The Miss E Of Worlds Most Hated (E's for Eerie, not Elated)

Hello Interwebz! It's time for "Another Lecture on Not Being a Fuckwit" by Miss E.

IF YOU STALK SOMEONE'S AWAY MESSAGES AND GET OFFENDED BY WHAT YOU READ THERE, IT IS YOUR FAULT. Believe it or not, people actually DO NOT write their away messages simply to offend the random stalkerazi psycho uber-fans that add it just to read the away messages. Hell, when MY away messages say "fuck you, leave me alone, I'm sleeping" I am talking to the people who MESSAGE ME. And, if you TALK TO ME, you know that it isn't an angry message, merely me being ridiculous. I drop F bombs like I'm George Bush and my away message is Iraq.

NOW, if you are EXTRA SPECIAL CREEPY and you like to jump to conclusions about people's private lives based on away messages, ask your Special Ed teacher to translate this part for you, because I may be using some words you don't understand, like 'cat'. Are you listening? People put jokes in their away messages. People put stuff about their friends in their away messages. People put where they are in their away messages because it's for our fucking friends. That's why its called a buddy list. SO WHAT if you are a creepy motherfucker and you lurked Alicia's away so you know where Gerard had his birthday dinner? Did you or any of your friends come out? No. If anyone ever actually shows up, would they be thrown out if they bothered MCR? Yes. And we know that. We know you guys are only internet brave but won't actually ever show up and most of you live in fucking Wisconsin so you couldn't. So shut the fuck up. We'll put whatever we want in our away messages. No one makes you read them. In fact, you go out of your way to do so. People go out of their way to call Jeffree a faggot or me a sand nigger or both of us cunts on MySpace. Do you see us deleting our shit or making it private? Fuck no. That is letting that creepy assholes win. I am not letting a bunch of delusional and judgmental sociopaths alter how I live my life.

And when someone puts that they are pregnant in their away message, if you HONESTLY think that not only that it is true and not at all an inside joke but that it is actually intended to upset YOU PERSONALLY then ask a parent, guardian, or other adult to help you pull your FUCKING HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS! You think we're self-important? Fuck, my ego is so big it eclipsed the SUN and I don't think people that I DO NOT KNOW nor have I EVER SPOKEN WITH write something in their away messages just to piss me off! ZOMG Justin Timberlake has 'sidekick luv!' in his away message! CLEARLY, even though I stole his screenname off some random website of celebrity screen names, he MUST know that my sidekick has been broken all week and is doing it SOLELY to piss me off.

Listen to me. STOP jumping to conclusions!!! Stop assuming every single thing we do is aimed at you. Meghan and I probably talk about the lurkers more than the whole crew put together and WE don't even talk about the kids we don't know about BECAUSE WE AREN'T PSYCHIC! How can I talk about you or start shit with you if I DON'T KNOW YOU'RE READING MY SHIT? We talk about how funny Danica was today or how stoked we were to see Tess or how we're going to kidnap Le Ballz Crew and make them live in my closet with my shoes. Why? BECAUSE WE KNOW THEM! Because we consider them friends! Because we talk to them pretty fucking constantly. I've had blanket statements address to lurkers before and it was telling people to respect the away message and not bother me while I'm sleeping. And you know what... THAT WAS STILL ADDRESSED TO THE FUCKING PEOPLE WHO MESSAGE ME. The only time I have EVER 'addressed' the people who lurk and don't talk was that 'marauders of the mousepad' message, which was a default away that was passed around the whole interwebz and put up by everyone because it was FUNNY. And you creepy lurkers got offended because its.... apropos! I'm sorry, is that too big of a word? It means that away message was accurate because you DO stalk away messages, waiting to see if they change. It sucks when its true, huh?

So now that I have egregiously abused my caps lock key, I want you all to go look in the mirror. You say we're self-involved? Well, look at yourself. I don't lurk the away messages of people I don't know. (Except that boy that I like but technically I know him, I'm just too shy to talk to his ass.) And if I did, I wouldn't be so fucking pompous as to assume that an away message is meant specifically to fuck with my head. I don't assume that because I've read a few articles and posted a few conspiracy theories that I know ANYTHING about the people I stalk. And it IS stalking.

I leave my AIM public so I can talk to lurkers. Why? Because some of you have become my friends. (And I did that WAY before WMHC so please choke on a large slice of STFU.) Because people IM me with problems or questions and I want to be available to help. Am I aware that creepy fuckers who make judgment calls about me and make up a whole tale about my life in their heads read my shit obsessively? Yup. Do I think about it? Very, very rarely. Have I ever written something vague just to fuck with people's heads so they can feel all cool on the MCRmy boards? Nope. Does the person out of all of us who is the least tech-savvy even THINK about any of this at all ever? Nope. So shut the goddamn hell up.

