Sherilyn Connelly > Diary > January 21 - 31, 2009



12/13/08
My Face for the World to See (Part II):
The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly
a fiction


January 21 - 31, 2009

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Saturday, 31 January 2009 (state-dependent retrieval)
12:42pm


I started getting sniffly at dinner with Ilene on Thursday night, and the fact that her apartment is a bit colder than mine probably didn't help. I went ahead and kept my usual Friday morning appointment with Raphaela, hoping to burn out whatever was in my system. It didn't work, but I don't think it made it worse, either. Gods, I'm so tired of getting sick, especially when it seems to happen every few weeks. OVER IT. And right after getting a clean bill of health, no less.

So I stayed home last night—which especially sucked since Beth Lisick was performing in Sketchfest at The Dark Room, and I have a message for her from my mother—and have been trying to stay warm and relaxed. The thing is, the next all-girl party is tonight, and I'm not going to miss it. Period. In addition to hydration and Vitamin C and the usual stuff, I've even started taking cold medicine. I'd kinda sworn off it a few months back when I started getting into shape, and I've been doing fine without since the illness always runs it course in a couple of days, but this is a special case. I'm fairly confident that I'm not contagious, and my energy level is okay, but I kinda need my nose to not run.

5:45pm

Feeling a little better, and it'll have to do. Gonna shower (again), get dressed, head out into the world and let my will do the rest.

Mabye Akima will be there, and maybe she won't.

11:12pm

i wanted to play with you, but i was afraid it would freak out sadie.

11:55pm

This is just a guess, but I think tonight was the first time Neil Young's "Computer Age" has played in the background of an all-girl orgy.

sometime after midnight

The nametag.

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Friday, 30 January 2009 (whiling it away)
12:11pm


Tim just slapped my hand because of my causal tone with client. Of course, the client loves working with me because of my causal tone (and the fact that I'm good at my job), but that's neither here nor there. I rolled over and showed my underbelly and apologized.

2:02pm

Feh. Yeah, I'm getting sick again. No Sketchfest at The Dark Room for me tonight. Dumb stupid body.

7:09pm

They can't leave soon enough. They just can't.

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Thursday, 29 January 2009 (so semi-precious in your detached world)
3:30pm


Fresno will not be my refuge during that weekend in February. I already a ticket for Cinematic Titanic Live that Friday night so I'd have to leave on Saturday morning, and I'd still have to get back in time for Bad Movie Night on Sunday, so there's not much point. I'll crash at The Dark Room on Saturay night, and possibly Friday, too. (I know from having done it many times before that Perdita will be fine on her own for a weekend, especially if I leave her extra food and water.)

I'd be staying in town that weekend regardless, since shortly after I got the Cinematic Titanic ticket, Thomas Roche asked me if I'd read at this year's My Sucky Valentine that same night. I had to decline, but it's always nice to be asked. Gig-wise, in addition to the three Saturdays of AIRspace in March, I'm also reading at the next Perverts Put Out in April, the first time I've read at the event since 2004. This time, I asked them rather than them asking me, but that's okay. It's good for me to do the legwork, to keep myself out there.

I don't know what's happening after that. Whether or not I'll be chosen to be in AIRspace's June show is uncertain, and nobody's asked me to be in their reading, so this may well be the first time since 2004—quite a watershed year—that I haven't been in a National Queer Arts Festival show. If so, that's okay. I had a good run (I DO, I DON'T: A Queer-Centric Solution to an American Institution in 2004, The Bad Date Show in 2005, Transforming Community II in 2006, The Penis Issue in 2007 and Coming Out...Again! in 2008), there's always next year, and I'm doing pretty damn well considering I haven't been the flavor of the month for a long, long time. And I still have plenty to keep me busy.

But not tonight. Ilene and I getting together for dinner at Galactica, and it'll be the first time I've stayed at her place (or anyone's) since this past summer.

Meanwhile, ten years ago—
Eternal Recurrence, Part II (Suture and Dissolution)

Vigil...A Change in Venue...Would You Like a T-Shirt With That?...The Other Side of Midnight...A Simple Plan (No, Really)...Bringing It All Back Home...Thank You and Goodnight

Never yield to remorse, but at once tell yourself: remorse would simply mean adding to the first act of stupidity a second.
      -- Nietzsche, The Wanderer and his Shadow


1/16/99

Dear Dar,

Let me guess: I left you hanging, right? Oh, please.

I woke up at 10am on Saturday. Just over five hours of sleep may not seem like much, probably because it *isn't* much, but it's not unusual for me, particularly at times when I'm emotionally amped. Remember when The First dumped me back in '90? I hardly slept for that entire first week. I think it was a bizarre sort of defense mechanism; it's hard enough to clear my head enough to sleep, and lord knows my subconscious hates me. Seldom do I have pleasant dreams.

So I went on about my business, which mostly involved housecleaning and laundry, stopping occasionally to sit down and pound out more of the previous missive. Our new phone toys helped: caller ID (I feel remarkably more comfortable answering the phone when I know who it is) and voicemail (so I could occasionally hop online to check and see if she cancelled by email).

Paranoid? Yes and no. I considered it more a concession to potential reality; after all, we'd only really known each other for about a day. No reason to distrust her, but no reason not to be cautious and at least steel myself for disappointment. Maybe it would happen, maybe it wouldn't.

