Amy Steele

She was too busy giving a handy J to catch that episode.

2011-03-20T20:52:00.000-07:00

Thought it would be a good time to check in with the Aimster again and she how she's getting along. It's not looking too good.

You do Amy... it's call terminal crazy with a dash of narcissism (but the sort of dash that ends up being an avalanche when the salt shaker lid falls off).

Amy is still struggling to find work and can never figure out what's wrong. I wonder if she ever considers that potential employers do a web search on her and discover how fucking bat shit crazy and vengeful she is? I'm sure crying to Christy Turlington will help.

Amy, why don't you just make a sandwich board and list all your degrees on it? Maybe a hat with a flashing light on top will ensure everyone knows how ~~loco~~ educated you are. The Amy song! The Amy Song! Suddenly I want to sing the Amy song! Sorry. Back on track here...

Am I the only one that finds the next tweet a short time later lulzy?

If Jeff Probst didn't spend a good chunk of his time on uninhabited islands I would fear for his safety. Ohhhh Jeff, has Amy set her sights on you? DON'T YOU APPRECIATE HER AFFECTIONS JEFF? DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT TRYING TO ESCAPE ISN'T FUNNY? DON'T YOU SEE THE IRONY IN CALLING YOUR SHOW "SURVIVOR?" You might not yet, but the future is not yet written. Unless you're Amy with various masters degrees. I bet she already typed it out. In lipstick. On your car. Watch out Jeff, Amy is a bit annoyed.

Has she finally let go of #schofer? You didn't really think that was possible did you? Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRIAN!

Can you see the invisible #shofer in the next tweet?

Amy? It's not the bottle return that had them wondering about their future, it was your incessant babbling that had them worried.

Will someone give her a call?

Hastags and Hindsight.

2011-02-09T22:58:00.000-08:00

Until that fateful day in January my days were filled with #Schofer hastags and doing the STAB! STAB! STAB! dance around my apartment. I could fill the greedy little feelers of the google bots with my love thoughts for Brian. But all my joy is gone now. Brian is gone. I renamed my pony Brian so I could still bounce with him between my thighs. Well, I would just pretend he was there. He never really wanted to be there. You didn't, did you Brian? You just wanted a handy J. I was your handy A. I bet you only hung around as long as you did because you were scared. Scared you would end up bound, hacked into little bits, and stuffed in a garbage bag. WHAT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO TERRIBLE ABOUT THAT? So now I spend my days on twitter being as benign and utterly boring as possible. Otherwise I pace my apartment wishing I knew where you lived. I'd come to your house Brian and demand you be my friend. I wish I could talk to you. Just one more time for old time sake. Or maybe twice. Twice would feel better. Remember that time Brian I made you promise you'd be my friend forever? Tears were rolling down your face as I had you pinned between my car and that concrete wall, but you said it. You promised forever Brian! YOU PROMISED! I thought you meant it. I believed in you. I put the car into park for you Brian. And this is how you betray me.

Look who paid us a visit!

2011-01-30T01:16:00.000-08:00

Dude, drop us a line! Would love to get your side of the story. With everything going on in Egypt right now, the netizens could use a funny batshit crazy distraction.

writergal666@gmail.com

Amy redefines "crazy"

2011-01-19T09:05:00.000-08:00

As suspected, Cuckoo also made sure the Encyclopedia Dramatica page on her was also updated. The user "BrianSchofer" was her:

The first change she made was announcing that her site was back up:

Yellow is what was deleted or changed, green is what was added.

The next change she did was to provide the correct links at the end of the article:

Her third change was a correction of her first change. She added the link to her site:

There you have it. When she wasn't harassing herself by Tweeting herself, she was making sure others knew where to find her and all her writings on Brian Schofer.

I noticed another change that was deleted and I'm not sure why it was deleted. As you'll see, the correct info was changed to outdated, wrong info:

AMY HARASSES HERSELF!

2011-01-17T03:07:00.000-08:00

A psychopath is always communicating, even indirectly. Every single statement, accusation, observation or question serves a purpose. It is ALL always connected or interconnected somehow to what the psychopath wants you to really know.

She wants us to know that the "victim" is in fact calling himself pretending to be harassed... "what a LOSER."
Cuckoo has been very open about her "harassment" by the guy with the magical dick, #Schofer. Usually, her accusation comes right before a statement claiming that fighting back is hopeless and her victimization will lead to her "suicide". (Fret not, as malignant narcissists rarely follow through with any of their self-harm threats Personality Traits of the Psychopath)

If #schofer @akorri were strong he'd drop charges/RO & manage to mend our friendship. He's incapable. My 27 yo guy is more mature.
1:19 AM Jan 7th via Twitter for iPhone

I give up. I give up. I give up.
11:15 AM Jan 7th via Twitter for iPhone

As I plan my suicide, for real, my hope is #schofer @akorri has some happy memories of our friendship. legally prevented from goodbye.
12:03 PM Jan 7th via Twitter for iPhone

Last night, I noticed a thread that asked those with nothing to do to send a password reset request to Twitter for Cuckoo's current Twitter ID: AmySteele35. This is pretty bening in that all it does is just cause an annoying discomfort. When you go to the Twitter sign on page, you select "Forgot password". It asks you which account, and you put in "AmySteele35". Twitter then sends the email associated with that ID an email. If you have 100 people do it over several hours, it has potential to become quite annoying. If you have a few thousand people do it, it can interupt and knock down Twitter for a bit. Good times had by all.

We obviously hacked her blog, and along with it came the email she was using to log into this blog. It made me wonder what other accounts are connected to her email?

Naturally, we got very excited when we realized we also had access to her Twitter. But...

the account was suspended!

It made no sense, until I realized what she had done. The "L" in "Steele" is really a capital "i". This was her other Twitter; the one that was "harassing" her! And here's the really C.R.A.Z.Y. part -- she actually responded to her own harassment!

In fact, it's the only "harasser" she has ever responded to!

Also the only one she ever went out of her way to really acknowledge:

Check back later to read what else Cuckoo has been up to. We promise it will be entertaining.

Pony love

2011-01-16T13:51:00.000-08:00

I made a little package and wrapped it in a bow. A BOW TIED WITH LOVE BRIAN! But since you moved and think it's ok AFTER 10 YEARS OF PLATONIC, SAUSAGE WANKING FUN, to not let me know where to, I have to keep them next to me. If you would just tell me where you lived I could bring over these lovely packages of pony puckies and give them to you. I've started crafting you know - pony puck pillows are next. I have my first one on my bed right now. Right here, next to me. I had your picture printed on the fabric. I pretend you're sleeping next to me. Sometimes I want to stab it. STAB YOUR FACE! STAB! STAB! STAB! I never would though. You know that right? I was watching this movie last night and could completely relate to the heroine. I think it was called "Misery". have you ever seen that one Brian? It's a love story and it's like the person who wrote it knew about you and I. OUR LOVE COULD INSPIRE MORE BRIAN IF YOU WOULD JUST COME BACK! Come back to me Brian. Come back NOW.

Love and kisses,
Amy

The Story of 4 Hours!

2011-01-16T11:22:00.000-08:00

8:39 PM - FIX MY PHONE, BRIAN!

9:34 PM - GOING TO THE HOSPITAL?

9:40 PM - FALSE ALARM!

9:41 PM - I WOULD NEVER KILL MYSELF

Oh really?

9:57 PM - DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT

10:19 PM - GOIN' OUT OF MY MIND

10:25 PM - BE A FRIEND

10:42 PM - I'M OUTTA HERE

12:07 AM - CALL ME BACK OR IT'S OVER

Amy, Amy, Amy

2011-01-15T22:14:00.000-08:00

Oh Amy, do you really think it's Brian trying to ruin your reputation and expose to the world just how HEARTLESS you are? Don't you think he's hiding somewhere, terrified you'll jump out of some bush, or be hiding in the next booth over next time he has lunch at his favorite cafe? I bet the poor guy can't even stand the thought of a Handy J ever, ever, ever again.

The FBI? Wow! What did they say? Do they have a special task force for internet fuckery done to crazy bitches that continually harass, nonstop, ex boyfriends? Does one usually go to the FBI to defend against karma? Let me see if I can remember what you said today on twitter. hmmm. Oh yes, "Anyone at Globe expert cn cyber-harassment? I've been harassed (offline too) for about 6-8 months. Would like to meet with." You've been harassed? has the definition of "harassment" changed and I missed the memo? If I've read your insane ramblings correctly, you've been IGNORED, not harassed.

Oh! But you had another tweet today that was even better. "don't cyber-harass ANYONE. use social networking for good: positive discourse & making new contacts." Amy? AMY? Are you fucking kidding?

Can I ride your pony?

Amy Steele Revisited, A Handy Jaunt Through the Remains of Her Online Presence and Mental Health

2011-01-15T22:13:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I posted an article summarizing the highlights of the blog "Brian Schofer: Emotionless Engineer," a barking mad emotional extortion of an ex-non-boyfriend. Blog author and Boston and scary-attic-cell resident Amy Steele conceived of the blog as a means of coercing her non-boyfriend and "Handy J" recipient of ten years into resuming their non-relationship. Either he would be moved by her pleas or leveraged by her righteous justification for literally leaving heaps of pony shit in front of his house.

It didn't work, but I thought it was so engrossing that at least the best bits should be shared, complete with links to the original posts.

Amy cited privacy as the reason for her blog's deletion. However, she was more than willing to Tweet my article's address to people and continue to draw people's attention to writing containing her two months' worth of violations of another person's privacy. She was also willing to legitimize it by contributing to the comment section on it. (Notably the first thing Amy was upset about was that I didn't use my full name when blogging about her, to which the only real reply is, How stupid do you think I am?)

It seems fairly obvious that privacy is just a much nobler-sounding excuse for scurrying away from the internet than "my inexcusable and frightening behavior cannot stand up to scrutiny, and I have no response for well-justified ridicule." Amy's conduct suggests she's perfectly happy being on the internet, just on her terms, where you can't hold anything against her. Too bad.

In the last 24 hours, people with more info on Amy have IMmed or emailed me extra details, asking for more content and for me to share with others. Given that I've already accidentally wound up online trustee to crazy, let's be completist about the whole thing. Below are some things about Amy I didn't get to in writing my brief summary, a link to a truly disturbing post about suicide on her supposed "work" blog, and finally more excerpts from "Brian Schofer: Emotionless Engineer."

Lastly, I maintain the suspicion that I aired in the comments section on my earlier article: I believe Amy's libels come from her resentment that Brian is moving on, because Brian Schofer is a legitimate fuckmaster, a paragon of the pussy prestidigitation, able to idly flick a lady's sweet meat into puddles of quivering ecstasy without a second thought. Amy cannot cope with a world in which she goes back to only dating men after spending ten years fully Brisexual. Brian Schofer came across as so hot in Amy's blog that I'm pretty sure just talking about it to a friend of mine is gonna make her miss her period. I'm picturing Brian Schofer in my head right now, and all he's doing is literally dunking so fucking hard the rock shatters the asphalt on a public court.

POUND IT, BRIAN, POUND IT.

"I DIDN'T KNOW THE BOOK THING MEME IS ABOUT CATLADIES"

As said above, Amy deleted her vicious blog less because of privacy and more because the internet was impudently operating on terms other than hers. Looking at the rest of her online presence, it becomes very obvious that Amy is used to an atmosphere of affirmation.

She used to have four blogs and one website cross-posting and repeating her content. (For all her cries about Brian Schofer's privacy, she still has a post up about him on her main blog, in which she laments no longer giving him the gas station convenience store of sexual maneuvers, the Handy J.) While it double-dips on casual viewers, getting referral traffic from one's own content and giving the impression of greater productivity than one actually generates, the important point is that it's essentially like nesting online. There was Amy's serious media site and Amy's serious media blog and Amy's vengeance blog and Amy's dating blog — then, finally, a review blog to which she was a member. See how many sites liked Amy? Five!

More importantly, Amy took advantage of one of the easiest insta-communities one can tap into online: book blogs. Yesterday I wrote, "the new millennium's favorite pastime of shut-in catladies [is] posting daily book-blog memes.... Book-blog meme clubs are the new version of webrings devoted to miscarried fetuses." The last line is mostly joking, but it should be familiar to most people who've spent a long time online and especially remember the weird support-group communities that grew up around Angelfire and Geocities pages in the late-1990s. Nonetheless, these book club blog rings and blog posting memes provided two things Amy needed: validation and pageloads.