If you don't like me, ignore me. Don't IM me, don't read my aways, don't read my LJ, don't click on my buzznet, don't go to my myspace, don't go to WMH.com. If you love me and think I'm great, talk to me and get to know me so you know what I'm really like. But please be respectful of my time and my life and the fact that I am not personally on call to talk to YOU 24/7 because I am, in fact, a real person with a real life and a real job. And, whether you talk to me or just stalk me, don't assume you know ANYTHING about my life or my friends beyond what little we tell you. You are NOT entitled to know anything about the bands you love beyond what they choose to tell you. You are not entitled to know anything about US beyond what we choose to tell you. Don't assume that everything we post or say or do is to offend YOU. Don't read into myspace headlines or away messages. (My friends only makes a joke about alimony being a business expense. Clearly, I'm trying to make you fuckwits think I am actually Jessica Simpson in drag and I'm starting drama for Team Nick. Clearly. Comma.) YOU want to make us bitches or saints and YOU intepret our actions as such. It is YOUR fault you're sitting at your keyboard offended or ecstatic. You willingly are reading this and you willing sought out whatever forum you found this rant on. I didn't come to your house and stand in your front yard and yell this to you. Take some fucking responsibility.

Don't believe everything you read on the internet. Don't think that you can read an interview and suddenly extrapolate conclusions about the friends of the friends of the band. (Remember when Revolver tried to make it look like Jeffree was a super fan that Davey hated? Yup, CLEARLY, Davey hates him AND me and we had a fistfight at Swingers last week. Clearly. Comma.)

Just stop assuming, stop stalking, and FUCK OFF.

And, for God's sake, on April 1st look at the goddamn calendar. Because when I post a notice that I'm pregnant with Jeffree Star's child and somewhere, in the vast reaches of the internet, some J* fan forum goes buck wild... well, they don't call it April Fools for nothing, folks.

Submitted for the approval of the Midafternoon Society...

The Tale of Mike Cannon and How Living Well Is The Best Fucking Revenge
or
Its the End of the Week and I've Made Every Phone Call To Every Management Company Possible and now I'm Bored Off my Ass

Once upon a time, in the land of Worcester, Massachusetts there lived a girl by the name of 80s. 80s kinda liked this nickname because she did like the 80s an awful lot but she felt weird about it because she knew it was actually a mean nickname given to her by the boys in her grade who wanted to make fun of her.

But it was a better nickname than Eli, which was a shortening of her name so horrible and unacceptable and wrong that she pretended to think I was the greatest nickname EVER so no one would call her that EVER AGAIN.

80s attended one of the richest, most illustrious private schools in the country. To be a day student in middle school (boarding was more expensive, as was high school) was more expensive than Harvard tuition. However, her parents wanted her to have the very best education and so they figured out how to afford it.

Her classmates used to make fun of her for being the 'poor' kid because she didn't wear Prada and her mother drove a Dodge instead of a Lexus. This annoyed 80s greatly as both of her parents came from real poverty and fought to get to where they were so she had an appreciation for economic struggle. Her school was in the center of one of the worst parts of Worcester and, when the students walked down the block to their brand new 5.4 million dollar sports field (the cost of which was printed exuberantly wherever the school board could put it), they had to walk past kids barely older than them nursing infants. Her fellow students would laugh at them and congratulate themselves for being rich. And when they were assigned community service associating with the unwashed masses horrified everyone.

80s did not fit in. 80s felt bad for people who didn't have what she had and knew it was just genetic luck that got her born into a family that could afford Worcester Academy instead of a ramshackle 3-decker across the street. 80s liked community service, although she would only volunteer at the youth center after she spent a whole year volunteering at Saint Vincent's hospital talking to old people and had several of them that she had come to love pass away. 80s didn't care about fancy cars or nice clothes. 80s liked school and comic books and heavy metal.

In 7th grade, there had only been 6 girls and 6 boys in her whole grade. All of the preteen boys banded together, as boys were wont to do. And of the girls, there was the tomboy (who got to hang out with the boys on probationary status), the popular girl, the hot girl, the school spirit girl, and the deaf girl (who got made fun of for 2 weeks until they realized she couldn't hear to be offended and thus, it wasn't any fun.)

This left 80s as The Weird Girl. And she was. To pass dress code but still be comfortable, she wore black leggings under a giant baggy sweater every day. This was not a good fashion statement. 80s knew nothing of the girly arts of makeup or proper dress and, even though she had many outfits, she always managed to put them together in the most garish combinations possible. She was friends with two Juniors who were even more socially outcast than she was and they formed a Role Playing club which was the ultimate social suicide.