Summer called at four. While we were still on, things had changed ever so slightly: the show were going to was cancelled, so the thought was we'd go to dinner then catch a movie. Sure. Both could be gnarly experiences when done at the last minute in San Francisco, but I was certainly game. The new plan was, she'd pick me up at 7pm and we'd meet Lorna and Terminal at the Hard Rock Cafe at 8pm. The Hard Rock on a Saturday night, almost certainly without a reservation. It was bound to be an adventure.

I decided to keep my hair down, partially for variety's sake and partially because it's rude to have big hair in a movie theater. After much rumination, though, I decided to be impulsive--shut up, I know that's a contradiction--and wear makeup. Not full-blown (since I didn't know how), just some foundation to de-emphasize the stubble. Okay, so it's not particularly daring, and nobody even noticed....

...and it certainly felt like a meaningless gesture at best when Summer arrived, not as fully made up as she was at Lilith but more so than for work. And quite striking, of course. I invited her in and showed her the place, such as it is: small and cluttered with almost every inch of wall space covered with posters and pages from magazines, including a shrine to Sherilyn Fenn above The First's computer. She seemed impressed.

After circling for about half an hour, we opted for a parking garage and made it to the Hard Rock just after eight. Lorna and Terminal hadn't arrived yet, and we were told the wait was about half an hour--not too shabby, all things considered. We waited by the bar, starving Summer trying to figure out how to get *something* to eat without waiting for a table and me watching us being watched. The stare factor was remarkably high, particularly from a group of mustachioed pseudo-biker gentlemen who couldn't keep their eyes off me. Ick ick gross. (Just once I'd like someone to walk up to me, take a picture and say, "It'll last longer.")

Dinner was when I got the first inkling (and it's very imporant to keep track of your inklings) that maybe perhaps there might just be the slightest smidgen of a chance in hell of something else maybe possibly developing between Summer and I, though of course probably not, but still you never can tell, and stranger things have happened, am I right or am I right?

I guess it was just that she seemed so...sincere. I've heard my share of hollow compliments, and I'm too self-deprecating to believe compliments anyway, but for some reason when they came from her (usually along the lines of how beautiful I am), they sounded real. At one point she commented that it's a shame people aren't more willing to tell other people when if they find them attractive, for fear of being considered inappropriate. Now, I seriously doubt that was intended as bait for me--but I leapt on it anyway. I said I'd wanted to tell her she was beautiful from the first moment I saw her, but didn't for obvious reasons. She laughed, hugged and thanked me.

She also revealed that from my first day at the company (yes, earlier that week) people were plotting to get us together: "Summer, why don't you go talk to the new guy? He's goth, just like you!" Predestination, indeed.

Before we left, Lorna and Summer went to use the restroom, leaving Terminal and I alone at the table. Me and Summer, fine. Me and Lorna, no problem. Me and Terminal, not so good. As I'd implied, there was a certain tension between us. We made the most miniscule of small talk, and then he said, quite apropos of nothing: "I just wish Summer thought of me as more than a friend."

Suddenly it all made a lot more sense. He was in love with her. Of course. Lord knows I would be if I were him.

All the same, I tried to be as noncomittal as possible, saying I was happy to have her as a friend, which wasn't a lie. With any luck, he'd agree and it would be left at that. To a degree, I suppose it was that I was too busy working out my own rapidly emerging feelings for her to want to deal with his long-simmering ones.

He wasn't taking any of this modest nonsense from me; seems she'd emailed him (Friday after lunch, I assumed) all excited about having met this new guy at work. He didn't specify, but I suspect she'd probably already outed me to him. In any event, she was already spreading the word about me to her friends.

I was at an increasing loss for words. I laughed a little and said that I'd never been considered competition before, and that it wasn't my intention.

That wasn't quite it; I wasn't competition to *him*, anyway. He bemoaned that he could never be her boyfriend because he lacked the "jerk factor." A phenomenon with which once and future eternal wallflowers such as myself are all too familiar: the more desirable a girl, the more likely she only goes for genuine assholes. He referred to Krycek as the current example.

Duh! Of course! I hadn't put it together before, but yeah! Krycek was a guy I'd met at Lilith the night before, and who had actually spent most of his time there clinging to Summer. Didn't register on me at the time, but I suppose I had other matters on my mind. If anything struck me about him, it was his ultra-femmeyness (much more so than my own), what with the rather unpleasant makeup job and his long blue hair. Not to mention his apparent inability to smile. Granted, I can be morose with the best of them, but in his case it seemed to be an affectation. (I know, I know, from a goth? What are the odds?) So this was the boyfriend she'd told me about at lunch on Friday, the one with whom she was about to break up. She was into femmey guys. Wow. Wow, wow and wow. Explained a lot, maybe. A female trannychaser, in essence. Could I possibly be so lucky?

He went on a bit more. Lorna (whom he was ostensibly with) was nice enough, but "not like Summer." Lorna had always been pretty and was accustomed to being treated that way, thus her attitudes towards other people was based on that, while Summer had been a late bloomer--she still describes herself as a tomboy--and is a bit more sympathetic to those not so aesthetically blessed. In any event, Terminal's self-image was even more fucked up than mine, gender issues notwithstanding.

Lorna and Summer returned from the restroom (and perhaps a conversation almost as loaded), and we headed out. Next was the movie. It was 10:30pm, not the best time to decide what to see, particularly amongst a group of four people. Fortunately, I have a Cinema Degree, so I'm Trained For This Sort of Thing. You know how handy that can be, Dar.

