MANCOUCH fightszszsz!!!!

So, I got hired to write for this blog called "MANCOUCH."

This is part of the "Xanga" network of blogs, and let me say, I'm glad that I get some minimal exposure out of it, because OH MY GOD the people that actually read and comment...some are great/fine/whatever, but some (like all internet whateverrsss) are INSANE.

So I had kind of a great time yesterday torturing this one idiot. Here is the exchange:

(1) I wrote a post about something dumb, like panties.

(2) He comments: Why the bloody fuck do WOMEN keep posting on MANCOUCH? What the fuck is wrong with the godsdammed world? Do you have a cock 'n balls? No? Go away.

Me: @Revolutionary22@xanga - heh. is this annoying? right now? is this annoying to you? what about this? also: shut up.

Him: Really? Are you ten godsdamned years old? Jesus H. tittyfucking Christ.

Him: Ok a) I understand the 'logic' behind it. You want men's opinions on something. Great. That's fine. Ask your man friends. But coming to Mancouch and making a post is like crashing guys night just because you felt like tagging along. Seriously. 2) If any man posts on lovelyish they have officially given up their

sac 'n stick. Period case fucking closed. Unless it's to do some sort of awesomely dick move like ask how many of the chicks there would fellate him or something.

SOME OTHER DUDE: Women or girls will go wherever they want, there is no sacred territory for men-only anymore. That was over in the 1960's. You want more man-input and discussion on Mancouch? Write man-posts, something that (most) women are not interested in, or have no clue about. Best waterless handcleaner, Go-jo or Goop? What brand of tools work best for you, S-K, Snap-on, or Craftsman? What do you like better, a TIG welder or a MIG welder, and why? Which caliber of high power rifle works best for you on which game animal? For deer, is .243 Roberts too light? .270 just right? .308 overkill? Where do "old" cartridges fall? The 30-30 Winchester has probably put down more whitetails than all the other cartridges combined....

You see, when men post men-related topics for discussion, the girls will drift away. There will be a few hard-core ones that hang on, either insisting they are one of the boys, or being here just to irritate everyone. You will always have that.

Now what color panties are you wearing?

Me: heheheheh. this hate parade is hilarious! I love you guys! And yeah seriously. aint this 'MERICUH? you don't HAVE to read what women write (if you only like, dicks, thats fine...you just can't marry another dude in some states...yet). You don't like that I'm posting? Talk to the EDITOR OF THE BLOG, who selects what to post! Clearly he saw this more fit than whatever else you illiterate girl hating monkeys are pounding out in-between vigorous internet-related masturbation sessions. I wrote about PANTIES. I'm a f*cking social scientist...I have TWO degrees, I'm almost a doctor. You want to know what I REALLY think? No, you want to read about boobs and panties. Because this is Mancouch (And that story actually happened).

I mean, for F*CK sake, women writers have been MORE than scarce since the beginning of time (we're oppressed, get it?). You want a female writer that will REALLY piss you off? Try Aphra Behn, the very first published female playwright. You sound just like her backwards-ass, idiot critics who were all "uhh...SHE HAS A VAGINA...SHE'S NOT ALLOWED TO DO THAT."
So, yeah. Shut up. I get it, you hate women. You want somewhere that only men write? Try a gay porn site (although I'm almost POSITIVE that there are female ghost-writers for those). Do you want me to change my profile picture and sign everything "Steve?" Will that make you more comfortable than knowing that MAYBE (just maybe) I can write a f*ck-ton better than you can?
Ugh. I finally understand George Sand.

Me: I then posted the following entry in my MANCOUCH weblog:

Let's Get Girls Off! (of Mancouch)

Dear ManCouch:

Let's Get these goldern CHICKS AWAY FROM US!! I mean, it's called MANCOUCH, not "stupid girls write about stupid girl stuffs!" I mean it's always "waah waah my period!" or "boys are meaaannnn!" I don't want to read about what bitches have to say! I want cocks! Hard, throbbing cocks! I mean, I'm not gay or nothin' but I mean, when will ladies learn how to READ?! They are so bad at math too.

Here is what we should do:
(1) Filter out all the bitches that have already succubus'd there way on here (we stalk them, and then just old fashioned "R" and "K" them. If the police come, we'll just be all "but...MANCOUCH. MAN.COUCH." And because all good authority figures are dudes, they will be all HIGH FIVES! BEERS!

(2) Stop all little whiny c*nts from entering the site by having like a "are you a guy? Do you have a cock and balls?" question before you login. That way, chicks will be like "ew! gross! no!"

(3) If you try to set up a mancouch blog and your name isn't a real guy name like "BULLET" or "SKULLF*CK STEEL," than you will be PERMANENTLY blocked. F*CK. Sometimes I really wish we lived in one uh those bad ass dictatorships, where it's all dudes in charge.