The majority of people who run book blogs/blog rings are women, predominantly empty-nesters looking for something to occupy their idle hours. Some are younger housewives; some are retirees; there are even teen girls (read: the Twilight fan demographic) who post enthusiastically up to the moment they turn 16. Like their older counterparts, they're essentially filling days trapped at home. It's telling how quickly this pastime disappears as soon as they're not.

These groups aren't really about book discussion: they're about creating a community online. The goals are to kill time, feel good, trade in-jokes under the auspices of talking about a shared interest. Members are very positive, collegial and smart at promoting each other. However, how this happens is pretty much content-free quid pro quo. Someone follows your blog, so you follow theirs, then you post a blog entry about how you're following a wonderful new blog. You retweet each other on Twitter.

Then there are daily book-meme posts, like "Mystery Monday" and "Favorite Excerpt Friday" — they're all sort of like this — where everyone blogs a list of books (sometimes with a picture+link), and then finally one "hub" blog posts all the names along with links to the blogger who provided each one. Sometimes the memes involve randomly opening a book, picking the second paragraph on whatever page it opens to, then blogging the third sentence of the second paragraph of the first page you opened to. 3-2-1... blog post! This too will be re-blogged by someone else, along with links.

Notice the one common thread running through all these blog posts is that they're virtually devoid of content or effort. Think of a name—now, quick, post it! You've blogged today! Time for pinot grigio—it's in the fridge and open already, no one will know. A guy I know literally started a blog with the cheapest-looking Blogger template possible, started following as many book blogs as he could find, participated daily in book-blog memes and never posted a book review or a blog post longer than five sentences, and in three weeks, he had over 150 followers on Google, to say nothing of Twitter followers, Facebook or RSS feeds. It's that easy.

Now, there are tremendous book blogs out there, and many of them take part in these memes, but they're the exception that proves the rule. Most are like the ones who followed my friend: they're not in the book business; they're in the affirmation business. "You have a blog, I will acknowledge that it exists, that you are important." Or, "You have blogged today. My reblog validates you."

This is the second audience Amy nested in, one that's so uncritical it doesn't even bother to criticize the things it's ostensibly there for. Outside the boundaries of Amy's own mini-webring of her own sites mutually validating themselves, she found another group of people to do that for her in a way that was virtually categorically unthreatening.

And profitable.

I've worked in online book promotion and publishing, and these people drive the sales of booksellers and the pageloads of Goodreads. They may not like talking about books beyond "I wish I was this character in real life" and "I didn't like this part," but they do buy a lot of things and represent a powerful and sought-after demographic. Essentially, Amy did a smart thing by not only hunkering down in a community where no one ridicules anyone else's ability to write or to deconstruct a book. But she also did a very smart thing by hunkering down in one that also tends to buy the same books and DVDs that, in between posting book blog memes, Amy reviews at a steady clip. Why? Because:

"I HAVE A MASTER'S IN JOURNALISM!"

This is the house-proud "I drive a Dodge Stratus!" plea of those going nowhere and desperate to keep you unaware of it. Amy has to keep flinging names and titles at you, because they help to obscure the quotidian failure underneath. This is why she mentions growing up in Acton instead of Natick, because, as commenter eochu wisely pointed out:

Anyone who isn't native just sees a bunch of people who look alike, bend the English language in the same way, and act like jerks. A Masshole is a Masshole, whether it spent its childhood shoveling expensive-pony shit or playing stickball in the warehouse district.

Amy has to mention that she grew up in Acton and rode horses for 20 years, because that draws attention to her possibly being special, the scion of some Brahmin clan, and away from the fact that she probably lives in some craphole downtown flat and is manifestly fucking insane.

Similarly, Amy needs to tell you that she has a Master's in journalism, because otherwise all anyone will notice is that she's an unpaid blogger selling product to you and free promotion to publishing houses, badly. Pick absolutely any archived month on her navigationally poor "serious" blog, and you will find book meme after book meme and the same types of reviews. She invariably has little more to offer than a chunk of text about the size of two paragraphs mashed together. Posts feature clumsy grammar and usage errors. Facts provided are not necessarily factual. What is there fact-wise looks like it was cribbed from a Wikipedia article or an editorial review on Amazon.com in the same way that kids in elementary school will do a report on something by rewriting an encyclopedia entry sentence by sentence. Most of these could have been stolen from Amazon reviews and copied-and-pasted.

Everything else is just fangurrrrl posting and post-padding. To borrow an evaluative tool she uses, STEELE RECOMMENDS: "Consider killing yourself instead of reading these." She posts about movies coming out and speculates whether they'll be good; posts about them again when they're in theaters and reviews them; posts about them again for their DVD release, and again reviews them. It looks like creative activity, but it's not. All three reviews — speculatively banal, authoritatively banal and re-banal — feature the same promotional art. This can be confusing, because those same pictures will be used in other blog posts like, "Men I Love to Watch" and "Women I Love to Watch," which sounds reasonable but is less honest than just cutting the same pictures out of magazines and gluing them to pink construction paper and surrounding them with glitter hearts.

Now, in the course of working in online promotions and publishing — as well as FUCKING SHREDDING in my band, we're called MotoCrücifix — I've run across a lot of people like Amy, and they tend to fit into a pattern.

First, a frustrated would-be writer who has a day job reinvents herself online as a "journalist" and pretends that is her sole profession. Then she joins media message boards or writes directly to publishers requesting promotional copies of any new books or DVDs they have. Eventually she gets a promo copy of some media, immediately churns out a basically positive review (Amy's negativity is almost exclusively consigned to carping about misogyny and sexism in media, which absolutely no media company minds, because again they target the online women's demographic), then puts that post on her cover letter and sends in another request for promo copies. The more she gets, the more credits she has; the more credits she has, the more reliable she seems and thus the more promo copies she will receive.

Next, the soi-disant journalist offers her advance reviews, free, to any local publication that will need them, some version of Creative Loafing — in Amy's case, it's the Weekly Dig* — an entertainment newspaper that has to review lots of media weekly, doesn't have a lot of money, and doesn't have a lot of staff. (Papers that actually have staff and Pulitzers on the mantle, like the Boston Phoenix, are able to pass, reaping only the hot lash of furious retributive blogging.) Thus they're willing to take any free suff that fills inches, isn't clinically retarded and appears relevant. Blammo, the blogger is now a published journalist.
___________________

* — Note, in this linked post, Amy posts her phone number, email address and physical address. This information is probably the source of the "Brian Schofer" who allegedly posted her personal information, prompting her retaliating by posting all of his. In short, Amy's really concerned about Brian's privacy and hers, unless she's too wrapped up in bitching about how some countercultural entertainment rag fucked her over by not printing her free review. In that case, time to just copy-paste absolutely anything.
___________________

Clippings in hand, she appeals again to publishers, this time soliciting interviews with authors. These are a lot easier to come by than you think, because basically nobody really gives a shit about 90% of authors, and authors are vain and like talking about themselves. If the publishing company sees that she has regular clippings and a steady blog without shit like swastikas all over it, they'll probably pass on interview questions she submitted via email. Blammo: the blogger has now interviewed Jonathan Lethem. Whatever.

Pretty much anyone with a 12th-grade education reading this right now could wind up credited as a published journalist and interviewer of authors within about three months with the same steady blog output Amy produces. It's got nothing to do with quality and everything to do with regular product and persistence. She has to tell you she's a published journalist and interviewer because those claims are the only rewards. Unless she sells the books and DVDs, there's no money involved. The titles obfuscate the ugly reality of taking an unpaid job at the bottom rung of the sales departments of several companies that don't actually employ her. Ultimately, this is the reason why you hear so much about that Master's degree: it's an expensive title you'd have to work a lot harder to get, one that makes her seem really smart. Because otherwise people notice that expending a lot of effort to profitlessly promote product for million-dollar companies is really stupid.

AMY LIKES ATTENTION FROM "JOKING" ABOUT SUICIDE

Hardly surprising. Amy likes attention. However, in this case, she likes pushing people's buttons by intimating that she might commit suicide, then gets the added enjoyment of self-righteously exploding at them when they take her seriously enough to actually demonstrate concern for her. What a freebie. It's the, "Please, God, Help Me/I AM NOT A FUCKING BABY!!!" syndrome that probably everyone has seen at least once. What makes Amy unique, though, is that it's the Massachusetts' Governor's fault.

From a blog post entitled, "Hazards of Putting Emotions on Twitter," take us away, Amy:

So I've been depressed more than usual. I'm clinically depressed and have anxiety like many well-known writers (William Syron, David Foster Wallace, Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf etc.) and I've seen a wonderful therapist for six years and also see a psychiatrist for meds.

Right away she lets us know that she doesn't have a really common ailment that millions of people have; she has a really common ailment that a few famous people have. It's like starting a blog post, "So, I'm morbidly obese, like comedian John Candy, actor John Goodman or Rush Limbaugh," instead of just saying, "Hi, I look like one third of every Wal-Mart."

The only two explanations she could have for naming these famous people are: one, she thinks her talent is on par with these famous people; or, two, she thinks there's some kind of Transitive Property of Disease, some reverse engineering of good fortune that makes people who lose sight in one eye start seeing stately plump Buck Mulligans everywhere.

Anyway:

Sometimes I don't have any way to express my frustrations except to the captive audience of Twitter or Facebook and herein lies the problem.

"It's inexcusable how people in real life tend to shy away from others who try to extort trips to the emergency room from their exes after slashing their wrists open by punching through a pane of glass while breaking into the ex's house. Welp, time to teach those folks a lesson about abandonment!"

*ties off bungee cords connecting golf cart to wheelbarrow of pony shit*

"Excelsior!!!"

*drives away very slowly*

Let's not get bogged down here, let's find out why Deval Patrick is a dickhead:

My best guess is that someone from the Mass Governor's office called the Somerville Police because I had talked to a girl earlier, she had my name and my cell # showed up on caller ID. I made a snide remark when she asked if she could do anything else because she wouldn't give me HER name even though I asked for it three time. Very sarcastically I said, "If you know a hitman."

So, er, yeah. The injustice here is that she spoke to someone in Governor Patrick's office, someone probably very concerned about liability, and made comments that sounded like threats to harm herself. In fact, it sounds like she was speaking to someone related to a suicide-prevention call center who was deliberately referred to her case by Patrick's office, given that this sort of shit doesn't exactly "turn up" in the conversation. Or maybe it does, it's Amy, SHE HAS A MASTER'S DEGREE.

All right, well, despite all that maybe there's a reasonable explanation for the misunderstandi—

[If you live in Mass. you need to know and recognize sarcasm and you don't immediately call the police, you get someone above you in the Governor's office to call me and follow up on the remark!]

This roight heah, you facks who come heah frahm yer floyovah staytes, youwah bettah undahstand sahcasm, it'sa liddle thing we thowat up alahng with the muthafachkin graytest bowall club evah, the Bahstahn Red Sawx and the graytest QB evah, Towmmy Brady.

Anyway, having assigned all blame to some poor public servant's inability to understand the strange but sublime atonal rhythms to Amy's language, she goes on to post several tweets that somehow(?) also contributed to someone official(?) thinking that she was going to kill herself:

Breakfast of the depressed. Tea and 2 clonipin.

Does anyone know a suicide hotline # or good Samaritans. I need to talk

You'd think I'm planning to disappear as I'm giving things away, getting rid of things.

My situation is hopeless at this point. 40, single, a MS degree, CMA, no job, just lousy. nothing to live for. @MassGovernor

and ps. @MassGovernor my threat was a JOKE.

Do I really want to apply for food stamps? I'm a member of the MFA, ISGM, ICA, Coolidge Corner Theatre. Is that someone on food stamps?

All my friends from college are scattered around the US and world (Tunisia). It's really lonely/miserable.

What do you do when the person you talk to most doesn't want anything to do with you anymore?

So there it is, it finally comes out: she sent suicidal tweets at the fucking Twitter feed of the fucking Governor of Massachusetts, then got all bent out of shape that nobody detected her "tweet sarcasm," then got outraged that someone who read her asking for a suicide hotline and describing her situation as hopeless maybe read a little more into asking for a hitman.

