never really got the hang of not being able to care. A friend of mine from high school died recently. I got the letter in the morning and I almost didn't go to work because I was so upset. I hadn't talked to her in ten years, and what upset me the most is that I just assumed that all of us, the whole gang would still be around. But she isn't. Somehow I thought I would know if something happened to one of us, but I didn't. She died suddenly just shy of our ten year anniversary and I didn't find out for four months. I've been trying to find out what happened to my first boyfriend for the last five years, not because I want to get back together with him, but because we were close friends for three years and I cared about him. I care about him still. I hope he is alive and even more I hope he is happy. Even if I never find out, I will always wonder and I will always care. He could not kill my wonder with 10 years of silence. Do you really think you can kill mine with only two?


What do you think? As always send comments to the bad bunni herself: MissLapin@aol.com.
I realize that I have not posted an inspirational quote for the day for two days in a row so let me fill that need:

"You know I used to the think that it was an effort for you to a self-centered prick. I thought it was a front. Now I know it is a G-d given talent. It's being a decent human being that is the effort for you."

" You know I've thought a lot of nasty things about you in the last two years, but never, until this moment, did I ever think that you were stupid." -I suppose this is cheating but those of these quotations are from me-I have been encouraged by other people to start posting my own quotations instead of other people-but for those who are desperately missing out on other quotations I offer you the following from Woody Allen in Deconstructing Harry "So you expect the world to adjust to the distortion that you've become."
Just when I think I've seen everything, Spring comes to NYC and a whole new specias of freak hits on the streets. It's like they spend all winter inside mutating and innovating on their acts. I remember the first time i saw the can guy in village. The can guy was a guy who wore a suit completely made of crushed cans while riding a unicycle and collecting more cans. I mean, to be a freak in nyc takes study and hard work. You can't just fall into that. I bet that guy was up nights thinking "I can't just collect the cans or wear them, that's so been done. What can I do to make it really interesting?"


I'm absolutely exhausted-the usual cycle of events continues. During the week, I get no work done as I am always online iming some one or updating the blog. I occassionally work on my story. (I need to get my ass in gear two weeks until deadline). But I never grade and I rarely find there energy to do normal things. I find that I don't have the energy to do the laundry or wash the dishes or put away my clothes. My apartment is a wreck because every friday or staurday I do some cleaning but by thursday its a mess again. I find that I don't want to get the mail. I'll put it off for a week. I'm afraid of it. Of having to take the time to go through it.Back when Eric was here the apartment was on its way to becomming great. Last night my friend T. asked me why I wanted a boyfriend. So many reasons I can't even name. I've been working on the open letter to Eric. I think what I'll do is post it here and send him a link. I'm sure many thinks that's a bad idea. How about I post the letter here and then you can let me know what you think (as most of you know who I am personally.) In other news I would be grateful, if you actually enjoy the blog and read the blog if you would share the joy with others so that bunniblog may achieve world domination. I mean, I do have that German heritage to live up to. (As they always say on metafiler, I hope you will welcome your new German bunny overlords-or in this case overlord-should it be overlordess? overlady?These are the things that keep me up nights.) The energy of doing these things on my own is overwhelming (let's remember that I'm very short and also disabled so that "normal" activities do take much more effort). I remember nights when I was too tired to move, eric would bring me a peanut butter sandiwch in bed. In fact he did that the last night we were together. even though he was leaving he still had sex with me twice that night. Sensitive guy.


