all the fun of the fair...

Slightly different takes on the attitude of the North American public towards gay and lesbian marriages (for the first link, see Wednesday, February 18, 2004, about half way down).

Sobering thoughts, aren't they?

I'm getting married!

I know, I can't believe it either! It was so unexpected, so out of the blue, that I was left utterly speechless. Thankfully the proposal was via e-mail, so actual speech wasn't needed to respond.

As you may have guessed, I typed, "Yes."

Next Tuesday, after the writing group meeting, Sarriah and I will be jumping the broom.

Okay, neither one of us is African-American, it's true, but neither one of us is a lesbian either, so it's sort of all the same.

She originally suggested we go to San Francisco, to do it as a political statement, but in the end we decided a little deal after the writing group would be more appropriate. Besides which, in thinking about it, I imagine the folks getting married up north right now (well, maybe not right now, since it's nearly 11pm) are taking it all very seriously, as do I, because I honestly think those wedding ceremonies are absolutely wonderful. And I would never want it to appear as if I'm mocking them.

But there is that contrary strain in me that wants so badly to stick it to the uptight conservative assholes against two loving people demonstrating commitment who just happen to be of the same gender. Throwing it in their faces even more would be a very sweet thing.

I know! Sarriah and I can marry next week, and we'll include MidWestRoommate in on it. Because if there's anything that'll get the conservative fuckers' collective panties in a bunch (and more than a few right-leaning dicks hard, I'm sure) than two hot straight chicks getting married, it'll be three hot straight chicks getting married.

Quasi-lesbianism and polygamy.

It's all so beautiful. I think I'm gonna cry.

*************************

BTW, I'm not even going to go the current Un-President supporting the Federal Marriage Act. The top of my head threatens to blow off every time it passes through my mind.

Just go read John and Rob for pretty much my take on the issues involved. Their eloquence far outstrips mine any day of the week.

I was just about to log onto the internet for one last e-mail check when the doorbell rang. Or maybe it was a knock on the door. I'm not entirely sure. Whatever it was it signaled the presence of someone at the door. I answered it, expecting - and finding - CuteNerdBoy on the other side, looking very nice in a black long sleeved shirt and jeans, his dark hair getting just a little bit longish, the way I like it. As I let him in we exchanged our normal hugs and pecks and he handed me two CDs and a book, all of which he had previously mentioned he would give and/or lend me.

"Hold on," said he. "I have another gift for you, but it's out in the van. I'll get it." He exited, my puzzled eyes following him out. While he went to his van I read the CD booklets, excited about several of the songs on AD#12, so I immediately put it in my stereo. A silly grin stayed plastered on my face as I wondered what this mystery gift was. I glanced out the screen door just in time to see him step up to my stoop, arms full of things that I could not quite make out from my vantage point. I rushed to open the door for him, pressing myself against the doorjamb as flat as possible to let him in. It was then that I spied it. Disbelief washed over my mind, because I knew there was no way I could possibly be seeing what I was seeing.

I think I took a couple of the objects from him, or maybe he just set them on a nearby chair. Shock made my memory a little unreliable. He began to set it up for me.

"You mentioned in your 'blog that you wanted to learn how to play the keyboard and this was literally gathering dust in my bedroom. Consider it an indefinite loan, until I need it back or you can get your own. But you have to actually play it."

"I will, I promise," I answered, my eyes wide, still staring at the keyboard as if it were made of fairy dust and would dissipate.

(Note: Yes, I had already known that he reads my 'blog, at least once in a while. We've spoken about it. There's pretty much nothing I write here about him that he doesn't already know or couldn't guess. Hmmmm. Maybe I shouldn't be such an open book. After all, the whole "heart on the sleeve" look is not only messy, it clashes with a lot of my outfits.

On with the story...)

There was no nearby electrical outlet and we were on our way to an evening of early dinner, theater and coffee with Sarriah and Boychik (formerly known in these pages as FFDWG(FKaSarah) and WestHollywoodBoy), so I gave him a huge "thank you" hug" and we left it standing in the middle of the living room near the Ikea chair.

When the evening was over and Boychik and Sarriah were on their ways home, CuteNerdBoy came inside to use the restroom. As he did so I moved the keyboard set-up closer to a wall, right in front of my loveseat.

(Now that I think about it, we may have moved it before we left for the evening. Again I plead shock for faulty memory.)

I toyed with the keys a little, unwrapped then rewrapped the cord, wanting to plug it in and start playing with it but feeling strangely shy, as if uncertain about making ungodly sounds with CuteNerdBoy in my apartment. Music is so very important to the both of us that I was almost afraid of making discordant noises.

"Why don't you plug it in and see how it sounds?" asked his pleasant voice from behind me.