Considering the showtimes and what theaters were nearby, it was between Elizabeth and A Simple Plan. Being a group of goths the inclination was the arty period piece, but I was able to a lean us towards A Simple Plan because, if nothing else, it started at 10:55 rather than 10:45, and those ten minutes could make all the difference in the world: Summer and I had to move her car out of the parking garage, and there was no telling how long it would take to find a spot on the street. Not to mention I had no particular interest in Elizabeth, though I underplayed that aspect. Still, I almost immediately felt guilty. Who was I, an interloper, to make these decisions?

I won't go into the thrilling details of moving the car, so suffice it to say by some miracle we made it into the movie on time. The theater wasn't packed, but the people who were there tended to be on the loud side, including a group of drunk teenagers in the back. Which just made me feel more like I'd made my first major misstep. Lorna and Terminal didn't really matter to me as much, but I had the sinking feeling that Summer wasn't enjoying the movie and would have been much happier in Elizabeth.

During the film I also had a revelation, one which came as quite a shock. This person, whom I'd only "known" in any sense of the word for roughly 36 hours...I could see myself being with her. As in, only her. As in, not with The First. As in, if I were to ever leave The First, this is where I'd want to go.

Perhaps it was just a knee-jerk reaction to the first person with whom I'd ever seemed to share anything resembling a mutual attraction. Perhaps it was the environment--weird as it sounds, how you see a movie with someone is very telling. But there it was. The First and I had been rocky for quite some time, and Summer was breaking up with her boyfriend, and she'd made it clear more than once that she thought I was cute, and...god. There was just so much about her that was so appealing...in many ways things that were the polar opposite of The First. Could it be The First and I had grown apart so much?

All the same, I was able to concentrate on the movie. Much to my surprise, they all really liked it, in spite of being a dark modern story involving unpleasant country folk in perpetual snow. In fact, it reminded Summer quite a bit of back home. (Have I mentioned she's from the south, Dar? What are the odds?).

Afterwards, we said our goodbyes to Lorna and Terminal and went to Summer's car; she was more willing to drive me home tonight. On the drive back we talked a bit more about our respective relationships, past and present. Except, of course, in my case, where the past and present were the same. Among the reasons why I've never been unfaithful to The First, I explained, was that the opportunity has never arisen. Except for one instance with someone who quickly proved to be completely fucking insane (hence I count them as a statistical aberration at best), not once in eight years has anyway found me attractive enough for it to be an issue.

Almost immediately Summer said that was very difficult to believe, since she found me hot from the first moment she saw me. The way she blurted it out, I couldn't help but accept it as genuine. I admitted the possibility that perhaps someone else had as well but had never remotely hinted at it. (Sure. In eight years. It's not like people conjoin all that often, right? And that sacred "we're not married but plan to be someday in the future" vow, surely nobody would dare upset such a bond.)

It was about 1am when we got to my place, and she came inside so I could write her instructions on the best way to get from my place to the Golden Gate Bridge--if you're not familiar with my part of town, it can be kinda confusing. She didn't leave until about 3:30am.

*Nothing happened*. Which is to say we didn't have sex or anything remotely like that. We did sit on my bed, and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of her presence in my home...but physically speaking it went no further. I did show her some of the stuff in my closet, and the hormones I'm taking (reading the labels was when she found out Sherilyn is my femme name--it had simply never come up before), and a few other odds and ends. But otherwise we just sat and talked.

There was something else, though, something which I'd heard about but never experienced before then: sexual tension. The feeling mutual desire of which, for whatever reason, cannot be fulfilled. It was new to me, but I recognized it all the same. In theory I could have acted on it (and I keep telling myself that I *didn't* blow a major opportunity), but I didn't. Things were wonderful enough as they were.

It was a particularly telling experience in another way: up til then, I'd assumed that the hormones had pretty much obliterated my sex drive. I now know that's not the case. My sexual desire towards The First may be a thing of the past (and in a lot of ways it had always seemed somewhat conditioned; I had sex with her because she was my girlfriend and essentially taught me how to in the first place), but were to I have the opportunity with Summer...I'd mentioned on the drive over that I could probably count the number of women I've been genuinely sexually attracted over the course of my life on both hands, while the average guy would require those plus a six-toed foor just to keep track of one day. Well, my figure had officially gone up by one.

When Summer did finally leave, I walked her back out to her car. Oddly, she apologized for saying she'd thought I was hot, just in case it had made me uncomfortable. (Perhaps it had originally been meant as a sign that she did in fact want to sleep with me that night. It might explain the apology, but I doubt it.) I assured her that no, it didn't make me uncomfortable at all, I just wasn't used to people finding me attractive--it was a very new experience. But not one that I minded, and she could feel free to tell me that any time she wanted.

We hugged goodbye (I kissed her cheek this time), and she got in her car and drove off. Thus ended my first week at the company.

---

So where are things now? On Monday I installed ICQ, and we mostly communicate that way (keeping up appearances at work, you understand). The First and I have all but broken up--we had a long, very emotional talk on Tuesday night. Summer's name only came up a couple times, fortunately; while she's something of a catalyst, our relationship has been disintegrating for quite some time. Summer and I have gone to lunch a few times, and as I mentioned we went to a movie last night and have vague plans to see some others. (Including Velvet Goldmine, Dar. Ah, irony.)