Man, I f*cking LOVE GUYSSSS!!!!

your bro,
FraternityRap3isAWESOME

p.s. girls aren't funny.

Him: (In a message to me) I want you to look at the word Mancouch. Just take a good gander at it. Notice that it specifically says MAN in the title. Then I want you to find a dictionary. It's not hard, there's plenty online. Once you've gotten to that point I want you look up the definition for the word "man". I want you to notice that the first definition says "an adult MALE person, as distinguished from a boy or woman"(Dictionary.com). Then I want you to take off all your clothes and go stand in front of a mirror and give yourself a good, hard look in that mirror. I want you to make sure, I mean absolutely certain, that you have a cunt and not a cock and balls. And then I want you to get therapy because you have some sort of gender identity issue since you keep posting on MANcouch when you're a fucking WOMAN.

Me: (in a message back) i just like that argument that you, "revolutionary22" made (because it's really revolutionary to say "WOMEN NEED TO SHUT UP"):" if you aren't a man, go away."

So like, wait. Can I be a guy dressed as a girl with a girl's sn but pretending to be a guy pretending to be a girl pretending to be a guy and still post? What if I have BOTH a penis AND a vagina? You are fucking retarded.

Also: I AM a shrink, fuck-nut! You sound like you are a totally repressed gay dude. Kill yourself.

--Leah

Me: (in another message back, immediately following the previous) Also, also, also:

Since you got aaaalll "scientific" by quoting DICTIONARY.COM (heh), let's talk operational definitions.

Now, according to you, "Mancouch" (a site that xanga hired me to edit and write for--which by the way I am having a total blast doing, I think my voice lines up perfectly with what a lot of readers are looking for), is for Men and MEN ONLY because it has the word "MAN" in the title.

...do you not see how stupid that is? Ok anyway, so since you've decided to run with that, I'll address it. You really don't think that advice or stories from cute girls & women are things that men are interested in? Do you have a developmental delay?

I love writing for this blog. If you haven't noticed, LITERALLY EVERY post I've submitted to the site gets published immediately. Now hm...maybe...what I have to say is actually more in line with what the editors are thinking the site should be. Want to know how I know that? BECAUSE I KNOW THE EDITORS.

Just because I'm female, doesn't mean I have nothing to add to this site.

He has not responded since.

However, in response to the original post:

SOME OTHER DUDE: (the same some other dude) 'twas just a remark in humor...

The Bleedy Song Redux

This was a song I wrote about three different encounters. It started as a joke--probably because it's hard to digest a lot of the terrible things that happen. Anyway, the first verse is showing the dichotomy of sexual encounters for women (from my very biased perspective--describing two very different situations), and the second verse is about getting sexually assaulted. I'm writing out the lyrics because this guy who is recording Ten Antenna right now heard this song and liked it. Also, I recently changed the words a little to make the song a little more descriptive, and therapeutic for me to sing.

"Are we goin' on Holiday?" was still ringing in my ears,

when I focused on famous faces over his shoulders.

Two little children trying to give it meaning

(to mean it to you).

"He's got five other beauties waiting in L.A."

when I focused on the ceiling, not on his breathing.

He said:

"We're so grown-up, we don't have to give it meaning.

Our timing was wrong."

I didn't bleed the first time, but I am bloody now

I didn't try the first time, but I am trying now.

We were using brute force,

I'm carrying this burden on my under-eyelids.

I put the elephant in the room, recklessly drank it down.

I'm sure I played some part, my role--it's frustrating.

Variables of action verbs confuse me-

I am so tired.

"Zero to sixty on a dime," helps me understand,

'Cause I'm still feeling the echoes of one night

that drew a line in the sand, I'm now who I am.

Replaced all my parts.

I didn't bleed the first time, but I am bloody now

I didn't try the first time, but I am trying now

He was using brute force

I'm carrying his burden

On my under eyelids.

Probably the least narcissistic thing I've ever done

My therapist is pretty smart. She's almost always right, actually.

I wish I could tell you what she says about you, but that would be really fucked up. So I'll just tell Gillian.

Anyway, last week she told me that I need to have a "crush on myself" for a while. Harder than it sounds. Trust.

How fucked up is that? I find I've been partially depressed this whole time because I was being fueled by what I thought someone else would want me to do. Very fucked up, is the answer.

My room is cleaner than it's been in a while, and I'm actually considering consuming more than just coffee this morning.

Conclusions? Fuck.

I've always wanted to be one of those people who could say timeless things. Not like cliche things, but new things that are timeless.