"Okay!" Boy, am I a tough sell or what?

I moved the loveseat out a little and plugged the chord in the electrical outlet as he connected it to the keyboard. He showed me some of the buttons, how things worked, some of the different sounds the board was capable of, then I eagerly reached for the keys at the same moment he started noodling around.

"Please, go ahead," he said as he stepped back, motioning to the instrument. I hesitated, torn between wanting to hear him play (especially since his musical instrument experience is far more recent than mine) and needing to leap into the experience. Selfishness won out and I stood in front of the keyboard, trying to remember the one song I sort of know how to play.

A little more tinkering with the buttons on both our parts, another huge thank you hug, combined with our good-bye pecks, and off he went home. And I pulled out some old sheet music and started messing around, realizing I was hopelessly out of practice with the very tiny bit of keyboard knowledge that I did know.

Good thing I went to Sam Ash during lunch today to buy a keyboard fingering chart and a "keyboard basics" book/DVD, isn't it?

*************************

There's a lot more to the weekend, of course. But it was such an odd mix of fun and self-esteem hits that I'm not quite sure how to relate it. Maybe later, when thinking about the sad bits makes me a little less sad.

Instead I'll just concentrate on that one lovely moment. For now.

In this dream of life and death
I know so much I will forget
I know your body and your breath
I know your rhythm and your touch
I want you here
I want so much
I fear too much

Far too human to let go
I fight the river and the flow
I fight the love and the fear
I do not want to leave you here
In one body you appear
In this dream

I dream
And I still want so much
To touch the inside

I dream
And I still want to stay
Inside this dream with you

Now I know
That every dream begins with you
And ends in time
Now I know
That maybe I am too alive

If I could speak in tongues of flame
I'd burn forever with your name
And take it with me through all time
I would remember who you are
In every life I'd touch your heart
In every dream

I dream
And I still want so much
To touch the inside

I dream
And I still want to stay
Inside this dream with you ...

One Dream by October Project (from Falling Farther In)

Hauntingly beautiful with an almost poppy beat, the words and melodies and harmonies twine and meld within and around one another. Upon every hearing this song rips me apart anew.

Perhaps that's the reason that I can't listen to the CD I have that has this song very often. I listen to the lyrics and all I can do is imagine the emotions of the friend that introduced me to this band's music. It kills me to do so. I remember going through similar feelings once upon a time, back in the dark ages of 1997, and maybe again, just a little, more recently. All of these thoughts and emotions fuse together in my heart, cracking it open a little more, aching for my friend and for myself.

The CD in question has many more songs that help the pain to blossom. I love the music with every part of myself, but it hurts too much to hear. Maybe I am too alive.

And, so it would seem, is my friend.

Labels: musical interlude

...and this is the reason. Hell, he wrote my own thoughts better than I ever could, but I'm going to throw in my two cents regardless.

As readers have no doubt gathered by now, I'm not married. I've never been married. I'd like to rectify that someday, find a nice young(ish) man with whom to settle down and have kids, 'cause that's just the type of gal that I am. Despite my parents' impending divorce, the divorces of several friends and non-immediate family members, I still believe in marriage. I'm just a hopeless romantic, I guess.

As such I just don't see why two loving, caring people, who just happen to be the same sex, wanting to get married, to enjoy all of the legal and societal benefits that heterosexual couples have long enjoyed - well, I don't see how that would threaten the "institution" of marriage. Any arguments I've read against same sex marriages are so full of holes and slippery slopes that it's all I can do not cart said argument makers into psychiatric wards for evaluation because, quite frankly, they seriously sound insane to me. And when people start dragging in the whole "G-d thinks it's bad" bit, I just have to ask when they got the direct line to G-d, 'cause as far as I can tell, He's not personally weighing in on the issue.

(Newsflash: the Bible, the Qu'ran, the Talmud, other such books - though ostensibly inspired by the words of G-d, still written by humans. As such, not exactly a bolt of G-d Lightning etched in stone. I have respect for these books as tenets of faith, but that's all they are. Sorry to break it to you.)

(BTW, check out the comments in that link - John and friends are driving tanks through those holes. Again, love those folks.)

And if lesbian or gay couples want children - either through adoption or artificial insemination or surrogate parenting or what have you - as long as both partners are committed to each other and to their children, are loving parents doing the best they can to raise those children (just like straight couples around the world), then who the fuck cares about whether there's a strong "father" or "mother" figure in the family. How about just a strong parental figure? Or two? The chances are pretty good that both gender roles will be filled by someone in the immediate circle of the family.

