It’s Always Cloudy In Chicago
Like Laguna Beach on crack…Archive for lurking/creeping/stalking and everything in between
Audrey Sets Her Apartment on Fire (Kinda… It Was Well-Contained)
I saw you with her dear.You tried to hide away. She left through the back door. You always had your secret ways. I acted so serene. I was so drowsy then. My fault. I’m so careless. I gave you one too many pills. My oh my. My alibi. Restore my fate in these. Words so clear. My failure dear. Lies tucked away in me. You wanted to play this game. I’ll play it too. Come here baby I will show you what this girl can do. A mattress for a coffin suites you very fine. You’ll feel me with my others as you’re sewn under the seams. - “Cardigan Weather” by Meg & Dia
This is probably my favorite song of the moment and yes, I am getting a little sentimental. WARNING: This may be the only time that you will ever witness Audrey get a little emo… so get the Kleenex because the eyeliner is going to smudge. This weekend was a little rough for me (granted… it probably didn’t seem that way). It was E-day this weekend (I’m not going to say what the E stands for, but just know that it isn’t anything good and why I commemorated this day is beyond me). It was pretty much the ex’s and my anniversary.
I finally got the nerve to rid myself of the ex factor–got a new phone (his number not included and none of his saved text messages); literally threw out all of his clothes (except the two that I sold and got a pretty sweet hat); burnt everything he ever bought me which included flowers and stuffed animals (FYI: teddy bears don’t take to fire easily) and every picture we ever took. As far as, he is concerned, he was never in my life (that is actually much easier to say because for some reason it’s easy for me to lie about it). I started the fire in my bathroom. My roommate wasn’t too pleased. I think that it still smells like burning in my apartment right this second. I’m sure she will look back on it and laugh… maybe not today, but one day.
And it did make me feel better to cut him out of my life for the final time (because it was a very long arduous process), but that feeling of redemption over him was definitely short-lived. Maybe it is because I sobered up or maybe it’s because I was still drunk and thinking (which usually isn’t the best of combinations). But I have a feeling it was because I went lurking (and I know that is super creepy and borderline obsessive, but trust me for some reason all girls do it). For some reason, I just wanted to see if he still had the e-mails from when we were dating saved and part of me was glad he did. For a second, I thought, well, I’m glad I still cross his mind from time to time.
And then I kept going and I found out more than I probably needed to know. I know that I set myself up for that and I fully admit that it was 100% my fault. But I really didn’t need to see pictures of his new girlfriend and him. And I didn’t need to read about how he happy he was. (AGAIN, I’m fully aware that I was the one lurking). I am a happy person. I am pretty content with the life that I am leading and all that malarkey, but I think it is just knowing that he is happier than me and with someone else–that is what is killing me.
And I think that the only thing that is really bothering me about him being with someone else is that I am so much prettier than her. I know. I know. That is not a reason to get all riled up and I know that looks aren’t everything and I’m sure that she has a sparkling personality. I’m totally sounding super vain right now… But COME ON! I am so much hotter than she is. I’m smart. I’m funny. I can quote man movies out the wha-zoo. I don’t cry during chick flicks because I don’t watch them. I’m into guy things. I’m not saying that I am perfect, but I am was the closest to it that he could ever get. It’s sad because had she been prettier, I would have bitched still, but I probably would have taken it with a grain of salt and accepted it because he upgraded. But no, it was a total downgrade and I am completely perplexed by the whole situation.
So on E-Day I drank and I drank and I drank some more. I think that I drank for a good 12 hours met up with a number of different cohorts to celebrate this momentous occasion. SOVA was in town, so I gladly met up with him for a few rounds. We got pretty belligerent and pretty much got kicked out of a bar at like 1 in the afternoon for beating up on each other. We brought political incorrectness to the streets until he got tired and went home, while I met up with Ana and some of the gang from high school.
Guess what we did? That’s right we drank and drank til we couldn’t drink anymore. It was pretty silly. I think at one point I passed out on the bar floor, which was pretty amusing to my friends, not so much to the bouncers. Needless to say we left and got food and I threw up all the way home. It was pretty righteous.
And I have come to this unbelievable revelation, which I kind of knew from the beginning, but I’m going to go ahead and state the obvious. Even though I may think that I lost “the one” (because I was pretty set on marrying this ex), I have the best people in my life right now–hands down, the best friends a girl can ask for. Between Lily and SOVA and Ana and Alyssa and Karly… right now, I don’t think I need anyone else. And I know that I am perfectly content with that. Even though I will bitch about the current flavor of the week and boy melodrama, these people that were there for me this weekend are definitely the constants that I need and that I’m so happy to have.
And, yes, I am done being emo. And no, Lily, I did not get the word “fuck” tattooed on my body. You have to be out of your mind to think that I would actually do that. I’m looking forward to the weekend. Gretchen is coming to visit on Friday and re-celebrate my birthday since she wasn’t around. And my two counterparts, Alyssa and Karly (I probably couldn’t live without them) will be home this weekend. I’m stoked.
Again, I apologize for the emo rant. Let’s never speak of this moment again. Kisses.
Audrey Lights Shia’s Fire (Pronounced Fi-Uh)
Everyone who is anyone knows about my obsession with SNL sweetheart, Andy Samberg. He is just the epitome of everything that I could ever want in another human being—crazy hair, smart, hilarious, has the ability to rhyme, dorky, Jewish (I’m a little bit of a Schiksa). I’m convinced that we are totally meant to be together and I think that he is the cat’s meow (that’s right—I said cat’s meow). I’m 98.97869849875% sure that we are going to get married and have crazy-haired little rapping babies one day. I am so sure that he’s going to fall in love with me that I would totally put money on it. All I have to do is penetrate his circle of friends and somehow earn his trust. Gee… How are you going to do that, Audrey? Well, let me let you in on a little secret, kiddies.
