Guess who is totally famous?!?!? I'll give you a clue!

Oh, fuck clues. It's totally me! And Allen! And The Sex Show Team! I present you, in it's entirity, the New City article this week about The Sunday Night Sex Show (with a couple small corrections, from me, in bold face):

Sex School: The Burlington offers everything you’ve ever wanted to know

Where can you find six women in one room who would happily don a strap-on and take on a guy? Or a bar full of men who shout out the maximum distance they’ve managed to shoot a load?

Logan Square bar The Burlington is home to the monthly Sunday Night Sex Show, where creators and hosts Allen Makere and Robyn Pennacchia infuse your mind, libido and sense of humor with any and all things sex-related. In case you were wondering, the longest distance shouted was nine feet.

With the Sunday Night Sex Show celebrating its sixth month in existence, it’s no surprise to find that most of the audience members are regulars and well acquainted with Pennacchia and Makere. The room fills up quickly and nearly every seat in the place is occupied.

Trivia questions that win you leather whips and penis-shaped lollipops teach you such things as Objectùm-Sexuality (to love and be intimate with objects; from the massive Eiffel Tower to the average clock radio), the state with the highest in-state percentage of porn subscribers (Utah, 5.47 people per 1,000) and that a former second lady wrote a controversial novel allegedly depicting graphic scenes of rape and lesbian sex (”Sisters” by Lynne Cheney). (The creepy-ass graphic scenes of rape were actually from Scooter Libby's novel "The Apprentice"- but there was a lot going on so ths is understandable, duh)

In between the various questions and naughty prizes, local writers are given the chance to read short works of creative non-fiction about their past and current sexual experiences. While most of the writers seem to be Fiction Writing students from Columbia College, anyone with a fun and wild tale of sex, or attempted sex, is encouraged to read.

Audience members are encouraged to write and anonymously submit questions concerning sex and relationships. The audience is also asked to participate if they know an answer or at least have a suspicion about it, and everything is open to a fun, laugh-filled debate.

Sounds a bit group-couples counciling-ish, but with questions like “Can you get a guy off by just kneading their tank?” (Taint, is what that was supposed to be, actually. But, you know, it was loud in there.) to “How does one become a squirter? Is it a learned ability or are you vaginally born with it?” it’s anything but. While Makere and Pennacchia don’t seem the doctoral types, they answer questions based on their past experiences. In response to the squirting question, Makere tells a hilarious tale about his encounter with a Spanish boarder with “a cooch like a volcano.” (Khaveri Campbell)

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The two small mistakes are totally nothing, because they actually spelled my name correctly, which is pretty fucking awesome and impressive. I'm so excited! It's like, the first official article about us so I am just kvelling all over the place! Eee! Go Team Sex Show!!!

When was the last time you checked your Friendster page?

For me, it's been years. But I did it this morning because I wanted to see if I was still "friendsters" with this one dude that I haven't seen in a bajillion years. Long story.

Anyway, it's sort of like an abandoned amusement park- it's desolate and creepy. Apparently a few people have checked in in the past year, but not many.

The thing about Friendster though were the testimonials. Because, like at first, people just wrote nice things about you. I still have a few of them (down to 21 because most people have deleted their profiles by now), including pretty much two of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me:

From my darling friend Ryan, who is totally grown up now and in fact engaged. I was totally a bad influence on him and he loves me for it. Except for the time we got mauled by angry cops at a WTO protest in DC, I don't think he appreciated that so much.:

"life would suck without her. i heard this cramps song one time called "dames, booze, chains and boots" and immediately thought of robyn, i dont even know why. but shes definitely a real special dame. even tho sometimes i feel like a little brother, she helped me start smoking and curses me for being underage. robyn knows just about everyone in a 100 mile radius. she has the most original style that only she can get away with, try not to stare at her boobs tho, they like to play peek-a-boo from behind her SalvArm treasures. i love robyn, only a real friend would pull over to buy you cigs with her credit card."

And from my friend Ian, who is in fact a ridiculously talented musical genius.

"OK, admit it: Robyn is pretty f'n awesome. She's hot, she's smart, she's immediately friendly in a way all you lame-ass indie rockers are not, she's tough, she's a political activist who does more than you did, she's honest to the point of being in-your-face, she is a radical feminist who's pro-sex and not at all dogmatic, she has a great sense of humor and irony, she's fun and the first to rock out / play board games / watch cheesey horror movies. If you can't take her loud raucous assault on everything in her way, then yr just dumb."

Awww! I'm plotzing all over again. It's a very rosy picture (in my interpretation), and I feel a bit vain about posting it on here, but whatever. I'm totally allowed.