I have several gay friends. At the moment I don't have any lesbian friends. I don't really know why, outside the fact that I've known few lesbians and, for whatever reason, we've not hung out often enough to become friends. If any of my gay friends told me that he had met the love of his life, or wanted to marry his boyfriend, and asked me to attend the ceremony, I would say yes in a heartbeat. Because being invited to an event that celebrates the love and commitment that two people have for each other would make me unbelievably happy. And honored that they would want me to participate.

Funny thing is, I feel the same about the straight people I know.

Must be the hopeless romantic in me.

I lied. Those boots from I waxed rhapsodic about the other day? I'm wearing them with a skirt again today. But it's a long skirt, so the platypus feet are not as obv...

Oh, who am I kidding? They're totally obvious. But I don't care. I love these boots and will wear them with anything I feel like wearing them with. And if anyone walks up to me and says,"Hey, Carol, you have platypus feet," I'll just turn to them and quote the ever-quotable and pithy Willow Rosenberg:

"Oh yeah?! Well... so's your face!"

That'll teach 'em.

*************************

So, does the fact that this and this make my nipples hard mean I’m a freak?

(Yes, I’m aware that there are other things about me that could qualify me for freakdom. Smart-asses.)

I just think it’s way too cool.

And in related news, I have no idea where I am on the Geek Hierarchy (link courtesy of Wil).

* Science fiction literature fan? More or less (more as time goes by). Check.
* Science fiction television fan? Check.
* Trekkie? Big ol’ checkamundo.
* Fanfic writer? Well, I haven’t completed one, but I suppose the fact that I started one (or several) qualifies me for a check on that front. Additional checks related to said fanfics are: erotic fanfic writers who (sorta but not really) put themselves in the story (the characters are really who I’d like to be as opposed to who I am, but frankly they’re complete Mary Sues who should probably never see the light of day – which is the main reason I can’t finish the damned things).

Ok, I’m a geek and a freak. With platypus feet.

Just shoot me now. Thanks!

*************************

Fuck yeah, Jessica. Good luck.

My beloved BookCrossing has published an article that I wrote for them. No payment for my writing as of yet, but it's still a start!

Yea!

...over the weekend I also took the time to watch Dogma, for which I've had the video for several years.

(Yeah, yeah, I know. I just never get around to watching my videos. Or movies in general. Many people have taken me to task for this. Last week CuteNerdBoy tried to convince me to watch two videos a day, one at 5:30am and one after work, so that I can catch up with the rest of the movie-watching populace. My response: if I'm gonna be up at 5:30 in the morning it's to exercise, not watch movies. And the chances are pretty good I'm rarely getting up at 5:30am.)

Answer me one question: how on earth can Alan Rickman consistently be so absurdly hot? I swear, the man is sex on a stick. Never before had I come close to weeping for a character based on the fact that he had no penis. A crying shame for someone as magnetic as Rickman, even if it is just a character.

Oh, and the rest of the movie was pretty good, too. Ben Affleck didn't annoy me (too much), so that's saying something. But I have to say, I love Buddy Christ. If I was going to get all Christian and stuff (not bloody likely), I'd certainly pick him to be my representation of Our Lord and Savior. He's just such a happy guy!

Even better, though, is the script was obviously very well thought out. So much made me stop and think. I'm amazed that so many people objected to this movie. It may have been made with tongue firmly planted in cheek, but if ever there was a film that bespoke a love of faith, it's this one.

I may be five years too late, but I have to say: This is one rockin' religious flick, my friends.

...I had found them. I had searched high and low for them, not knowing how elusive they would be when I first decided that I had to have them. But finally they sat before me, their surfaces dully shining in the overhead fluorescent lighting.

I found the dressy black boots I had wanted for many months.

I already had a pair of black boots. With their rubber platform soles, their chunky rubber 3 1/2" heels and their boxy yet sleek uppers, they were equally suitable for dress pants, jeans and, occasionally, short skirts. But they had been worn out from so much wear - the rubber soles no longer as comfortable as they once were, the man-made finish starting to crack. Much as it pained me to admit, they had to be replaced.

So I looked for their replacements, finally to be found on Sunset Boulevard. And they were nearly perfect. Man-made materials, dressier than my former boots yet still casual, nicely trendy heels (more elegant than the rubber heels but still a little on the chunky side). And inexpensive.

I wore them with a pair of trendy jeans the night I took CuteNerdBoy out for his birthday. I felt tall, confident, sexy. Near the end of the evening, as CuteNerdBoy, CNBBrother and I sat and talked at CNBApartment I glanced at my newly-acquired booty and noticed there was something about them that looked a little off. Nah, I thought. It's just my tiredness and my giddiness over such a terrific evening that is warping my sight a little.

Yesterday I pulled on my pretty little boots over a pair of black tights, thinking they would look nice with the flouncy black and tan skirt I was wearing. As I walked to the bus stop I again caught a quick look at the tops of my boots and realized that my perception of the previous week was accurate after all.