Two years ago my parents moved out of the house I grew up in. It was very sad. I had to go home and get rid of all of the stuff I'd been carefully hoarding for my entire life. At the same time I was going through one of those "line in the sand" break-ups; the kind that makes you go up to strange couples on the street and growl "...he will break your heart..." All of the change at one time didn't really suit me.

I didn't actually have to be present for the move. I was in New York, my parents moved from Potomac, MD to Gaithersburg, MD. I didn't see the new house until everything was unpacked into a smaller version of the house that I still picture as "home." I feel like a ghost in the new house when I visit. Like I'm invading some other family's life (a family that happens to have similar stuff).

In the bathroom in the foyer, in a single frame, all five of our names are written in calligraphy. Under each name, the meaning is listed and is accompanied by a pressed flower. My parents have clearly picked out which definition they think fits each family member. They have picked broad definitions for themselves, but have gotten more specific for the three kids. My sister, who is in finance, has been given the definition,"helper of mankind." My brother, who is popular and athletic has been given a similar definition. My definition, however, was set as "contemporary, sophisticated."

"Um. really cool and hard to understand?" I asked myself, "fashionable? that's what my parents think? that I'm trendy? For fucksake, I have a degree in social work, why didn't I get 'helper of mankind?' That's not very social work-y of me..."

It's a little crazy, thinking that much about a cute decoration that my mom probably bought at the beach.

more things, more stuff.

http://brotherladies.tumblr.com/

this is going to be kind of a mind fuck too, because this blog feeds into that tumblr. CYCLICAL

ev'rybody wanna piece

Yes I have many many many ideas. But I'm good at ideas. Execution, however, has always been a problem.

It's like ADHD: you can't read to the end of the line, or listen to the rest of a sentence, because you get it, and you're BORED.

So yes, maybe I've thought of an article to write for whatever blog I'm writing for, but I just can't write it.

My brain never stops whirring. ever. Even my dreams are intricate and vivid. I'm never at rest. It's totally exhausting in here.

*side note: I don't mean that I'm alert. I'm not talking about mania, I'm talking about attention-deficit/hyperactivity.

To friends of mine who are "stuck" creatively, I always say: take care of yourself. You're like a little toy car. You gotta rev it up a little before you can just let it go. But for me, it's like as long as I have a modicum of brain activity (conscious or not) my brain will just keep going.

But if I keep going at this pace, I don't know how much longer I can go. It's been 27 years, and the wear and tear on my nervous system has been brutal.

The Monster Without a Name

This story is from an anime series called "Monster"

The Monster Without a Name

A long, long time ago in a land far away,

There was a monster without a name.

The monster wanted a name badly.
So the monster left to go on a journey to find a name.

But the world was so large that he split into two to make his journey.
One went to the west and the other went to the east.

The monster who went to the east found a village.
At the entrance of the village, there was a blacksmith.

“Mr. Blacksmith, please give me your name.”

“You can’t give away your name.”

“If you give me your name, I’ll enter you and give you strength.”

“Really? If you can make me stronger, then I’ll give you my name.”

The monster entered the blacksmith.

The monster became Otto the Blacksmith.
Otto the Blacksmith became the strongest man in the village.

But one day he said,
“Look at me. Look at me. Look at how large the monster inside me has become.”

Crunch Crunch! Munch Munch! Chomp Chomp! Gulp!
The hungry monster ate Otto from the inside out.

The monster returned to being a nameless monster.

Even when he entered Hans the Shoemaker,
Crunch Crunch! Munch Munch! Chomp Chomp! Gulp!

He returned to being a nameless monster.

When he entered Thomas the Hunter,
Crunch Crunch! Munch Munch! Chomp Chomp! Gulp!

He once again returned to being a nameless monster.

Finally, the monster came to a castle looking for a wonderful name.
In the castle, there was a sick boy.

“If you give me your name, I’ll give you strength.”

“If you can cure this illness and make me strong, I’ll give you my name.”

The monster entered the boy.

The boy became well.
The king was so pleased. “The prince is well! The prince is well!”

The monster liked the boy’s name.
He also liked living in the castle.

So even though he was hungry, he endured.
Every day his stomach growled, but he endured it.

However, he was so hungry that one day he said,
“Look at me. Look at me. Look at how large the monster inside me has become.”

The boy ate the king and even his servants.
Crunch Crunch! Munch Munch! Chomp Chomp! Gulp!

Since there was no one there anymore, the boy went on a journey.
He kept on walking for days and days.

One day, the boy met the monster who travelled to the west.

“I have a name. It’s a wonderful name, too.”

The monster who went to the west said,
“I don’t need a name. I’m happy even without a name.
We just have to accept that we are monsters without a name.”

So the boy ate the monster who went to the west.

He finally had a name.
But all the people who could call him by that name had disappeared.

http://tenantenna.bandcamp.com/track/the-demon-song-live