My Face for the World to See (Part II): The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly a fiction August 11 - 18, 1999

Wednesday, 18 August 1999 (the darkest night of all) 6:12am She lost all her innocence Gave it to an abscess She lost all her innocence She said, "I am not a feminist" It's...not...yours... FUCK YOU! 8:26am Just because I didn't tell you doesn't mean it was a secret. 8:34am Well, shit. Summer's out of the office today. So who's going to tell me if my makeup is splotchy? 9:17am Oh, no. No no no no no. He's back. That's not right. It hasn't been a month yet. It was supposed to be a month. I was supposed to be away from this place, with Madeline... 9:22am There. Finally. I just cancelled my Sirius account, which I've had since 1995 but has been little more than a spam magnet and $20+ suck on my credit card for quite some time. Dana has graciously accepted my plea to help me set up my new computer whenever I actually get it, so that way (among other things) they can't nail me for labor costs. I have Brigid to thank for pointing that one out to me; indeed, she's been invaluable in helping me navigate through the increasingly icky legal potentialities—it hasn't gotten truly litigious yet, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn't—for which I have neither the background nor stomach to deal with. Being a Law & Order junkie doesn't do me a damn bit of good in this case. 12:10pm Going to have my employee ID retaken. I got suitably gaffed out this morning, and if I say so myself, I don't look half bad. I haven't gotten made up since last Friday for conservation purposes (though Johnnie thinks she may able to find my foundation locally, which would be wonderful), and it feels nice to do it again. I also wrote the mailroom again, since they never responded to my previous inquiry about receiving mail under both names. Oh, I really hope they don't hassle me about this. If I have to involve HR, I will. And I know I'm not the first, since Trevor surely did the same thing with them... 1:02pm if you live through this with me i swear that i will die for you 2:28pm Harry Shearer is god. 3:17pm go on take everything, take everything, i want you to 5:01pm At last count, in my department at work: Fifteen men (counting the two who have have been hired but haven't started yet) Three women (two, if Summer bails) Me (categorized separately for statistical purposes) This is so very wrong. 6:04pm Decision time: whether or not to go see Imani at her strip joint. It's a fairly short distance, and she starts at 6:30pm, and has been wanting me to go...and I haven't gone out much lately... sometime after midnight So just when it seems I'm about to forget how surreal my life can be at times, I spend the evening at Imani's topless bar (not technically a strip club, a subtle but crucial distinction). Whoo boy, that brought it back home in a big way. Last | Top | Next

Tuesday, 17 August 1999 (entrenchment) 8:50am My hooked mail has been resurrected, thankfully. Now, to clear it out and remove the important stuff—mostly the first few months of talking with Madeline. 8:53am They're just gonna have to live without me for now...I simply don't have the energy anymore... 9:35am I hear that you're building your little house deep in the desert You're living for nothing now, I hope you're keeping some kind of record 11:29am I found it. Just to be sure, I called and spoke to an actual person who confirmed that yes, they have it in stock (damn—didn't ask how many) and it can be shipped in four business days. Happy happy. In the meantime, I've been making that itemized list of what The Ex owes, as accurately as I can. The simple fact is, I didn't keep every single receipt. I know I should have, but I didn't. It felt wrong to do so, as though it meant I couldn't trust her. And now, that trusting nature seems to have come around and bitten hard... Not so happy. 12:42pm 09/07/94 11:06 PM. What happened to the pursuit of the Great American Novel? Or when I paint my masterpiece? I don't want to make Jurassic Park, I want to make Citizen Kane. I really ought to read more F. Scott Fitzgerald. Isn't that what I want to do? Chronicle them, examine them? I guess these days that makes me more Douglas Coupland than anyone else. I wonder if Fitzgerald met with that kind of backlash. A film major who can't think of a dead movie star? Paul Muni, perhaps? That's the only one I can think of at the moment, but...she's rubbing his neck! Ick! It is not out of jealousy which I say that, either. The socialization which is going on around me--I simply could not have been involved. It just would not have happened. It's not in the way I'm constructed, for better or for worse. Thank god that I have The Ex, or I would have gone completely nuts by then. It's hard, fine, I'll admit it. It sucks being an outsider...though an outsider held in peculiar regard. They're playing Scattergories right now, and for some reason, I'm held as an authority. Chip actually said, without a trace of irony and with the utmost sincerity, "Jeff said it's okay." Tara is in the room as I write this, speaking on the phone to God knows who. This is all so much weirder than I could have imagined. It sounds like it might be her boyfriend...or just someone she's gotten close with up here. Not Scott; he called earlier, and whoever this is, she seems surprised that they found her...I'm not going to say that what she's talking about is intensely personal, but in spite of the obviousness of my furious typing, she seems to care not so much as a whit that I am in here. The interesting aspect of that is not so much because of who SHE is, but that anyone...let me try this from another angle. Of all the people you might need to worry about discussing potentially sensitive matters in front of, I would not appear to be on the list; I am of no consequence. Chip tends to, politely, kick me out when he's on the phone; Tara doesn't care, and I doubt many other people would. Back to the socialization. There's gotta be a better word, but for the life of me I can't think of what it might be, so I'll roll with this one. I'm sure this happens every semester in every college in every town: a Tara rubbing a Chip's neck, a Mike on a tiny couch with a Gwen on one side and a Christina sitting more or less on the arm of the couch, leaning up against him. I have no doubt that a fair amount of sex has taken place. Brad has fully acknowledged it, and the vending machine has condoms. (And you can buy them with Gator Dollars--and to think my Dad thought they were a ripoff.) *Bing!* A random but really unsettling thought just went through my mind: IF Chip does get Kathleen Kennedy's address...well, as he's pointed out many a time, he's utterly swamped with film majors, including ones who rub his neck, ones whose gratitude might mean a whole lot more than mine does. I wouldn't put it past him at this point. He's a great guy, overall (Type A personality, though--ah, the chocolate chips), but he's human, to a fault. His classes are slipping (the ones he hasn't dropped), and I believe it is entirely possible that he will cheat on his madchen back in deutschland--only human, after all. Good Lord, she's baring her fucking soul. ("God...I dropped a dish, and I just wanted to smash it against the wall...I haven't broken into tears yet since I've been up here, but...") Shit, there's little worse for animosity than when they show their soul. Can really ruin it. Earlier today, I couldn't help thinking to myself that a palpable state of animosity existed between her and I. It could still be true. Fuck, I don't know anymore. Wrong. I do. There exists nothing between us. As it should be, as it is, as it will be, world without end, amen. I guess we're all totally fucked up--I wish I could have seen it while it was here--and, really, what's more common a bond than that? It's all in how you express it, then. Just because I don't smoke and try not to drink, is that enough to be divisive? Possibly, but...my personality just doesn't fit. Doesn't that just end it all right there? God, what would have happened if I had been foolish enough to actually go into the army? Woulda eaten me alive. So, earlier today, sixish, Tara and Paul (?) come by, looking for baking soda and chocolate chips. I personally don't have either--salsa, chips and Diet Coke is my inventory--but Ramsey has the baking soda and Chip has the chocolate chips. To make a long story short (too late!), they left with both, and I don't know if Ramsey knows or cares about the baking soda, Chip seemed pissed about the chocolate chips. He actually seemed angry with ME about it--"And you let them?"