Not dead.

In case you were worried at all, I did not get set on fire last night.

However, still suffering from a bad case of beard burn. It is not pretty. I am not happy about going back to Rochester looking like I've suddenly developed bad skin, when my skin has always been such a ridiculous point of vanity for me. Alas.

I'm the man of my own dreams

You know how you have this idea in your head of like, how the "ideal person" would be? I think when I was younger, and maybe even now, the main "ideal" was that they would say or write things that I'd wish to god I had come up with- where I'd get that pang of envy or awe. Or that they'd know things I wish I knew, or be able to do things I wish I could do. Or that I'd just want to walk around their head and see how it worked. It happened a lot when I was younger, but not so much now.

Maybe because I'm happy, and no longer awkward, about the things I say and write. Maybe because I teach myself the things I want to know about, and learn the things I want to know how to do. I don't feel any deficiency in these things anymore. I used to be so impressed by fellas who could beat me in the verbal sparring, I used to be impressed by men who would make reference to something that I'd be dying to go home and look up and research- but it doesn't happen anymore. I've won, but it's, on some level, a Pyrrhic victory. I don't know what to be impressed by anymore.

I am tall, dark, and handsome. I am culturally literate. I speak three languages. I play several instruments. I'm well read. I'm well informed in terms of current events. I'm excellent with the snappy comebacks. I am a walking reference book. I think about how what I say and do will affect other people. I will throw down if someone hurts anyone I care about. People know when I am insulting them. I am the man of my own fucking dreams, and I am choking to death on a silver tongue.

And it's not that I'm the greatest thing ever. I assure you, I'm not. And I don't think I'm smarter than anyone else- I'm just well versed in the things that are/were important to me. I'm fucked up in a lot of ways as well, and will gleefully recite them to anyone who will listen. Maybe I'll make a list later. But right now, I'm jaded and I'm tired- and it's been awfully hard for me to be funny lately. And I'm tired of thinking- "Well, if you can't be endlessly clever or interesting, can you at least be kind?"- and having that be an impossibility.

Oy. I'm such a kvetch.

I can die now.

A link to my blog! In Susie Bright's blog's sidebar thingy! Seriously. I can totally die now. I feel like reciting the Oscar speech I had practiced when I was 11. I think it might be some kind of automated reciprocating thing... but still. I'm totally plotzing.

So I wasn't Ann Shirley in Stella Dallas.

So, the reading the other night actually went surprisingly well! Like, people actually came and had a super time and it was nothing like Stella Dallas or Carrie, or any of the many other movies I have seen featuring people getting dressed up and consequently embarassed. I am still bizarrely impressed that someone got the question about dendrophillia right (it means you want to fuck a tree!). I think we got maybe 25 people, which I think was pretty decent considering it was a first effort- and, you know, a reading.

Unfortunately, I was so nervous that I didn't consume anything other than diet cokes that day, and then drank 5 vodka pineapples... and that was kind of a bad idea. I am not really a drinker.

Oh, but awesomely- people seem really super psyched about making this a monthly thing, which would be awesome- I don't think I'd be so freaked out the next time. I think we've gotta find a different place though, because- you know, having not really done anything like this before, I kinda screwed up on timing and stuff, so we went a little long and I think they got mad at us because there were DJ's and stuff that had to go on. Eek! Still, I think we can get a lot more people to come to the next one when we have it. There are a bunch of people who want to read as well, which is also quite neat.

I'm like, retardedly happy about the fact that we pulled it off. Go team!

I am dead, but other than that, things are swell!

I am just going to die today. Seriously. I only got like, four hours of sleep last night, because my stupid phone woke me up (why do I always forget to put it on silent?), and then it was too hot to manage getting back to sleep until like, 4:30am. And today the store is full of delusional people who think they're a size small when even the larges wouldn't fit. I don't get that. Do they think maybe I'm blind? Oy. Who are they trying to fool? Me, or themselves?

Oh! But in awesome news...

1. I saw my dad yesterday and we went out for dinner and it was lovely, and I got to have lobster because I'm awesome, and also my mum sent me a pink umbrella because she's adorable.

2. Project Runway starts tonight! This is the last season, basically, since after this one, it's movie to freaking lifetime, and probably changing it's name to Project; Designers on the Run.

3. And if that wasn't glorious enough... my bad reality show dreams have come true! Rock of Love 3!! And this time... it's on a bus! Sweet!

4. Ok... this is going to sound so, so lame... but I got "Comment of The Day" for the first time over on Jezebel yesterday, and I'm like, retardly excited about it. Yes, I know, I have no life: http://jezebel.com/5025527/reader-roundup.