80s was great to play tricks on. If you were nice to her for even a moment, she'd smile and put aside all the mean things that you did to her... and you could do more! The Middler boys took joyous advantage of this to lure her into places like the science closet and lock her in with all the dead frogs. (The dead frogs didn't scare 80s. Being locked in a closet for 3 hours until the janitor found her did.) They also loved to pick her up bodily and shove her into the dumpsters outside the student center or throw rocks at her and chase her until she ran up a tree that they couldn't climb then keep her pinned there so everyone could come make fun of her. And the girls were worse, with their cutting comments that every girl knows.

7th grade was not a very good time for 80s. Not at all. Her family was fighting all the time. Her mother had been assaulted by a patient at the mental hospital where she worked and now had brain and back damage. Her mood swings became wildly irrational and she and her daughter fought nearly constantly. Seeing his wife hurting and his daughter miserable, her father was also a powder keg. And when 80s started bringing home horrible grades because of her treatment at school, they would have vicious fights. When she tried to turn to her teachers, they just ignored what she told them about the other students. They were the sons and daughters of privilege and thus were above being disciplined. 80s was told, in no uncertain terms, to shut up and deal.

So, by 8th grade, 80s was spending her $100/week allowance solely on alcohol. She did not buy lunch at the school cafeteria with it. She did not spend it in the arcade. She did not buy clothing or even comic books. She had 4 different seniors that she gave $25 each every week to buy her as much Smirnoff as possible. As she didn't know anyone who drank, it didn't occur to her that vodka could be mixed with anything so she drank it straight from the bottle like she'd read about in her Metallica unauthorized biographies. She drank all day, from when she got up in the morning to when she slept at night, if she slept at all. Her grades crashed and she went into a downward spiral. She didn't shower for weeks at a time (and certainly smelled worse than Caty Sumner) and when she did, she'd often cry in the shower because her hair was so matted and dreaded from not being cared for that she had to rip out great chunks to comb it out. If she had known of the Bell Jar, she would have echoed its sentiments. What was the point of eating, shitting, sleeping, washing your face? You'd just have to do it again the next day.

In short, 80s was miserable. Utterly, soul-crushingly miserable. Her summer had been long and lonely, filled with vodka and bruises and nights spent sleeping in the cemetery up the street from her house to get some peace and fucking quiet. But 8th grade night be different! Sure, the whole school hated her but they had new students that year and SURELY one of them would be a freaky weirdo, too!

Hope loomed on the first day, at the 'retreat'. Every year, the middle school girls and boys went on a retreat to 'Trust Camp'. They did activities together to build 'community' and 'unity' like dropping 80s during trust falls or not holding 80s safety rope so she fell off the rope walk 10 feet to the ground or partnering up with everyone but 80s so she was left standing; drunk and alone in the dirt at this stupid, hypocritical camp, getting yelled at for not having a partner and not 'wanting to be a team player'.

As she was standing at the end of the line by herself, trying to figure out how the fuck she was supposed to magic a stupid partner for the final stupid event out of the stupid air so she could leave this stupid camp and go back to her stupid home, she noticed a new boy standing near her. And to her shock and amazement, he turned around and smiled at her. "Um, hey. Do you have a partner?" he asked her.

She shook her head and backed up in case he decided to throw rocks.

"Um, me neither. Wanna be my partner?" he asked.

She shook her head and backed up more.

The boy hung his head at getting rejected and kicked a rock. 80s jumped about a foot. "Um, ok. Nevermind then."

She tugged on his sleeve a moment later. "Um, I'll be your partner. Sorry."

"It's cool. Are you good at climbing trees?" he asked.

She grinned. He had no idea.

80s and Mike Cannon won the very final event of Trust Camp to her overwhelming joy.

Mike Cannon was 16. Mike Cannon had just been released from juvvie. Mike Cannon's mother drove a station wagon and he had to share a bedroom with his brother because his parent's couldn't afford a bigger house! In short, he was everything that WA wasn't.

He was perfect.

And 80s loved him.

At first, they got along famously. 80s was a bit of a tomboy although she didn't quite get sports. Mike thought the rich arrogance of their classmates was a joke and would always talk about how they'd all get beaten up in 'the Real World.' He told her about juvvie and she bought him alcohol and cigarettes. They'd sit in his car and listen to Metallica.

What 13 year old girl wasn't going to fall for the rough-and-tumble, handsome older bad boy that was sensitive and sweet with her and defended her from the legion of bullies?

