2005-01-07 - 2:02 p.m.
to the jennifer tilly to my gina gershon

yeah, sweetheart, two points, only one of which i have made to your face:

1. fuck, i'm the goddamn addict-alcoholic, not you, and yet somehow i managed to restrain myself on new year's. i threw away all my shit and drank very, very little. i did get extremely stoned, but that's to be expected. you, dear, drank so much you couldn't even function the next night (over eighteen hours later!), and thus had to--oops!--stand me up again. and you've taken to sneaking your flask to work and running off at lunchtime to hang out in empty parking lots and get drunk with a married motherfucking man. do you really want Adventures in Sleaze like i had? 'cause that's where you're headed.

2. i can't help it. i've tried but i just can't shake this feeling. i'm quietly growing convinced that someone who's nice to me but downright mean to hired help isn't such a nice person after all. and yes, i'm still talking about the ice.

and blaming me for your drinking binges? "you yelled at me and made me sad so i drank all weekend." that's fucking low.

i'm setting down an ultimatum. i've tried to go over this in person and on the phone with you but you never quite seem to be able to grasp what i'm trying to tell you. so here it is in writing, if you even read this anymore.

i've grown tired of being your fuckbuddy. it's just not fun anymore. if i were a guy, things'd be totally different. but you're fucking scared, so you're playing the passive-aggressive game. i can play it too, and i can win, but i'm not going to play. i forfeit. so here's the deal. if we're going to keep on doing this, you can't go drinking with dwayne anymore, and you can't give him lapdances. you can't lead kenny on anymore. you can have male friends but not fucking male crushes--i'm tired of feeling your hand in my back pocket and hearing you talk about some... some guy concurrently. totally kills it. i'm tired of playing second fucking string to these things with penises. especially when you insist you don't like guys. come on, how stupid do you think i am? it's totally obvious you dig the cock. which is fine, but stop pretending. i realize that i said we could be friends and still make out, but that wasn't meant to last forever. just until we got our footing. we have our footing now. let's get this fucking show on the road, or call it all off. i'm tired of waiting and trying to read your fucking mind. i'm getting the feeling it's more about image and fashion to you than anything else--dressing up like a dyke and making out with a chick in public, ooh, edgy. it's not a motherfucking style. you can't spike your hair, wear boots and suddenly be something you're not.

simply put: make up your fucking mind, dear.

i'm not going to wait forever.

- rachel

ooh, you touch my tra-la-la... mmm, my ding-ding-dong