Of course, the representative from suicide prevention is further at fault for not reading her blog, which amazingly she basically references by plugging it:

Oh and if I'm so depressed why have I done recent interviews with Jonathan Lethem, Chris Bohjalian, Katherine Howe, Barbara Delinsky, Courtney Sullivan and Jessica Shattuck

and have upcoming interviews with Rachel True, Rian Johnson (Brothers Bloom), Tiffany Thiessen, Mary Karr, Jennie Shortridge and Lisa Tucker?

Why do people planning suicide go to their jobs for weeks beforehand? Why do they often shower, shave and dress on the day they do it? Why don't we ever learn that for the last three weeks, all three meals of the day were just "a shitload of McGriddles"? Why doesn't this fucking bint who's trying to make Amy not die have any familiarity with popular modern novelists and a former star from Saved by the Bell (ZACK > SLATER, 4-EVER)? Why does Amy have to explain the import of all this to her over the phone? Why hasn't this person already been following her blog? WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE HAVE A MASTER'S DEGREE???

The two commenters on the blog post are both really sweet. They're obviously concerned about a stranger. The first writes: "I am so sorry to hear that you had a hard time... but you did come across as being suicidal. I am pleased that someone cared enough to have someone look in on you - I would much rather that happened than you ended up in a body bag. I am really pleased to hear that you aren't feeling suicidal." The second adds, "I am glad you are okay, and that it was a 'false alarm.' Please do know that people care about you and that although the help was not welcome, it speaks more about how you are valued than anything else."

Naturally, Amy's response is to flip the fuck out:

If I REALLY WANTED TO KILL MYSELF, I WOULD HAVE ALREADY DONE IT. I'VE BEEN DEPRESSED SINCE I WAS PROB. 12 YEARS OLD AND ON MEDS SINCE 18. NO ONE KNOWS MY STRUGGLES. MY MOM IS STILL ALIVE AND MY DEATH WOULD DEVASTATE HER.

Jesus Christ, people are relieved to discover someone's not dead, and somehow unrelated things are still their fault. Why didn't these morons focus on the mother comments in the blog as opposed to the tweets and their overwhelming sense of helplessness and despair? Clearly, the proper way to respond to them is with the same textual formatting that you might more typically see in the completely rational temper tantrums of underage children, on torrent sites, in the comments section for a zipfile called, "stolen.college.amateur.nudes.500.pics.zip" with someone raging, "WHERE IS THE PASSWORD I CNAT UNLOCK THE FILE IF U DON'T GIVE ME TEH PASSWORD I WILL HACK U PIECE OF SHITS ALSO PLZ POST MORE PICS OF RAMMING & ALSO DOLPHIN."

The best part, of all, is buried in the middle, easy to scan past if you're trying not to look too close and risk getting crazy on your eyeballs. It is this:

My mother would be DEVASTATED if I killed myself and I need to help take care of my 36 y.o. pony Easter.

Look, since no matter what I read into this whole blog post, it will clearly be the wrong lesson anyway, let me ask this: what the fuck kind of adults have ponies? Why?

"I know: I'm gonna buy a really bigassed animal that's ridiculously expensive to keep and care for, and I'm going to have him for, shit, about as long as Dark Side of the Moon has been a record. But what I'm also gonna do is pay to have a special breed that's stunted and makes it impossible for him to be ridden by fat people — famous examples of whom include Falstaff, Orson Welles, Marlon Brando, and me."

GREAT FUCKING IDEA, IDIOT. You just spent a shitload for an animal, then you selected a special brokeass mini version of it. It's like paying through the nose for a car, then paying through the nose again to make it a lowrider. You bought a lowrider animal. HOW CAN YOU MAKE FUN OF WHITE TRASH WHEN YOU OWN THE EL CAMINO OF HORSES?

"BRIAN SCHOFER: EMOTIONLESS ENGINEER": BEST OF THE REST

When I met Brian, I had just been through a strange dating year: dating a lead singer in a local band; a waiter/actor; a biker guy who I could only reach by his pager (no red ﬂag there) and various hook ups with more musicians; guys completely wrong for me and even a professional baseball player.

Engineers like shipping product. Brian would encourage me to the point of solid measured results only. He would say to me, if you get to x weight, I will buy you a new VCR.

"I do not own a new VCR."

I can't look around my place and not be reminded of Brian Schofer and that makes it really difﬁcult to forget about him and MOVE ON. But if he doesn't care at ALL about me than what can I DO about it anymore. He can work at Akorri or wherever and fuck the girl-next-door and stop swearing at me so much an damaging me because he doesn't understand clinical depression and anxiety and has not tolerance or patience for it. Or EMPATHY>
a few of the things:

--the ﬂannel Patriots pajamas I wore to bed last night
--Patriots polar ﬂeece sweats (which I can't ﬁnd and may never)
--Decemberists hoodie--I adore it and wear it often. It's a "me item" for sure
--fave Patriots polar ﬂeece
--lime green rain jacket
--Hard Rock Cafe sweat pants that I love to wear
--puffy army green winter jacket
--all his Army tees from Operation Desert Storm
--Denver t-shirt
--Colorado Rockies tee
-Bette Midler tee

"I relied upon another human being to dress me solely with novelty clothing products. I one day hope to travel to Japan, where I hear they have bathrobes with pictures of their anime Emperor on them."

What I Will Miss Most About My Dear Friend BRIAN SCHOFER

quietness
Your inability to express any emotions
miming what you want [basically the Brian sign language so you can speak as little as possible—and I understand it]
bluntness
“constructive criticism”
science lessons in your kitchen and at Brookline Public Library followed by dinner out
lectures on ofﬁce/work behavior
giving you the occasional handy j (hand job for those who don’t watch Chelsea Lately)
when you say: “You got paid today. Let’s look at your budget.”
when you say “No Amy”
Even though you DESPISE me and would not accept my repeated apologies.

How is it possible to spend ten years with someone and believe a partnership exists when they alternately feel compelled to treat you like a child or like a person in a kind of servitude?

I never would date him again because the sex was unsatisfying for me. He didn’t like to kiss or do other things I liked to do and he only had sex when he wanted to and never cared about his partner’s pleasure only his own. Three weeks ago, he started dating a girl and decided that our decade-long friendship never meant anything to him. He basically just dumped me out with the week’s recycle items. He doesn’t care to try to make it work or to spend ANY time with me. Which leads me to think: what did that ten years mean to him anyway? It was my entire 30s.

This theme comes up over and over: sexual disregard over a decade, followed by dismissal. Look, I hate to have to be the one to finally suggest this, but when this happens, you are not the primary sexual interest for a person. If a guy shows up periodically for handjobs, you're basically a dick attendant.

But he’s an emotionless engineer. He never could express his feelings about anything. Looking back he was often verbally abusive. He put down my journalism degree, my writing goals, my “freelance writing” (whether or not I got paid), he thought reading novels was a “waste” of time yet could sit at the computer and play silly video games for hours or watch The Simpsons. You cannot knock reading. He never read anything I wrote because it didn’t interest him.

"Why were his attitudes toward my writing identical to virtually everyone's?"

I need to work where I feel I belong without completely changing my character and personality and I am contributing to the institution. If I stepped out of his box of what he considered “proper behavior,” he would tell me I had made a scene or acted irrationally. Most recently he didn’t like that I showed up at his place of work and then [I will admit childishly] drove around the parking lot beeping my horn. It was the end of the day and no one was really around. But he’s overly sensitive.

"Me and Herbie the Love Bug went bananas tootin' round the parking lot while I screamed shit about Handy J's to the parking attendant. What the fuck is wrong with this? I really need to fix things by trying to feel like I belong without changing my character, despite the fact that I wrote a 2,000-word essay about how being with an engineer obliged me to completely change my character."

I’m so hurt and I’m so tired. I’m tired of being the woman guys want to fuck or be friends with but not both. I can’t believe he stole my 30s from me with no intention of continuing what I thought to be a great friendship. I just don’t know how I will repair myself after this abandonment. This willful decision to end such a close, nearly indescribable (we slept in the same bed together and spooned) long-term friendship.

"THEN I LUBED MY HANDS AND JERKED HIS DICK OFF UNTIL HIS CUM, THE TASTE OF WHICH I HAVE DESCRIBED ON MY BLOG, SPRAYED ON MY LEG OR SOMETHING. IT WAS JUST LIKE THE SISTERHOOD OF THE TRAVELING PANTS OR SOME OTHER TOTALLY TIGHT PLATONIC BONDING SHIT, EXCEPT FOR MY CRANKIN' OUT BLASTS OF MAN-BATTER WITH MY SAMURAI-LIKE HANDY J MASTERY. EVERY MOVEMENT IS A FUCKING SYMPHONY, NOW TRY TO TAKE THIS MOSQUITO FROM MY FINGERS."

I also totally dig the immediately contradictory parenthetical after she uses the word "indescribable." It's like, "Oh, well, I can describe it a little. It involved sleeping arrangements."

This is just to make you think about me. NOT a diss to the new chick that you've know a few weeks. But to remember your friend you've known a DECADE. Does she wear t-shirts, pony tails, pink hats and jeans like every other girl? Can she write?

LMAO, why the fuck would the last one be a dealbreaker now?

Is she sarcastic?
Does she have a masters degree?
Did she graduate from a women’s college?

"Would you refuse to go down on her or even hold her hand in a theater, but later she'd yank your crank right into the rolled-up sheepskin she got from Boston Mothershitting University in the field of Journojizzin' Cockmeat Right Up?"

Yes. Full bed baths. He'd just lie there and I'd undress him as I would any patient and then I'd wash his arms and chest, then legs and feet. Flip him over and wash his back and the backs of his arms and feet and he loved it because he was being pampered. I would towel dry each section as I went along and lotion him up too. No dry skin for little Brian. He could just lie there and have me do this to him and the majority of the time he'd get totally turned on. So many times he'd get a happy ending.

Every new revelation makes Brian sound like some kind of judo master capable of using any momentum of any person around him against them. Not only does he get away with a general attitude of disdain that trains his woman to give him maximum distance while minimizing the time she importunes him, the man is literally training her to give him handjobs in the event he becomes a quadriplegic.

The Handy J [as Chelsea Handler likes to refer to it], or hand-job. is an art form. And I’m pretty good at them. I’ve got some special tricks and techniques that I like to use to give the guy I’m with complete pleasure and a full release. I know how to use my hands to their greatest capacity and have an excellent skill set sexually. Brian... loved to get a Handy J in the morning. All through our 8-year-long friendship I continued to give him hand jobs. I was getting sex from guys I was dating over the years. He didn't date anyone all that time.

"Yeah I kept giving him handjobs when he wanted it. OWNED, MOTHERFUCKER. FUCKING OWNED!!! Ahahahaha, seriously though, sometimes I didn't even lift the dining chairs when vacuuming. Stuff that up your horse, jocko. (Big horse, not stunted horse.)"

He will not read any of the reviews I write
He does not regularly read my web site
He will not read the relatively short children’s book [8 pages double-spaced] I spent many hours researching and writing (but he will give me plenty of advice on marketing and telling me it will not sell)
He says things to me like: “I like you but I think you’re going to collapse and die. You’re going to be eating out of dumpsters in two years.” When I start to talk he walks away if I don’t get right to the point in three minutes or less.
He compartmentalizes his life: family/work/you. Nothing blends/mixes/no one crosses paths.
He gets popcorn at the movies and doesn’t offer me any and also only gets a drink for himself.
He calls me a drug addict and I take prescription pills for anxiety, yet he downs AN ENTIRE BOTTLE OF WINE HIMSELF IN ONE EVENING, OR AT ONE MEAL. YET HE is NO an ALCOHOLIC?
He’s not affectionate. No hugging and deﬁnitely very few kisses. Never unexpected ones. I am more agressive sexually (not that there's anything wrong with that.)
He remembers ﬁve bad things I did and one good thing.
You tell him you got an article published in a well-known NY publication and he doesn't even congratulate me and actually sounds non-plussed about it.
He tells you that my liberal arts degree and masters in journalism degree are useless.
He says it is a waste of time to read novels.

How on earth does anyone spend ten years with another human being who expends absolutely zero effort to disguise his feelings of utter contempt?