The simple fact is, The First and I are growing apart. I'm not looking forward to it when it finally, really happens--both the emotional and practical aspects, because our lives are very closely intertwined. And The First's unemployed, meaning she can't move into a new place, and we decided a long time ago that if it should happen, I'd keep the apartment and she'd get the car, meaning she'd probably end up back in Fresno. Not something I'd want to wish on anyone.

Summer also confessed that if her and I weren't both in the midst of painful breakups (hers a little farther along, it's true), she'd have probably have asked me out by now. Leaving The First and going to Summer...if she'd really have me...it's a scenario I never could have imagined. And it may not happen. The First and I might both chicken out, stay together and get more miserable, while Summer finds a new boyfriend and my heart breaks just like Terminal's (or The First's, certainly). Or we break up, but Summer decides she doesn't want to get further involved with me and/or has found someone else. Or...well, there are lots of ways it could all go horribly wrong. Of course; breakups aren't supposed to go well. They're meant to be painful and ugly.

But if The First and I are destined to split up anyway, and I can't help thinking we are...long before I even knew Summer existed The First was saying she was uncertain of our future, and that I didn't seem willing to put the necessary effort into saving the relationship--but at the same time not explaining what said effort would entail, because I'm not at all sure.

Whatever happens next, I go into it recognizing the risks. It's a very real possibility that the end result will be me alone with my pain and guilt (no matter how wonderful it sounds or how much I want it to happen, I must accept that,ending up with Summer is ultimately a pipe dream--there's about a 99% chance I'll fall flat on my face), and it's a safe bet that no what, matter The First will be badly hurt. She wants us to remain together much more than I do, and still can't handle the concept of not living the rest of our lives together. It's difficult for me to accept too, but by her own admission, change has always been terrifying. I grew up with everything constantly changing around me, usually completely out of my control. Within a year my life will probably be different than I could ever have imagined...

...but I'm just curious to see how the rest of the month goes.

---

1/17/99 7:22AMPST

I wrote most of the proceeding at work between noon and 5pm on Friday. I'd hoped to mail it off from work, but wasn't able to for assorted reasons.

At about 3am on Saturday morning, The First and I broke up.

We're still living together because she quite simply has nowhere to go, but our romantic relationship is over. Lots of pain and anger and crying have been involved, and will no doubt continue to for quite some time.

Everything is changing.

Next: The Short Goodbye...Hail to the King...The First Night...Real Time...It Never Rains Under My Umbrella...Enter Sandman...12:15PM (The Moment of Clarity, Part I)...Retail Therapy...Stigmata...2:30PM (The Moment of Clarity, Part II)...The Medication is Wearing Off...My Descent Into Madness...Nightswimming



And so it went.

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Wednesday, 28 January 2009 (returning the compliment)
2:09pm


When I returned home from Fresno after xmas last month, the people upstairs had left a generic holiday card on my doorstep. Written inside:

Sherilyn,

I wanted to send you a little note to thank you for taking care of our son when he was alone. I'm really thankful to you for doing this.

I know we didn't start very well but that's in the past and we are looking forward for another year living "together."

We want to wish you all the best for this coming year.

And if you feel that we need to improve in some areas to make our living situation more enjoyable please let us know.

Happy Holidays.

(The scare quotes around the words "together" were theirs, not mine.) I never responded. Didn't see the point, really, since it struck me as unlikely that they would finally start making an effort to keep the racket down, to somehow keep the kids from yelling and running and thumping and screaming all the time. No doubt this makes me the asshole in the dynamic—they're a just a loving family trying to reach out to the weird, Boo Radley-esque loner living beneath them, for pete's sake!—and I'm okay with that.

My mom thinks I should have called Child Protective Services about the incident with their son. I don't know, maybe she's right.

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Tuesday, 27 January 2009 (tempting chaos)
8:25pm


Losing a job sucks, and my sympathies go out to whoever it happens to. I know how painful it can be. Getting laid off from CNET in 2001 broke my heart, and getting shitcanned from the office job at the construction company in 2004 felt like a cruel joke. (The person who was training me to be their replacement decided not to leave after all, so I was shown the door.) Hell, Sister Edith tells me that Pike got laid off from CNET, and he'd already been there for a couple of years when I started in 1999. Impermanence is a bitch.

I have not been laid off by NakedSword, and what's more, I know how incredibly fortunate I am to have a job that I love, especially in this economic climate, and I'm very grateful for it. The few things that I don't like about it—my petty, sub-schoolyard non-rivalry with my archnemesis, for example—are perfect examples of what Bunny calls bourgeois suffering. On the scale of actual human trauma and suffering, it doesn't even register.

So, I came home this evening to see a FOR RENT sign in the upstairs neighbors' window. I contacted my landlord, who informed me that the husband lost his job, and can't find a new one, so they're moving back from whence they came. Their last day is on Sunday, February 15. (Presumably, the actual process of moving out will take place that weekend. As it happens, I'd been tossing around going to Fresno for a weekend in February.)

I'll say it again: losing a job sucks. Me, I only have one other mouth to feed, and she goes through about one six-dollar bag of Trader Joe's Cat Food a month. I can only imagine what it's like for a family of four. That's harsh, and I wish them well.

Meanwhile: ohmygodohmygodohmygod, they're gone in three weeks! I outlasted them!

