My Face for the World to See (Part II): The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly a fiction May 1 - 10, 1999

Monday, 10 May 1999 (equality) 10:17am Summer tells me The Big Boss doesn't remember anything after the ferry ride back to the city. I'm astonished he remembers that much. 10:54am I hate fighting with her. I hate it more than anything. She can't be my enemy. She can't. 3:11pm Whatever fallout there may be from Friday, none of it seems to be falling on me. If anything, people seem more concerned that I'm okay after having my personal space violated. Which I am. I don't sense any genuine difference in the way people act around me, however. More importantly than any of that, my face is healing up nicely and should be sufficiently tolerant of makeup by tomorrow night. Phil says that every time it's cleared it'll take progressive less time to heal, although on the other hand it takes four or five clearings for a difference to really be noticed. If I'm not mistaken this was the third time though; there's no telling, of course. Could require another four or five times before the shadow's really gone for good. Chip, chip, chip. 10:31pm I'm beginning to consider if maybe I shouldn't get in touch with my shrink again. I haven't seen her since week 12, back in September. My endocrinologist actually suggested as much, but that was in the context of coming out and transitioning at work, which doesn't seem like it's going to be a problem. No, this has more to do with just giving her a sense of how I'm coming along (actually quite well, considering how I was last time she saw me) and the fact that I'm going completely nuts. 11:33pm I wonder if she noticed. The Ex was just here with her guy to pick up some stuff. I wonder if she noticed the music that was playing. The unintentional significance of it didn't even strike me until a minute ago. Cliff Martinez's score to sex, lies and videotape. Beautiful, near-ambient stuff. It was on the stereo in bedroom that first night we tried to have sex, sometime in early to mid-July 1990. I failed miserably because I had no idea what I was doing. I couldn't even get it up, let alone anything else. It was frightening, the pressure was just so high...she knew exactly what she wanted, what she needed sexually and this was perhaps the first sign that I might not be capable of providing it for her. I cried, of course. Nothing having to do with my emotions being knocked out of whack be shifting hormonal levels like these days; nope, it was a combination of shame and fear and good ol' fashioned inadequacy, leading to a certain knowledge that she would leave me if I couldn't do this for her. Only then was I beginning to understand to what extent human interaction is influenced and governed by sex...and even now I don't entirely grasp its power. I am vaguely aware of it, nothing more. I had been completely right about one thing: she did leave. Within a couple weeks she dumped me over the phone. (An earlier attempt to do so on the fourth of July, with me there in person, lasted for about an hour.) A day or two after that she was back with her ex, and while completely untrustworthy—they broke up because he cheated on her, duh—he had a 24-hour erection and knew how to use it. Sure, by mid-August she'd had enough of him and we were back together, and against all odds we made it last for damn near a decade. Against all odds? No, that's not entirely true. The main thing going against us was a certain physical incompatibility, in that sex once a day was just about right for her and once a week seemed like overkill for me. What we had going for us was that we were soulmates. Guess it wasn't enough. In any event, she probably didn't notice. Now I have to try to sleep with this pounding headache and clogged sinuses... Last | Top | Next

Sunday, 9 May 1999 (return) 9:37am This is exactly what I was talking about. Now what? Probably just stay home, and inside. It's a beautiful day and it's not right to keep cooped up...except I have a very practical reason: direct sunlight on my face is to be avoided. The skin is in a very crucial healing stage, and I don't want to take any chances. I do wish I had somewhere to go, someplace where I was expected. These is no such place, though. Sure, there are movies I'd like to see, but that's the other problem with leaving: I'd just spend money. Not something I should be doing. And, naturally, I have to call my mother. Being mother's day and all. This place needs to be cleaned in a big way. Guess that'll keep me occupied. Sara's coming back today. When, I have no idea. We'll probably talk tomorrow. 