Also, I really appreciate the offer of paying for me to attend LPN school. I would love to do the program but obviously our "decade-long" friendship was a waste of my 30s and is OVER and you never want to see me, talk to me, and email me ever again so I am taking care of that for you. Goodbye.

This is the best thing: apparently Brian's such a complete jerkoff (word came in handy) that he doesn't want to talk anymore, but he has offered to pay her way through an expensive trade school that would change her life. Of course, that's unforgivable, but something about how her 30s were wasted because a guy she wasn't dating isn't dating her is evidently the sort of perfect reason to waste her 40s as well. Good job.

Brian Schofer has untreated Herpes Simplex (cold sores)
Yes, pretty much everyone has them but Brian Schofer, the emotionless engineer, refuses to go to his PCP for an Acyclovir prescription and antibiotics is the only way to get rid of a virus. So, not that he's been doing much kissing in the past eight years but if he has at all, he's been spreading it around.

"Stuff your cold sore back up your checkbook, Daddy Herpbucks." Also, note that despite allegedly having some sort of nursing training, Amy's demonizing this guy for not getting an antibiotic treatment for a virus. Antibiotics don't do shit to viruses. She might as well rage at him for not getting an appendectomy to shave his mustache. Maybe there's a Governor's Council on herpes she could tweet at.

Brian Schofer gave me this key to use his truck and can be so stubborn. I moved his truck (the geek was never in a fraternity or didn't go to MIT--where there are also fraternities) so didn't see the humor or the "how did she do that?" in it. Instead he talked about Grand Theft Auto etc. But he GAVE me the key. I'm willing to give i back under certain circumstances.

"I'm literally bragging about auto theft and extortion on a blog Google crawls every other second."

I tried to cancel his [Boston Harbor Hotel] reservation for NYE b/c I had stayed there with him ﬁve times and didn't want him staying with someone else. I go over to his house and "trespass" when for ten years I cleaned dried poop and pubic hair off his toilets and hung out there quite a bit. it's sad really. that he can't see that these are minor versus what other people have done. I considered putting a nail in his tire before the Patriots game on Sunday but I don't want him hurt. My therapist talked me out of something else too.

"My therapist talked me out of something else too." Try to conceive of what could have possibly been so bad.

And he tells ME, the one with the masters in journalism that his communications skills are better than better but he cannot communicate his feelings/emotions and he has improper grammar. Nice.

"Most famous job in Notre Dame history... fourth and inches against USC, me, uh, an outside lineblogger, wrapped up Heywood's Iron Head for a loss. And the thing is, know this, brother, I have been examined by, uh, people with a Master's Degree, uh, Dr. Crob Pfoton at MIT, and he tells me that they have detected hysteria. So that's it, right there, proof, uh, that under pressure my personality actually explodes into soup. Okay? Look at me, age 40, body of a 22-year-old. And the thing is, man, 10 years I've been doing the Handy J, pumping that shaft like the stiff guitar neck it is? And, okay, ten years later, I did it again. 36Cs, trust and believe, brother. With hands."

Brian Schofer does not like to give oral sex so if you end up being his girlfriend, you might think again. Although there are those uptight, sexually repressed women who think it's "gross" for a guy to go down on them. Well, that is ridiculous because you know they are sucking his cock, even if they don't like it they do it. Sure, most don't swallow [I always do, unless I feel something funky tasting then I just let it casually drip out the sides of my mouth--usually happened with Brian--he tasted weird and smelled a bit weird too]. Brian doesn't know what he is doing. It is probably due to lack of experience. I think he had only been with a few women (3?) before me and I've been with 6x as many guys (conservatively).
...
I know that Brian has been with ﬁve women including me and would bet that he cannot count the number of women he's had sex with on both hands. At 39 years old, that's not a great track record. No wonder he sort of likes sex but isn't very good at giving a woman pleasure. I've had sex with 3x as many people as Brian has had times two.

This is kind of like having your wealthy and successful wife divorce you, and as she walks out the attorney's office for the last time, screaming, "I fucked 12 girls in college. I won the sex war!" and then driving home to sleep by yourself under a sheet that you've used as a napkin while eating a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken.

WHAT ARE YOU P-WHIPPED THAT YOU GOT INSTRUCTIONS NOT TO TALK
TO ME OR DO ANYTHING WITH ME? THAT SEEMS SO UNLIKE YOU TO
ANSWER TO A WOMAN. TO LISTEN TO A WOMAN. YOU REALLY MUST HAVE
NEEDED SEX BAD. HOW LONG HAD IT BEEN BRIAN SINCE YOU PUT YOUR COCK IN A PUSSY? SIX YEARS?

Again, this comes back to the dick-attendant thing. When all you know of a guy sexually and socially is that he demands you keep your distance and then periodically appears and expects you to service him, you do not know who he is sexually. People are supposed to get through this shit in college. Yes, sometimes guys are assholes. Yes, sometimes they have women friends they like hanging out with on occasion and with whom they will engage in some sort of play. But her repeated comments about his drinking a lot around her and his expecting service without reciprocity sounds like a bad freshmen-girl/senior-guy college story. The guy doesn't find the girl attractive, but sometimes, damn, his plans fall through. He wants to get off, but he also wants a sure thing. Time to compromise, show up to the compromise-girl's dorm room with a movie and a 12-pack of beer, drink six beers as fast as possible to get past his guilt/disgust, make a move, get jerked off, wait until Spinal Tap reunites and the credits run, then say, "See you after class." You can't graduate college, much less get a MASTER'S DEGREE, without noticing this dynamic unless you're a total fucking moron or the sole inhabitant of a completely unique oblivion — either of which explanation fits Amy.

If your goal is to make me suffer and to hurt me forever and to ruin my life or get some sort of revenge on me by ignoring me and leaving me with a computer I can barely use, you're succeeding. insensitive FUCK. you are SO SELFISH. you think I am? I don't think so. I wouldn't throw away unopened a dozen CARDS you sent me and put time and effort into writing. Of course, you've never expressed anything in writing. EVER. EVER. EVER.

Off meds.

7. A few weeks ago, Brian essentially left me to die. I punched my hand through a window and texted and called him for nearly an hour that I needed a ride to BIDMC because I felt like I was going to pass out and didn't want to do that while driving. What is his takeaway? "You drove to my work to look for me." Well, FU Brian. Thanks for caring that I could have hit an artery and bled out. Perhaps next time, I will hit the right spot and just pass out and die. Would that make you happy?

On meds, yet referring to an incident involving breaking into his goddamned home.

Thanks for holding it against me and making me feel miserable that I've been struggling with a chronic mental illness since I was 16 years old. I may have ﬁnally found the right meds, right psychiatrist and treatment but it's TOO LATE for you. How convenient.

"Ooooh, suddenly ten years is a 'long time,' is it? It's just one-eighth a human life and one-sixth of your adult life, is it? Suddenly a period of time long enough to see three presidential terms or raise a kid to near self-sufficiency isn't long enough to put up with someone who breaks into your home and relocates pony shit periodically? Well do you SEE THESE HANDS? I wish I knew sign language, because they are about to scream the cum off their fingertips."

Also note that the chronic mental illness is here something that she knew about since age 16, but on another blog and in another circumstance is, "I'VE BEEN DEPRESSED SINCE I WAS PROB. 12 YEARS OLD AND ON MEDS SINCE I WAS 18." It's so traumatic that the details of it are migratory. It's the sort of thing that wrecks a life, but it could have happened at any point, really. Why get bogged down in something as trifling as the definitive moment in your mental genesis as an adult when we can talk about whatever sucks now? The generative moment is protean; only the excuse is concrete: "Whatever you're talking about now, the fault is something else—then."

3. Brian destroyed me and my trust in ANY men. How could Brian say he cared about me for all those years and support me and give me a safety net and say he'd always be there for me and "I'm not letting you go" and then let me go so easily.
5. Brian fondled my tits, woke me up at 6 a.m. for hand jobs and never ever did I get any pleasure back. Even when we dated Brian was a selﬁsh lover. He didn't care if I got off, only that he got off. What an a-hole.
9. Why would Brian spend a decade being my friend and hanging out with me so much and then just one day decide that he no longer wanted me as part of his life?

After ten years.

4. Brian thinks he can trade one vagina for another vagina-- so interchangeable.

THIS IS HOW IT WORKS WHEN PEOPLE YOU HAVE SEX WITH — BUT ARE NOT DATING — DATE SOMEONE ELSE WHO IS CAPABLE OF HAVING SEX.

Why would I punch holes in his condoms? I couldn't get into his house, remember. How would I have access? He once said that having kids was "the thing to do" and I thought that was a terrible reason to have them, so I decided to scare him by saying that.

"Look, I stole the guy's car, tried to track him to the homes of various family members, harassed him at work and then broke into his house. But look, how would I have had access to his condoms? That's absurd. Just stop and think this through. Men store condoms in an inaccessible vault."

Even my therapist, who holds a PhD and who I've seen for six years, could never understand my relationship with Brian. When Brian and I went to a therapy session together, my therapist said afterwards, "You are complete opposites. You're an extrovert and he is SO closed off." I thought the ying-yang made for a solid friendship. Apparently I was wrong.

"Over roughly the same duration that I spent platonically jerking off my non-boyfriend, someone went to graduate school in order to be clinically trained in understanding problems between people. Even with this wealth of knowledge amassed in schooling even more mystically powerful than a Master's Degree, this person cannot see any reason why we should be together. Clearly he is missing something. We just don't know what yet. Perhaps the answers can be found in this hank of hair I ripped out of Brian while he slept to determine if mitochondria are to blame."

A writer likes nothing more than to be read and to have people talking about her, good or bad. Your words don't hurt me. I'm arrogant and self-centered. I love it.

"I measure success in a resolute unwillingness to acknowledge the existence of failure or acknowledge others' citation of the same, even when their doing so involves quoting the documentation I methodically provided over four fucking blogs."

THAT'S ALL, FOLKS

There, that's it. That's Amy Steele.

Born in Acton in a basin unsurrounded by Brian Schofer's pubes or turds, she first made the trek, like, a bunch of blocks or something into the heart of Boston on a pony that is immortal. From there, she broke down doors and through windows and wrote her own scrips for success. Somehow after years of maintaining the best unofficial snail-mail fan club for the band Culture Club, she met Brian Schofer: an Eternal Fucklord with vast incomprehensible dick powers that caused even friends to cleave to it and pump with all their might to milk its glorious bounty. She stayed at a hotel on five different occasions.

She has almost been a nurse, blown glass and sent leaflets, and she completed the Boston Marathon in a Volkswagen. She cannot stop honking. Amy Steele has a blog that virally helps to sell slightly more units of products that would still sell in essentially the same quantities without her blog. Amy Steele has received products and viewed them and then noted that they have been handily touched by her, then described them with words. Amy Steele has a Master's Degree. You can eat shit. Put it on a blog and just look at those words until they become real.

Meet the Craziest Woman in the World with the Most Compulsively Readable Blog in the Universe

2011-01-15T21:47:00.000-08:00

I want you to meet The Next Big Thing, an amazing woman named Amy Steele. This morning, she was virtually unknown outside friends, family and co-workers. But by noon, a few hundred people knew about her because a (fed up?) co-worker sent out a mass email linking to her blog, Brian Schofer: Emotionless Engineer, a near daily vituperative and unhinged attack on — and desperate beseeching of — her eponymous ex-boyfriend.

Amy is fascinating. Amy is compelling. Come, meet Amy.

Who is Amy Steele?—aside from someone who is vindictive, dedicated, slightly aware of how to make people's names appear on Google web searches, and apparently gifted with a surfeit of free time? Well, evidently she has a graduate degree in journalism, something she crows about on multiple occasions. This claimed familiarity with being a daily hack leads her to end a blog post with "--30--" yet fails to spot multiple misspellings, usage errors and embarrassments like "ying-yang." She claims to have been published in a major NY magazine and to have interviewed dozens of famous bands, but she doesn't provide links to those. Anonymity can't be an issue, because she puts her name on virtually everything else, including the blog where she writes about cleaning up shit, pubes and cum from her ex-boyfriend, the Emotionless Engineer.

