There are two things that drive me nuts when people say them. One is: "Oh my God, you're so tall!" Two is: "Oh my God, you have no filter!"
Well guess what, I'm really fucking tall. And yes, you're right already, there are times when I have no filter.
But most of the time, what others see as having no filter I see as having courage to speak about what society deems unacceptable: sex, taboos, darkness, secrets, transgressions, the raw and the ugly. (BTW, if I ever have a fragrance line I think I just named it.)
I also get annoyed by the no filter thing (this is the shittiest, most defensive concession to occasionally having no filter ever written, eh?) because I think of myself as a fairly intelligent emotionally intelligent shapeshifter. (Second fragrance line name? NAILED IT.)
What some people may not realize is I've had soooooo many corporate tithering tee-hee let's-talk-about-the-weather hot-enough-for-you-Susan soulless jobs in my lifetime, and I know how to expertly play that game like any good phony can.
I think perhaps the no filter critique bugs also because I rarely get in trouble for the going-too-far stunts I used to pull. You know, like screaming delightedly in a crowded bar, "Has anyone else ever come from having a Waverly Inn busboy put his finger in your ass?" OK, that one I think actually still holds up. But there have been occasions. Oh! Here's a good one. This one night I was very, very high and while in a crowded taxi I tried to entertain everyone by singing along to "Bohemian Rhapsody" except I decided to replace every word with "vagina." So edgy.
But let's be honest (the pried-from-dead-cold-hands barely there acknowledgement, finally): When I am on a roll with close friends and we are just laughing our asses off, sometimes it is very fun to tuck the filter away. Because when I am with close friends, they know me like Nomi. (I would LOVE to see that become a popular expression in honor of the Joe Eszterhas masterpiece of subtlety classic "Showgirls.") Because during these times -- with close friends -- if we are talking about dark and terrible things, there is a collective understanding that we are both on a fun, UNFILTERED search to find the funny.
Which, incidentally, is more often than not found in not trying to be funny but rather just being truthful. (Preach, UCB. Preach, Charna Halpern.)
So here's the issue.
Jim Norton is a close friend.
And he is the third mic on "Opie & Anthony," which is a very outrageous, very unfiltered Sirius/XM radio program.
And I am doing the show tomorrow -- Friday! -- at 9:30 a.m. to promote my new podcast "News Whore" which launches that same day on the Riotcast network. (My co-host is my favorite songwriter of all time Graham Smith and our first guest is Colin Quinn! Oh, and you get to listen to that lovely New York Observer reporter as we all ask her questions on mic -- and listen to the audio and see how she totally misquoted Quinn in her piece!)
So all of this means my brain is kind of exploding right now. Because while I don't want to censor and stilt myself (as there is nothing worse than that), I also don't want to ruin a million people's lives by talking about all of Those Things Which Cannot Be Named because most people are incredibly private.
So, dear everyone I've ever slept with: Say a little prayer to whatever God you may have that tomorrow I don't get TOO comfortable and reveal too many details: like the brother who tried to get in on The World's Most Potentially Disturbing Threeway or the the username I once stumbled on an overnight, where in trying to check my email I discovered the alternate-porno-identity still logged in: "Welcome Back, Thick and Creamy Waves!"
Oh, TACW. Why DID that guy never pop the question? I'll always wonder.
Don't worry, men and the occasionally Kinsey 2 gal-pal, your secrets are safe with me.
I'll never tell how you like your nipple tweaked just so. Because that would not be cool.
Also, here's a good comment-generating question to end this with: What should I wear? Do I wear the standard-issue-funny-chick uniform of plaid casual I'm not even trying SuperDry shirt and jeans? Or perhaps wear a lovely Rita Rudner-style evening gown, all delicacy and lace? Or I could just go full-on Ellen with some suspenders and hair gel.
Find Mandy long-form at http://tinyurl.com/stadtmiller.