There's always the possibility that childless replacements will be worse, or that in spite of how rough he knows these past twenty-five months have been for me my landlord may rent to yet another couple with small children because in this aforementioned economic climate he can't afford to wait to find a proper Double Income No Kids couple who (ostensibly) won't offend my delicate eardrums. I recognize that. The Devil I know and what have you.

But still: they're almost gone! I win! As I typed that, there was a thumpthumpthumpTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPthumpthumpthump as the giraffe continued the same rampage it's been on since December 23, 2006. But not for much longer.

Oh, and I saw my doctor at Lyon-Martin this morning. Turns out I'm healthy. She did a full poke-and-prod physical, and also had blood tests done, though I won't know the results for a couple of weeks. I'm curious to see what the numbers look like compared to last time. I'm going to start seeing her every six months, which she said is frequently enough since I'm clearly doing fine. Funny how my last doctor didn't feel that way.

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Monday, 26 January 2009 (the bible-black predawn)
4:39pm


Possibly because we were showing a PG-rated movie (The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian), a family brought a girl who looked all of eight years old to Bad Movie Night. It's not the first time we've had kids in the audience, but it's a rarity. To make it even more entertaining, they sat in the second row, directly behind me and Mikl-Em and Geekboy. I originally wasn't going to host, since I've never liked the Narnia books and have no interest in the movie, but I had to cover for Jim. Anyway, we warned the parents that the show was not child-friendly, that even though it was ostenstibly a family film—a family film with a body count in the hundreds, mind you—we were still going to work blue. They understood (after we explained that blue meant "adult" and not "sad"), and they had a great time. The kid seemed mostly bored, probably because the movie was boring and most of our jokes went over our head, and she wasn't traumatized by the fact the we use dirty words and make the occasional secks joke. Personally, I just love the fact we get to use the phrase "work blue" at all. It feels like old-school showbiz.

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Sunday, 25 January 2009 (all these things that i've done)
3:01pm


The equivalent to this weekend ten years ago, January 22-24 of 1999, was one of the roughest in my life. It was the personal nadir of my breakup with The First, which was pretty much one big nadir, as breakups are wont to be. Not that I knew it from experience, since it was my first breakup. I'm an old hand at it now. Anyway, I was compulsively writing about it all to a couple of friends, one of whom was my best friend when we worked at Autodesk, with whom I saw Velvet Goldmine on opening night and who originally gave me a copy of Candy Darling's diary compilation My Face for the World to See. When I originally reprinted the letters in my own diary in 2002—the earliest I could get away with doing so without getting into trouble with Maddy for violating her ban on anything suggesting that The First ever existed—I condensed them into the all-purpose "Dar," itself a reference to Alanis Morissette's "Joining You."

It's not my best work by a long shot and there's lots of stylistic bits in it that I'm not crazy about now, but I'm so very glad I wrote it, both because things I don't write down get lost, and becuase it's the basis of the first chapter of Landing on Water, the follow-up/prequel to Exchange and Descent..

Eternal Recurrence, Part I (Conjunction)

Week of Unrest...Answering the Door...Raw Fish and Raw Words...Ain't It Funny How We All Seem to Look the Same?...Never a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride...A Declaration of Love...My Face For The World To See...Pandora Hunt...Future Plans...Hope and Fear

1/11/1999

Dear Dar,

I apologize for the length, and bothering you with this at all, but sometimes I feel I have a story I need to tell. Occasionally it's actually interesting, but nothing is perfect.

I first noticed her during my third and final intervew in mid-December, as her desk was right outside the office of the VP I was talking to. Of all the people I walked by she was the only one who made an impression on me--naturally, she was a goth girl whose hair had the requisite bangs and was colored a lovely shade of red. Predictable? Me? Yeah. In a huge way. To bring up my favorite Lou Reed/Warhol line for the zillionth time, I always fall in love with someone who looks the way I wish that I could be. Which is not to say I fell in love with her per se, but you know what I mean.

So I started on Monday, January 4. I had many names and faces thrown at me, most of which I promptly forgot. No matter, as I was more concerned with getting settled into my new computer, figuring out how their site is put together, etc. As it happens, I didn't actually get any work assigned to me until Wednesday afternoon, by which time I was more than raring to go.

On Monday, being my first day, I kept my hair tied back in a ponytail just to be on the safe side--a little higher on the back of my head than is considered regulation male, but the way I'd worn it during the interviews. And I didn't make any attempt to hide my bangs (I can proudly say that I've never once tried to brush them back or otherwise obscure them).

On Tuesday I wore my hair down in the basic Betty Page / Ramones style. No comments from anyone.

On Wednesday I decided to go for broke and put it up in pigtails, a look I'd been experimenting with for the last month or so. Initially I'd promised myself I'd wait until I could at least prove myself as competent at my job before I started letting my freak flag fly. But doing so struck me as dishonest; this is who I am, and if the computer industry shied away from oddballs, it would collapse for lack of anyone to actually do the work. In any event, nobody said a word. The stare factor went up a little, but if anyone had any problems they didn't say anything.

On Thursday I did the pigtails again; by now I sensed that everyone was pretty well used to it.