She's a proud Boston urbanite but happy to namedrop growing up in Acton. The urge to be a bohemian city gal clashes with what's likely an ingrained means of ridicule for her: class. Sorry, Natick! She loves eating in great restaurants and attending the theater. In fact, she knows all the best restaurants and arts venues in Boston. SHE DOES NOT KNOW THE BAD ONES, AND THERE ARE NOT ACTUALLY GOOD ONES THAT SHE DOESN'T KNOW ABOUT. If Amy has not heard of it, why have you? Wait, lemme guess—Natick, right? Pfffffff.

Amy's failed at many of the things she's attempted, losing multiple jobs and abandoning careers. In fairness, many of those were probably lost to the preexisting emotional and mental issues she suffers, as people generally don't like crazy doing things around them. Especially if crazy's a nurse. However, that Cupid didn't fire a little caduceus into someone and make the nurse thing come true seems a little cruel, if only because it would put her much closer to the massive stores of brain medicine she clearly already takes in insufficient doses.

Also, Amy gives just a siiiiiick hummer. And a handy.

But, look, don't take my word for it. Below I've excerpted the "greatest hits" of Amy's blog, in some cases just cutting down to the only sentence you need to read. All links go to the relevant posts. Everyone, please enjoy. Amy, please remember that, even for a few hours, I knew you before you were famous.

THE ESSENTIAL "BRIAN SCHOFER: EMOTIONLESS ENGINEER" (Arista, 2010)

Amy begins the blog with a long piece that essentially treats the process of dating an engineer as being a lot like housebreaking a dog. The interesting thing is that I don't think she at any point realizes that she is the dog. Much fun is made of how engineers cannot function like normal human beings, but as her snark piles up, it becomes increasingly obvious that she alters her behaviors, needs and expectations to accommodate her engineer in every fundamental way you can possibly imagine:

How to Date an Engineer in Mass. Suburbs

I think within minutes I asked him if he were an engineer. Later he told me, laughing, that he was the only guy in Bill’s Bar with a collared shirt. True but I still could pick an engineer out of I crowd. At least I thought I could after hanging out with MIT guys while at a women’s college...

Before I knew it we were exclusively dating and I found myself driving out past the town I grew up to a place I never thought I’d be in again after I finished riding horses and attending pony club meetings...

You’re 30-years-old and you can’t decide to purge the bacon on your own. Remember how easy it was to stick a finger down your throat in college when you drank too much honey?...

He learned how to give me an orgasm during oral in under five minutes. Okay, great you’re saying. Wow, even. Wrong. If I did not reach orgasm in that five-minute span, he would give up and I would be left hanging.

This second piece got posted twice, days apart. Amy tends to rewrite the same complaints in the exact same language over and over, but this is a copy/paste job:

To the guy who broke my heart: Brian Schofer (twice)

We have a nice ying-yang to our relationship. We balance each other off. I'm liberal and you are conservative. I'm an extrovert and you're an introvert. I'm an urbanite and you're a suburbanite...

Did she ride horses competitively, ski, and grow up in middle class Acton?

Has she worked on more than seven political campaigns [including President Obama, President Clinton, Senator Kerry]?

these are just some of the reasons you were FRIENDS WITH ME. I am CREATIVE and CARING but apparently engineers want to be with a SAFE and PREDICTABLE with an insurance rep. you know I introduced you to many things you never would have even done and places you never would have gone if you hadn't been friends with me.

This next one could just be retitled "A Brief List of Ways to Not Get It":

B thinks I am a "LOUSY" friend

He tells me: “your actions can always disappoint me.”

He can list all the jobs I was fired from better than I can. He can't list ONE position I held that I liked [biotech company, HBS for first few years, MAH]

He walks five paces ahead and refuses to slow down.

When I say, “I love you,” he remains silent or says, “I know.”

He doesn’t list me as an emergency contact.

I am not programmed into his cell phone (or email) address book.

That piece ends with a complaint about how Brian thinks her Master's Degree in journalism is useless, which ordinarily would be a more substantive point if she could manage anything like basic noun-pronoun agreement.

Here, please learn things about Brian's dick:

Brian Schofer and The Handy J

Brian loves boobs. Loves to suck them, lick them, stroke and pinch my nipples etc and I have big ones: 36C. Usually while I gave him a Handy J, he’d lick and suck my tits [thus the reason he would be on top while I gave him a handy J—boob access]. I would lube him up and off I’d go. [I am not giving away my special techniques and secrets. You can figure them out on your on but mine work! Guys really dig them]. I would keep going—stroking in my special style, fondling his balls and letting him suck my tits until he would finally cum.

The one part of this title that you would probably care about isn't true:

Amy's FINAL LETTER to BRIAN

Please just dump all my stuff on the front lawn in the snow. That's fine. My mother will deal with it.

I apologize for breaking the back window and trying to get into your house to get some of my things.

I'm not making excuses but my new psychiatrist believes I've been on the WRONG MEDS for a year.

The nonchalance with which she mentions, "Mom'll take care of it," makes me picture some pendulous-breasted and beaten-down female version of Mr. Wolf from Pulp Fiction, some poor woman doomed to be too effective at fixing problems that shouldn't exist.

This post should probably be read in its entirety, because the whole thing is a revelation:

Why this site is back up.

He doesn't care. He just doesn't care. He told me today that "there's nothing you have to say that I want to hear." He didn't "want me for a friend." Ten years? Nice. I only showed him all the best restaurants and cultural spots in Boston and Cambridge but the truth is the girl who grew up riding horses competitively is too cool for a working class guy from Natick, Mass.

Here's what I did:
I put up this site and these posts [many are very sweet].

I dumped my pony's manure in his driveway and left a note that said: "If you treat me like shit, you get shit" [paraphrase]

I filled up his VM with phone calls.

I tried to break into his house to get some of my stuff and I have a huge scar on my wrist because my hand went through the window. I told him about it immediately. I could have just let him think someone else did it.

I hung a barbie from his new Prius with a bag around her neck.

I tried to cancel his BHH reservation for NYE b/c I had stayed there with him five times and didn't want him staying with someone else.

to be his friend he said I had to:

stop posting things about him
stop calling his relatives
stop emailing him, calling him and texting him more than once a day ("you get one.")
stop coming to my house
stop coming to my work

Oh, he also YELLED at me again for "calling his relatives." Well 1. I called his brother b/c I knew he had gone there. No one picked up. If no one picked up. Does it count. 2. I called his house the other day because I didn't see his truck and worried about him [How would I know he FINALLY got the new Prius], so I called his house and his aunt, the just oh-so-friendly Barbara Ammarell of Boothbay, Maine answered. She hung up on me while I was in mid-sentence. I called back to say it was rude, she hung up again. I called again and like a child, she began beeping the numbers on the phone and I said, "That's not going to get rid of me. It doesn't bother me. It's just white trash."

It's almost a niggling distinction to make at this point, but people who have class are too classy to mention that other people don't.

Brian has no class

I don't know why you were left out of etiquette lesson as you were the middle child. You have no class just like everyone else from working class Natick

I kind of feel bad for Natick, which I admit I know next to nothing about. Imagine being a virtual nobody town-wise and then getting verbally whaled on by this lady? It's like showing up mid-semester at a new high school, about to make your first impression with new friends, and out of nowhere the kid who uses those metal crutches with the elbow supports comes flying at you and just totally houses you until you're screaming for another kid or a coach or a merciful God to rescue you.

I would totally watch an REO Speedwagon Youtube video put over pictures of Amy and samples of someone reading her blog.

Can't Fight You Anymore

I got so frustrated that you keep ignoring me and you don't want to be my friend anymore that I punched my hand through a glass window.

Ahahahahaha please bring me a souvenir back from ignoring me in a place different from the one in which you normally ignore me.

Vegas
I know that many of the things I've done were wrong and unacceptable. My intent was never to hurt you. I hope that one day soon, you will forgive me. Perhaps in time to go to the member VIP event at the ICA? Maybe too soon. I know you need a break.

Please note the title of this blog entry, then read through to the next one.

Immaturity

I'm dating a guy now who constantly tells me how sexy I am and how great I am. You never said a thing. As soon as I saw him tonight, the first thing he told me is that I look nice. That's what you do with pretty, smart women.

Be an adult Brian.

Sexual Dysfunction

Brian takes a good 45 minutes to cum with oral sex and sometimes doesn't even come with intercourse: it's called sexual dysfunction. It's a problem/ issue. I KNOW I'm excellent at giving oral sex... I've been complimented so many times. Some guys have been totally blown away at my acumen at giving head.

It's amazing. It's like having no object permanence with the written word. A Master's, yes. Object permanence, no.

Think about value systems you have to create in life to not only blog about suicide in a way that minimizes it compared to the impact of reconnecting with a guy, yet also value reconnecting with him on an equal level with getting fucking fleece sweatpants with a brand-name on the ass.

Writing About Brian

If I plan to die soon, what incentive do I have not to write about Brian?

1. Brian will not forgive me.

2. Brian told me that my writing hurt him. This is a writer's dream and the ultimate compliment.

3. Brian will not even buy me a Paris MUG or Planet Hollywood sweats while in Vegas.

Also, way to really drill him with your words while asking for a favor.

It's sort of an interesting choice of things to rage about: not only does she make him aware of a piece she wrote in which she essentially infantilized him or made him seem as if he needed to be treated like an animal, she's angry he didn't see it sooner. It's the writing equivalent of pulling the, "Did you notice anything different?" tactic when a boyfriend walks into the room and, when he replies no, screaming, "I dinged your car last week!"

Verbally Abuse Me. Ignore Me. Silence.

You IGNORED me well before I started this website and posted ANYTHING. That Dating an Engineer piece is four-five years old and has been posted (with the name Brian) for a long, long time.

THIS SITE IS NOT COMING DOWN UNTIL YOU MEET ME HALFWAY. SO I GUESS IT WILL NEVER COME DOWN. I MIGHT EVEN THINK OF SOME OTHER THINGS TO WRITE ALTHOUGH THE GUY I'M DATING DOESN'T PARTICULARLY CARE FOR ME TO BE EVEN THINKING ABOUT MENDING OUR FRIENDSHIP

Of the many things that suck about Blogger, easily the first thing that comes to mind here is the absence of a ransom-note font.

Note: she is not referring to herself.

You are so spiteful, unforgiving and rotten

7. To make myself feel better, I punctured Brian's condoms with a pin and hope that he gets stuck with a child. He's be a miserable father. He barely likes children and cannot even talk to his nieces and nephews. Pathetic.

The coup de grâce:

I know Brian doesn't read this...
Brian,

In case you don't, I'm sending you a hard copy.

Original post can be found here

You don't know what you got til it's gone.

2011-01-15T09:22:00.000-08:00

Create your own FACEinHOLE

Amy
	A person who is loving and caring. Loyal to everyone important in her life and is easy to forgive, but won't let someone walk all over her. She steals the heart of everyone she dates, because she is real. Very few girls often like this person, because they feel threatened or intimidated by her. She is also someone who people seem to obsess about without ever realizing it. OMG, Did I tell you? I saw Amy's sister last night...uhh! I hate Amy! Amy is the love of my Life!

Brian has no class

2011-01-15T09:21:00.001-08:00

Brian Schofer does not like to give oral sex so if you end up being his girlfriend, you might think again. Although there are those uptight, sexually repressed women who think it's "gross" for a guy to go down on them. Well, that is ridiculous because you know they are sucking his cock, even if they don't like it they do it. Sure, most don't swallow [I always do, unless I feel something funky tasting then I just let it casually drip out the sides of my mouth--usually happened with Brian--he tasted weird and smelled a bit weird too].

But for those of us who are comfortable with our bodies and sex and enjoy sex, oral sex is one of the absolute best things.

Brian doesn't know what he is doing. It is probably due to lack of experience. I think he had only been with a few women (3?) before me and I've been with 6x as many guys (conservatively). I experiment. I try new things. I'm not afraid of telling a guy what I like and don't like. Brian just did acted like it was a chore. He never initiated it. He did it out of obligation and that's the worst. I have guys who are so eager to get down there and go at it on me that it's fantastic. The guy I'm dating now loves to do it. That's what you want in a guy. A guy who will do it until you tell him to stop not who keeps looking at the clock to see how long he's been doing it for [which Brian really rudely did]. He probably barely knows the difference between the clitoris and the vulva and the pelvic bone. He just feels around down there and doesn't care or ask you what feels good or not. I had to tell him. I had to point things out. Sure you do that for lots of guys. A woman's vagina is not exactly the easiest territority to navigate but really, watch a few pornos and you will pick up a thing or two to try out on a woman.

brian has no class

2011-01-15T09:20:00.001-08:00

Oh poor little Brian,

I don't know why you were left out of etiquette lesson as you were the middle child. You have no class just like everyone else from working class Natick [which is why you NEVER let me talk or give MY side in any "argument"] It's all about YOU YOU YOU and how right YOU ARE.