12:21pm The fookin' neighbor is working in the garage. Lots of hammering and other loud ugly sounds. Goddamnit. The smart people in this time zone are waking up right about now. Me, I've been up for five hours. And gosh, I've accomplished sooo much... 3:38pm Note to self: Don't stay home on Sundays. Period. Whatever it takes, be somewhere else. Be occupied. Don't let any of it enter your mind. You have no defenses on these days, and you will break down. 7:20pm Well my ship's been split to splinters, it's sinking fast I'm drowing in the poison, got no future got no past But my heart's not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for those who sail with me Everybody's moving if they ain't already there Everybody's got to move somewhere Stick with me baby anyhow Things should start to get interesting right about now My clothes are wet and tight on my skin Not as tight as the corner I painted myself in I know that fortune is waiting to be kind So give me your hand and say you'll be mine Bob Dylan, "Mississippi" Sometimes you just get lucky, and a ray of light breaks through. I was going to go a movie. What the hell, it would be a short bus ride away, and I still have the UA passes my mom gave me for xmas. (Oh, and yes, I did call and talk to her. I'm not sure if she noticed that when we started talking about The Ex, I almost burst into tears. *I* noticed it in my voice, at least.) And it would get me out of the apartment and distract me from the horrible thoughts going through my head, mostly involving The Ex potentially taking her boyfriend to a Dylan concert on my birthday. One foot was out the door when the phone rang. Sara was back. We talked for about an hour, bringing each other up to speed on our respective weekends. She was a little startled when I mentioned I'd gotten zapped yesterday, since she's absolutely focused on going to Roderick's with me on Tuesday and knows it takes a few days before it's even safe to put on makeup, let alone for the swelling to have gone down. I assured her I'd be fine by Tuesday, and I'm sure I will. It's not nearly as bad as last time. She also told me about a Chinese cheongsam dress she'd bought, one of my favorite styles which to my eternal frustration I can never find in my size (asian women on the average are much smaller than me, what's up with that?) but which fit her pefectly. Very heartening considering we're the same height and she got an M—if there's an M, an L must exist somewhere. In fact, she said she was thinking of me at the time, and if there was an L she would have got it for me. By the time we got off the phone it was too late to go to the movie, but I didn't mind at all. Things were better than they were before. Last | Top | Next

Well its times like this that Make me want to list all of the reasons And reason out the things that Keep me hangin' on 'Cuz time and time again I find that Nothing really matters And I open up my eyes to find me Standing in the light of another day Can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be And anyway The options aren't so great I'm glad to be here You know I'm really glad to be here today 'Cuz anywhere has got to be Better than nowhere Well it's time like this that Make me want to stand up in my bed And shout to all the world that I'm still hanging on 'Cuz time and time again I find that Nothing really matters And I open up my eyes to find me Standing in the light of another day Can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be And anyway The options aren't so great I'm glad to be here You know I'm really glad to be here today 'Cuz anywhere has got to be Better than nowhere It's another day Can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be And anyway The options aren't so great I'm glad to be here You know I'm really glad to be here today 'Cuz anywhere has got to be Better than nowhere Colleen De Koning & Don Ramirez, "Better Than Nowhere" Saturday, 8 May 1999 (natural) 6:26am Probably not too many grrls can watch a show broadcast on cable, point to the one of primary names in the credits and say, "That was the first boi to feel me up." I can, though I assure you this doesn't qualify as bragging. Rather, it's just one of those things that makes my life the surreal psychodrama it is. I'm going to gym right now. Among the many things I learned yesterday is how much I need to start exercising again. If I can't save my soul... 4:46pm Getting zapped today wasn't quite as bad as it was last time. Don't know why, but I'm not complaining. He got my sideburns this time; everything except my neck, which grows the slowest and thinnest anyway. Come Monday morning I'll be red and swollen, though the worst of it should be tomorrow. Tuesday, god willing, I'll be healed enough to go to Roderick's with Sara. Monday's going to suck, though, because I suspect I'll be receiving a slighly higher level of scrutiny than usual. The electrolysis appointment had been made before I knew I would be outed to the office, so that's the way things go, I guess. This is what happened. After Angel Island, we went to a Mexican restaurant in Tiburon. 