Now, up to this point I'd still seen her around the office, but hadn't spoken to her. I don't suppose I felt I had anything to say beyond commenting on her hair, fashion sense and the simple fact that she's very beautiful, but that all seemed inappropriate. She didn't seem like she would mind, being remarkably friendly and open. So I kept to myself. (...and as you know all too well, Dar, there's still a part of me--in spite of how much I've grown and changed and matured over the years--which is intimidated by beautiful women. Based more on admiration than any kind of actual desire; I can probably count the number of women I've been sexually attracted to on both hands.)

Around 1pm she went around asking people if they'd eaten yet. My standard lunch of a can of Slim-Fast (some things never change, huh, Dar?) was long since consumed by then, though I asked why she wanted to know. She said she was looking for someone to drag to lunch with her. I've never regretted my habit of having lunch at noon quite as much as I did at that moment. I elected not to offer to go with her anyway, since it would appear way way way too desperate.

So I suggested we go to lunch on Friday, since I was new to that part of town and could certainly use a native guide. She accepted. I returned to my work, vaguely astonished at what had just happened. There was just one problem: I couldn't, for the life of me, remember her name. If we'd even ever been properly introduced, which we might not have.

I spent most of Friday morning expecting her to call it off, and also trying to figure out just what the hell her name was, lest the situation get too Seinfeldian. Before long I heard someone else say it when talking to her-- no, that couldn't be right, could it? The company's intranet--which kicks major ass over Autodesk's, no great shock--has a neato employee identification system, complete with a picture (mine will be taken next week). I looked her up, and...

Her name was Summer.

So, Summer and I went to a sushi place a couple blocks away. Seems that given proper provocation, her and I are both endless gabbers, and we apparently provoked the hell out of each other. Rather than wait for the ice to break, we just ignored the ice altogether and assumed the other was someone we could trust; I suspected the mutual identification of each other as goths helped, and I would later learn that was the conventional wisdom.

After about twenty minutes I came out to her; hey, she'd told me she loved my hair and even bought up the Betty angle on her own. It just seemed like the right time. And she laughed at my jokes. The importance of that detail can hardly be overstated.

She invited me to go to a goth club with her that night, something called Shrine of Lilith. I certainly couldn't think of a good reason not to--The First was in out of town, I had nothing planned and had never been to one of these things before--so after making absolutely sure I wouldn't be in the way, I accepted. The previous day I didn't even know her name and couldn't bring myself to talk to her, now she was inviting me to go clubbing with her. Okay. This was agreeable.

I admitted I wasn't sure I'd really fit in, but Summer was convinced. She said that I'd probably have a ton of people hitting on me and/or complimenting me on my hair, and that at the very least her friend Lorna would be jealous. Yeah, sure, whatever.

I called and told The First, and she was cool with it; she admitted to being surprised by how *not* bothered she was by the thought of me spending a night on the town with a grrl I'd just met. Trust is a good thing. She knows damn well that I'm not likely to do anything I shouldn't.

Fortunately, Summer was vehicular (I take the bus to and from work); we left at five and headed to the Haight. Her friends Lorna and Terminal would be meeting us out there in front of New York Apparel around 7:30, and Summer had some thrift shopping to do. We went from store to store in a whirlwind, mining for gold. For her, that is; I couldn't really justify buying a new dress or anything, and I was already wearing all black. It was nice going shopping like that, though, as I haven't done it in a couple years. Not since...well, you know, Dar. Not since Louise left.

When I first saw Lorna approaching, I did something of a doubletake; I could swear it was Pandora, the manager of my old video store and one of my primary visual inspirations. In terms of body type, fashion sense and even makeup, Lorna was a dead ringer for Pandora. (A goth waif is a goth waif, I suppose.) Her face reminded me more of Bebe Neuwirth, but that ain't a bad thing.

Summer described Terminal as a goth-surfer, and that's as good a description as any. He was the only one of us whose hair was its natural color (dirty blonde, being a surfer and all) and not in pigtails. She also said he's one of the sweetest, nicest people she knew. The significance of that phrasing didn't register with me until much later.

We ate at an Indian restaurant in the Castro, then went to Terminal's to get ready. Besides fixing my hair (took it down, brushed it out and redid the pigtails so they'd be more presentable), I didn't have much to do except watch the others get ready. Terminal wore what I gathered was his standard uniform--think Gary Oldman in Dracula, when he first arrives in England and is following Lucy--and no makeup, but watching Summer and Lorna was fascinating.

As Summer was putting on her stockings, she commented that she'd try to not flash me again like she did while trying on dresses in New York Apparel earlier in the evening. I told her, quite honestly, that I hadn't even realized she'd done so. She laughed and said that was the sign of a healthy relationship.

I paid close attention as Summer put on her makeup, because it's not something I'm very good at. (My own damn fault; I don't practice enough.) Though there wasn't time this particular evening, she expressed interest in doing mine sometime. Which is not dissimilar to removing a thorn from my paw.

We didn't actually make it there until midnight. After going inside, not fifteen seconds passed before a girl bearing a striking resemblence to Valerie Solanas ran up and announced that she loved me. I glanced at Summer, who shot me a knowing, almost triumphant smile. The girl said she loved me because I was wearing white sneakers (Asics Gels, to be precise), my hair was in pigtails and she hated everyone else there. Not having the foggiest idea what else to do, I thanked her, smiled and bowed slightly. The girl ran off again, and Summer was positively glowing.