What 16 1/2 year old boy wants to hang out with a 13 year old girl that plays D&D and thinks a quarterback is a basketball position even though she is on the basketball team?

In retrospect, it makes sense. In the moment, 80s had no idea what was really coming.

It has been mentioned above that 80s was sort of sweetly naive. She wanted to believe the best of people and, though she had learned her other classmates never meant well, she trusted Mike. So when he started teasing her, often more viciously than the others since he knew her better, she didn't understand. When he'd ask to meet her places then wouldn't show and instead she'd get jumped by the middle boys, she just assumed they waylaid him somehow.

She didn't want to believe her only friend was fast becoming her worst tormentor.

The winter dance rolled around and Mike asked 80s to be his date. Blushing, she assented. She stood in the shower for 2 hours getting the mats out of her hair, got her mom to take her to a salon to style her locks and apply makeup, and skipped down the stairs in a brand new dress. She waited on those steps for hours but Mike never showed to pick her up like he promised. She begged her mother, who knew her baby girl had been stood up but didn't have the heart to tell her, to take her to the dance.

When she arrived, 80s located Mike standing by the punch bowl with all the other boys, the Hot Girl by his side. "Hey Mike?" she asked. "Um, did you forget to pick me up?" she asked, having a bad feeling.

He laughed at her and everyone else laughed along. "I can't believe you'd show your ugly face here! Did you have your Mom drive you? Are you stupid? I'd never take a girl like you to the dance! You're ugly! And I hate you!" Everyone laughed harder.

And the girl who would grow up to be Me ran away crying.

That memory sucks. I mean, seriously, that's some Carrie shit. And, having teachers that wouldn't listen to me, parents I was fighting with, and no friends meant I had no one to talk to about it. So I cried and I drank and I cut myself and I was MISERABLE. But life goes on.

See why I say there is NO amount of money you could ever pay me to do Middle School over again?

Years later.... 2004, in fact, when I was at my most hot and toned and looking totally rad if I do say so myself and I do, I went home for Warped tour. I have to say, if I was gonna go home and run into people, that is totally the way I want to do it. For the record.

So Warped was in bumfuck nowhere that year and we stopped at a diner/truck stop on the way home to get food after nearly crashing my [dad's] car. And as we were eating and chatting, I hear "Elissa?"

And I turn around. It takes me a moment to remember his face and name. "Mike?" You're kidding, right?

"Wow. It is you! How are you?"

Well, I was great until I saw you just now. "I'm great. How are you?"

"Uh, good. Do you live around here?"

"No. I live in Hollywood." Go, cold cutting LA tone, go!

"Oh. Oh wow! What are you doing out there?"

"I work for a recording studio." Lets not mention I'm only a runner.

"Wow! Really?"

"Yeah. Really." Dick.

"So... are you home visiting? Do you live around here?"

You already asked that. "No. I live outside of Worcester. We're just here to see Warped Tour. We're on the way home. What are you doing out here?"

"Oh. I, uh, work here. I'm the cook."

"Oh." WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!!!!!!!

"So.... uh, listen. Are you, you know... in town for a while? I'd really like to hang out with you."

Did you just check out my tits, you fucking skeeze? "No. Sorry. I leave in a few days and I'm busy. Could you bring me another Coke, though? Thanks."







WIN.

And that's the tale. I took a lot of shit in grade school and high school. I got the worst of it in middle school. And, uniformly, the people that were fucking bastards to me are working at Payless Shoesource or Denny's, despite all that money. The ones from middle school (since they had more money) have more illustrious careers... that have fallen into ruin, across the board. One just got sued for medical malpractice, one is just got kicked out of college because you can only be an undergrad for 7 years before they boot you, and 3 are in various stages of ugly divorces. And for some reason, when I run into them, they feel the need to tell me about it. Maybe because, no matter how mean they were to me, I was always nice back.

I'm not always nice, like a said an entry before. I probably shouldn't think its so damn great that these people who were horrid to me years ago got a karmic slap. But its validation to be that I somehow did something right when, at the time, I thought I was doing it all wrong. Maybe I'll fall on my face and they'll all laugh at me. Lord knows it won't be the first time.

But until that moment, I'm going to smile and know that living well is the best revenge. I didn't have to Columbine or Carrie it. I got out of there and am doing something I love and I'm pretty happy. I didn't have to 'avenge' myself against the people who hurt me because they ruined themselves. The Boston rumor mill still functions and I know they hear about me just like I hear about them. And that is the best revenge - to know that they have to hear that, despite everything, I am still a freaky weirdo with no fashion sense who reads comic books and likes learning and I'm damn successful doing it. I can't think of a better revenge than that.

So suck on that, padre!