19 of us, and most everyone had been boozing to some degree except myself. Whatever I didn't ingest was more than made up for by the big boss, who was several linen sets to the wind and showed no signs of slowing down. Margaritas and tequila shots were the order of the day. What do drunk people with disposable income do? Not falling into that category I can't speak from personal experience, but based on my observation they start finding ways to spend that money, preferably by daring other people to do unsavory things. (It occurs to me that when you're drunk probably all income is considered disposable. Just a thought.) This had started back at the island, actually: $200 for a guy to strip naked and run into the water. The money was collected fair and square. The details of the wagers happening at the table are unimportant; however, I leaned over to Summer and asked her jokingly how much she thought I could get for showing my breasts. Her eyes lit up, and she stood. Pointing to me, she said, "$500 to see her breasts!" It wasn't a stunned silence, exactly; more like a very confused one as the collective alcohol-soaked brain tried to figure out what the hell she was talking about. Finally someone said what needed to be said: "That's a guy!" The proper, or at least mildly clever response would have been "Not for long." Instead, I got clinical and said I've been on hormones since September. Someone else (the fellow who'd made $200 earlier that day) piped up and said, "You've got manbreasts?" Oh, I bristled at that one in a big way. No, they aren't "manbreasts," whatever the fuck those are, they're naturally developing breasts. It became clear very quickly that getting quibbly about definitions wasn't going to do much good at that moment—besides, there were drunk people much more willing to put on a show than I was. After a minute or two I ceased being the center of attention. Many the male animal finds the lure of the heretofore unexplored breast quite irresistable, and such was the case with the big boss. As I've implied he was easily drunker than damn near everyone else put together, and his frat-boi roots were showing through like my brown ones did before Miguel recolored my hair last week. He did stay realistic in one respect, though: he was utterly terrified that word of, well, *anything* would make it back to a particular honcho in HR. Mostly the stuff which involved men and women having what might be considered inappropriate physical contact. I didn't say that I would talk to the honcho, but apparently someone joked that I might, because the big boss sat down next to me and made me promise that I wouldn't say anything to them. (For the record, I have absolutely no intention of saying jack to them.) I agreed, then for some reason pulled my shirt taut against my right breast and assured him it was quite real. With all the skill of the career groper, nanoseconds later his hand was firmly squeezing my breast, after which he stood with arms upraised triumphantly and shouted, "I felt Jeff's tit! Woohoo!" Like most classic frat guys, the big boss is quite the "Woohoo!"-er. Still, he admitted that it actually felt very real (I'd grown tired of explaining that it *was* real), and that he could because he was once involved with a stripper who had breast implants and it was really obvious that they were fake and he couldn't go any farther with her because of that but mine clearly weren't fake and... ...he realized what he was saying—or at least who he was saying it to—and mumbled something about not being able to go any further, practically spun on his heel, and walked away. To his credit, the man can hold his alcohol, assuming I understand what the phrase means: he stayed on his feet and never seemed to get nauseous. Even on the ferry back to San Francisco, which was bobbing and rocking enough to unsettle even the uninebriated passengers. And those not being unsettled by the boat were no doubt being unsettled by him. I've been around my share of obnoxious drunks, yet I felt I was witnessing the setting of a new standard. (Summer agreed that she'd only seen him like this once before, and that hadn't really come close.) He was continuously boasting of having felt me up, which I suppose is flattering in a vaguely sick, shallow way. So on the ferry I decided to take him down a notch: I assured him that it was as close as he'd ever get, and what's more, someday soon I was going to be incredibly hot and he'd never have me. It seemed to work. Better yet, he repeated what I'd said to someone else for confirmation. They looked at me for a moment, nodded, and said "Yep." Being his girl Friday, it fell upon Summer to take him from the ferry dock to the office, maybe a twenty minute walk under normal circumstances. Given that these were not normal circumstances, I assisted her in that arduous task. After traversing maybe five minutes' distance in ten—he was simply impossible to control, and the leg-humping motions he kept making were profoundly disturbing—we wised up and hailed a cab. Thankfully, someone else offered to drive him home, sparing Summer that one last chore. It's really curious to see how much of it the day he remembers come Monday. Probably something about feeling my tit, at the very