--but I don't think that lasted. Anyhow, he actually called them and demanded that he bring them back down immediately, preferrably unopened. For a fucking $2.89 bag of chocolate chips? This from a guy who buys 3 or 4 CDs a week? The rich. They flaunt what they have and are consequentially are very protective. The bicycle lock is a good example, but even that didn't prepare me for his reaction to the chocolate chips. I wanted badly, but bit back, "What's wrong? Aren't they your friends? You don't trust them to pay you back?" But I didn't, and it's just as well. It is, of course, none of my business...I mean, if it was my stuff, I of course would have let them use it and I doubt I woulda gotten nearly as upset as he did. It's a valid point, of course, that it's only polite to ask before taking something, but to make such a stink about it... I wonder how he'll last the semester. He's just not psychologically prepared for this environment--i.e., such close quarters with other people. I don't think I'm necessarily so bad, though no doubt he's somewhat annoyed by me...and will get more annoyed as I persist to pester him about the answering machine. I sense something of the control freak in him, not uncommon to find alongside the personality which craves being the center of attention. Which is why it's fun to watch him respond to Ramsey's occasional weirdness--why was Ramsey so adamant about not filling out the checklist thing that night? I don't know and don't care, but it was still fun to watch Chip. Type A, alright. Lets the little things get to him. I'm quite sure that when he comes in to go to bed, he's gonna be in a foul mood. Quite sure. I am REALLY gonna have to put a lock on these files. I'd be in deep shit if they were found--of course, I'm writing this with the door wide open. Back to Tara for a moment: I still stand by my original theory about her soul. Something's lacking in there. It's a wrong, bad, mean, unfair thing of me to say. Was that what it was Summer? God, that was a long time ago. I'm not sure I remember any of that as well as I'd like to think that I do. "I'm not the same man I was a while ago/I've learned some new things, I hope that it shows." Am I different, though? Wasn't I just as reclusive and freaky then as I am now? Maybe, but in a different way. I'm still plagued by the same questions as then. How do you introduce yourself to a stranger? Case in point: that girl in the Images of Eroticism class. Why not talk to her tommorrow? There's probably a...oh, I don't know, maybe 7/8 chance that she's somewhat lonely and would appreciate someone attempting to make contact with her. Then again, could be she's perfectly happy keeping to herself (something I need to work on) and doesn't want to be talked to, particularly by a stranger who unfortunately looks like me. That's part of it, I think; I'm acutely aware of what I look like--or what I think I look like. I've never believed the people who say I'm not ugly. Moreover, I'm big, and it's gotta be unsettling to have a big shabby stranger talking to you, uninvited. It's weird; I know that I don't, but I have this image of myself as looming over people. God, I HATE that. So I'll keep a little distance, hopefully keep the Woody-esque gestures to a minimum. "Hi. Sorry to bother you, but I just had to say that as a Betty Page fan, I absolutely love your hair." It's real arguable as to whether or not comparing a girl to a fifties stripper is a good way to introduce yourself to her...but, maybe she'll appreciate that someone recognizes it-- Man! I am NOT alone in this world. I daresay that I'm one of the lucky ones. She's not with me right now and that sucks, but I have someone I love who loves me, and really, how much more can I ask for than that? So why am I obsessing over--obsessing over yet ANOTHER girl. Why? Becuase I obsess. It's what I do. If I were just missing a couple more screws, I'd make one hell of a stalker. I feel that I have a pretty good grasp of how much more negative my personality could have been. I don't have to concentrate very hard to imagine myself as an alcoholic dropout working nights at Taco Bell, even fatter and less pleasant than I am now. My life could be a lot worse right now than it is, and when can a life not be better? "While paupers change possessions, each one wishing for what the other has got/And the princess and the prince discuss what's real and what is not." Pardon the pun, but the royalty no doubt believes that what is troubling them is every bit as valid as the problems of beggars. And they're right. 5:06pm Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'll have the numbers ready. Not tonight. Can't do it tonight. Tomorrow, for sure. 7:16pm While I was in the subway this evening, there was a 4.7 magnitude earthquake. Didn't even realize it until I got home. Just another of the risks of living in the big city. 8:08pm Mmmmm. The big salad. 9:48pm Wait a minute—how can stripeys be too long? That doesn't make sense. 10:00pm I don't want to deal with tomorrow, or anything that's going to happen in the next two weeks. It's all going to hurt, it's going to be about pain and little else. I just want September to get here, for Maddy to arrive. The rest...the car and the bed and everything else, that's all just more fighting with The Ex, and I want it to be over and done with...it's not supposed to be like this... Last | Top | Next

Monday, 16 August 1999 (the reflecting god) 7:28am when all of your wishes are granted, many of your dreams will be destroyed 8:03am Occasionally, the Chronicle gets it right. It really was a stunning show. I've decided it was a closure of sorts. Seeing R.E.M. without The Ex on what would have been our ninth anniversary was all too perfect. As I've mentioned before, they've been my emotional soundtrack since the breakup (along with Manson and Hole, the only other concert I've been to this year), and their recent album Up was playing that night. So far as I know, she still can't listen to it for that reason, while I still gain strength from it. There's something resembling symbolism at work here... I'm very pleased to note, however, that the poster I bought at the concert—the one concession I allowed myself, in spite of how much I wanted a t-shirt—fits perfectly into one of the more noticeable gaps of my cubicle wall. The blacklight complements it nicely, too. 3:02pm Sometimes everything is wrong. 