These lovely boots, the ones for which angels sang when I laid my eyes upon them?

Give me platypus feet.

Not that my toes are suddenly webbed or splayed. No, my beloved boots make my feet look like the platypus bills. And since my feet are a bit long and wide to begin with, that's not really the look that I'm going for.

Still, they are such fabulous boots, I feel compelled to wear them regardless.

I just won't wear them with skirts. Ever.

...never did go clubbing on Valentine's Day, which was fine with me. FFDWG(FKaSarah) suggested I meet her at Amoeba Records, since it was closer to my place than her apartment, she needed to pick up a couple of things and MidWestRoommate's friend NavyGuy was up from San Diego for the weekend, crashing at their place, and he had never experienced the wonder of Amoeba. He and I separately and jointly concluded that FFDWG(FKaSarah) was evil for such a suggestion.

"But you don't have to buy anything," she'd chant. I know I rolled my eyes at her and I suspect NavyGuy did too. He ended up dropping nearly $80 there, while I was able to escape only $35 lighter in the bank account, purchasing four CDs (which I will not list, as I'm aware that several recipients of my mix CDs occasionally read this 'blog and I want them to be surprised should any of the songs from the CDs make their ways onto a future mix CD - which, rest assured, they will).

And FFDWG(FKaSarah) was able to purchase only one item, The Bourne Identity DVD. The movie was one of the DVDs we watched at her place that night, later to be joined by another friend of hers. At the Denny's in Westwood late Thursday night, to where we repaired after the Uptown Rulers' gig, FFDWG(FKaSarah) and MidWestRoommate had been trying to convince me that Matt Damon was actually hot in this movie. I refused to believe it, as I think he's just really funny-looking. And, as a rule, blonds do nothing for me, whereas FFDWG(FKaSarah) tends to like them. At least more than I do.

"Carol," said she, "I don't usually like him much, but there's something about him in this film." So I sat and watched and concluded that Matt Damon is still rather funny-looking. Not a bad actor, but nothing special, in my estimation. I did like Franka Potente, though. She's an interesting actress to watch. And I was very happy that Chris Cooper and Brian Cox were in the movie. I've liked both of them for a long time.

At the end of the film FFDWG(FKaSarah) agreed that she wasn't feeling the Damon love this time. Next up - Sweet Home Alabama, another movie she rather liked. As for myself: zzzzzzzzz. Just not my kind of film. Though this time I had to agree that the lead actor, Josh Lucas, was quite the cutie, despite his blond hair. See, I'm flexible. I may have to see more of his films.

(Addendum: turns out I've seen at least two of his films: The Weight of Water, which I remember pretty well but didn't remember him - I don't think that's his fault, though - the movie was a bit ethereal; and The Hulk - for that I plead distraction [see end of entry].)

After that was finished I crashed on their couch. Sunday was spent getting coffee with FFDWG(FKaSarah) and kicking back at home, trying to chase away this annoying little cold, with a couple of minor things done around the apartment. And Monday? Laundry (which was an unexpected zoo - who knew so many people would opt to go to the laundromat on President's Day?) and resting.

Oh, and finally installing and playing Douglas Adams' Starship Titanic, which I've had forever but have never played, since it locked up my old computer. Funny thing, I love these kinds of games, can get swept up in them for hours, but I'm so bad and impatient at them that I go to the hints book long before I probably should. Still managed to stay up until nearly 3am playing it, though. And I have a long way yet to go, which is driving me crazy. This is why I don't play games very often.

Still, a quiet weekend, all told. Probably just what I needed.

A little more has finally been added to Stale Steele. Very little, plus a few insignificant revisions to Chapter One (except a couple of lines added to this section - in the sixth paragraph, if you're interested).

I know what I want to write on Stale Steele, but the actual sentences are hiding from me. I hate when that happens.

Not for me, but for the Damn Millionaires. They've already got the support of quite a few folks, what with being talented and Allison being a excellent online journalist and all.

(I met Allison in Vegas at the 2001 Squishycon - she's one helluva cool woman. And I'm not just saying that because she called me "kick-ass".)

The tiny sips of music on the site make me so parched for more. C'mon, folks, let's help build a rabid fan base for them so they can record a CD that will sell billions and will make them absurdly famous and, in reality, Damn Millionaires.

Knowing what a quiz slut I am (though he very politely called me "Ms. Quiz"), CuteNerdBoy e-mailed me one of those personality quizzes that you forward to your friends, who then return it to you with their scores in the subject heading and forward to their friends. I'm not one of those people that forward everything that's sent to me, since I tend to find it a little annoying when I receive such things in my inbox. But, again, quiz slut here. Quizzes are the one thing that I find highly permissible. So, of course, I had to take the quiz.