Shrine of Lilith had two main components: a bar and a dance floor, fortunately located in different rooms altogether. My immediate impulse was to stick close to Summer, then I realized I should be brave and venture out on my own. Besides, I was on a mission--this seemed like exactly the kind of thing Pandora would attend. I hadn't seen her since the Folsom Street Fair in Septmeber, and even then it was just a few minutes and we were both in foul moods. The rain at the time didn't help. But I wanted to see her now. More importantly, I wanted her to see me. And for her to tell Louise how I'm doing.

Summer, on the other hand, wanted me close by, as she intended to introduce me to all her friends. I was e'er-so-slightly irked that she referred to me as "her friend from work," which didn't help my anxiety about feeling like an outsider/poseur--but since it was usually followed by going on about how cute I was ("Don't you love his hair? Wouldn't he make a fabulous Betty Page?"), I didn't object. This sort of adulation was incredibly new to me, and I decided not to get picky about little details.

I never was actually hit on, though I sensed that at any given moment there were at least a few sets of eyes trained on me. Which is to be expected in a situation like that, particularly when you're new (everyone clearly already knew everyone else) and as noticeable as I apparently was.

Eventually I wandered about on my own. Pandora wasn't there, but I did run into an old friend, someone I haven't seen since I lived on campus at SFSU in '95, a tiny little thing named Becky. (When I told The First I'd seen Becky, her immediate reaction was "Oh, yum.") It took her a few minutes and quite a bit of memory jogging for her to recognize me; no great shock, since when she last saw me four years previous I weighed at least forty pounds more and had brown hair sans bangs or pigtails.

Becky was utterly amazed by my transformation, and couldn't seem to bring herself to talk about anything else. Upon realizing that it would in fact be interpreted as a compliment, she said she was astonished that I looked as pretty as I did without any makeup. I ruminated aloud that she might only be telling me what I wanted to hear, and she pointed out that she simply doesn't work that way. (Very true; she'd always been one of the most brutally honest people I knew in those days, and I'd been surrounded by people who were so full of shit they squeaked when they walked.) After a while we went our seperate ways, but that officially made my evening. Not being recognized by people who haven't seen me in a couple years is one of my goals. And my reunion is '01, so time is running out.

Around two, after having danced for a while, Summer and I found a place to relax and talked more. I had to reassure her frequently that I was, in fact, enjoying myself--it's not always something I express very well. It was amazing to think that 36 hours previous we weren't entirely sure if the either was aware of our existance. We talked about our relationships with our mothers (which aren't entirely dissimilar), relationships in general, future plans, that sort of thing. Anything and everything. She informed me that I had in fact caused some measure of confusion at the office; at least one person had asked her about "the new girl."

She also asked me something I didn't have answer for: what do I like to do? What do I enjoy doing? What brings me pleasure? It's remarkably difficult for me to think in those terms, of my own pleasure. The best I could come up with is watching a really good, emotionally powerful film, and all too lame and ultimately unpredictable experience. A fantastically lame answer.

We left at about 2:45; Summer and I were sober (I don't drink, and she drank very little), but Lorna and Terminal were toasted. We've been over this many times before, Dar--I don't begrudge people the right to get drunk, but I hate being around them when it happens. I found I was particularly developing a certain distaste for Terminal. He was very sweet, sure, but something else was going on. Then again, when I'm with two girls and a guy, in most cases I'll wish the guy wasn't there.

In any event, there was definitely some drama happening between Summer and Lorna, as there always is with drunk people. I just can't fathom why so many people find alcohol is necessary to enjoy themselves, particularly when the price at the end of the evening and the next morning is so dear, but I suppose most of what I do is mysterious to them, too.

It also came up that they had an extra ticket to some dance show happening on Saturday night, and would I be interested? As appealing as a day of rest at home sounded (the last few weeks had been busy, to say the least), getting to go out with Summer for a second day in a row was much more so. So I said yes.

After dropping Lorna and Terminal off at Terminal's, Summer took me to the bus stop at Market and Castro. She was driving back to San Rafael and could have taken me back to my place and without going substantially out of her way, but she was unfamiliar with my part of town and talking her into it didn't seem worth the effort.

So I gave Summer my phone number and hugged her goodbye. Based on the angle of her head I think she expected a kiss on the cheek; alas, I goofed that one up and got a faceful of hair. But there'd be other opportunities to get that one right. I hoped. Maybe it was all a fluke. Maybe this was it. No call on Saturday, not seeing or hearing from her until Monday at work and then even nothing, and our friendship would burn out as quickly as it had flared up. Just like Louise, but more compressed.

I walked into my apartment at 4:15am Saturday, exactly 24 hours after I'd left for work on Friday morning. My mind was racing. What happens now?

A good question, but not one that will be answered in this message.

Next: Vigil...A Change in Plans...Would You Like a T-Shirt With That?...The Other Side of Midnight...A Simple Plan (No, Really)...Bringing It All Back Home...Thank You and Goodnight

The chapter-heading bits were actually part of the original letters, as was my style back then. They may well make a return for Exchange and Descent, and Dave Eggers uses them in A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, so I can always make the argument that if it's okay for real writers to use the device, it's okay for the likes of me, too. And "eternal recurrence" was a Nietzsche concept which I never quite grasped because it's Nietzsche and I'm not that bright, but the phrase was resonating with me so I used it. In retrospect, it was a premonition.