You'll never be able to hold a fork right in the many fancy restaurants that you pay $100s to eat in. poor you. you look like a freak in the midst of classy people.

You shovel your food in your mouth like an animal. So gross and in a nice restaurant it is definitely not proper. You need to savor each bite.

PS "TESTING" before you add anything about my comments about working class Brian. I have a job now as Medical Assistant, so I may be crazy but I am working.

Can't Fight You Anymore

2011-01-15T09:19:00.000-08:00

I got so frustrated that you keep ignoring me and you don't want to be my friend anymore that I punched my hand through a glass window.

You didn't care. I emailed you, called you, texted you about it. You didn't respond. I needed and wanted you to take me to the hospital but I'm not longer important to you.

Once you cared about me. Just a few weeks ago you cared about me.

I give up. Go and have fun with your suburban girl-next-door.

I'll miss watching LOST with you, dinners at Indian restaurants, MFA exhibit openings, concerts at the ICA and just being able to call you. And also having you fix things for me.

Now I have no cable because Fios is not compatible with my TiVO Series 2 box even though when you were there setting it up you INSISTED it was. I would never had gotten Fios. But you canceled Comcast on me and then got MAD at me for someting and then refused to help me until you came around about the Fios which is now useless, so I'm basically paying for a service I can't use.

I WILL MISS YOU TERRIBLY. SO MUCH THAT IT HURTS. I CRY ALL THE TIME. IT HURTS THAT YOU HAVE SAID SO MANY MEAN THINGS TO ME RECENTLY. IT RIPS ME APART THAT YOU DON'T CARE WHAT I HAVE TO SAY, DON'T WANT TO SEE ME AND DON'T WANT TO TALK TO ME. I DON'T KNOW HOW I WILL MANAGE WITHOUT BRIAN IN MY LIFE. I'M NOT SURE I CAN DO IT VERY WELL. BUT I CAN'T FORCE YOU TO BE MY FRIEND AND EVEN THOUGH WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS FOR A DECADE, TO YOU THAT MEANS LITTLE OR NOTHING.

I LOVE YOU. ALWAYS.

I MISS YOU. IMMENSELY.

I HOPE SOMEDAY YOU CAN FORGIVE ME. AND WE CAN RESUME A FRIENDSHIP THAT WORKS ON BOTH OUR TERMS.

FIOS AND TIVO SERIES 2

2011-01-15T09:18:00.001-08:00

You told that my Tivo Series 2 that you bought me was compatitble with Fios and that it would WORK. What happens? Oh TiVO is NOT COMPATIBLE with Fios and so I cannot use the cable that you hooked up and ONLY YOU COULD HOOK UP. SO WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO.

WHAT ARE YOU P-WHIPPED THAT YOU GOT INSTRUCTIONS NOT TO TALK TO ME OR DO ANYTHING WITH ME? THAT SEEMS SO UNLIKE YOU TO ANSWER TO A WOMAN. TO LISTEN TO A WOMAN. YOU REALLY MUST HAVE NEEDED SEX BAD. HOW LONG HAD IT BEEN BRIAN SINCE YOU PUT YOUR COCK IN A PUSSY? SIX YEARS?

LETTING ME DOWN AGAIN.

LEAVING ME IN THE DUST AGAIN.

YOU SET THIS UP. YOU NEED TO FIX IT. BE A MAN AND TAKE CARE OF THIS. WHAT ARE YOU SO AFRAID OF? IS YOUR GIRLFRIEND GOING TO DENY YOU SEX FOR A WEEK OR SOMETHING?

HOW WOULD SHE KNOW? YOU ARE SO SECRETIVE ABOUT EVERYTHING. THAT I DOUBT. YOU NEVER EVER WOULD SHARE YOUR TRUE EMOTIONS AND FEELINGS WITH ANYONE. YOU ARE COLD AND INTROVERTERD.

Why this site is back up.

2011-01-15T09:05:00.000-08:00

I thought I wanted to maintain my now 11-year friendship with Brian Schofer of Akorri. Brian used to be the ideal person to call for advice or turn to in crisis or ask questions or go see a play or go to a museum or be silly with. I missed him so much that I am not eating. My iron level has dropped from the normal 20 to 6. I have lost another 10 pounds.

Brian's m.o. is carrot-stick-carrot-stick-carrot-stick. He's an ass. He has to be in control and hold all the power in the relationship.

He doesn't care. He just doesn't care. He told me today that "there's nothing you have to say that I want to hear." He didn't "want me for a friend." Ten years? Nice. I only showed him all the best restaurants and cultural spots in Boston and Cambridge but the truth is the girl who grew up riding horses competitively is too cool for a working class guy from Natick, Mass. He cannot even hold a fork correctly. He eats at all these nice restaurants and shovels in his food and quickly. It's almost embasrassing. He should be savoring an expensive meal. He's also an alcoholic. He will pour a glass of wine for me and finish the rest for himself. I've decided enough. I don't need to follow his ridiculous rule to "win back" his friendship which is useless to me anyway. He has been verbally and physically abusive [he hit me in the face one time and tried to physically remove me when he got angry at around midnight several times from his house] during the last ten years and I've pretty much been allowing him to treat me that way because then he swings back and becomes rational again. But when he gets angry, he rages HARD.

I am self-destructing because he does not want to be my friend. And this is the last thing I though I'd say as a feminist that a guy is going to do me in, but it turns out that is exactly what is happening. As a friend, Brian could be demanding and sometimes order me about, but other times we would laugh and just have so much fun together.

He told me he never wants to see me, talk to me or hear from me via email, text or phone EVER again. I can't fight that. Today he gave me a list of rules in order to MAYBE be friends again because I had acted atrociously. Atrociously, really and then he says Shut up. shut up a lot.?

Here's what I did:

I honked the horn in his work parking lot.

I called his brother [who didn't answer the phone] looking for him.

I called his house concern about him and his aunt was there.

I put up this site and these posts [many are very sweet].

I dumped my pony's manure in his driveway and left a note that said: "If you treat me like shit, you get shit" [paraphrase]

I filled up his VM with phone calls.

I moved his truck out of his garage to the end of the driveway [he was never in a fraternity; that's a fraternity prank]

I tried to break into his house to get some of my stuff and I have a huge scar on my wrist because my hand went through the window. I told him about it immediately. I could have just let him think someone else did it.

I hung a barbie from his new Prius with a bag around her neck.

I tried to cancel his BHH reservation for NYE b/c I had stayed there with him five times and didn't want him staying with someone else.

I go over to his house and "trespass" when for ten years I cleaned dried poop and pubic hair off his toilets and hung out there quite a bit.

it's sad really. that he can't see that these are minor versus what other people have done. I considered putting a nail in his tire before the Patriots game on Sunday but I don't want him hurt. My therapist talked me out of something else too.

to be his friend he said I had to:

stop posting things about him
stop calling his relatives
stop emailing him, calling him and texting him more than once a day ("you get one.")
stop coming to my house
stop coming to my work

Brian went from caring about me a few weeks ago. He fixed my Fios (I have a TiVO) and he said, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't care about you" to a profanity-laced tirade about how awful I've been to the next day emailing me and telling me I should get a CNA job for 24 hours/week and HE WILL PAY FOR LPN program to calling me and telling me I'm a bad friend [he didn't say "very, very bad" but the tone suggested this.]

He's holding my mental illness against me: I have clinical depression and anxiety. I've been on the wrong medication for a year and that could have affected much of my behavior of late. Made me much more rash and given me less of a filter. "I don't care," Brian said. Very very hurtful to hear from someone who was my friend for ten years.

You left my things on my porch covertly in the dark in 20 degree weather and then when you got home sent a text. four or so hours later, the stuff is still cold. And it's NOT all my things: my mountain bike? my scrubs upstairs? by books in closet downstairs by phone? my green chest that you broke and were going "to fix" for me-- all wanted and then you CALLED the POLICE on ME for TRESPASSING. On your "friend" of 11 years who used to be able to just let herself into your house. What are you hiding all of a sudden? Eight years without a girlfriend or date and suddenly what, pictures of the girl everywhere in the house?

So Brian Schofer, who only cares about Amy Steele "a little", I know how much this sites bothers you because you keep personal information to yourself so much.

So what that you stayed the Boston Harbor Hotel five times with me (in the same bed) and then took your new girlfriend there this year? You like the place. Or have no creativity or like familiarity.

My theory also is that you USED ME for ten years as your cultural attache to show you the ins and outs of Boston (although you still don't know your way around and get lost constantly) and all the cool spots to go, the great museums, the theatre etc so that you could then get a docile, suburban girl-next-door who you would have complete control over and impress her with your "knowledge" of the "big BAD city"

HOW CAN YOU FLIP THE CARING SWITCH OFF? REMEMBER WHEN YOU TOOK CARE OF ME AFTER ME LAPAROSCOPY? OR WHEN YOU LET ME STAY AT YOUR HOUSE AFTER I BROKE MY ANKLE-- YOU WERE THE SWEET BRIAN THEN THAT I WANT TO REMEMBER IF I NEVER SEE THAT BRIAN EVER AGAIN.

BUT I HAVE FORGIVEN YOU AND I HOPE YOU FORGIVE ME.

Priceless too. I was brought up on date two and Brian told me about it but would not provide details AT ALL even though it wouldn't "hurt me."

Then he keeps repeating:

"I'm not answering questions about her and I."

And he tells ME, the one with the masters in journalism that his communications skills are better than better but he cannot communicate his feelings/emotions and he has improper grammar. Nice.

Oh, he also YELLED at me again for "calling his relatives." Well 1. I called his brother b/c I knew he had gone there. No one picked up. If no one picked up. Does it count. 2. I called his house the other day because I didn't see his truck and worried about him [How would I know he FINALLY got the new Prius], so I called his house and his aunt, the just oh-so-friendly Barbara Ammarell of Boothbay, Maine answered. She hung up on me while I was in mid-sentence. I called back to say it was rude, she hung up again. I called again and like a child, she began beeping the numbers on the phone and I said, "That's not going to get rid of me. It doesn't bother me. It's just white trash." And it is. A 60-year-old woman behaving like a child. And Brian gets mad at me because I called his home and didn't know his aunt was even there.

Amy's FINAL LETTER to BRIAN

2011-01-15T09:03:00.001-08:00

December 29, 2009
Brian Schofer
Akorri Networks

Dear Brian,

I will let you go if that is your wish. It is absolutely not my desire to no longer be your friend and not have you in my life anymore. I can't live without you and you don't want me in your life. The hatred and vitriol that have shown in the last few weeks are really astounding to me. Please just dump all my stuff on the front lawn in the snow. That's fine. My mother will deal with it. I just don't want to live w/o your friendship no matter how mean and demanding and how many conditions you set for me.

Whatever you think, I feel I was a good friend to you. I realize that I have acted poorly in the last few weeks to you and have hurt you but you have hurt me as well. Throwing a ten-year friendship in the gutter for a 5 week new relationship with a girlfriend that you are "not sure of" is painful for me. For me to only be able to talk to you Mon-Weds is unacceptable. For me to not be able to see you to go to the theater, the MFA, ICA, ISGM and out to dinner is also not what a friendship with you is about for me. I also do not like that I cannot call you with questions about jobs and finances (when I get them) etc. when I want to, not on your time only.

I apologize again for the postings.

I apologize for breaking the back window and trying to get into your house to get some of my things.

I apologize for moving your truck but cannot understand why it would anger you instead of just confound you in some way i.e. how did she do that (same with Amazon)

I apologize for any perceived threats to you that I may have made.

I apologize that I called your brother's house looking for you [despite the FACT that the call went unanswered—I have sent a letter of apology, btw].

The taping was not pre-planned. I did not bait you and do not even remember when you started throwing the F-bombs at me. I was appalled and just reached for my phone because knew that no one would believe that quiet, reserved Brian would ever speak like that (yet I know in the past you have done just that do me-- perhaps not for 10 minutes).