Funnily enough, my score was one point away from CuteNerdBoy's. Even stranger, not only did BestFriend get the same score as me, but she forwarded me her answers (which you don't have to do) and her answers were identical to mine. How bloody freaky is that? I guess there's a reason she and I have been best friends for over 20 years. Two other friends came in only a few points below me.

Now I invite my beloved readers to take the quiz. Ostensibly it was given to Oprah by Dr. Phil on her show, but I still find the quiz interesting. Since your scores can't be forwarded in a subject line, it would be really cool if y'all could post them in the comments. Don't worry, you don't have to put your names or your answers or anything like that if you don't want to. This is as anonymous as you want to be. I'm just incredibly curious as to what my small readership is like.

BTW, my score was 46. Works for me.

Because I'm no where near as clever as these folks, I present to you a bunch of links for your Valentine's Day enjoyment:

* Wendy styles a few Valentines for the spinster in us all.

* Wil gets to the root Valentine's Day hate.

* Pamie's annual Valentine's Day poems, because they're just so fuckin' funny (and sometimes rather touching):

2004
2003
2002
2001 (Part 2 and Part 3)
2000
1999

And as I'm currently single, this is a good one for today (from Pamie's first V-Day entry):
hey.
it's me.
yeah. me.
we don't have to have someone else in our life to be a good person.
we like being single, don't we?
it's just us.
let's go pull out that vibrator and pretend it's Patrick Stewart.
then we'll have a kinky threesome with me, myself and i.

Happy Freakin' Valentine's Day, everyone!

Just as I was getting rid of that last little annoying cold, another has swooped into take its place. How very irritating.

And tonight I'm supposed to get together with FFDWG(FKaSarah) - and a little later in the evening, her roommate - for a night of chocolate and non-Valentinesy videos. It was going to be this whole "Chocolate Death" sleep-over party for single gals, but it turns out I know very few single women and the ones that FFDWG(FKaSarah) and MidWestRoommate know are all busy. Except for one, who potentially wants to go clubbing. That could be fun, and FFDWG(FKaSarah) has received invites up the wazoo through, I believe, the Burning Man mailing list that she's on.

But dancing with a bunch of hot sweaty strangers on Valentine's Day (and here is where I spit on the floor, carefully avoiding your shoes) with a sore throat and runny nose is not going to help me rest at all. Though I could always sleep all day tomorrow, right?

And here's where I do the whole "play by ear" thing again.

Speaking of playing by ear, I've now got it into my head that I need a piano. Or a keyboard. Basically I have to learn to play an instrument again.

(How's that for a smooth segue?)

How did this come about? Well, on Thursday I was more than a little moody. Not glowering-sad-the-sun's-never-gonna-shine kind of moody. Nope, I was genuinely moody. As in a-new-mood-every-minute kind of moody. One moment I'd be happy and tra-la-la'ing, the next I'd be mooning over CuteNerdBoy and the next I'd be telling myself how I really should just sack up and move on, because who really needs that kind of stress? Then the cycle would start again, though not always in that order.

And not just about boys, but everything. I'd be excited about writing something, then I'd be bored about it, convinced I'd never again write anything interesting. I alternated between being jittery and tired, being really into the work I was doing and needing to get the hell out of the cube farm. Six different thoughts and ideas ran through my head at any given second, all of them equally important and many of them contradictory.

(Later in the night I think I scared MidWestRoommate a little - I was punchy and totally silly and making absurd pronouncements as if they were written in stone - it was one of those nights where the filter was off and whatever was in my head was uttered by my lips. I'm a little dangerous when I get like that.)

Then as I was on the bus, heading towards Lions Gate to meet FFDWG(FKaSarah), where we would head out to the Westwood Brewery to see The Uptown Rulers play a free gig (BTW, if you like good white-boy funk and hip-hop, I urge you to buy their CD - it's very good and the sooner they sell out their CDs the sooner they can get started on the next one). I was reading Longing (which is a novelization of the life of Robert Schumann and his wife, Clara Wieck - the book is proving engrossing despite the convoluted writing style of the author) and I became convinced that I needed to learn to play an instrument again.

When I was younger I briefly played both the clarinet and violin (though not at the same time). Due to constant moving, lack of money and the fact that the instruments belonged to the schools I attended and not me, I was never able to continue with my musical education. And while I would dearly love to pick up the violin again, my bad neck and wrist preclude the re-learning of that instrument.

So my mind decided on the piano. At least to start. I mean, I could rent a piano (I saw one for $39/month, which isn't bad) so I wouldn't have to worry about the initial outlay of funds. Then again, just a keyboard might be good, because I would love something that's a little more portable. I'm already a little familiar with pianos and keyboards, since I've taught myself to pick out a couple of songs. And I know how to read music - that I've been doing since I was a little girl. I'm a bit rusty, but I know I could pick it up again.