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Saturday, 24 January 2009 (intermittent surveillance)
5:43pm


Here we go again: my semi-annual attempt to carve out some office space at home, in the form of the twenty-odd year-old desk in my bedroom. I forget exactly when I got this desk. All I remember for is that my mother got it for me while I was at camp, so that puts it in the mid-eighties. It's followed me ever since, and has been in this same exact place in my current bedroom ever since The First and I moved in in '95. There's been no point in moving it, and the fucker's too heavy anyway. I can only imagine how pristine the carpet under its feet must look.

I know I can be productive at home, having written most of my Medialoper article about Star Trek: The Motion Picture at this very desk. It ain't exactly the same as being the desk at which War and Peace was written, but it's one of my favorite articles, so I know it can be done. This is also the first time I've attempted it in full environmental lockdown, earplugs in and headphones on (currently playing Muslimgauze's "Hebron Massacre (Short Mix)", courtesy of Temple a million years ago) and the white noise generator at full blast eighteen inches away and the Buddha Machine on. Perdita's also in petting distance, which does less for noise issues and more for basic emotional stability.

For the most part, I'm blocking them out. There's still the occasional THUMPTHUMPTHUMP now and again breaking through my defenses, but on the plus side, I'm warm and cozy. Right now, climate control is the primary advantage my home has over my place of employment. (That, and Perdita. I can't overstate how happy it makes me to have her nearby.) The office is basically a large concrete block, and it gets cold as fuck in this weather, especially on the weekends when the thermostat is programmed to turn on and make it habitable for human life. In the plus column it's fairly pleasant during warm weather, and the fan at my desk equalizes things nicely, but when it's cold it's brutal. It also doesn't help that when I swung by after the gym this morning to grab some stuff, Tim was there and came very close to roping me into doing work-work. Yeah, not so much, and all the more reason to keep my distance this weekend. So, home it is.



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Friday, 23 January 2009 (naming conventions)
6:11pm


A heavily-pierced girl behind the counter at Other Avenues asked me if I was going to the Edwardian Ball. I choose to interpret it as a flirt. I didn't think to say no, but i used to date a girl called ennui, because and I'm glad I didn't think of it because if I thought it at the time I probably would have said it, and that wouldn't have been a good thing at all.

Xiola had to cancel our plans for tonight due to work drama, and it's probably for the best. Between the rain and working with Raphaela this morning, my energy level's somewhere on the nonexistent side. Mostly it's from Raphaela, though. In her parlance, we killed it today! She pushes me a little harder and little farther every time, but of course that's the whole damn point, this the only way it works, and indeed it must be working and I must be stronger and in better shape than when we started, because there's no way I could have done as much or for as long back then. And, you know, my shiny pants are fitting again, so that's something.

So I'm staying home tonght, and possibly for most of the weekend. Got lots of work to do, as always, and my primary goal is a new draft of "Intersections and Interventions," the olf-told story I'm reprising for the next AIRspace show in March. It got a fantastic response last December, but now I need to not only memorize it and develop it into a off-book solo piece, and requires a bit of suturing here and there. Jim from The Dark Room has agreed to help me, being the theatrical wiz that he is. I read it for him last night, and for no good reason, I was nervous as hell.

It's not like I haven't read stories on the stage at The Dark Room several times before (and hundreds of times elsewhere), and it was just him sitting in the audience, and he's one of my best friends. For pete's sake, last summer him and I did drugs (acid and 'shrooms, respectively) and sat on the bank of the Russian River, watching the tiny translucent blue fishies swimming around our ankles. Admittledly we haven't been quite as close in the ensuing months since my priorities and habits have changed, but still, I felt incredibly exposed and vulnerable performing the piece for him, in ways that I didn't when I was reading the piece in front of a packed house last month. Granted, that was a crowd full of trannies and queers and Jim is a garden-variety straight (Greek) man, but I don't think that's quite it, and it's never been an issue in our friendship.

In any event, he liked the piece, and his suggestions were very helpful. What's lacking from the story is the emotional context which had been stripped away when I excerpted it from Exchange and Descent, especially since I went through and edited out as much of the backstory as I could, which pretty much makes it just a bunch of stuff that happened. It's pretty interesting stuff and people have liked it so far, but he's quite right, and I'm going to try to work the emotional context back into it, so it stands more on its own and feels less like just an excerpt from a larger piece. That's the goal, anyway. And considering that the next series opens in six weeks...

sometime after midnight

i'm afraid some long lonely road will lead me back to you again

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Thursday, 22 January 2009 (shedding off one more layer of skin)
2:40pm


Made it through the movie just fine after spin class (though as 3D movies go, I liked Journey to the Center of the Earth better), and Bunny unexpectedly joined KrOB and I, which was nice. I'm a bit more sluggish today, because I didn't go to the gym this morning due to lack of sleep. (Only five hours.) I'm going this afternoon, and of course seeing Raphaeal tomorrow morning. This evening, I'm going to The Dark Room to start working with Jim on turning my AIRspace story into an actual off-book solo theatrical piece. Which is what it should have been for December's show, really. Better late and all that.

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Wednesday, 21 January 2009 (where to draw the line)
6:21pm


Got recognized in Trader Joe's by someone who recognized me from the SNOWMISER pictures on Laughing Squid. Fuck me, I'm famous. (No, really. I'm more than ready for the starfuckers.)

Going to spin class in a little while, and then to see My Bloody Valentine 3D with KrOB. Evidently I'm trying to get both my heart and my head to explode.

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