3:10pm 09/02/94 07:08 PM. There's a man says he can put an end to war So it's over for now, I guess. I got the fucking check, and the money. Finally. It's a hollow, bitter victory at best. That's reality, I guess. I can't blame them for having more money/living differently/enjoying themselves more than I. God bless them for it. So just what accounts for why 211 is now party central? I guess, in theory, it could have been Chip deciding not to interrupt what he might perceive as my beloved solitude. Or maybe it's not so focussed, but a just a general effort to be away from me. Of course, the sun and moon and rest of the heavens may also actually revolve around me and I just never realized it. In other words, I doubt it has THAT much to do with me. God, I'm SO fucking reliable, aren't I? There's just something so not right about that. What am I doing here? What? Waiting for Danny's call? Yeah, that must be it, boy i never have a problem justifying why I don't go anywhere, I'm just sooo hard to reach aren't i? I really ought to call Astrid...maybe go thrifting tommorrow afternoon...believe i'll give her a buzz, then go to the student union (which you KNOW is closed) and play lethal enforcers... JUDE How do you know you exist? Joel looks up, surprised; Jude hasn't spoken a word in the last 20 minutes. They are sitting out in the woods a fair distance from the camp, although they can still hear it. Jude on his ack, staring at the stars; Joel has been practicing juggling pinecones, bored out of his mind. He's unaware that Jude is peaking.) JOEL I know that one. It's in one of my books; "I think, therefore I am," or something like that. JUDE (after a pause) But the trees exist...but we don't know they're thinking...they know it, though... JOEL Whaddaya mean, the trees think? POV: Jude looking up at the stars. The Milky Way is prominent. JUDE We're part of all this... Still in his POV, Joel waves his hand slowly lengthwise across the galaxy. We see his trails. JUDE ...but it doesn't matter if no one else knows you're even there, does it? The biggest star in the universe may be so far away that you can never see it, and then it doesn't exist, does it? While talking about that star, he moves his finger around where he supposes that star must be. Back to Joel. He's somewhat confused by this; it's a burst of weirdness he didn't exactly see coming. JUDE It's like the trees again...you know, how when a tree falls in the forest and no one is there...it might not even exist at all. He sits up on one elbow and looks at Joel. If there were enough light, Joel would be able to tell that Jude is absolutely animated. The camera slowly zooms in on Jude as he gently rants. JUDE I mean, shit, think about it--light--it comes from the sun, hits the tree, bounces off, and goes...where? If there's no eye for it to go into, what happens? It's like, unless there's an eye to get the light from something it might as well not be there...sure, you can still feel it, but...if you're in a room alone and close your eyes, there's all that light with nowhere to go--it's like a void! Until you open your eyes again...seeing things, vision, is purely our invention, animals with eyes...when the first creature evolved eyes, when it took its first look around, that was when the world really began to exist...when it was just the plants and trees, it was just a void... JOEL Are you on something? Naturally, Jude finds that hilarious, and starts laughing. And laughing. 3:53pm My pride is telling me to fight, damn the consequences. My conscience is telling me to seek out a compromise, to minimize the damage between us. That a victory in this case wouldn't be worth the emotional cost, and I must rise above it all somehow. Figures. Those two can never get along. 9:34pm Cold, gray and windy outside as I was coming home. It's easy to forget that it's hot and sunny most everywhere else in the hemisphere. While en route, Imani emailed me to confirm that yes, she's working at the club tonight and she'd love for me to come see her show. Aargh. Bad timing. I'm thinking definitely next Monday, and hopefully I can drag Summer and Laurel along. I doubt it'll be too difficult to convince them since grrls get in free, although I imagine this might be one of those rare cases where my damn boi ID causes a problem. I'm getting closer and closer to just going to the DMV and getting the name change out of the way. Speaking of such things, I contacted the mailroom at work today and told them that I'd be receiving packages under the name Sherilyn as well as Jeff. I haven't heard back from them yet, but I can't imagine it'll be too difficult, but if worse comes to worse I'll speak to them in person. I'm also finally having my employee ID reshot this week. I hate my current one with a passion; not a smidgen of makeup (I wouldn't discover eyeliner for roughly another week), face lumpier than usual, looking right in the camera, pigtails (which I've discovered simply do not photograph well), and worst of all I heeded the most dangerous instructions ever: "Try to smile." All in all, it's not a very representative picture of me. And don't even get me started on my Evil Levi Plaza badge, which I'm sure would be even more difficult to get retaken. I've considered just covering it with a picture of myself that I like better; nobody ever looks at the damn thing, so I could probably get away with it. So I started doing the math on exactly what The Ex owes me. I can't begin to describe what an awful feeling it's leaving in my mouth and stomach. I hate this. I didn't want this to happen. It's the last thing I wanted, for us to start using numbers and figures against each other. Somehow this has to end in a way which doesn't involve us hating each other. I simply cannot accept that. Maybe I should just sell the damn car and be done with it. Then there'll be actual tangible money to deal with as opposed to "value." A solution with a certain Solomon-eqsueness to it. Last | Top | Next

got sixteen days one for every time I've gone away one for every time I should have stayed should have wore my wedding ring got sixteen days fifteen of those are nights can't sleep when the bed sheet fights its way back to your side well the ghost has got me running well the ghost has got me running away from you away from you away well the ghost has got me running well the ghost has got me running away from you away from you away got sixteen days got a bottle and a rosary god I wish that you were close to me I guess I owe you an apology got sixteen days fifteen of those are nights can't sleep when the bed sheet fights its way back to your side well the ghost has got me running well the ghost has got me running away from you away from you away well the ghost has got me running well the ghost has got me running away from you away from you away old tin cups, little paper dolls all wrapped up, in ribbons bows and hearts old tin cups, and little paper dolls all wrapped up, in the ribbons of your heart I got sixteen days sixteen days I got sixteen days it's like the fool I am David Ryan Adams, "16 Days" Sunday, 15 August 1999 (the morning of the third night it all ends) 8:25am What the hell happened to John Hughes? The man made a string of movies which came as close as my generation ever got to The Graduate: Sixteen Candles, Weird Science (okay, not exactly profound), The Breakfast Club (masterpiece) and Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Bam bam bam, in a row. That's pretty goddamned impressive. Planes Trains & Automobiles went in a different direction but still may be the funniest movie John Candy was ever associated with. After the relatively contextual profanity of TBC, Hughes really got it out of his system: "And I really don't care for the way your company left me in the middle of fucking nowhere with fucking keys to a fucking car that isn't fucking there. And I really didn't care to fucking walk down a fucking highway and across a fucking runway to get back here to have you smile at my fucking face. I want a fucking car RIGHT FUCKING NOW!" My mother squrimed very uncomfortably during that scene, as I'm sure most parents did. Good. That was the whole fucking point. I couldn't get into She's Having a Baby because the title alone sounded like a horror movie, Uncle Buck was a decent last gasp, and this as close as I'll ever get to admitting Curly Sue even existed. He's also been responsible for the Home Alone films as producer and writer, as well as two a lot of people think he directed but didn't: Pretty in Pink and Some Kind of Wonderful. If you're a grrl in your mid-to-late twenties right now, you probably have strong personal feelings about one if not both of them. (I'm pleading the Fifth.) Most recently he's been writing and producing bad remakes: Flubber, Miracle on 34th Street, 101 Dalmatians, and so on. That really hurts. Even when Dylan or Mike Nichols fell, they didn't fall quite so hard. 10:34am So I'm not getting the computer today after all. Can't say I'm surprised. She is, however, coming by to pack up some stuff to take to storage. Something tells me this is going to be like Sundays used to be—very bad. 1:04pm If this had happened a few months ago months ago, I'm not sure I could've handled it. And it's still going to hurt more than I'll be expecting, particularly considering her boyfriend will be here. But I'll make it. I'm stronger than I was before. Won't be for a few hours yet anyway. The worst part will be her explaining why she suddenly wants the specifics of what she owes me, and why the computer's not ready today. Both are going to be along the lines of me being unreasonable and putting too much pressure, if not flat out saying that I should be paying her. Ah, drama. Fun fun fun. I'm a bad person who has done very bad things, so I guess it's only fitting. 