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

(For more excerpts and a follow-up, see Part II.)

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.

From there, a friend of one of one of those friends (contributor Mr. Awesome) passed the link on to me. Just this afternoon, clicking back and reading more entries, I watched as her presence on Google search results expanded by an order of magnitude, as her blog blew up on Reddit, and her blog followers went from zero to whatever it is now.

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

Yes, she's real. While this blog itself seems like it could be a delicious hoax, I believe my friend that she exists. She also maintains or is a member of three other blogs, one of which updates fairly regularly and has archives going back three years. Given that she is obviously completely insane and that one of those blogs is devoted to the new millennium's favorite pastime of shut-in catladies — posting daily book-blog memes — it makes her overall story seem legit. Book-blog meme clubs are the new version of webrings devoted to miscarried fetuses.

Besides that, 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. I remember that whole three page bit in De Profundis when Wilde just keeps hammering Bosie for not bringing back a bunch of Waterford crystal collectible bears.


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.

I expect further developments on this story from to come exclusively from The Smoking Gun. Although, given the sudden explosion of fans Amy has received, as well as tweets about her, an explosive series of new posts may be imminent.

With that in mind, MrDestructo.com is neither responsible nor liable for any content on other sites or actions taken in a corporeal realm, including but not limited to words, deeds, ideas, images, and things implied by said means of communication, in addition to other forms of action or communication not involving the above methods, whether established or theoretical in nature.

UPDATE: (12:31 a.m. EST)

Amy deleted her blog. The links are now useless, but I'll leave them up as a good-faith gesture that something was there. Of course, the reason the blog had to come down wasn't her fault. True to form, it was Brian's. He allegedly posted her phone number "somewhere," but she didn't say where or post proof. Even more hysterically, she gave the fact that Brian is "ultra sensitive about private issues being made public" as another reason for taking the blog down, as if somehow her number being published would distress him much more than the fact that she'd spent months posting his full name, the name of his employer and his preferences regarding tittysucking Handy J interludes on a site owned and regularly crawled by Google. Then, in another classy act, again apparently consumed with privacy worries, she posted this:


Amy Steele: classy and victimized to the last. She'll be back, though. According to her Twitter, she and a friend are writing a book about dating.

UPDATE: (02/18/09 2:50 p.m. EST)

For more excerpts from Amy's deleted blog, as well as excerpts from a blog where she blames the Massachusetts Governor for institutionalizing her, please read this follow up.