5. Fun tidbit of conversation:

Robyn: I truly have no desire to see the Grand Canyon or swim with dolphins, and for some reason this bothers people.

Dude: Well, the Grand Canyon is pretty awesome...

Robyn: I don't know, I'm sure it's probably pretty, but how long can that even be interesting for?

Dude: Well, if you like hiking...

Robyn: I totally don't hike. I don't hike, I don't jog, I don't date guys with the last name Peterson, or do anything else that seems to directly correlate to being murdered. It's a thing I have. Seriously, I watch a lot of Law and Order. Hiking= death.

Happy Thoughts?

I think terrible things all day long. I really do. Like this morning, I saw this woman wearing a t-shirt that said "I'M THE HOT FRIEND!" on it. I have seen her before, wearing a shirt which said "I'M BRINGING SEXY BACK!"

Neither of these things could have possibly been true. I promise. Unless like, her friends exclusively hang out with the John Merrick Look-Alike Chapter of Chicago. Or like, there is a new strain of sexy going around that is not at all like any sexy we have known before. And I wish I maybe thought something like, cheery and supportive, like "Good for her! I bet to someone, she totally is hot and sexy!" But like, even if the chick wearing the shirt was really hot, I would find the shirts unforgivable, and wrong in every way a shirt can manage to be. But like, when there is just such irony! How can you not notice? I can't handle braggy shirts. I'm generally unfond of clothing with anything on it to begin with, but when you start using your shirt as a forum to declare your hotness to the world (instead of like, wearing a cute shirt), you set yourself up for judgement.

That being said, I would totally like this lady's mirror. Five of them in fact. I'd like someone to follow me around with that mirror all day long.

One time I saw a woman wearing a shirt that said "Your boyfriend bought this shirt for me!" Which also, um, had to be a lie- for 99.9999999999999999999% of the population, at least. I bet it was awkward to buy that shirt- you know, if you were in fact buying it yourself. I mean, even if someone else's boyfriend was buying it for you, I bet you'd get some weird looks at the cash register. Awkward all around.

But yeah- see, I'm totally not a good person. Maybe that's why I have the worst time ever accepting compliments- or really, knowing what to say other than "thanks!" I'm really anti-flattery- I so much prefer constructive criticism. I know how to work with that, and maybe I feel like it's more honest. I'm really wary of people blowing smoke up my ass. It's even worse to be flattered when you have nothing to say back- like, you know, like if a really boring guy tell you you're interesting. I avoid that anyway, because I don't want to be anyone's foray into whimsicality as I so often have been (what was that movie with that guy from Scrubs? Yeah, I totally don't want that.). Seriously- the totally reg dudes dig me and tend to find me "fascinating." Which is awkward and makes me feel more like a sideshow exhibit than a person. Anyway... what do you say to that? "Gee, you're interesting too!" Even though it's a lie? My mom believes that everyone is interesting- and she has this amazing talent for drawing that out of people. I don't. I totally think most people are painfully boring.

I want to be like, one of those people that sees the good in everything, and doesn't judge others... but then I think I'd bore myself and what would be the good of that? Sigh. Well, if you don't have anything nice to say, my dears.... come sit by me.

Stuff and things.

1. I have decided that the Red Eye needs to replace their sex columnist with, um, me. Because, I'm sorry, but Dustin J. Seibert (I just looked up his name.) seems to be hell bent on making what should logically be a hilarious and interesting column- as most sex columns are- the most boring and retarded crap I have ever read in my life. Which, you know- isn't that surprising seeing as how it's the Red Eye. However, I think it's the only job of that sort in the city, and I would very much like to have it. I promise I will not begin anything with "I couldn't help but wonder..."

However, I think I'd have to write it under a pen name, as I have a lot of especially Catholic relatives back in New England. Who would probably freak the fuck out if they ever even googled my name now.

2. I like juice. Especially in the morning when I'm hungover. Like today. And not like, juice flavored water. Actual juice. The kind that comes from fruit. Particularly strawberry kiwi juice. It is maybe my favorite thing ever. But, as I realized this morning, juice is now an endangered species and has been replaced in near entirety by juice flavored water. Now, fine- maybe the juice flavored water is better for me... but it is nowhere near as delicious, and is of no help in the morning when I am hungover and would like to actually taste something. I implore you, corner stores of the world and specifically Chicago Ave... do not give up on Strawberry Kiwi Snapple!

3. You may or may not have noticed that I took a post down like, a day after publishing it. Mostly because I decided it needed more serious thought. I plan on working that out today, along with doing laundry!