I remember when I first graduated from college I was going out with a guy named Jim Turner. Let me say that a couple of times: Jim Turner, Jim Turner, Jim Turner. (There is a reason for that, you'll see later.) The whole Jim Turner story is pretty long, but well it's not like I should be vacuuming or grading or doing something else useful. When I was in my senior year I acted in the last play I would ever act in. It was awful, it was so bad that no one, NO ONE, in the cast told any one they were in a show. I used to walk to the theater a different way each night so that no one would see me, accidentally, go into the theater and discover I was in a show. So it was bad, but as a result the whole cast bonded with each other. I met a guy named Tony. Tony and his girlfriend of several years broke up. He was big into S and M and he knew I was depressed. He kept trying to tell me that spanking a couple of anonymous men would make me feel better. Well, I resisted. So the show ends and he calls me one night and asks what I am doing. I tell him nothing and he tells me to get dressed so that I can go to a party with him. So I do and its not till I get there that I find out it is an opening party for a dungeon. Now that may sound like a great gala event with red velvet walls and women walking around in wet leather and knee high boots. It actually was a large basement filled with people who looked like they would have been very comfortable at a Star Trek convention. (I could go into more detail here but I will jump to the important part.) There was a "house slave" and at one point I looked down and this guy was licking, LICKING, my shoes or the soles of my shoes. So I think to myself how bad can this reltionship go when it starts witha man licking your shoes. The answer to that is REALLY BAD. He was the most judgemental person. He openly admitted that he hated being wrong and did his best to try and bully me. Anyway, I discovered that I was often seriously depressed after I saw him, and initially I thought it was because I had such a good time when he around that the loss depressed me. But the truth was that I was depressed because every time this guy opened his mouth I wanted to throw a toaster at his head and I hated feeling like I HAD to date him because I couldn't do any better. Then he left me. Which sent me into a nearly homicidal rage. So I developed this theory I would tell everyone I knew about Jim Turner, and I would make the stories so amusing that these people would indeed tell their friends and so on and so forth. Eventually he wouldn't be able to walk up to a woman Norway without her saying "Jim Turner? Didn't you date ---- in NYC?" Of course I didn't really think it would work. Not then. I hadn't taken into account the power of the Internet. Now of course, I can malign to my hearts content, and hopefully that chick in Norway will not only have DSL and some patience but the intelligence to do a google search for his name. ( And wade through all the other results until she gets to mine-and then realize that her Jim Turner and my Jim Turner are the same Jim Turner) However with eric I've got a much better shot. You see I know not only his first and last name, Eric Kinsman, but I also know his middle name Petier. Where he is from (all around, he was an army brat, but he considers himself to be from Las Vegas where he has lived since he was nine. He has also lived in california, texas, and new jersey) His father was an ER doc and his mother is a hospital administrator. It does perhaps seem unfair that I can post all of this information about him and keep my own identity a secret. Well, if he was so concerned he can pick up and phone and call and ask me to take it down. After all I can at least pretend to be a reasonable person for short periods of time. Maybe he'll get me on a good day. Maybe.

Everything in New York City changes so quickly: the seasons, the people, the envirnoment. In other places the seasons change gradually, you go from thick sweaters to thin sweaters to long sleeved shirts to t shirts to tank tops. Here it goes from sweaters to tank tops without transition. Restaurants and stores that where tradmarks during all four years of college (like Bayamo and Everything Yogurt both located on Broadway which were lunch staples at my studio for four years- also the antique boutique even the statue in union square that i talked about in an earlier post) One day they are there, the next day they are empty, their windows soaped up waiting for the next renter. Relationships here are just as sudden. In two weeks Eric went from assuring me we would be married to telling me that he didn't love me and wanted to see other people. And yet like the empty stores on broadway, I am having trouble finding something to fill that empty space.
So I'm totally exhausted. Too exhausted to sit outside and grade. Too exhausted to even sit outside and have a cup of tea. Too exhausted to clean the apartment up. But I am going to put in a little bit of entry about today.