3:06pm And so it begins: the genuine, official Separation Of The Stuff. Of two lives which have been intertwined for the last nine years. Boy, it's a good thing I've been so emotionally stable—I haven't cried in at least 48 hours. Otherwise, I'd be worried. A breeze, this will be. The proverbial cakewalk. What could be simpler? 3:22pm ...yeah, it probably would be in poor taste to have Disintegration playing when she gets here. 4:49pm Ah, yes. Stripeys = confidence. 7:04pm It went well at first. It really did. Until we got onto the thorny subjects of the computer and the car. Then it went bad. FUCK! Sorry. Sudden mood swing. Burst of frustration and anger and disappointment which I had to do something with, what Tom called the bitterness and rage of love gone bad. "Value." That's the word The Ex kept using. That she's not getting enough "value." Whatever I may have shelled out over the last year or so while she was unemployed? Don't matter, because of the value I'm getting in her "giving" me the car that I've been paying for. And she confirmed that yes, her parents are involved. They had to be; I know them too well. Being on their bad side is a very frightening thing, but there's not much I can do. She grudgingly agreed to have her mother write and explain the situation to me. My insistence upon having these things in writing clearly bothered her— why can't I just accept what she tells me and be done with it? In the plus column, she moved a lot of her stuff out, and she'll be taking her belongings from our storage space—at which point I can bring my stuff back here and not have to pay the $80 fee every month. That's what I need to keep reminding myself: that there is a bright side. Even beyond the issues of personal growth, the fact is, this apartment is a one-seater, and I'll be much more comfortable here by myself. I'm allowed to be happy about these things. I've mourned the loss. I've beat myself up more than I care to remember. And yes, there's still going to be pain and hurt. I suppose I'll always feel a tug when I remember how things once were. But they aren't anymore. We aren't anymore. We once were; we are no longer. Now it's time to be happy about starting a new life, one I've always wanted to lead. I am happy about it, and best of all, I'm not doing it alone. 9:22pm How do you improve on a day as perfect as this one? A leaking fridge is a great place to start. Last | Top | Next

Saturday, 14 August 1999 (fables of the reconstruction) 9:02am Airportman (dum-dum-dum), Lotus (flame on!), Daysleeper (i cried the other night), Why Not Smile (you've been sad for a while), Walk Unafraid (yes...yes, yes, yes, yes, yes), Hope (fuck 'em, Michael, it was gorgeous), At My Most Beautiful (*sigh*), Sad Professor (why not?) The Apologist (thank you for being there for me thank you for listening goodbye), So Fast So Numb (this is what i wanted you to see), The Wake-Up Bomb (1973), What's the Frequency Kenneth? (withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy), Star 69 (monster!), Tongue (this song has tits), Sweetness Follows (of all things), Man On The Moon (Courtney had a lot to do with it, didn't she?), The Great Beyond (Andy!), Find the River (nothing is going my way), Losing My Religion (consider this the slip that brought my to my knees, failed), Pop Song 89 (hi hi), The One I Love (fiiiiiiire), It's the End of the World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine) (right? right), Cuyahoga (most daring of all), Pilgrimmage (momentum). "Neon clip art" is the best way to describe the set design. From my angle on the lawn I could see there a fireworks display off in the distance for the first few songs. (I have no idea why that was happening.) There were several meteors over the course of the evening. Wow. Closure? All three now? 12:00pm Made it to work, finally. What better place to be on a bright sunny day than in a damn office? Hmmm...oh, jeez, the farmer's market in the parking lot next to the building. I'd forgotten all about that. Yep, it's in full swing. Hmm...I need more salad stuff anyway...and it's only going on for another hour...and Madeline isn't online right now (I hope she's catching up on her sleep, because she was on when I got back home at 4:50am her time), so except for the work which ostensibly drew me in to begin with, there's no reason I can't nip down there for a short bit...and, hell, it's noon, right? Lunchtime! It's in the Constitution... 12:26pm Well, that was neither particularly thrilling nor productive. But it was worth a shot, I guess. Okay. Work now. 2:50pm 08/31/94 02:38 PM. Note to Chip: when someone is telling you how broke they are and how much they're being fucked by the financial aid people do NOT show them your expensive bootleg CDs and go on about how cool one of them is because it has a misprint. It's in really poor taste. Have you read the Bible, Pete? Holy Bible? Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Heard of it, anyway. God, do I just not belong here? Is that what this is all about? It's the only thing that makes any sense at this point. Somehow, I made a terrible mistake and I'm not where I belong. No, I can't allow myself to think that. Next thing you know, I'll believe it. And that's the worst thing that could possibly happen. 11:37 PM. Home is wherever I am. These are my new surroundings; this is where I lay down to sleep, where I keep my stuff. Pretty much the only thing missing is Mary, but at least she's in good hands and I'll see her in a couple days. (I still have this awful fear that if I'm gone long enough, she'll forget me. But it would have to be years...wouldn't it?) I've moved around quite a bit in my life; ultimately, I've been preparing for this all my life. Staying in at night--shit, when haven't I done that? 3:49pm Thanks to "system upgrades," it now appears that I may have lost all of my mail on my hooked account—including the bulk of my early correspondence with Maddy, none of which I deleted. I'm waiting for hear back from them to see if it's gone for good. I will be very unhappy if that's the case. 9:23pm I'm a headache carrier. That's the only theory that makes sense at this point. Like Typhoid Mary, I carry them but aren't affected. I just spread it to others. The Ex had them so bad some mornings she couldn't get out of bed, and now the same thing is happening to Maddy, Laurel and Brian. Maddy's distance suggests that it's some form of telepathy rather than a biological agent. Hopefully it won't turn out that I'm a latent scanner and their heads start exploding... Last | Top | Next