This need has to carry me through to action. I really would love to play an instrument again.

Pamie has become joke spam. How strange is that?

Funny thing is, the original post is still funnier - and sadder - than the spam version. Being someone who has acted and dated actors, I can tell you how very true much of it is.

Knowing this from first hand experience, I still find actors incredibly hot.

Scary, isn't it?

Case in point: I understand pretty much nothing Wil writes in this entry, but oh, how it suddenly, unexpectedly, makes me want that boy (his wife is a lucky lady).

Okay, that has nothing to do with the actor part and everything to do the sheer geekiness on display (News Flash: Cute Geeks and Nerds = Sexy in The Book of Carol, available on all of your better remainder tables this summer).

Still, I can't deny the "actor factor".

*sigh*

...I been thinkin' --

(Oh, pipe down, you in the peanut gallery.)

I've got all these emotions in regards to CuteNerdBoy bouncing and jouncing around in my head and heart. While they're certainly very real and very present, it's also possible that my recent bout with PMS combined with the proximity to Valentine's Day has brought them forth more prominently than they'd been for a little while.

But my thoughts have also been turning to LiterateLawyerGuy. I wonder how he's doing, if life has calmed down for him at all, if he's managed to shake loose the flu that had been dogging him, off and on, for over a month. Maybe I didn't allow my feelings for him to develop too deeply, in an effort to protect my recently shaken heart (not to mention the fact we really only saw each other twice in the two months or so that we were getting to know each other), but he's still in my thoughts, still under my skin a bit, and I realize that I miss him. And that I'd like to hear from him.

I suppose I could be the person to make the first contact, but when we last communicated he mentioned that he would call me and there's a big part of me that wants him to make that call or send that e-mail. Granted, that part of me is the proud part. And the proud part is, perhaps, a little too big for its own britches. But I've spent so much of my life being the first person to make contact after not hearing from people for a while that, frankly, I'm a little tired of it.

I don't know. Maybe after the pressure of Valentine's Day is over I'll shoot LiterateLawyerGuy an e-mail, just a little note to say hi and see how he's doing. If he responds, great. I'd really like that. If not, then I'll wish him well and just try not to worry about him.

After that, I'll teach myself how to rein in my CuteNerdBoy feelings. That shouldn't take too long, right?

Right?

Bueller? Any one?

I wonder if UCLA Extension has a class for that...

...and other stuff...

* So freaking cool. (Link courtesy John.)

* Man oh man, this chaps my hide. Y'all, I'm a smidge under 5'6". 5'7" YoungerSis's belief to the contrary, I am not a short woman. Then why are all of the pants and jeans I buy of late at least two inches too long? At least now I know it's all across the size spectrum. I was beginning to think the designers that be assumed all big women were also tall.

* Oh my freaking G-d. This makes my teeth hurt just reading about it. It's weird - I've got one hell of a sweet tooth, but caramel, especially when combined with chocolate, makes me shudder with distaste. The only exceptions - Rolos and bite sized Snickers. All else caramel related are not welcome on my taste buds.

(You can imagine how I inwardly cringe when I'm with FFDWG(FKaSarah) or CuteNerdBoy and they order caramel-related coffee drinks. Hey, if that's what they like, that's what they like. Still -- ew!)

* Again I say: Holy Mother of G-d. Oh, please, please let it be a spoof. Though I sadly suspect that it isn't. So very wrong.

(Link via Pamie - and she is so not Paris Hilton. She's a lot smarter, funnier and prettier, for instance. And entirely unskanky.)

* I'm capable of clarification. Yea! Funny thing is, I've nearly always managed to skip the dating part of relationships in the past. With one exception, all of my past boyfriends have been guys I was previously acquainted with. I've always described the initial phases of past relationships as, "Oops, I seem to have fallen into a relationship. How did that happen?" No wonder I tend to get confused with the whole dating routine.

************************

Question for y'all, especially the guys:

Like everyone, I receive way too much spam. A high percentage of it are offers to enlarge my (non-existent) penis. Nothing unusual. But when the subject line is "MeatStickDrag OnTheGround," well, wouldn't that make the gentlemen out there reject those e-mails? I mean, I can only imagine how painful such it must be. Hell, I'm crossing my legs in empathy.

(Speaking as a generally horny woman, if a guy headed my way with a penis that big, I'd run the other way. Damn fast.)

************************

On Sunday, when CuteNerdBoy and I were tooling about town in my snazzy rental car, we were, not surprisingly, talking about music. While we do talk about all manner of subjects, music, books, TV and movies figure prominently. I mentioned that I had actually written and recorded a song many years ago, as a present for my ex (either birthday or Valentine's Day, it's hard to remember when both events fall on the same day). He was intrigued, saying he'd like to hear it sometime, despite my warning that I'm horribly off-key because it was recorded in a key that's too high for me for my alto voice.