So I had a staff meeting today-I remember the first time I watched Silence of the Lambs. There is that section when Clarice is told that Hannibal drove Miggs to swallow his own tongue. I often wondered how that was possible. Now I know. You put eight professors who spend all year teaching argumentation and it takes about ten minutes before you clearly understand how a person can happily swallow his or her own tongue. So we are in there discussing the summer reading and now the meetings have become totally predictable-you have Casey (not a real name) who makes a couple of comments, some relevant, some not, but he feels the need to preface them with so many clarifiers and self effacing comments "Not to suggest that all of you haven't done a great deal already considering these elements, and by the way I really want to thank S- because I think it's clear that he has put in a great deal of work into these hand-outs, but what I think, and this is just personal experience here, and of course you all may have different experiences and I welcome the chance to hear about them..." by the time he actually get to a comment I'm too annoyed to actually notice if it relevant or not. (By the way, Casey is also the ultra annoying professor who now treats me like the great and powerful Oz. Ignore the girl behind the curtain.) There is M. who is generally cowed by whatever is said, even though she is technically in charge of the meeting. There is S who takes a half an hour to answer or address every issue because he always has to go by way of ancient Rome or Egypt to show off his superior (not to mine) knowledge of history. Of course S couldn't say enough good things about me today-praising my previous teaching techniques. In fact, he even modified the Pre-MAP format to conform to how I teach the class. (He really liked how I structured my class last year. I would hand out the assigned readings and then I would give them a sheet with 5 questions for critical thinking, which would be discussed in class, and five questions for critical writing. S- found some of my questions and decided he liked the questions and the structure so much he would make it part of the mandatory format for the course. Insert clink of champagne flute here.) Still praise aside, it would be nice if someone could actually make a short concise argument, especially since that is one of the virtues we are trying to instill in our students. (The do as I say not as I do factor of teaching.) Then there J. If I ever have to kill someone, I mean for unknown reasons some nefarious force says to me, "You have twelve hours to kill someone, GO" she is the one I will gun for. I have yet to encounter anything redeeming about her. She is the enfant terrible of the department, and what makes her particularly terrible is that she is not even a fabulous teacher. There are teachers I have heard of who are arguable demented, some have even phsyically or emotionally abused students.What makes the students and the universities tolerate such behavior is that these teachers are given moments of remarkable insight. Students even clamor for these teachers, which forces the university to some times tolerate increasing hostile, mal-adjusted, and even unsanitary professors far longer than they would be otherwise inclined. At least in those cases there is a trade off, terrible behavior is tolerated because of what the students reap from such an experience. Here the enfant terrible imagines herself to be at this heightened plane, but she isn't. She is merely a cry baby with no shame and no insight. She has learned, as certain babies learn from ultra passive parents, that if she simply throws a fit she will get her way. And so every meeting she throws a fit, and no one seems able to check her or stop her. Perhaps there is a fear of not looking professional, of not respecting her ideas, but she doesn't seem to mind totally ignoring the decisions that the rest of us make. What makes her objections in this meeting particularly painful (and I'm still bitter over her piss anting around about the mid term so much that we, the professors, did not get final approval of the questions-I did not see the final form of the questions until the day we gave them-that was her doing as well) is that she doesn't even spend time discussing the assigned readings. She "assigns" them, but does not discuss them so that she can spend the summer course talking about the readings she wants to discuss (as a result only her classes are not prepared when the readings come up in later classes-its like one section of a pre-requisite course treating the pre-requisite material as supplemental and so only the students of that section are totally unprepared for the next echelon of learning).And then she is there today objecting to the new summer readings because she feels that we as a department finally got a handle on the reading, finally had fallen intoa good pattern, and now the readings were all being changed. Well, heaven forbid she not teach different readings from the readings she didn't teach last summer. (Did that make any sense?) And the worst part is she flaunts that she doesn't teach them all over the office. She blatantly boasts about how she doesn't teach the assigned readings. And yet none of us brought that up in the meeting today. Maybe next time I will. After all if she isn't going to respect what the rest of us think and M isn't going to stand up for us then there has to be away to deal with it. We all snipe amongst each other, but one of us must stand up and try and change the system. And I may be that one. After all, I'm the one who teaches pre-MAP better than anyone else, if anyone gets to enfant terrible around here it should be me. Maybe I need to talk to M and some of the other staff about this situation too. If I can rally the troops and get J. to see her behavior will no longer prevail and that it is disrespectful to the rest of us who actually try to "play" by the rules, or at least have too much of a sense of dignity not to utterly embarass ourselves like that in front of people we don't even like.