least, though why he would have done so in first place might be fuzzy. Just so long as he remembers the assorted raises and stocks he promised to many people, there shouldn't be too much trouble. Otherwise, HR might need to get involved, and certainly nobody wants that. After he was safely off (or at least someone else's responsibility, which was close enough), Summer asked me to come inside with her to freshen up. I hesitated at the door to the women's restroom—this wasn't a goth club, after all—but she assured me it would be fine. This was the first time I'd ever been in it, and her inviting me in seemed appropriate, almost like it was something she'd been wanting to do for quite some time. And since she'd finally gotten the formalities out of the way, why not? All in a day's work. 11:21pm Up. I'm awake, and I should be asleep. I have nowhere to be tomorrow, meaning I might as well be up. I'm tired, but I don't want to sleep. If I sleep, tomorrow will just come sooner. Tomorrow's bad. I don't want tomorrow to be here. If only I could stay up all night, then sleep through tomorrow, that'd be good. Sundays are always my bad days. When Sunday arrives, I'm fooked. I don't know of any way to keep myself from falling asleep, except maybe watching a movie. I'll try that. Last | Top | Next

Friday, 7 May 1999 (cryptorchid) 6:56pm Family, friends, coworkers...well, that pretty much covers it. I'm officially out to everyone. It had to happen eventually, and the time arose—with Summer as catalyst, which should come as no surprise. The events of "Fun Day" will be memorable for everyone, though remarkably I'm not even what people will remember most. My outing was a minor footnote; it was just that kind of day. And my job is in no danger, I should point out. I never suspected it would be, further proof of my incredible luck to be where I am right now. Now, to decide—and quickly—whether or not to hit Shrine tonight. I'm completely bushed, and I can't shave since I'm getting zapped tomorrow. Sara's still out of the state, Summer seems on the verge of dropping out of the scene altogether, Lee doesn't seem likely...Tiff and Marion, possibly, but again, sleep sounds awful good right now, and I shouldn't be wearing makeup so soon before getting zapped when clean skin is so incredibly important, and...oh, hell, I don't know. 10:30pm Nope. No Shrine tonight. Probably if I had gone I would have just ended up looking for someone to hold onto while I cried, and what good would that have done? Or worse, none of my friends would have been there and I would have felt that much more on my own. (The Smiths reference is so incredibly obvious, I refuse to make it.) I cried in front of The Ex this evening. Never good, but I simply could not help it. Seems that whether just fooling around with or getting serious with a person, the concept that it might be a rebound has never been a stumbling block with her. Of course not. Just for me. She's perfectly free, I'm the one with the indefinite waiting period. That'll certainly teach me, won't it? That'll make me realize the error of my ways... My head was pounding afterwards, that new and joyous side effect. It really is like I'm trying to pass something from my head, something that's stuck and refuses to budge. Maybe it's my love for her, and the terrible loss I feel at her being out of my life. She dumped me in July of 1990, after we'd been together for barely a month. The other night I found some of my writing from that period. It's remarkable how similar it is to my current stuff... Last | Top | Next

Thursday, 6 May 1999 (litmus) 4:08pm Doing better today, as I actually got more than two hours of sleep last night. Almost six, which is perfect for me. Tomorrow at work is "Fun Day." Which means we won't be at work: it's a group excursion to Angel Island for the day. Never been, but it's supposed to be nice. I'm not looking forward to it nearly as much as I should be, although it's difficult to say why. Something about it makes me nervous. Maybe it's the social aspect when I'm feeling so isolated; Summer will be there, yet I doubt we'll be hanging out together. Still, it's a day off work which is technically a good thing, though I seldom know what the hell to do with myself on off days and typically end up wishing I was at work. I know what I'm doing Saturday morning, however: I have an appointment with Phil. Sara won't be back until Sunday and we likely won't get together until Tuesday at Roderick's, so that gives my face at least a few days to heal up. It also means I won't be able to shave tomorrow meaning I'll be a tad hairier than I'd care for at Shrine. I'll deal with it. With everything happening over the next few weeks, like Gothnic, the sooner I get this out of the way the better. Not that I can really afford it, though if I ask nicely I'm sure he won't mind holding off on depositing the check until next Thursday when I get paid. Barring that, there's the check my mother sent me to put towards my