Friday, 13 August 1999 (a simple prop to occupy my time) 8:38am Perfection? Hardly, my dear, but I must admit, I do look pretty damned good in them. 9:15am Must feed the meter. 10:15am Must feed the meter. 11:35am Must feed the meter. (Rhythm was never been my strong suit.) 11:49am If you want something done right, you're shit outta luck. 1:41pm i've stopped trying to make a difference i'm not trying to make a difference i've stopped trying to make a difference no way 2:14pm I guess I should have known it was going to happen, but I didn't want to believe it. Even Maddy figured it would, and told me she'd understand. (She's too good to me.) I, however, was convinced it wouldn't. The words went through my mind: this would have been our nine-year anniversary. And it just started coming out. I couldn't help it. It bordered on involuntary. Not so much as a scrap of vicodin in my system, either. I suppose it's just part of being human, or at least emotional, which I can be to a fault sometimes. I wonder if the same thing happened to her. Probably. It's only natural. To top things off, I'm going to R.E.M. alone after all. Oh well—buying two tickets was a gamble and I knew it. I'm sure I'll still enjoy myself... 5:02pm How do these people get my phone number? I was just very rude to some yahoo from back east who had questions which couldn't possibly have had less to do with my job. So, naturally, he wanted me to transfer him to someone else. This coincided perfectly with a rather violent mood swing, and I all but told him to go fuck his mother and slammed the phone down. If it was remotely legitimate, I'm sure he'll be complaining about me. Let him. I don't give a shit. Wow. It's been a while since I felt like I was cracking up. This is almost nostalgic. South Bay traffic is perilous, as usual. Many accidents, backups, etc. No point in even leaving here until at least six or seven... Haven't fed the meter in a while. The meter maids have seemed lax today, though. Guess I'll find out. 5:30pm 08/30/94 09:57 AM. The temptation to rationalize and explain evil behavior has the unfortunate side effect of ignoring the fact that evil does exist. For most people it is possible to determine motivations, true, but the unpleasant notion that evil exists for no other reason than existance itself must be addressed, and it might seem like all bets are off as a result of this. death exists, but you do things to yourself (it wasn't me, i know she's dead but it wasn't me) Does this mean that I'm suggesting that god and the devil exist? Not in the classical religious sense, no. But bad things happen for no particular reason, and people do bad things-- usually to other people who in no way, shape or form deserve it. I guess in a way I'm describing what is referred to as random . I can be walking down the street and next thing I know (or last thing I know, really) I have a bullet lodged in my favorite cranium and my precious gray mattter spread over the nearest bus shelter. Then again, that's remote, and I may or may not have been the target. On the other hand, someone could very possibly look at me, decide I look just a little too faggoty, and beat me within an inch of death just in case I am a fag. That's evil. Maybe evil is when a person's fundamental rights (although god knows there's no real consensus on what THOSE are) is taken away from them for no other reason than how they were born. And, of course, the attacker may try to rationalize it as "they're unnatural." But I can't honestly believe that they're all like that--putting that much reasoning into the act. "They're fags," is all the explanation they can or will offer, all that, as far as they're concerned, needs to be offered. Bad things happen. Good things happen, too, wonderous, marvelous things which heap fortunes that can never truly be appreciated. But that doesn't change the fact that bad things happen. No wonder religion continues. (Back to this thread.) If good and bad things are going to happen seemingly without provocation, there must be a reason. There MUST be order in the universe, you tell yourself, and that's where religion and a god figure come in. (You'll find god in the church of your choice and you'll find woody guthrie in brooklyn state hospital and though its only my opinion i may be right or wrong you'll find them both in the grand canyon at sundown) 11:12 PM. God, rich people are fucked up. I'll admit, I can't honestly profess to really know anything about Chip's life before he came here, but really..."I have a overbearing mother, yet I didn't become a homosexual?" What the fuck? If I wasn't so weak, I would have confronted him by now. Odds are, if I ask him to stop, he will--around me. What will that change? Nothing, and nothing I can do will change him. 5:56pm I'm coming to work again tomorrow. Yeah, more of this place. That's precisely what I need. The traffic is still quite slow. But I have to leave here by seven, at latest. 6:12pm I used to think I was a good typist/speller. Now I know better. 6:28pm The traffic around Shoreline has cleared up, but now I see that there's a motherfucking Giants game going on, which is going to make getting out of the city goddamn near impossible. Fuck! Fucking dumbshit baseball games! Why don't they just fucking abolish professional sports and get it over with? Okay. Must relax. Must get out of here. Concurrently. sometime after midnight Wow. What an incredible, amazing show that was. I went alone, but in a lot of ways that's just as well, because it really felt like a fan's setlist; lots of fairly obscure stuff. "Find the River" and particularly "So Fast, So Numb" were wonderful surprises. Did they know I occasionally obsess over those songs? How'd they get into my head like that? It was nice to be able to sing along with nearly every song, except of course for the brand new one they did for Man on the Moon, the Andy Kaufman biopic whose title is derived from their song about Andy. And Michael was in full flamer mode, which is always fun to watch. I, on the other hand, was in full gaf mode. There were a few others around, surprisingly... And then, for some reason, after getting back into town, I went to Shrine. Sometimes I don't understand myself. Last | Top | Next

Thursday, 12 August 1999 (deformography) 6:24am The train which goes by at 5:15am, whether or not it's the earliest one, gets me to Embarcadero at 5:45 and therefore here at 6:00am, right when the Evil Levi Fitness Center opens. That's a strong incentive for me to join. A stronger incentive is the card I received in the mail yesterday from Club One, saying they're about to cancel my membership. (Or, as they put it, "they're confirming my request to resign." Except for not having gone for the last four or five months I've made no such request, but pick pick.) Fine, terrific, no problem, I've been trying to bring myself to cancel the memebership for some time; hell, I shouldn't even still have it at all, since it was supposed to be temporary while I was Autodesk. Perhaps they only now got around to noticing I haven't been at Autodesk since last year. Though the account was valid at any Club One location, it was mostly convenient because of the location actually at Autodesk, which is how I was able to go every day. So it makes sense to start doing that here. And I so so so need to. I'll never be like I was once, I'll fuckin' die first, but my weight slowly creeping upwards still scares me. Can't let it happen. The Levi account is slightly more expensive than the Club One fees; for something I'll actually use, it's worth it. My mother also wrote yesterday, asking if I'd be willing to take her cat "if something should happen to me (dead or incapacitated)." Yikes! I sincerely hope that isn't her way of trying to tell me something. Then again, as she's observed that I tend to drop vague hints about serious matters (wanting to be a grrl, things like that), so maybe she thinks this is only fair. I've been meaning to call her for a while—for how much I mean to do, it's a wonder I ever actually do anything—and I'm