Have I talked you out of pursuing a career in higher education yet? If just one of you says yes, I will feel I have done my job as an incredibly underpaid slave to an utterly useless profession.
"And I believe that the battle of the network stars should be fought with guns" Steve Martin on the Original Saturday Night Live (a monologue entitled "What I Believe")

Man: Are you a fuckin' lawyer?
Woman: Depends on who I'm with.-Other People's Money

Lord so much has happened so much that I want to write about but like an autistic who wants to be hugged yet can not stand it at the same time, I don't want to write about this "stuff" and I do all at the same time. There is the whole thursday, friday, saturday situations to write about, but really it is the same story to different variant degrees: I go out and meet some guy who I feel some sort of connection with and then he is utterly disappointing in his predictability and/or lack of genuine interest or I go out and I have fun with my friends, but at the same time I feel seperate from them. The loneliness is ever present. It is becoming something that I don't even question. I don't even have men to focus romanctic fantasies about. According the Freud, happy people don't dream, but how unhappy are those who have given up dreaming because of the futility, that there is no point in even dreaming. I still dream of eric from time to time, he has haunted my dreams far more than my father did after his death. Even when I slept I could not escape, even now, even now there are moments. I come across pictures, half written letters, restaurants. Last nightSweet and Lowdown was on tv. We watched that movie together and loved it. We were supposed to see Curse of the Jade Scorpion together. It never happened. I do not know if he has seen the film since. I did. One night it was on pay per view. I was staying inside, as I did often then, and watching movies from my bed. I couldn't sleep even with four clonazepam, a sleeping pill, and two coronas in my system so I decided to buy it, to show him in my own sad way that I could do this without him. So I watched it. It wasn't a great film. I was glad I was only half awake and yet I wondered about the conversation that we would have had about the film (the style, some of the ideas) after all it was with me that he saw the film Sleeper. Even now I find it so hard to write about. I feel the tightness in my chest. Writers have one of the highest incidents of alcoholism. Although, according to some research, as many as one in twelve Americans is an alcoholic (and there many different types or gradation of alcholic-functional, binge, etc. etc.), one in three writers is an alcholic. Certainly if you ask a person for the name of an alcholic writer it is certainly easy for them to recall at least one(Hemingway is usually the first one that people will name, but the list is long even off the top of my head: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Charles Bukowski, Dorothy Parker, and Tennessee Williams). But it true, what Ring Lardner Jr says in "I'd Hate Myself in the Morning" that writers are probably partially alcholic to help them deal with the darkness that they must draw upon for their works. (Lardner also wrote his first academy award winning script at 26-doesn't that make me feel good about my life).

The idiot professor, as I have come to think of him (I should come up with a better name-perhaps pseudo Buddha doesn't have a good ring to it maybe Kerouac II after his failed novel-well not yet failed-about Kerouac) came into the computer lab to thank me for everything. Of course I haven't heard from him since wednesday which means that A things were going well with Liz the wonder mutt B that because things went well he was afraid to talk to me because he thinks that I won't approve. As if my approval matters. As I always tell him listen you are the only one who has to live with every one of your acts. So there fore, if it is ok with you, it doesn't matter what some one like me, who has a limited exposure to you, thinks about you and your decision making process. Although to some degree I understand, this guy I was talking to at Fitizie's this weekend, Justin, (not the Beast a different Justin-The Beast has not called back as anticipated). Damien (you remember the anti christ I mentioned in last week's post) came in and was talking to me and part of the reason why I was so cool to him was because I worried about what Justin thought of me talking to an idiot like Damien (and yes he is an idiot). It's strange that I would care more about what Justin thinks of my behavior then what I myself think of my behavior. But then again isn't that just another symptom of low self esteem?