student loans; it still would be going towards my student loans, but none of those would be clearing until after Thursday, so...I really shouldn't, but desperate times and all. Why is it such a big deal, really? Electrolysis is a long, expensive, incredibly disturbing and absolutely necessary part of the feminizing process. I am just soooo glad I started when I did, 'cuz if I was just beginning now...well, I'd be in a bad way right now. 10:12pm The joke is that electrolysis separates the men from the girls. That's as good a way to describe it as any, I think. As for me, I've reached the point now where I am utterly through with my facial hair. My tolerance for it is completely gone. Fortunately I'm in the home stretch of removing it. Before I started out, a question I heard quite a bit was, "What if you change your mind?" How far could I go before I couldn't turn back? Men asked it more often than women, perhaps because they couldn't help but imagine on some level what it would be like to go through the process, and when faced with the notion of losing their manhood they'd want to make absolutely certain they could get it back. Good riddance, as far as I'm concerned. If I hadn't already reached that last turning point, I'm at it right now. This I feel to be a crucial moment. If I so desired (or were somehow forced), I could return to a more obviously male state. Certain things would never change back—my breasts would stay at their current growth, and facial hair would never be as thick as it once was. But I could go back into full boi mode and remain there. No. Absolutely not. This is the right thing for me. This is who I am, what I am, what I need to do. It feels like a natural step in my personal evolution. No regrets. Breaking up with The Ex is something I wish didn't have to happen, but if dreams can come true (as so many of mine are right now), then so can nightmares. I look at my face right now, and don't see how much facial hair has been removed, I see how much is still there. It's unnatural, like a blemish or a discoloring. Both Miguel and Phil (who've never met) have used the word "alabaster" to describe my skin, or at least what it will be, unaware that it's the skin tone I've always wanted. The remaining, seemingly constantly regrowing hair is covering it up. That's simply not right. So I'm moving forward, more certain than ever that I'm doing the correct thing. There will be no turning back. Last | Top | Next

Wednesday, 5 May 1999 (alt) 11:11am I've agreed to take on the intern, largely because I couldn't think of a good reason not to. There's no question that it'll be nice to have someone to ease the workload, and as my boss pointed out, they want to move me onto higher-lever production stuff. Out of grunt work, which I've been doing at various companies for the last couple years. So it all fits. I have no idea when it'll start, though. God, I'm exhausted. Got home from Roderick's at about 3:00am, in bed by 3:15, up at 5:30. My body is not pleased with me. I've even imbibed a highly caffeinated/carbonated/sugary beverage to compensate. FWEE! The new Errata should be up very soon, and I've also been asked to contribute (something) to a print 'zine, Amethyst. (So print ones are italicized, but web ones aren't. Sure, okay.) Not a clue what I'm going to do, but as always, that's the fun part. So I ordered Alanis Morissette's Joining You #1 from Amazon.com, and they fookin' sent me Joining You #2. Don't you hate it when that happens? Sara is on a plane outta here after midnight; she called last night and we talked for an hour or so. I brought her up to speed on the events of the weekend (mainly The Power Exchange), and she seemed jealous that I've been going out so much lately. I suspect we're going to have to make up for a lot of lost time when she gets back next week. 8:50pm I'm up, though I shouldn't be. I reckon I'll make it through Voyager tonight and watch Deep Space Nine tomorrow. Brilliant plan. My beardshadow is returning. Very subtly—Summer said she could barely see it at all. Seeing it at all is entirely too much. Week after next is the soonest I'd be able to afford to get zapped again, assuming Phil even has any openings. Guess I'll call and find out tomorrow. Slight reprieve: we're not switching offices for a few more weeks. Thank you India for that. I don't want to move. Oooh! Voyager is doing a non-time travel modern period piece! Cool! And written by Joe 'n' Brannon, no less! I'm going to have to show this to Tiff... sometime after midnight I should know better than to smoke alone. It's never a good thing. Last | Top | Next