Then he reminded me about this new software that he has which enables him to record different tracks and edit them on his computer. How did he remind me of it? By saying that, if I ever wanted to record anything, he had to tools to do so. I told him that I would need accompaniment and he replied that he was sure something could be arranged.

Again with the positive reinforcement. It's very cool. See, when it comes to writing or acting or painting, I appreciate all compliments whole-heartedly, but I don't need them to validate my belief in those talents. I know I'm usually pretty good in those areas. But I've never been confident in my singing ability because I have a limited range and my voice is unpredictable. I can always hear when I'm off-key, which is far more often than I would like.

And the fact that someone like CuteNerdBoy - for whom music is as important as it is for me - is supportive of my singing abilities, someone who has a darned good ear for talent (then again, many - though not all - of our musical tastes are similar, so naturally I'd think his ear is good) - it means a lot to me.

And makes me think that maybe I'm not quite as bad a singer as I think I am.

It was a most pleasant day. A trifle busy at first, but pleasant in the end.

Today (I mean Sunday) I rented a car (got an excellent deal - thanks, Advantage! And thanks to the driver that picked me up, cute Matt from Nigeria, who flirted with me at 9am, when I was still half asleep, unshowered and schleppy - there's an ego-booster!) because 1) I had a million things to do today - including shopping for heavy things, like cat litter and cat food - with only a few hours in which to do them and couldn't fathom using the bus and 2) I took CuteNerdBoy out for his birthday (which was really Saturday) and thought that it would be rather rude to make him drive around for his own birthday celebration. I actually managed to accomplish all of my errands (except for one that I forgot until I was getting ready to head out to the other end of the Valley - but that one can wait another week and I don't need a car for that one), so I felt really good, unlike yesterday when FFDWG(FKaSarah), NewYorkWriter (who is a member of my writing group) and I went to the Camarillo Outlet Stores and I was unable to purchase anything I set out to purchase (essential oils for CuteNerdBoy, lacing for a pair of jeans and a winter coat), instead buying jewelry (which I didn't need) and pretty bras (which I did need - my old standbys are giving up the ghost).

So after my myriad of errands today I showered, shaved, tried to style my hair with a hair dryer and everything (usually not a good idea - today was no exception, so I ended up using a skinny wire headband), dressed and headed out to CuteNerdBoy's place, to which I had never been. I picked him up and off we went to Venice for an excellent dinner at a restaurant that happened to be around the corner from my older brother's place, then a fun melodrama in Santa Monica, then coffee/dessert and back to his place. I hung out for a few minutes, being given a tour of the place (Oh, the space in that apartment! Especially the kitchen, dining area and his bedroom! What I wouldn't do to have a bedroom the size of his - well, there's not much I wouldn't do. And not much I wouldn't like to do in -- um, never mind. *fans self*) and talking with him and his brother. Then he walked me back to my car, mainly because he had left Mix CD #4 in the CD player, which I had given to him and we had been listening to whenever we were in the car. We parted with our old customary hugs and little kisses - which felt too good for words - and off I drove home, waving goodbye at him as he walked back to his apartment.

Those feelings from last week are still very much there. They ain't going away anytime soon. Many times throughout the night I'd look at him and feel a thrill pass through my body. As I drove home I thought about the night, thought about him, and shivered with desire. But I was able - strike that, I am able - to handle it better than last week. No tears, no depression, just left with a very pleasant feeling. Intensely frustrated, granted, but still very pleasant.

I still sort of think that spending a little time away from him at some point would probably be a good thing for me. Granted, there have been a couple of times where we hadn't hung out for about a month and that has managed to not dampen my feelings for him one whit. But it's so easy for me to misread his actions - or to get confused by his actions, which continue to convey mixed messages, whether consciously so or not - that occasionally stepping away from him in an effort rein in my emotions (which are only intensified by his presence) just might be of help. Not sure about the timing, since we have the BookCrossing meeting on Tuesday and he mentioned that MoulinRougeFan was definitely interested in doing the midnight showing of Moulin Rouge and, as I've mentioned, I'm powerless to resist the siren song of costume contests, so whenever they want to do that I am so there.

Guess I'll just have to play it by ear. Thank G-d I usually have a pretty good ear. I hope it serves me well.

It feels suspiciously like a five-cuppa-tea day. And maybe three or four bottles of water.

(I take in all sorts of liquids when I’m dozing off at work. I don’t know why, but I do. Between 8:30am and noon I’d already had a small Coffee Bean decaf soy cafe mocha, two fairly large cups of Earl Grey tea, 20 ounces of orange juice and 33 ounces of water. My third water bottle is waiting patiently for me next to my monitor.)

