Yes, I am a lesbian.

I've been all pissed off at myself lately because I haven't been able to blog -- not for lack of wanting to, or for lack of trying -- every day after I finish my "real" work, I spend about 45 minutes trying to come up with a blog post, and then I always wind up chucking it, because I don't like it or it's too personal or it never gelled or whatever. The problem is, I am starting to resent my lack of privacy, which is something that I continue to perpetuate through maintaining an online presence, which is ridiculous -- if I don't like it, I can always stop. So I seem to have stopped.

Which, when I look at my referral stats, doesn't seem to matter much to most of my audience, as most of my audience still finds me by searching for things "pee hole" or "fuck pee" or "peed my knickers" -- that's a big one -- I'm huge in the UK pee freak scene. Only in the past six months has "Janice Erlbaum" slipped into my top three referral stats, and my most frequently visited posts are still the one about me peeing on the 4 train, the one about ground zero, the one about feminist men, and the one about peasant skirts.

The fucking peasant skirt post! Which I wrote in 2005! In between going up to the Bronx to visit Sam at the hospital -- that's how many millions of years ago I wrote this stupid post about how every chick in the city decided to run out in the same week and buy a goddamn peasant skirt, and how unflattering I found them. And every single day, people find my site by searching for "peasant skirt." And some of them still feel inspired to comment. As "that one chick" did on Friday; her comment reads as follows:

"LMAO!! The random rants of a ladie who doesn't like what women wear. I'm sorry, but aren't we supposed to worry about what the men think? Unless you are a lesbian...are you a lesbian Janice? I, myself, don't wear peasant skirts, but if any of you ladies want to wear a peasant skirt go for it. Janice, I'm sure, is just tired of seeing women who can pull of an outfit she can't. Peasant skirts have their place, just as Janice belongs on the internet with her random blogs about women's fashion."

ZOMG.

Now, come on, ladie. I know you're too busy worrying about what the men think to pay any attention to things like, you know, satiric tone, but cut me a break. I'm just a sad ugly old broad who can't pull off cute fashions, randomly blogging on the internet where I belong -- why'd you have to go and out me as a lesbian? It's such a shameful insult, to be called a lesbian -- I nearly cried, the first ninety nine million times I was accused of that over in the feminist men thread. And how am I supposed to explain this to my gay husband Bill?

Yeah. So it's likely that I will never blog again, because my emotional wounds are too deep, after having been put in my place like that. Also, I'll be appearing tonight at Steph Sabelli's amazing show, which starts at 9pm at 94 St. Marks Place between First Ave. and Ave. A. And, I'm a lesbian. Sorry about that, Shmoo.

Week in blurry pictures

Nicole Blackman and Emily XYZ at the KGB poetry series on Monday. I'd recap it, but the Best American Poetry blog beat me to it.

On! The! Rise! What a great night of hanging out with terrific people doing who are doing incredible work. The speech was well-received, AND Bill and I won a copy of Rock Band in the silent auction. To which Bill yelled, "Yeah!", somewhat breaking the silence.

Virtual poetry reading

I'm reading tonight at 7pm at KGB, 85 East 4th Street, with poet Kevin Young, and you know I'd love to see some friendly faces there, but I am aware that such things as geography, busyness, and a distinct dislike of poetry readings (hi, Shmoo) might prevent some folks from attending. So here are the poems I'm going to be reading tonight; please feel free to set up a lectern in your living room and stare at it while imagining them read aloud in POetry CAdence like THIS.

How do married people masturbate
Socrates was a girl
Perpendicular, Part I
Comfort
Is Cheryl Blossom Rich?
The Temp

And, not a poem, but still one of my favorite things I've ever written, so I'm reading it tonight:

A Flaming Asteroid Hits My Ex-Boss in the Nuts

Wednesday I'm at the On The Rise benefit dinner, Saturday I'm teaching an all-day seminar on Memoir Writing, And Sunday the 28th I'll be at Stephanie Sabelli's amazing show, with Stephanie, Jonathan Ames, Mangina, Rev. Jen, Faceboy, and Heather Rabbit. It's free, and starts at 9:30, at the Under St. Marks Theatre
(94 St. Marks Place between 1st Ave. and Ave. A). Or you could just set up a lectern in your living room, and stare at it while imagining, respectively, a speech (remember to imagine the Bill Clinton thumb-fist gesture I'm sure to be making), seven hours of pontificating ("Character drives plot! The character wants something, and faces obstacles to that goal!"), and, probably, some dick jokes ("Is it big enough for what? You want to snake the drain in the tub? Not big enough!")

Here, There, Other Places

So here's a picture of me at LIM college last month, where I had a repeat attack of the face-eating grins:

And here's the picture of me that ran in the Post the same week, holding what looks like a sperm martini. Once, while drinking such a drink, I remarked to Dana that the drink looked like a sperm martini. She said primly, "I wouldn't know."

In other news, I am delighted to announce that the speech is finished, and I am now free to appear at the On The Rise benefit dinner next Wednesday instead of faking appendicitis, which was my backup plan.

Speaking of faking things, this Amazon reviewer outs me for faking my wedding. Honey, that's not all I fake in my marriage! Ha ha ha ha ha. But seriously, she's not the only dumdum who thinks my marriage to Bill is invalid because it's not legal. Which is why you'll find us at the Marriage Equality March this Sunday at City Hall -- where Dana herself will be playing at 1:30!

Now all I have to fake are some poems for the KGB poetry series on Monday night (7pm, 85 East 4th Street, freebie). I keep trying to write poems, by which I mean, sucking in my cheeks dramatically and saying aloud, "Life!" And then going, there, that's the poem. It's called, "Life!"

More of a link than an actual post:

So, remember that Darin Strauss book about Munchausen's by Proxy that I was raving about this summer?

Here's a conversation I had with him, suggested and posted by the very lovely and literary Maud Newton.

Thanks to Maud for brainstorming this, to Darin for playing along, and to you, loyal blog readers, for your patience, as I try to write things like speeches ("Four score and seven...goddamn it, that's already taken...") and books ("It was a dark and stor...FUCK.")

What the campaigns have taught me about writing

Spent all day trying to write a speech, to no avail. Just realized: I should write a story instead.