Tuesday, 4 May 1999 (acquiescence) 2:11pm Sara's leaving California tomorrow and won't be back until Sunday. That changes plans for the next week considerably. I'm planning on going to Roderick's tonight. Right on schedule, every other week. I seem to keep encountering one of my oft-mentioned recently transferred coworkers. He was at the theater when I saw eXistenZ last week, and then I ran into him shortly after I picked up my new glasses on Saturday. So today he's in our office for some reason (the department he's transferred to is in another building entirely), and he comments that he saw me once again, though I didn't seem him—Saturday night outside The Power Exchange. Y'know, this is precisely why I don't believe in keeping secrets. A lot of people would be embarrassed about having something like that broadcast, but it didn't bother me at all. He didn't mention the fact that I was in full grrl mode at the time, interestingly enough. I doubt it came as any kind of surprise, though jeez, it wouldn't have killed him to have complimented me, now would it have? I think not. Sheesh. Men. I'm tellin' ya. We won't be sailing tonight for Singapore, or anytime soon. The office is actually operated by a "licensee partner," which in corpospeak means I'd be quitting CNET entirely. Not gonna happen. London and Stockholm are thus the only real possibilities. Last | Top | Next

Monday, 3 May 1999 (summation) 4:32pm A new week, and with it something completely new and unexpected to think about. My boss asked me if I might consider mentoring an intern. Allow me to repeat that: mentoring an intern. Me. Okay, the extra help would be nice, no question, but...just...I can hardly put into words how strange a concept it is to me. And I must admit, I've been rather enjoying my isolation, workwise. (Personally's a different matter, but I've bitched enough about that for the time being.) It's also hard not think that the kid won't be (offended? put off? somehow vaguely insulted?) by being placed under someone like me. And let's face it, being responsible for myself is enough of a chore, let alone someone else. My boss pointed out that it's great resume food, which I suppose is true. That's the first time he's talked about my resume or the concept of me working elsewhere without it being in the context of wanting me to stay. I'm not paranoid, it's just odd, that's all. It might speak to his level of desperation. I have a few days to think about it, though I'll probably say yes. Why? Because it'll increase my leverage to get a raise, and I'm that much of a salary whore right now. 5:19pm So I queried, and received this response... Thanks for your interest in the International team. I expect to be starting up offices in London and Stockholm later this year. For now, we are first looking to hire local general managers as well as sales/biz dev people. There will be a need for some technical/designers as well at some point. Could you please send me your resume and I will keep it on file for when we have finalized the skills needed for those positions? When we have positions that could be filled from the US side we will be posting them internally. Shoot. No Singapore. Not yet, anyway. I figure should follow up on this. Why not? It'll be interesting to see if I'd qualify, if nothing else. And London might be fun. Last | Top | Next

It don't hurt like it did I can sing my song again It don't hurt like it did I can sing my song again I scraped the paper off the wall I put down carpet in the hall I left no trace of you at all Now I can sing my song again I don't dream, 'cuz I don't sleep The moon is hangin' like your hat The sun comes up, well I don't see Curtains tied up like a bat The electric man looks good today Maybe not—well, I'm tryin' hard Tryin' hard to feel that way The electric man's a good place to start Took your paintings off the wall That one of me you call doll I added on 'cuz the house was feeling small Now I can sing my song again I don't think of you no more 'Cept for every day or two I don't think of you no more 'Cept for in between the sun and moon Packed up and moved out after all Bulldozed the house and watched it fall That blessed sight I still recall Now I can sing my song again Now I can sing my song again (It don't hurt like it did It hurts worse, who do I kid?) Sheryl Crow, "It Don't Hurt" Sunday, 2 May 1999 (magic - transformation) 12:31pm Ha! Isn't that just the best picture? It's so goddamn corny! Couldn't be more perfect. Click on it to see the full-size version, if you dare. 1:29pm Busy weekend. I did make it to Shrine on Friday; talked with Tiff quite a bit, and gave her a ride home. (It isn't often that I drive, but when I do, I'm always generous.) It was the first real opportunity we've had to catch up for well over a month—since the night she introduced me to Sara, in fact, thirty seconds after meeting her for the first time herself. Like most everyone seems to--she wasn't the only one to mention it that night--she'd assumed that Sara and I were an item, when in fact we aren't. (She wasn't at Shrine on Friday because she was out with her not-quite-ex-boyfriend, in an attempt to salvage the relationship.) We're just, as explained, very good friends, and I felt the need to thank Tiff for inadvertantly causing that little moment of serendipity; Sara and I had clicked in a major way, both us intuitively