definitely going to tonight. Ironically, I've received my answer from the landlords about getting a cat. They called while I was on the phone with Maddy last Saturday; nine times out of ten I simply ignore the call waiting since I have voicemail for that very reason, and it's almost never for me anyway. (The Ex still gets more calls than I do.) This time, though, I decided to click over, and it was them with good news and bad news. The good news was they had a bed for me if I so desired, which I definitely do; the bad news was they'd decided that no, I couldn't get a cat. Despite frequent charges of pride and arrogance, I'm selective about my pride. In this case, I tossed it into the dirt where it belongs, then proceeded to grind it into the dirt by kneeling on it and groveling. I asked them to reconsider, that I'm both very lonely (true, in the immediate physical sense) and that I miss having a cat, that it would be indoor, declawed, housebroken, et cetera. Of course, they don't know about Mary, and as far as I'm concerned they never will. It sorta kinda worked: they said they'd think about it some more. Probably my blatant begging had a lot to do with it. Good. That was the whole damn point. And it was genuine, too. I groveled and pleaded and attempted to change their minds in all the ways that, say, for example, The Ex didn't when I suggested we break up. Where she was complacent with that crushing bad news, I'm intending to fight this. 8:21am 08/29/94 09:02 PM Jesus, I'm an idiot. I actually had a little over a page written out, but I lost it for reasons I won't go into. Suffice it to say I'm a schmuck. I really shouldn't be here at all; Chip suggested I go upstairs to the...party-thing, whatever it may be, exactly. Probably a good idea. Go, stay for a while, leave. What's the harm in that? After all, besides this navel-gazing, what better do I have to do, really? Just so people don't get the right idea and think I'm a total recluse. Yeah, I think I will. I'll just put on a different pair of sweats, the kind where you can't see my underwear, and be on my way... Sometime shortly after 10:30 It's not my culture, whatever mine is. I guess I've always known that. There's more to life than getting drunk and acting obnoxious, and Chip's capacity for it is nothing short of astounding. On the other hand, in his defense (dubiously), I don't think he'd drank very much. He feeds as much off of an audience as anything else; a desire to be the center of attention, which seems to be the opposite of me. The degree to which I'm invisible in those settings is remarkable; if anyone were to ask me, I'd tell them that I don't really mind because one of the nice things about no one watching you is that you can watch everyone else--and pick up more than anyone else, I think. I'm beginning to believe that I really didn't screw anything up; I'm just out of place amongst them. It's the whole ruled-by- testosterone thing (I'm getting really fucking sick of all of Chip's fag jokes and references) which I've never been part of. They're not as bad as they could be, granted, but it's still not something I can take part in. Chip spoke disdainfully of fraternities, but I think he's a little closer to them in spirit than he would like to admit. And, of course, as I've said before, there's more out there than this...and I intend to take part in it...but...I need something to go right. Please? Are you there, God? It's me, Jeff. I have to go down to the fucking unemployment office and do yet more red tape-waltzing to transfer my claim to San Francisco, and, if they stiff me on the last couple weeks....I don't know what I'll do. Open up that bottle of tequila in the fridge and down it. get a gun and start taking out people walking by. Scream until my larynx bursts, then run around spitting blood on people. (Cool!) Mind you, my financial aid check MIGHT be in tommorrow, then again it might not be in until Wednesday...and let's be honest, it might not even be in by then. Why assume? There's absolutely no reason to assume that anything is going to work out at this point. Getting the letter from the unemployment office today then getting on the bus going the wrong direction (I really need to learn to read the fucking schedule) basically proves that to me... I don't even have my books yet!!!!!! The first ultra-real day of class tommorrow, and I don't have my books! They're all upstairs partying away with their books in their bedrooms lying open to the first page over an uncapped and drying highlighter pen, and my fondest desire to get started on my homework and I can't!! THIS IS NOT RIGHT!!! THIS IS TOTALLY, ABSOLUTELY, UNCONDITIONALLY WRONG!!! I AM NOT BAD ENOUGH A PERSON TO DESERVE ALL THIS!!! This is where years of mixed signals can really screw up a person. Do I deserve it? No, but if I control my own destiny, then I should've had the books by now, no excuses. Besides, there's no time for self-pity. Worse things are happening to better people than yourself. Nothing that happens to yourself is anyone's fault but your own, even if a safe happens to fall from the sky from a passing jetliner while walking out in an open field, generally speaking the kind of place where you don't have to worry about things falling from the sky. I'm still amazed by Ramsey's question: why am I on unemployment? Well, I'm not employed, am I? (On the plus side, I'm meeting the South Beach Video dude tommorrow. If I don't get the job...oh lord oh lord oh lord...) I suppose he's right, I did get a little too defensive, but it's actually somewhat embarrassing. It doesn't have the same bad rap as welfare but still...I guess even I can't help thinking that I sound like a leech, waiting on both my unemployment AND financial aid checks. I guess he just figured that I was coming into this with a wad of cash. Chip spent $130 to get him and Tara into Lollapalooza. I had to borrow $50 from my mom for food for the week. And yet, in spite of these figures, I have a hard time calling myself poor because poor people, generally, don't have the stuff I have. And I can't even say that all of it is hard-earned, either--then again, neither can anyone else anymore, judging from Ramsey's exploits with his credit cards. I don't want what they have; I can tell Chip isn't the happiest person on earth despite his money (he called his mom, depressed! oh, man, hooray for our side). But, still, all I need is the security, and I'll go from there. and I don't have my books. Fuck! *bing!* the ever-admonishing "well-it's-your- own-fault" voice just piped up: that's your own fault. You could have asked dad, or maybe even Chip, and you should have called the unemployment office last week. Don't blame them for what you don't have. Is this what the neo-nazis refer to as liberal guilt? I cannot fully accept the notion that somehow, everything that's going wrong isn't my fault. What the FUCK is taking them so long? Really? What part of this am I not catching? Okay, fine, the financial aid people are backed up, but how does it happen that all that many people are getting theirs before me? Did they send theirs in THAT soon before me, or does it just so happen that the fates are smiling on them and shitting on me? It's just my fucking life here, people, take your sweet time, no rush here. Pete Wilson, no doubt eventually Republican presidential candidate 2000. "Why should I have to pay for other people's education?" Conk asked. Fuckers. All of them. It's real easy to say that when you have a lot of money. Just like Chip's homophobia and seeming conviction that sexual harrassment doesn't exist; let's face it, there's nothing the ruling class hates more than having their own bigotry exposed to them. Of course rich white heterosexual men think all fags should die and that women should stop whining about being harrassed. It's a level of...what? Egomania? No...self-centeredness, maybe. I'm not really sure