Again, though I apologized for it in front of Mark during our therapy session, I apologize for honking the horn in a rash and juvenile fashion at your work parking lot. It was out of character for me. Though I think that you cling to this thing that I did to “betray” our friendship is juvenile in itself. You can’t let a rash event like honking the horn go. You are not CEO of the company after all.

I appreciate you signed me up for Life Lock that was sweet. Thank you for the Kindle though I cannot afford books for it.
http://www.amazon.com/Kindle-Books/b/ref=sa_menu_kbo0?ie=UTF8&node=1286228011

Again, I feel it is quite inappropriate to stay at the same hotel with a woman that you stayed at for five years in a row [and spooned with and maybe even got hand jobs from] with another woman. I think if your new girlfriend found out she would be insulted and horrified. I certainly would if a boyfriend took me somewhere he took his ex-friend/ex-girlfriend to esp. considering she asked about me and must therefore be threatened by me and that is why I think you have pulled away from our friendship because this six week old dating thing is more important than ten years of friendship with me.

You will not believe it but if you read anything about depression, anger is a manifestation of depression in women and being pushed by something hurtful does not help. I'm not making excuses but my new psychiatrist believes I've been on the WRONG MEDS for a year. that could have a lot to do with my behavior and I am not making an excuse but I do have a chemical balance which you have never taken seriously, you think I use it as an excuse or can just “snap out of it.” Well, it’s a chronic condition that I manage through meds and therapy. So that makes me feel even crappier. I knew something was wrong because I have been sad for about 5 months. And worse in the last six due to your treatment of me and throwing me in the gutter and why I’ve lost 25 pounds and I’m not particularly eating. [But I do look fantastic allow my blood counts are off according to my PCP]

Also, I really appreciate the offer of paying for me to attend LPN school. I would love to do the program but obviously our "decade-long" friendship was a waste of my 30s and is OVER and you never want to see me, talk to me, and email me ever again so I am taking care of that for you. Goodbye. I love you. I loved you. I care for you. I cared for you since 1999 and I think in your heart under that icy emotionless exterior you know that and maybe care about me too.

Goodbye Brian.
Forever in your memories, Amy

Brian Schofer and The Handy J

2011-01-15T09:02:00.001-08:00

The Handy J [as Chelsea Handler likes to refer to it], or hand-job. is an art form. And I’m pretty good at them. I’ve got some special tricks and techniques that I like to use to give the guy I’m with complete pleasure and a full release. I know how to use my hands to their greatest capacity and have an excellent skill set sexually.

Brian Schofer loved to get a Handy J in the morning (he’s a morning sex guy— too tired at night— he likes to be in bed by 10pm. One time he went to bed at 8:20 and I was in bed reading a book and I said, “You are kidding me. It’s way too early.”). All through our 8-year-long friendship I continued to give him hand jobs. I was getting sex from guys I was dating over the years. He didn't date anyone all that time. Sometimes he’d wake me up as early as 6 a.m. by fondling my nipples and then he’d roll me over and then as we’d like to joke “mount up.” Of course I would tell him he needed to go grab a towel and get the lube. I didn’t want him cumming all over me or whatever I was sleeping in. While Brian might not like long make-out sessions, or other forepay, Brian loves boobs. Loves to suck them, lick them, stroke and pinch my nipples etc and I have big ones: 36C. Usually while I gave him a Handy J, he’d lick and suck my tits [thus the reason he would be on top while I gave him a handy J—boob access]. I would lube him up and off I’d go. [I am not giving away my special techniques and secrets. You can figure them out on your on but mine work! Guys really dig them]. I would keep going—stroking in my special style, fondling his balls and letting him suck my tits until he would finally cum.

To the guy who threw me in gutter: Brian Schofer

2011-01-15T09:01:00.001-08:00

This is no knock on you having a girlfriend, I'm fine with that. I've dated plenty of other guys in the last 9 years and you have had one date. What bothers me is that you cannot remain friends with me. We have a nice ying-yang to our relationship. We balance each other off. I'm liberal and you are conservative. I'm an extrovert and you're an introvert. I'm an urbanite and you're a suburbanite.

This is just to make you think about me. NOT a diss to the new chick that you've know a few weeks. But to remember your friend you've known a DECADE.

Does she wear t-shirts, pony tails, pink hats and jeans like every other girl?

Can she write?

Is she creative?

How boring is an insurance job?

Does she like to drink as much as you [an entire bottle of wine in one sitting] and eat chicken?

Does she have blonde hair?

Would she write you thank you notes and notes "just because"?

Has she written a children’s book?

Has she been published in The L Magazine, The Boston Globe, WBUR, The Boston Phoenix and more?

Is she sarcastic?

Does she have a masters degree?

Did she graduate from a women’s college?

Is she a feminist?

Does she wear green suede shows and green vegan Doc Marten boots?

Did she introduce you to the MFA, Huntington Theatre, ART, Charlestown Working Theatre, Harborlights, ISGM, Clio, Sandrine's, Olive's, Blue Ginger and too many more restaurants to name?

Are your aunt and uncle thrilled you dropped the dead weight that is Amy Steele?

Does she have wavy burgundy hair?

Did she ride horses competitively, ski, and grow up in middle class Acton?

Has she worked on more than seven political campaigns [including President Obama, President Clinton, Senator Kerry]?

Has she volunteered at women’s shelters?

Does she volunteer for AIDs events?

Can she give a shot, perform venipuncture and take a BP?

Does she have an HIV-pos best friend?

Will she happily scrub the pubic hair off your toilets?

Is she going to cringe when she sees you pick your fingernails and toenails with pliers until they bleed?

Does she know Boston as well as a cab driver like me?

Is she a suburban vs. urban girl (but I think that makes you happier)? The big bad city is an enigma to you. That's fine but for a friend I believe you like the urban girl which is me.

Is she a non-dairy vegetarian?

Are DC4C, Coldplay, The Decemberists, St. Vincent, A Fine Frenzy, Snow Patrol, Camera Obsura, Au Revoir Simone, Dido, Doves, Howling Bells, Goldfrapp, Keane, MGMT, Sia, Wilco, The Shins, The Weepies, The Raveonettes, The Shins, Nirvana, Oh, Atoms, Norah Jones, Alicia Keys, Mistle Thrush, Lush, Curve, Depeche Mode, Conor Oberst, She and Him, Jem, Block Party, Duffy, Lily Allen, The Gossip— fave bands or bands she’s even heard of?

Has she interviewed Guy Ritchie, Aidan Quinn, Claire Danes, Damon Albarn, Juliana Hatfield, Roberto Benigni, Chris Bohjalian, Jonathan Lethem, Rian Johnson and 100s more?

Has she followed a UK band up and down the E.Coast [actually two: Jesus Jones and The Charlatans UK]?

these are just some of the reasons you were FRIENDS WITH ME. I am CREATIVE and CARING but apparently engineers want to be with a SAFE and PREDICTABLE with an insurance rep. you know I introduced you to many things you never would have even done and places you never would have gone if you hadn't been friends with me.

Brian Schofer thinks I am a "LOUSY" friend

2011-01-15T09:00:00.000-08:00

He took his new girlfriend for New Year's Eve to the Boston Harbor Hotel- the same hotel where we stayed in the Romantic Harborside Room-- FIVE TIME-- obviously sleeping in the SAME BED. AND HE BOOKED ONE OF OUR FAVORITE RESAURANTS FOR DINNER, Sandrine's, in Harvard Square. How unorginal is he? Are all Akorri engineers this dense?

He will not read any of the reviews I write

He does not regularly read my web site

He will not read the relatively short children’s book [8 pages double-spaced] I spent many hours researching and writing (but he will give me plenty of advice on marketing and telling me it will not sell)

He says things to me like: “I like you but I think you’re going to collapse and die. You’re going to be eating out of dumpsters in two years.”

He tells me: “your actions can always disappoint me.”

He can list all the jobs I was fired from better than I can. He can't list ONE position I held that I liked [biotech company, HBS for first few years, MAH]

He walks five paces ahead and refuses to slow down.

When I say, “I love you,” he remains silent or says, “I know.”

He doesn’t list me as an emergency contact.

I am not programmed into his cell phone (or email) address book.

He does not remember my birthday although he’s known you for more than seven years.

When I start to talk he walks away if I don’t get right to the point in three minutes or less.

He compartmentalizes his life: family/work/you. Nothing blends/mixes/no one crosses paths.

He gets popcorn at the movies and doesn’t offer me any and also only gets a drink for himself.

He calls me a drug addict and I take prescription pills for anxiety, yet he downs AN ENTIRE BOTTLE OF WINE HIMSELF IN ONE EVENING, OR AT ONE MEAL. YET HE is NO an ALCOHOLIC?

He’s not affectionate. No hugging and definitely very few kisses. Never unexpected ones. I am more agressive sexually (not that there's anything wrong with that.)

He remembers five bad things I did and one good thing.

You tell him you got an article published in a well-known NY publication and he doesn't even congratulate me and actually sounds non-plussed about it.

He tells you that my liberal arts degree and masters in journalism degree are useless.

He says it is a waste of time to read novels.

What I'll miss about my friend Brian Schofer

2011-01-15T08:58:00.001-08:00

What I Will Miss Most About My Dear Friend BRIAN SCHOFER

the end of a friendship July 9, 1999- November 9, 2009

quietness

Your inability to express any emotions (yes, it’s a trait that’s so annoying but so you)

miming what you want [basically the Brian sign language so you can speak as little as possible—and I understand it]

bluntness

“constructive criticism”

science lessons in your kitchen and at Brookline Public Library followed by dinner out

lectures on office/work behavior

trips to Nashua—Target and losing you in Home Depot [you go in for one thing and is there for SO long]

giving you the occasional handy j (hand job for those who don’t watch Chelsea Lately)

occasional hike

Berkshires, Newport, & trips to Bermuda, Nova Scotia, San Francisco and London that now will never happen

when you say: “You got paid today. Let’s look at your budget.”

Your “signature dishes”: mushroom risotto and tortellini

spooning and sleeping together at night

Huntington and ART and plays at other theatres

art openings at MFA

meeting you out on the Bike Path after work to bike home
big hugs

your warm body next to mine

lotioning up your feet at night (like a good nursing assistant)

your stinky breath

your laugh when I tickle you

weekends with you

brunch in the South End

concerts at Harborlights

support for pre- and post- surgical procedures

summer grilling

your rhythmic clapping

New Year’s Eve at Boston Harbor Hotel-- it's touristy and over-priced but it's a nice view and the brunch rocks.

calling you when there's a dead mouse, my computer or TiVO is acting up

when you say “No Amy”

dinner at Sandrine's before a play at the A.R.T.

Making you proud of my clinical accomplishments in nursing school

Will always care about you and love you Brian.
Even though you DESPISE me and would not accept my repeated apologies.

xoxo

To the guy who broke my heart: Brian Schofer (twice)

2011-01-15T08:57:00.000-08:00

How to Date an Engineer in Mass. Suburbs

2011-01-12T21:25:00.000-08:00

How to Date an Engineer

By Amy Steele

Living in Boston, every woman is bound to date an engineer sometime between college and well, sometime. You cannot go ten blocks without knocking one over. They are the core of our existence. Engineers are responsible for nearly everything. Look at an object, building or web site and know that an engineer had a hand in its creation. Here’s the thing though. As important as the work is, the engineer is a stereotypical geek. Most prefer to spend time behind a computer instead of with people. Others find a balance between computer time and face-to-face time. These are the ones you are bound to date. They have been alone in a cube for years toiling away on project after project and suddenly realize: I need a girlfriend. Most think this is just another project to tackle; another thing to tick off the to-do list. See girl. Ask girl out. Date girl. Needs no effort: “I’m an engineer! I’m extremely gifted and desirable. I am in high demand. I’m a catch.” Warning: if someone says he’s an engineer and manages to spend more than three days a week with you and can be at your house at 6:00 at night; there’s something wrong. He’s not successful: Probably some sort of software engineer/ managerial type.