On April 14, 2007, Shia Lebeouf was the host on Episode 17 of the 32nd season of the late night comedy show, Saturday Night Live. During the rehearsals and up until the live taping of the show, he had the honor of working with my personal beacon of light, Andy Samberg. From what my sources have gathered (and by sources I mean, what I assume), the two strapping young men became rather chummy on set and from what I understand have remained friends ever since. What does this have to do with you marrying Andy Samberg? Be patient, grasshoppers.
You see, a little birdie (who I shall call The Red Eye) has informed me that Shia is shooting a movie here in Chicago with Rosario Dawson. Not only is this self-proclaimed homebody shooting here, he is also going about getting arrested at a Wal-greens (criminal records are hot) and partying up in our fair city at places like Underground (aka places that I can easily gain entry). Audrey, you’re not thinking—Oh, you better believe it, little ones. That is exactly what I am thinking.
I plan to stalk Shia Lebeouf and bed him in order to meet and, shortly there after, marry Andy Samberg (I’m thinking that we would probably elope). GASP! I know. It sounds crazy, but is it really? I have developed a very intricate plan and there is no way it can fail.
I have taken the liberty of compiling a list of Shia’s general interests and favorite things. From the gathered information, I have derived another of the handful of places that he would even think about going to given his shooting schedules and locations as well as the proximity in relation to his hotel suite.
Also, I figure that for the next week or so, I must keep tabs on anything concerning Shia’s whereabouts. He may throw out a surprise appearance at the museum or have dinner at Carmine’s or something. You never know with these Hollywood-types.
Now, realistically, I cannot be in more than one place at a time (for now at least) and I realize that is a shortcoming in the plan. For this reason, I have installed a number of private security cameras and recruited a number of spies (or as I lovingly refer to them, “spias”) up and down the Gold Coast and anywhere and everywhere that could be a possibly be Shia-friendly.
When I get wind of a Shia siting, I’m going to need confirmation ASAP. I have the best people in town working for me, so if they fuck up—they’re fired and they will never work in this town again. Once I receive confirmation, I make way to the said destination and wine and dine Lebeouf until he is in the buff. This is how I imagine our initial meeting will go:
First, I wait until he casually walks up to the bar. I casually bump into to him not letting him know that I recognize him as anyone famous or anything like that, of course. That’s when I apologize and offer to buy him a drink. Of course, he’ll accept and I then yell, “Bar keep a long island for me and a roofie-tini for the gentleman.” I make eyes at him. We talk and we laugh and we share a few moments until the roofie kicks in. I tell his buddies or whoever he’s with that he said that he wanted me to take him back to his hotel (and if they don’t believe me, I’ll just pull the ol’ Weekend at Bernie’s shtick). From there, I will bed him (because what fun is it to roofie up a celebrity and then not bang him?). Afterwards, I hire a hooker to pose in the incriminating photos that I take of him (this is for later use).
The next morning, Shia will wake up and see me in his arms. I’ll tell him about how we fell in love and that I loved him before I even knew that he was a big movie star. He’ll be a little scared at first, but then he will get comfortable and use to the idea of me. After he is done shooting his film, he whisks me away to New York to meet his family and some of his buddies.
Coincidently, Shia and I would attend the Saturday Night Live after party and run into none other than, Andy-mother-f-in-Samberg. How funny is that? Who would have thunk it? Andy and I hit it off right away. Shia conveniently does not feel good for some reason or another and calls it a night, leaving it up to Andy (the love of my life) to make sure that I get back to him safely. From that night on, Andy and I develop a strong bond that cannot be broken and some might say a forbidden love.
Conveniently soon after, incriminating photos of Shia and a hooker turn up all over the place on—covers of magazines and all over Perez Hilton. We get into a huge fight. I tell him that I cannot be with someone who has such an insatiable sexual appetite that he has to turn to prostitutes and that I am embarrassed to be seen with him. He tries to fight for us, but I tell him no. Then I point out that I realize that these pictures were in the very hotel room that we first made sweet love in and cry that I can’t believe that he was doing this right under my nose. And then I leave him.
As soon as I walk out of his apartment, I call Andy crying, looking for a shoulder to cry on. He provides that shoulder. Andy tells me that he would never ever think of doing that to me if I was his lady friend and then he professes his love to me in a digital short that he had been working on called “Shia’s Girl” with Martin Short starring as Shia. About five minutes later, we get married and there is a whole tabloid frenzy about this ridiculous love triangle.
And that is the reader’s digest of why I need to bone Shia Leobouf.
I mean, yes, I’m technically using Shia and ruining lives, but it’s all for love, baby. It’s all to show Andy that I care. So, don’t judge me and claim that my intentions weren’t good and that I ruined the career of the next Tom Hank’s single-handedly. That’s mean. I know that you would do it too and we all know love makes us do crazy things.
So I’m asking you from the bottom of my heart, if you have any news or information about Shia’s whereabouts, please contact Audrey. If you don’t want to do it for me, do it for the sake of true love. I promise that you will get into heaven if you do. And if you don’t, I will make your life in hell as miserable as possible. Kisses.
UPDATE: Turns out Cusack knows the studios that are filming Shia’s latest project. Isn’t that a beard stroker?