what the right word is. When you have total freedom and all the right to do (or, at least, the ability to get away with) whatever you want, naturally you get skittish when someone either A) wants to take those rights away from you or B) wants some of them for themselves. God, if fags are treated like regular people, who will we have left to feel superior to? In many ways, it's similar to one of the main causes of hatred towards blacks: fear of supposed sexual tendencies, i.e. that black men wanted to ball every white woman that they came across (the idea that the women might prefer the black men didn't help matters much) and that gay men want to have sex with every straight man they come across. Of course, it goes a little deeper, since ultimately the only thing that straights really have to fear gays about is sex. The straight male ego is a powerful yet fragile creature; if it were JUST that gays were different it would be enough reason to hate them (historically, then only reason I need to hate you is because you're not exactly like me), but that they might challenge your sexuality in even the slightest bit--WHAM!! A Doc Marten to the skull will certainly make sure that the little pansy will never try any of that faggot shit with me. Ah, a little rant certainly does the soul good. Can I change the world with this wisdom I've imparted above? no. Should I try? Maybe, in another way. Hell, Chip's in here right now, clicking away furiously at one game or another (it is so frustrating about not having my books...I really wanted to strive for a 4.0 this semester, or at the very least do better than everyone else around me, and I can't bloody well do that without them, can I?), and I suppose I could bring up the subject, but...no. I'm such a pussy. The world isn't going to change itself. If you don't try, no one else will; Christ knows no one upstairs is going to try. Why not? Why should they? Hell, for all I--or anyone else--knows, Conk or Scott or any of them could be gay. But it's a secret they'd never, ever let out, any more than I could tell them whatever secrets I may have to reveal. God bless Torment; that's the kind of courage that you've gotta admire. Torment was a drag queen--and a pretty damned cute one, at that--at Lollapalooza, specifically part of The Reverend Samuel Mudd's Spoken Word Revival and Little Armageddon. That's the kind of confrontation the world needs, shoving its prejudice down its throat until it begins to choke. She was right, of course, that drunk dipshit girl no doubt didn't believe that Torment could have come from HER town; things you find unpleasant simply don't come from the same place as you do. They can't...can they? The world needs more protest. It's become passe, apparently...if you listen to the ruling class, that is. The oppressed don't think it's passe; for them, it's survival. Until you've been oppressed, and I don't mean thinking you didn't get a job or get into a school because of Affirmative Action (if there's a concept that the average white American cannot swallow, it's that someone of a different race, etc, can do a job better than them). I mean seeing your friends killed for who they are or dying of a disease which the people in power refuse to address seriously for fear of losing the support of hatemongers. What keeps religion alive in America today, anyway? The money has a lot to do with it, and the sheer force of intertia. Generations brainwashed from an early age, told to disregard all logic and reason BECAUSE THAT'S THE WAY IT'S ALWAYS BEEN. My father, and my father's father, and my father's father's father went to church and so on back through the eons, and that's the way it'll continue, thank you very much. And, if you play it right, there's money to be made. And where do the economics of hatred work in? Where's the money to be made through homophobia? It goes back to the sexuality problem. If the regular person is somewhat insecure about their sexual identity, then the person with religion is more fucked up than I'LL ever be, that's for damned sure. It's comforting to know that your church hates fags as much as you do; and, hey, $49.95 plus S&H (no C.O.D.'s please, although we know you're good honest Christians) for that video which spells out in detail just how the homosexuals plan to undermine all that this country stands for (wealth and power for the privileged minority, meager scraps and bones--lots and lots of bones--for the rest), particularly your kids. Boy, that must be the worst for them. Homosexuality, after all, is a totally chosen behavior (and those scientists and doctors who say that it's genetic...well, they're just like the ones preaching evolution, they're just doing it for the money, that's all, it's just for the money), and protecting our kids from all things subversive will ensure they turn out just like us. Besides...look, you do realize how I made that kid, don't you? I FUCKED! That's right, I took my woman, threw her down, spread those legs apart and fucked her good and hard for at least three minutes, and nine months later (god, was she bitchy for those nine months--what does SHE have to complain about? I'm the one who works) out came my kid, proof of my manhood. You're not about to suggest that something that I fucked into existance can be unnatural, are you? Not my kid! If one of those queers does get to them, I don't want to hear about it. After everything I did for them, that's how they repay me? By becoming a fucking queer? I don't want to hear about it! Well, if I continue any more, I'll just get incoherent. That's plenty for now. 10:21am Something tells me the network is down. 1:28pm Just got back from lunch with Laurel. Had a wonderful time; she really is too sweet for words. I'm almost beginning to think she's more excited about Maddy's visit than I am. (Naaaaaaah.) Speaking of whom, she just wrote. Lack of sleep (not just from our late night chats, but genuine insomnia) and migraines are keeping her down once again. *sigh* God, there's that helpless feeling again...even if I was there I couldn't really do anything to make it go away, but still... 2:38pm Laurel made an interesting obersvation, something Phil also pointed out this last weekend: I don't have an adam's apple. It's not something I'd given much thought to before, for what I suppose are obvious reasons. (It was big and obvious, well, then, I would have given a lot of thought, now wouldn't I?) It's a nice natural advantage, along with small hands and thick hair. Every bit helps. And though I'm mostly opposed to reconstructive surgery above the waist anyway, it's nice to know that I won't have to even consider a trachea shave. I've also decided that one of the elements of my actual web page (as opposed to this) will be a FAQ. There seems a certain arrogance to having a FAQ about yourself, but the fact of the matter is there are questions which I get asked frequently. (What I consider myself, do I intend to go "all the way," how long I've known, etc.) Hence, ergo, and y'know what I mean? It's not that I mind being asked questions, not at all. This just seems to make sense. It's all about spreading the knowledge whenever possible. 