Usually, there’s the startup/project hell when the engineer puts in 16-hour days. Brian Schofer of Akorri warned me after a few weeks of dating (we’d see each other on Wednesdays and Saturdays—engineers like routine, see later chapter) that “things were going to change” because he was starting a position at a new start-up. It scared me but then I realized it wouldn’t be that different. I would still drive an hour out of the city to cook dinner with him and do his laundry while he played chess on the computer and did work.

When I met Brian, I had just been through a strange dating year: dating a lead singer in a local band; a waiter/actor; a biker guy who I could only reach by his pager (no red flag there) and various hook ups with more musicians; guys completely wrong for me and even a professional baseball player. I was a bit wild and maybe even reckless but I couldn’t figure out how to keep any guys interested in me for me and not sex.

At first, Brian represented the stability I desired. He’s tall, cute, smart and even funny despite many frustrating quirks. He approached me while I was watching some of my friends in a band and said, “Do you like French food? I know this restaurant on Newbury Street.” Unbelievable but true. He lived in the suburbs (an hour from my place in Somerville) so the restaurant he had remembered wasn’t even where he thought it was. I think within minutes I asked him if he were an engineer. Later he told me, laughing, that he was the only guy in Bill’s Bar with a collared shirt. True but I still could pick an engineer out of I crowd. At least I thought I could after hanging out with MIT guys while at a women’s college.

Before I knew it we were exclusively dating and I found myself driving out past the town I grew up to a place I never thought I’d be in again after I finished riding horses and attending pony club meetings. As one with urban sensibilities, this became a huge issue. His place was a long haul and so far from anything remotely cultural. On his part, he did come out to Boston quite a bit to take me to the theater and out to dinner. Our relationship lasted almost two years and we remain friends. He still takes me to the occasional celebratory dinner at great Boston restaurants like the lovely Aujourd’hui, and fixes any “mechanical” problems I have—computer, lights, the air conditioner. We regularly attend the theatre. He’s my sugar baby of sorts. We don’t have sex, allowing him to keep me at a safe emotional distance. My mom thinks we act like a married couple. And we do. We bicker. He thinks I’m bossy. I think he’s sometimes lazy and annoying. We spend time at his house, he’s downstairs playing computer chess or watching “The Simpsons” or “Nova,” and I’m upstairs reading or watching a DVD. We cook dinner together, he advises me on my finances, he buys me things to improve my professional life (Dell laptop, nursing classes) or that will benefit my health (a mountain bike).

Engineers only communicate by formulas: don’t expect cards or notes

In my entire time dating Brian, I never received any sort of note or idea of how he felt about me. They show you and don’t usually tell you. And by these it’s not usually warm and cozy, snuggling or unexpected sex, it’s a set of tires or a cable modem or sitting down with your checking account and an excel spreadsheet to help you create a budget. When you can finally “break through” it’s probably the real deal. A friend married an engineer and he never said anything about his feelings but one day her soothing ways just broke him down so that he was to the point of tears in expressing his emotions.

On our first few dates Brian would hold my hand in the movie theater and literally throw it away when the lights came up. When Brian sent me a beautiful tropical flower arrangement at work on my birthday the note read: “HB, B”– He could not even spell out happy birthday or say that it had been a fun few months? Clearly these signals should have made me walk away but maybe I wanted a challenge. Not only will an engineer even send a thoughtful email but forget trying to have

When he did compliment me I could be pretty sure that he meant it. He would not sweet talk me or say lots of charming, empty remarks to make me feel good at that moment so he could get under my skirt. On the plus side, engineers will not waste words. When an engineer says something, he’s thought extensively about it beforehand. But sometimes I would have to ask his opinion on my new haircut or what I was wearing to the theater. If it were bad, he could easily discharge that information. Once I had on fishnets and red paten leather shoes and he thought I looked like a hooker and insisted I change.

Engineers don’t like small talk

So that brings me to this important point. If you like to chat and ramble about your day, spinning class vs. kickboxing or how cute your cat can be, find a friend with a good ear. It’s not going to fly with your engineer boyfriend. You can finagle small talk or a conversation about The Patriots or the stock market but you will end up doing most of the listening. As engineers like to tackle problems and projects, they also like to explain to their girlfriends how the Pats can and will clinch the championship or how valuable an employee stock purchase program can be to you. When I received a job offer from a hospital, Brian showed great disappointment that it was non-profit and not a public company where I could increase my savings by flipping my money in the stock plan at a 15% or greater increase, every six months. Although my salary and benefits and the job description seemed to suit me much more, he still thought I should have set my sights on a public company.

Brian started to tell me, “If you can’t make your point in 15 seconds, I’m walking away.” And he did and he still does. Think before you speak. You might want to go over your main points on the T ride over to your engineer’s apartment or jot things down that you want to discuss throughout the week. Be organized. An engineer’s time is not to be wasted.

Preferred communication? As little as possible. Brian told me how his co-worker’s girlfriend got email at work and suddenly the guy got eight emails a day. Pare it down girls. Yes, it’s so easy to crank off an email when a thought pops into your head at work. But don’t! He will delete if you exceed three and you might start to smother him too much. He wants everything concise and reading tons of silly emails from you will not make his day. It’s not thoughtful, it’s wasteful. Sure you’ll be jealous of the girls who have “normal” boyfriends; the sales guys, research scientists and financial analysts who have time to check in a few times by phone or email back and forth regularly. Be strong. Don’t give into your emotions so quickly. Write post it notes all over your computer and cube if need be: do not call him, do not email him. Wait as many days as you can. Engineers don’t like a needy girl. Sure, they want to solve your concrete problems but they don’t want to deal with your emotions.

I’m a sensitive person. A writer. I read a lot. According to Brian I waste too much time reading novels even if they are by Edith Wharton and Willa Cather. [Why couldn’t I read things that he would be reading, “Learning the bash shell” or “Universal Serial Bus System Architecture”] I frequently go see films and enjoy the theatre. I will admit it. I’m extremely emotional. I let little things and little people bother me too quickly. I learned the hard way that finding a good therapist instead of expecting my engineer boyfriend to have any empathy would have salvaged my relationship a long time ago. While I usually follow a vegetarian diet, I occasionally eat fish as of four years ago. I have not eaten meat since I was 12, chicken and the like since I was 18. One day I accidentally ingested a small amount of bacon at work. I panicked. I called Brian in tears to tell him what had happened and ask him if I should make myself throw up?

Okay, he’s at work. Amy, what can he do? You’re 30-years-old and you can’t decide to purge the bacon on your own. Remember how easy it was to stick a finger down your throat in college when you drank too much honey? Leave the boyfriend out of is. To this day, he points to this as an issue behind my former company putting me at the top of its list for layoffs. It’s an issue I should not have brought to work. He’s right. But importantly I learned, he does not need to know every intricate detail of my warped, hypersensitive thinking. He’ll only hold it against me. And I’m not being deceitful. It’s completely practical. And I’m sure this will come in handy later with other non-engineers types.

Sleeping counts as time spent together.

That’s right girls, seven hours asleep next to each other is quality time for engineers. So, if you want to avoid falling into this trap don’t stay over very often. And I’m not saying engineers don’t like to cuddle after sex. Brian would initiate any spooning before I did. It’s just it comes to a point in your relationship that if you are around too much, he takes you for granted. So to protect yourself from becoming too attached or getting mixed signals or pushing him away by moving in half your closet, staying at his house to do your laundry and surf the web; have separate interests that can keep you busy

Avoid staying more than two nights in a row or you’ll wear out your welcome. Engineers don’t like neediness and clinginess. There are plenty of men out there who thrive on these types of girlfriends and having that upper hand, but engineers are too smart and linear thinking to fall for it. Some of my excuses for extended stays: I don’t have anything to do Friday night so I might as well come; I don’t like my apartment and you have a four bedroom house don’t have to see each other; by the time I go to the gym and get out there on Saturday it’ll be so late and you can wake me up earlier than I can wake myself up (that’s a great one, oh so pathetic!)
It’s late, it’s dark and it’s so far for me to drive!

Engineers like shipping product.

Brian would encourage me to the point of solid measured results only. He would say to me, if you get to x weight, I will buy you a new VCR. Or, if you cook dinner for me for six weeks, I will buy you something special. It is not the minutiae along the way that deserves their focus. No. End product only. Do not bother with your grades in a certain class all along the semester. All that matters is the passing grade at the end.

This also means that you will undergo changes while he stays the same guy in (Dockers and a blue shirt. Brian smugly told me, “I’m happy with myself; you’re not.” But he had a laundry list of things I needed to change mainly to be less emotional around him and to bother him less with an insufficient crisis i.e. it is not okay to call him when the car breaks down but it is okay to him if I am bleeding on the side of the road.

Usually the engineer is resistant to change and that’s why he seems to wear the same thing to work every day. If you do it very casually, you may be able to tweak a thing or two. Put the green cords (i.e. the most stylish pair of pants in his collection) in the stack of pants pile in the closet and he will wear them. The best way to achieve a desired result is to just put something in his direct line of sight/range and make it as easy as possible. For example, I suggested that Brian not use soap to wash his face. I bought Neutrogena for men and put it next to his shaving cream. Well, weeks later he told me the result: less nicks. But months before, I gave him products that required several steps too many (three products instead of one). He tried it a few times but gave up quickly. It was just too much of a hassle. One step is the most direct way for the engineer to handle any personal hygiene area.

Engineers provide concretely.

As I mentioned before, do not expect unexpected kisses, cuddling or hand holding. You are more likely to get a new notebook or an iPod player as signs of affection. The engineer will take you to dinner, the theatre, trips galore but get him to suddenly grab you and kiss you and express his love? Not likely. An engineer will throw down $2K to stay at a touristy hotel like Boston Harbor Hotel to impress you and make up for their lack of sexual prowess and likelihood that he will drink too much and fall asleep by 12:01. He will overpay for thinks for power and to overcompensate for what he is lacking.

Brian would especially buy me anything that would help to improve me: see above. This meant all types of books for whatever new position I took. When I worked in investor relations at a genomics company, he bought me books on the stock market as well as Barron’s Dictionary of Financial Terms. He also threw in tons of books on Excel, PowerPoint and Access, knowing I would be using the programs often.

I started a position in communications at a major Boston hospital, and Brian bought me Barron’s Dictionary of Medical Terms. When I embarked on classes for my second career as a nurse, he went out to buy Gray’s Anatomy, a box of study cards on muscles, bones and nerves, an L.L. Bean book bag (he reminds me is due to the fact that I have useless liberal arts degrees, a bachelors in English and a masters in journalism).

Sex and the engineer.

As with everything else, engineers have a clear plan. Brian must have read the book that says, “Sex on date four is proper and expected.” I don’t know what book it was but I think that’s what the thinking is, not just when it feels right. I shouldn’t need to remind you, it’s not an emotional thing. It’s all about the timing here. On our first date, he gave me a tame kiss and I lunged at him and he told me months later how I had come on a bit too strong. What year was it anyway? He even commented on the idea of children that it was “the thing to do.” What? That’s insane but I’m the only crazy one in this relationship of course.

When you get down to it with your engineer, stand strong about when you want and don’t want to have sex too. He liked it in the morning, I’m much more flexible in many ways. As with many things, I like variety. He gamely tried different positions, which was cool. But early on, I realized I made a huge mistake, I gave him too much information. Yes, it’s true. He learned how to give me an orgasm during oral in under five minutes. Okay, great you’re saying. Wow, even. Wrong. If I did not reach orgasm in that five-minute span, he would give up and I would be left hanging. (Statistics show that it takes women 20 minutes to achieve an orgasm through oral sex.) Now where I would go at him for 45 minutes sometimes if need be, he did not think it worth the effort to get me off. Buy yourself a trustworthy vibrator because you’ll need it. How many times was I left sexually frustrated? I cannot even count.

Why put up with it?
1. I thought most women had this problem.
2. I really cared about this guy and thought things could change. In other words, sex was the least of our issues.

If you can put up with the idiosyncrasies and egos of an engineer, they are decent guys to date. You may need to spiff up their wardrobes or houses. You might have to nudge them into some less geeky behavior but they are reliable and sweet. Engineers provide comfort and they can be cute and smart. After many unstable relationships, it can be somewhat comfortable to be with someone predictable. Just do not allow it to get too staid. Engineers do enjoy routine more than most people and you just have to spice it up a bit if that’s what you want. If you also like the same thing week to week, look online and you are liable to find at least ten engineers ready for the picking.

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