realizing that we may have found the friend we were looking for. Tiff commented that she'd felt the same way when her and I met. Oh, ouch. That one hurt. Continuing my tradition of saying dumb things to her, I apologized for the way I'd blown it. She looked at me like I'd asked how that third arm growing out her back was doing, saying she didn't think I'd blown anything at all. I figured it was best not to pursue it any further. No harm, no foul. If she had no hard feelings, then I had no complaints. We discussed briefly the possibility of going to Roderick's at some point in the near future, as she'd never been but was somewhat intrigued. So I got to bed at about 4 and was up again at 8:30. I ran around for most of the day (got my hair cut and colored, picked up my new glasses, refilled all my prescriptions, paid the storage bill and did some random shopping), got back home by 4, napped until about 6:30, then got dressed and made up again and headed to Gahan's for the GGPET pre-party. Sara was going to be working late so she couldn't make it, Tiff was now out of town, and Marion wasn't sure if she'd be able to join us or not. At first it was a little intimidating not having a partner per se, someone to mutually latch on to. Despite a certain aloofness, the fact is that goths are inherently social creatures, although this was a mix of vanilla goths (such as myself) and the heavier fetish crowd. Lots of pvc, in other words. Much like at Shrine the night before, however, I had a few people I didn't recognize recognize me. I shouldn't still be surprised by that, but I am. By the time we descended upon The Power Exchange, I'd more or less formed a small clique: myself, a girl named Rosalyn who might as well have been Marion's older sister, and a mild flamer named Larry. The three of us, being newbies, stuck together for most of the evening. The Power Exchange, a heavy-duty bondage/fetish/sex club, is a bizarre, fascinating place. Word of advice: if you're bothered by the sight of naked people and/or people participating in various forms of BDSM, then stay far away, because there's plenty of both. There's also no particular shortage of spectators, mostly middle-aged men. The normal price of admission is roughly thus: single men, $20; a man with a woman, $10; women and cross-dressers, free. So at least Rosalyn and myself got in free. Anyway, I find it remarkable the dedication (?) of the herd of solitary men wandering about, though they probably find $20 a cheap price for the spectacle provided. And, indeed, it was what I assume to be a particularly unusual one last night, as in addition to our group (who mostly stayed in the King Arthur Room, reserved for us) there was a group of very portly people making use of much of the bondage equipment. Very portly women, more specifically. The men were pretty massive too, though the women didn't have any clothes restricting their bodies, so every ounce of cellulite was on display. It didn't do anything for me one way or the other (whew!), although I couldn't help thinking to myself that they certainly looked happy. These were clearly people who, whatever else may be going on in their worlds, were no doubt have the time of their lives at that exact moment. I couldn't help but respect that. Did I mention the spectators? Everywhere. Constantly. Either roaming around, or just standing and watching. We had three-quarters of the King Arthur Room (which is decorated in a style which reminded me more of Round Table Pizza back in Fresno than anything else) for our group, but there was still plenty of room for spectators. What the hell, they might as well get their money's worth. And while we were walking around the joint, we did enough spectating of our own, it's true. Both Rosalyn and I were perfectly satisfied to also simply observe for the evening, but as will happen, we decided to take the plunge, mostly spurred on by Larry. I suspect he was just looking for an excuse to strip down to his thong. Can't blame him, since it was pretty damn warm. Being newbies with absolutely no desire to cause any damage, we took it very easy. Truth be known, having done some feather-light topping before I was probably the most experienced of the three of us, but it's still not something I'm all that good at and whether or not my heart is truly into it is debatable. Anyway, it was Rosalyn and I dominating Larry in the most concilatory manner possible, mostly with a light flogger and our fingernails. With the occasional spank thrown in for good measure, though I gotta admit, there's little more embarrassing than the *sound* of a wimpy spank. Suffice it to say Rosalyn and I both hit like girls. (Er...well, you know what I mean.) I don't think we could have done any damage if we'd wanted to; it occured to me after a while that we hadn't established any safewords, and Larry laughed, saying that we were far from needing them—he was thoroughly enjoying it, thank you very much. (Don't worry, we established some anyway.) Remarkably, I