I was feeling pretty lowly yesterday. Not just the prospect of taking down Bunniblog, but the continued drama at work. The general apathy of my students. The prospect of seeing the Asshat with an Accent on Friday. Contemplating going to Vegas for Thanksgiving (Eric the wonderful was from Vegas and I spent a lot of time there with his family). My overwhelming "I'm a failure and I continue to be a failure and it's just going to get worse" Marvin the Paranoid Android-like attitude.


I was actually considering going back on medication (I've only been medication for depression twice and both time for short periods of time) but I have found something better. There is apparently something easier, better for me, and more effective-having a hot dancer gratuitiously grab my ass. There is no day so bad that a hot dancer can not make it a little bit better. Go with me on this one.
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The Captain for all his Americanski bashing was upset by my mood and decided to perk me up a bit with some over the top flirting (it always works people). At the end of the lesson I thanked him and he took my hands in his hands and said, "Look, you are a good person. You are pretty and good. If someone does not like you, I don't care-man, woman, child-fuck them. There is only one you. You live life for yourself, and you love yourself and anyone doesn't love you-fuck them."


Oh and he has also committed to attending my birthday shenanigans. So if I come back from Vegas as Mrs. Crazy Hot Dance Teacher don't be surprised.
It seems remaining anonymous is more and more difficult. And it would upset me a great deal if I had to take down Bunniblog and set up shop under a different name somewhere else and start from scratch again. I've been tracked here before. By a variety of people. Nothing new. But now more and more people at work are expressing interest, some have already found me, and considering some of the more personal information I've posted here, things are beginning to become problematic. Suddenly I find myself not wanting to post things lest someone I know spy it, or I take down a perfectly legitimate post because I have to worry about some person identifying me or finding out some "secret" information. I've always tried to be honest in this blog, which isn't easy. I've had to push through my own boundaries about what I feel comfortable writing about. As a writer I thought it was my job to push myself to write about issues and topics that embarassed me or even showed me ina negative light because generally those are the most important things to write about. And now, of course, I have to begin to worry about the consequences of trying to be a writer instead of a "morally upstanding citizen."


Considering the rest of the ridiculousness I have to deal with, I don't have energy for this, and it seems like on some level just another "Alright time to take this blog down" argument. But on some level, the blog means more to me than the rest of it. Essentially what I do in my personal life, as long as it isn't illegal, is fine. I've never bought into the "it's not just a job it's a whole image" argument. It is, essentially, ridiculous. To ask me to live a certain lifestyle, curb my expression, on top of all the other sacrifices I've made for this post is completely unrealistic. And I have to say if I was asked to take down the blog, I would most likely quit my job at the end of the semester.


And if you wake up one day and Bunniblog is gone, you'll know what happened. It means I'll have set up shop somewhere else.
"Being a cannibal is lonely. Hard to make friends."-Ahhh cannibal angst courtesy of Ravenous

My students had to read John Grisham's "Unnatural Killers" essay over the weekend. Most of them seem to believe that violent movies lead to violent behavior so I asked them to write a list of the violent entertainment they have indulged in over the last four weeks. Their lists seem sparse compared to my own. Why just yesterday I watched Jabberwocky, The Incredibles, and Ravenous. But in the interest of public whateverness, I thought I would post my own list. Stars indicate that the film was viewed more than one time in the month long period.

American Beauty
The Brothers Grimm
Boondock Saints*
Cursed
Comic Strip Live
Constantine*
Delicatessan
Do Not Adjust Your Set
The Dangerous Brothers
Fargo
The Incredibles
Jabberwocky
Grosse Point Blank
Ravenous
Sin City*
Swimming with Sharks
The Usual Suspects

Care to join in the violent fun? Since I don't have cable, my viewing is confined to dvds and tapes, but feel free to include tv shows and video games.
"He likes you. Really. He told me he loves talking to you. He just doesn't know how to deal with your feelings." The Amazon is slurring. She's been drinking vodka. I'm watching her because she gets mean on vodka. Hunter S once said never turn your back on a drug. I never turn my back on the Amazon in the throws of a vodka binge. It's just as dangerous.


I would answer her, but she wouldn't understand. Who does? I've only found one or two people who do, and both of them have spent time in a looney bin. For suicide attempts.


I would tell her, if she could listen, if she could understand, I don't know how to deal with my feelings. If I did, would I be in this bar so often? Would I be drinking four or five nights a week? Would I have managed to lose ten pounds in two weeks because I just stopped eating and had nothing in my system but alcohol and tylenol? Christ, if I knew how to deal with my feelings my apartment would be clean, my sheets freshly laundered, my papers filed, and my clothes dry cleaned. I wouldn't end up staggering home at five in the morning on a Saturday night throwing myself on the couch and watching Constantine, again, because I can't sleep. All that liquor can't put that voice in my head to sleep. You know the one. The one that keeps telling you that you're a failure. That you're this weak pathetic imbecile who just pretends to be smart. Some idiot savant who can reference Alan Bloom and Mark Edmondson, but can't really do anything useful. Can't even do performance art. Christ who fucks that up? Really? Who fails at performance art? But even at open mic nights, I'm the outsider. Why? Because unlike them I've been able to hold up well enough not to end up in an insane asylum. To hold a job for five years. Even what should be strengths count against me in the end. It's September, and I'm looking at running through that gauntlet of holidays without a boyfriend, again. Again. For what? So I can spend another year watching bad horror movies alone on my couch.


Can't deal with my feelings, huh? Join the fucking club. I should give out membership cards.


But I don't answer her, because she wouldn't be able to understand. She's part of it now. That inability to explain myself to people like her. And it seems like the whole world is populated with people like her. The ones who don't understand. Or pretend not to.


I order a vodka on the rocks.


"Don't worry. You won't have to see him as much. He's moving to Brooklyn." I smile. "I'm not the type of woman men fall in love with. I'm the type of woman men emigrate to aviod." "Oh please. You aren't that important." I flinch. That is precisely what hurts. No one ever loved me that much. Eric who called me the love of his life doesn't even bother to pick up a phone and see if I'm still alive. And he was the one who was supposed to love me most of all. Of course I know I'm not that important. Ivan the imbecile doesn't even bother to call or send and email despite his "I want to keep you in my life" claims. Right as what? A voice in your head apparently. ANd this one. She can't even get the joke. What are the odds she would understand the rest of it?


Not enough liquor in the world to buy me membership to their club. But lord knows, I still try.