I should of course give a proper description of everything that has gone on, but I'm not quite in the right mood yet. Also I have manyother things that I need to do first. I also am seriously contemplating the eric letter posting which I need to work on. Maybe I will post sections and take votes. Of course previously when I have looked to my viewers for feedback they have disappointed me. So now you can tell me what you think I should do. A nothing and allow eric's graduation to go by unremarked and unaddressed B send him a letter/email C post an open letter/email to him here and then send him the link D post the open letter/email here and then not send him the link E some as yet unthought of option. If you have a write in vote or any opinion of any kind or wish to know why I would even after all of this contemplate contacting him, haven't I been rejected enough? then feel free to write me some feedback. Or send this page to your friends and ask them what they think.
"Your father used to say that living with you was like listening to the longest sentence in the world...and now only I can hear it." Tonight's Episode of Six Feet Under

"And for a moment I thought I was the luckiest drag queen in the world." Trick

I have a lot to write but I'm absolutely exhausted. I was out thursday night, friday night, and saturday night. Last night I got home at four, making it my latest night out this week. And yet, again, I'm not less depressed, I'm more depressed. Well, not entirely. I mean there were moments that I was having a great time, but most of the time even in the midst of such moments I have like this little voice in the back of my head keeping me from being fully in it. I can't go into more now. It's late and I need to do things. My apartment is an utter sty. The same thing every week end I just have enough time sunday night to make it acceptable, but then by the end of the week its crazy again. I need to go to grocery store. Another task that takes me three weeks to do. I'm always so tired. Where do all these other people get their energy from? Is this from the depression? I've always been on the tired side-but then I've spent most of my life in depressive spells. Am I lazy? Is it some sort of side effect from the chemo therapy (I've heard chemo can even be responsible from mood disorders)? Or maybe its the cancer itself that is responsible. Supposed there is research going now into neuroblastoma cells and how changing them can effect mood and therefore maybe help mood disorders. So maybe the cancer, being a neuroblastoma (or at least that is what I have been told) is responsible for my mood disorder. Maybe it was simply inherited from my father or was it "learned" from him? And even if I knew, even if I could know, would it help me? Would it make it possible for me to actually be a "normal person."

The other night J. tried to say I was a normal person. We both burst out laughing before he was finished saying it. He couldn't say it with a straight face, and I couldn't listen with a straight face. How did I get here? How di I become so crazy that even the idea of me being normal is ridiculous even to myself?

And how can Eric graduate without even a word to me? Watching Six Feet Under now makes me, in a way, more depressed. I see Nate at the funeral of his former fiancee and I think why can't eric pull that off? Why can't he just call and say "Well, thanks. I know it was hard and I was bastard to you, but without you I wouldn't have made it here." Is that so hard? Is that so difficult to actually acknowledge that I existed? That I was an important part of his life. I used to think of him as a ghost-someone who is dead only to me-but its the reverse-I'm the ghost-a transparent image of the girl I used to be-going through the motions of the life I used to have-there was a theory about ghosts at one time, I know because one of my research papers in middle school was on it and as you know I don't forget anything-there was a theory that hauntings were simply like tape recorded events, that some events are so traumatic and give off such energy that they actually become imprinted and they run over and over again (certainly some hauntings which involve ghosts re-enacting events without acknowledging the "present" seem to confirm this theory-but there are other hauntings where ghosts appear to not only see and acknowledge living people, but interact with them-there are also different types of haunting including the ever famous poltergeists) I feel like those ghosts trapped in the past, able to see the present, but able to act on it, paralyzed into re-enacting past events-and to him I am ghost-some flitting image-maybe not even that-maybe he doesn't remember at all. How sad-to be dead forgotten by the one I loved the most before I'm dead and forgotten.