thinking about what’s on the site until I actually see it for myself. Con: I will actually see it for myself. Pro: It might not be as bad as I fear. Con: It will be worse than I could ever imagine in my darkest self-loathing nadirs, confirming all the anxieties I have about myself as a person and a writer. Pro: Maybe they think I’m pretty!
I use what little arm strength I have left to lift myself off the floor and propel myself back to the couch. An IM from Rel is waiting for me there.
Wienerdog (9:07:15): Ugh I feel like shit
Alex182 (9:07:44): I know, dude. I want to die.
Wienerdog (9:07:49): This is the worst.
Alex182 (9:08:01) I KNOW! And that little sycophant Molly did the 8:30 post instead of me. She is so far up Moira’s ass I don’t even know how she can type.
Wienerdog (9:08:04): Word.
Alex182 (9:08:07): I still haven’t looked at Breaking the Chick Habit yet.
Wienerdog (9:08:11): Dude, that is ridiculous. Just look at the fucking thing already.
Alex182 (9:08:16): Are you sure?
Wienerdog (9:08:22): Yes. Sack up. It’s not actually a life or death situation.
This is the second time in two days that one of my coworkers has told me that I need to grow some cojones and deal. I tell myself four times: You are not a wuss you are not a wuss you are not a wuss you are not a wuss. I take a deep breath and type the URL into my browser.
I have to give our hate blogger credit for excellent design sense. She’s taken our Chick Habit logo—a baby chick held in a manicured hand—and realistically severed that li’l chicken’s head for her own logo. She also altered our site’s purple color palate ever so slightly so that Breaking the Chick Habit looks like an angry eggplant exploded all over it. I also notice the cleverness of the name: In acronym form, it spells BTCH.
The site hasn’t been updated since yesterday, so the first post at the top of the screen is still “Top 5 Things Alex Lyons Should Do Instead of Writing in Public.” It’s written in the manner of a Letterman Top Ten and lists, in descending order, occupations that would apparently better suit me:
5. Cleaning toilets. She thinks her shit doesn’t stink, so other people’s shit probably won’t bother her either.
4. Hospital orderly. She’s quite familiar with bile already.
3. Nursery school aide. Fits her maturity level to hang around with toddlers.
2. Garbage collector. She’s used to producing trash so picking it up won’t be too much of a stretch.
1. Kill herself. That’s not really an occupation, it’s a one-off job.
I’m so shaken by this—especially the last one—that I have to get up and pace around the ten square feet of the living room. I guess my Internet nemesis stopped at five, rather than doing the full ten, because once you suggest someone should kill herself there’s really nowhere else to go. For each number on the list, the hate blogger has hyperlinked to one of my posts. If you click on “Kill herself” it goes to a particularly judgmental post I wrote about women who live-tweet their own weddings. “About to walk down the aisle!” DashingDiva79 had tweeted last month. “About to stick my head in the oven!” I had blithely written about her up-to-the-minute marriage coverage.
When I had written that post, I chuckled to myself—but I also wondered if I had crossed the line. I had used DashingDiva79’s real name in the post—Ashley Smathers—and now when you Google her, my petty post is the first thing that shows up.
I click through the other links. I’ve posted over a thousand times since I started this job, and yet this anonymous blogger has somehow zeroed in on the five posts that I’ve felt most conflicted about. I continue to pace. Should I call Peter? Cry on the phone to my mom? IM my fury to Rel? I thought the site would be upsetting, but I hoped it would be something I could laugh off. This isn’t funny at all.
But rather than take
I use what little arm strength I have left to lift myself off the floor and propel myself back to the couch. An IM from Rel is waiting for me there.
Wienerdog (9:07:15): Ugh I feel like shit
Alex182 (9:07:44): I know, dude. I want to die.
Wienerdog (9:07:49): This is the worst.
Alex182 (9:08:01) I KNOW! And that little sycophant Molly did the 8:30 post instead of me. She is so far up Moira’s ass I don’t even know how she can type.
Wienerdog (9:08:04): Word.
Alex182 (9:08:07): I still haven’t looked at Breaking the Chick Habit yet.
Wienerdog (9:08:11): Dude, that is ridiculous. Just look at the fucking thing already.
Alex182 (9:08:16): Are you sure?
Wienerdog (9:08:22): Yes. Sack up. It’s not actually a life or death situation.
This is the second time in two days that one of my coworkers has told me that I need to grow some cojones and deal. I tell myself four times: You are not a wuss you are not a wuss you are not a wuss you are not a wuss. I take a deep breath and type the URL into my browser.
I have to give our hate blogger credit for excellent design sense. She’s taken our Chick Habit logo—a baby chick held in a manicured hand—and realistically severed that li’l chicken’s head for her own logo. She also altered our site’s purple color palate ever so slightly so that Breaking the Chick Habit looks like an angry eggplant exploded all over it. I also notice the cleverness of the name: In acronym form, it spells BTCH.
The site hasn’t been updated since yesterday, so the first post at the top of the screen is still “Top 5 Things Alex Lyons Should Do Instead of Writing in Public.” It’s written in the manner of a Letterman Top Ten and lists, in descending order, occupations that would apparently better suit me:
5. Cleaning toilets. She thinks her shit doesn’t stink, so other people’s shit probably won’t bother her either.
4. Hospital orderly. She’s quite familiar with bile already.
3. Nursery school aide. Fits her maturity level to hang around with toddlers.
2. Garbage collector. She’s used to producing trash so picking it up won’t be too much of a stretch.
1. Kill herself. That’s not really an occupation, it’s a one-off job.
I’m so shaken by this—especially the last one—that I have to get up and pace around the ten square feet of the living room. I guess my Internet nemesis stopped at five, rather than doing the full ten, because once you suggest someone should kill herself there’s really nowhere else to go. For each number on the list, the hate blogger has hyperlinked to one of my posts. If you click on “Kill herself” it goes to a particularly judgmental post I wrote about women who live-tweet their own weddings. “About to walk down the aisle!” DashingDiva79 had tweeted last month. “About to stick my head in the oven!” I had blithely written about her up-to-the-minute marriage coverage.
When I had written that post, I chuckled to myself—but I also wondered if I had crossed the line. I had used DashingDiva79’s real name in the post—Ashley Smathers—and now when you Google her, my petty post is the first thing that shows up.
I click through the other links. I’ve posted over a thousand times since I started this job, and yet this anonymous blogger has somehow zeroed in on the five posts that I’ve felt most conflicted about. I continue to pace. Should I call Peter? Cry on the phone to my mom? IM my fury to Rel? I thought the site would be upsetting, but I hoped it would be something I could laugh off. This isn’t funny at all.
But rather than take
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