5:35pm I called my mother; she's doing fine. She'd simply decided to make sure her cat was provided for if something happened, but doesn'tnecessarily anticipate anything happening. I think she's trying avoid what happened when her aunt died a few years back. The woman had a plethora of cats and dogs which she didn't make any attempt to provide for. Ah, irony. She loved animals while she was alive, but didn't give any thought to what might happen to them after her death. Anyway, we discussed Tom's wedding, and to my surprise she put no pressure on me to attend. She doesn't want to go either, really, it being a wedding she doesn't entirely approve of in place she doesn't like (LA, Southgate to be precise) held by a religious demonination which thinks that she's going to hell because she's Catholic. I'm probably beyond salvation in their eyes. Tom and his bride are coming to the Bay Area for their honeymoon (part of it, at least), and I've accepted their request to show them around. That alone ought to get me out of having to attend the actual ceremony. Let's face it, it would surely be for the best if I wasn't there—and if my mother doesn't mind me skipping it... To her credit, she asked about Madeline, but didn't say a word about The Ex. Progress. Because that's the weird way our conversations twist and turn, I discovered her side of the family are Mennonites from way back. I'm guessing the old school types wouldn't be too happy with how the family turned out. From Mennonite to Mansonite? There's your long hard road out of hell... 7:03pm The difficult part will be not confronting her, resisting the tempation to call her on the way she's been acting lately. To accuse of her being angry that I've found someone new, that I've violated my indefinite hurting period. But, of course, I'm not going to. 11:15pm Whatever else may have happened, an evening involving a successful shopping trip cannot be considered a complete waste. Incredibly gnarly traffic on the Bay Bridge made it more practical for me to simply BART out to the East Bay, so I did. After picking up the car (more on that shortly), I went to the Target near her place and finally restocked on eyeliner. Three narrow sticks of Street Wear Tar, one thick, and a bottle of the Tar nail polish, which I'd never seen before. So hopefully I'll be painting my nails tonight; I've been neglecting them for too long. I also got a new pair of black bicycle shorts, which will come in handy tomorrow since I'm wearing my red-and-black stripeys to work and heading straight to the R.E.M. show from there. *sigh* Possibly alone, as my companion seems to have disappeared. Oh well. It was $30 I spent three months ago, ergo meaningless now. I'll still enjoy myself thoroughly, perhaps even moreso since I won't have to worry about anyone else. So when I picked up the car, The Ex asked me if I could in fact try to come up with a reliable figure for how much she owes me. She wouldn't say why ("too long a story to go into right now"), but that the sooner I could get her a decent ballpark figure, the better. This, in spite of if not in complete contradiction to our conversation last Saturday. Two possibilities. One pleasant and unlikely, the other unpleasant and (of course) all too likely. The first: she has the means to somehow pay off the remainder and wants to do so. I really don't see that happening. The second: her parents/her boyfriend/someone has decided she's getting screwed in this whole deal and intends to turn the tables on me and my machiavellian attempts to bilk her from her fortune. It's certainly up her parents' alley. It would involve the car. To make a long story short, I suspect they're going to tell me that the car's current value is worth more than what she owes me, and that as a result I actually owe her. Since, of course, the car is an asset worth however many thousands of dollars, so it should be treated as though I'm buying out her share. Otherwise, it'd be as though she's just giving me the money, and that certainly wouldn't be fair, now would it? Never mind that the car is only translatable into cash if I should decide to sell it, which I don't intend to. But that's not the point. Nor is how much I spent supporting her during her unemployment. All that matters now is my apparent attempts to squeeze every penny out of her (wasn't it bad enough that I broke her heart? what more do I want? how cruel and vindictive am I?), and somebody somewhere ain't standing for it. I could be wrong. I certainly hope I am. But it's the only theory that fits the facts, and I know how her parents can be. Trust me, you do not want to get on their bad side, 'cuz they can get litigation-happy, and in spite of being outwardly fond of me me for the last nine years (hey! it's midnight! how ironic!), I don't doubt they're capable of turning on me. I may have stopped beating myself up, but that doesn't mean I've ceased to be the villain in this little drama. If the net result is that I have to give up possession of the car (which I don't really possess anyway), fine. But if that ends up being the case, then fuck it all. She'll get the car, she'll get the payments and the satisfaction of having defeated me. Whatever. I won't dance anymore. According to the clock, it's now what would have been our ninth anniversary. Last | Top | Next

Wednesday, 11 August 1999 (faithfull) 7:33am Virtual includes: they separate the geeks from the nerds. 10:42am Bah. There. Done. All updated. Could I have possibly spent the last three hours a little more productively? No, of course not, what a silly question. I'm meeting Laurel for lunch tomorrow; turns out she lives fairly close by to where I work. This'll be the first time she's seen me in natural light, which is a slightly frightening concept. And as it is, I've been flying barefaced for the last few days (to Summer's relief, probably), both to allow my skin to heal as much as possible and for purely conservational reasons. I still haven't been able to track down the foundation anywhere, and my shadow will reassert itself in a week, tops. The half a bottle I have left needs to last, at least until Madeline gets here. After she leaves, though, things won't exactly be slowing down: it looks like I'm going to my brother Tom's wedding in LA on 9/11. There are many reasons why I don't want to go, most of which should be fairly obvious—outing myself to the extended family, dealing with the extended family in and of itself, a wedding, a wedding in a church between two fundamentalist xtians, being in an ostensibly fundamentalist xtian church surrounded by fundamnentalist xtians, and I don't have a fookin' thing to wear—but it doesn't appear I'll be getting out of this one too easily. I'm granted an astonishing amoung of leeway when it comes to family functions as it is, but every so often the token appearance is required. In any event, I'm already preparing myself for the inevitable confrontation with my mother about my appearance. Oh well. I'll surely still be glowing from having just spent a week with Maddy. So whatever may happen, I know I can handle it. 2:53pm Had a rare chat with Lee today; looks I might be able to see him later this month. Oh, that'd be nice. Considering what else I'll be dealing with up until then, I'll need it, if only to help unwind before Maddy's arrival. I'd love her to meet him, but there's no way the timing could work. Next time, perhaps. We could hide at his place on New Year's—who knows, it may well be the safest place on Earth. 5:35pm Next time you're in a crowded elevator and there's a hush, say aloud: "He deflowered Audrey Horne." I guarantee you, the reaction will be interesting. (I still don't understand why Summer called me a pottymouth, though. Jeez, it was in the context of the conversation—Billy Zane's character on Twin Peaks did in fact deflower Audrey Horne—and what could be less offensive than "deflower?" You can take the grrl out of the South...) Pacfic Bell just called—I qualify for DSL! It makes no sense whatsoever since the phone line can't even handle 56k, but pick pick. This doesn't mean I'll be getting it anytime too soon, but it's still nice to know, particularly since I should be getting my new computer this Sunday. If all goes well. 6:09pm Did you hear that clunking sound just now? It was my stock here going down a notch. *sigh* That'll happen. 11:52pm Offending xtians? Oh, please. Cry me a fuckin' river. Get off our currency and out of our schools, then we'll talk, okay? You're the dominant religion of the most powerful nation in the world. I made fun of your god, boo hoo, how will you survive? See you in hell. Last | Top | Next