was able to overcome the fact that I simply have no attraction to bois. Of course, it wasn't about sex or any kind of real intimacy—simply touching someone's back or legs hardly counts, and a body is a body when the person is on their stomach. And I can't help thinking that it might be somewhat provincial of me to get too discriminatory about such details, considering what I'm doing to my own body. (That's not a very well-formed thought, but there's something there...I need to develop it a bit...) Rosalyn and I left around 2; Larry elected to stay longer. I drove Rosalyn home, and as usual it didn't take long for us to start opening up to each other. (For the record, she started it.) Since it was relevant to the discussion, I mentioned what I'm now officially capitalizing as the Rebound Stigma. How long does it last? At least, how long in my particular case? All she knew was that I'd been in a relationship for eight and a half years which ended for various reaons, and I'd been single since January...but she figured that, yeah, it was probably too soon for me to get into another relationship. Almost precisely 24 hours after I'd talked to Tiff, and another stinger. Ouch. The Ex, Summer, Lee, you name it, everyone else is moving on quite well, sure, but me...like I suggested, Maddy, different rules apply. (Mind you, I wasn't referring to her—she seemed nice enough, but I'm not so desperate as to suggest such a thing of someone I'd known for maybe six hours.) Anyway, we ritually exchanged email addresses and promised to keep in touch. We'll see. I got to bed at about 3:30am, was up again at 7:30, and got to work (yes, on Sunday) by 9. Onwards... 5:47pm No. I refuse to believe that. It's not fair, and I simply will not accept it. If she can, obviously she can, she was just here with him, then I can too. I'm not going to shed a tear, though. Not right now. this so just so very very very wrong I'm not a bad person. I've never intentionally hurt anyone. Surely my sins must forgivable, so how do I redeem myself? What do I need to do? 7:39pm I didn't just work straight through on Friday; between five and six I attended a reception for some people from our Singapore office. This particularly interested me because part of my job is to converting articles from ours to the international format, and in fact I was specifically introduced to the visiting bigwigs for that reason. For the second time that week I found myself wishing I'd put my hair up in pigtails, and my makeup almost certainly could have used a retouch. They'd come both to familiarize us with the international operations...and to recruit. Yep, CNET Singapore is hiring. If I really wanted to, I could more than likely transfer. I'm already familiar with their operations to an extent (at least as much as anyone else over here), and my credentials are strong enough. It may only be that Tom Waits song—so I could say "We sail tonight for Singapore" and mean it—or maybe it's a mistaken belief that what I really need is a severe change in scenery, but goddamn, I'm tempted. I'm extremely tempted. There are many reasons why it can't/won't happen, of course. Not the least of which is continuing with the hormones; I'd have to be absolutely certain I can get the exact same kind. Then there's the electro issue, since I don't foresee finding someone I trust as much as Phil. (To speculate on the possibility of a Singapore goth scene would be too silly for words, so I won't.) On the other hand, there doesn't seem to be much keeping me here. My friends and family, yes, for as seldom as I see the latter—or the former, for that matter. Anyone I'd want to keep in touch with, well, it's not like I wouldn't have net access. And it wouldn't necessarily be permanent. Besides, I already feel disassociated from the people in my own area code. Would it be worse if I was an another time zone entirely? Would anyone even notice? The best or worst decision of my life. It could go either way. 9:48pm It's going to be like this for a long long time. Longer than I think. 10:09pm I genuinely thought I'd make it through the evening. I was very much mistaken. Oh, that one was painful. My head is pounding and my sinuses are clogged as a result, like I was trying to pass something which got stuck halfway through. Maybe it's the thought circling around in my head, the one which started it to begin with and hasn't yet left: ...she's gone forever...she's gone forever...she's gone forever... And so on and so forth. Helpful stuff. Thanks, brain. Love ya too. Probably figured it hadn't squeezed any tears out of me for a while and wanted to make up for lost time. Last | Top | Next

Saturday, 1 May 1999 (loss) sometime after midnight And what have I learned? What will I take away from it all? Where will it put me? Perhaps everything happens for a reason. Perhaps whatever reason or significance we find is what we want to find, or know on some level (subconscious or otherwise) that we need to find. Last | Top | Next