I'm just tired and I'm not sure why. I’m okay right now, since I’ve just gotten back from stepping out into the beautiful sunshine-y day to pick up a little Subway Veggie Delite wrap (I’m becoming addicted to those things), but it’s been a bit of a struggle thus far. My eyes have been refusing to stay open. I’ve found myself slipping down in my seat, wishing I had something to prop my feet up on. And I can’t find the reason behind my tiredness. I’ve had sufficient sleep each of the last two nights (5 1/2 – 6 hours each night – not ideal, but certainly enough for me to make it through the day without wanting to curl up under my desk). Perhaps the quality of sleep has been lacking, though I’ve certainly felt like my sleep has been deep and restful enough. I just don’t get it.

Oh, I'm not Pamie-tired, but it almost feels that bad. Oh well, I’m looking forward to a little sleeping in on Sunday. I think.

************************

On Thursday I embarked on an adventure. I went to an auto auction at a tow yard.

I had intended to go the week before, but events conspired to keep my alarms from going off in time for me to make the 8:30am inspection time and the 10am auction, so I took a little time off yesterday morning. I still woke up too late to spend more than a few minutes of car inspecting (I vaguely remember hearing my alarms sounding through my deep dreaming of -- whatever I was dreaming), but I did hang around a little while for the auction, to see how things were done. I think I was the only lone female there, which, though to be expected, was a little strange.

Some of the cars looked a little scary. The others, well, though I could have easily bought a car for $200-$400, I wasn’t about to bid on a car that may not have even had an engine. It was frequently stressed that none of the cars had been inspected, all sales were final and all cars were sold “as-is”. The last two facts I already knew, having read up a little on auto auctions, but the first one was news to me. And then there was the warning that, even if the car started and was initially drivable, there was no guarantee that the parts might not drop out of the car on the way home. These tidbits certainly stopped me short from bidding, even if I had known which cars had automatic transmission and which had manual – something that could only be determined by inspecting the cars.

I’ll do a little more research into auto auctions. There are different ones out there – maybe I need to find one that isn’t associated with a tow yard.

(I changed a 5 gallon water bottle today while not entirely awake, which was also pretty adventurous. Successfully, I might add, with only a drop or two spilled. Wow, hold me back. I'm a crazy dare-devil woman.)

A little background to this story: it started as an exercise in my writing group over a year ago. In the exercise we were given an opening sentence which would, hopefully, blossom into something good. Or at least non-sucky. Thankfully mine turned out really well. It was a lot of fun to both write and read, and garnered laughs from the group. I fell in love with it. Unfortunately the actual story disappeared over the next few weeks. That seriously bummed me out, because I knew I'd never be able to recreate it.

But today I thought I'd use the premise as a springboard to another story. So, as I sat on the bus, motoring my way to work, the story was reborn. It's very different, but I still like it.

Gone.

All of them: gone.

The accountants - gone. The secretaries - gone. The assistants and clerks and analysts - gone, gone, gone.

They had previously been disappearing from the meadow. Oh, not so quickly that you'd notice at first. It took most of the cows in the pasture at least a couple of weeks to notice that Ingrid or Arnold or Sunlee had stopped their lunch-time napping on the soft grass under the trees that almost hid the near-by seven story office building from sight.

But she had noticed right away. She was always more observant than the others, which caused a frisson of envy amongst their ranks. But she couldn't help it. That was just the type of cow that she was.

But last week something so unheard of had happened that even the others had noticed immediately. Last week the office workers had stopped coming. None of them had seen any suited humans take their usual breaks for at least five days. The lack of people scared the cows. Even the bulls admitted to being unnerved. All were certain that their way of life, peculiar to the bovines of St. Epistle's Meadow, would soon be as gone as the humans they had come to rely upon.

There would be no more socks to eat.

Her great-grandmother, a cow of taste and adventure and distinction, was the first to discover the sartorial delicacy. Of course she was initially ridiculed, as were all creatures of vision, but soon her peers saw that her vision - the human foot covering as an unrivaled taste sensation - was, indeed, a thing to be pursued, a desire to be satisfied. For this she was revered, the story of her first sock told over and over until it became almost mythological in scope:

As was her nature, Great-Grandmother wandered away from the other cows, bored of their gossip and passivity. She found herself on the other side of the meadow, close to the trees that rimmed the pasture that she called home. Amidst the music of the woodland creatures she heard a gentle whistle, following by a soft snorting, then another gentle whistle. Great-Grandmother had never heard such sounds in all her - admittedly young - years and was moved to investigate.

She came upon a young human male sitting under a tree, leaning against the trunk. His head drooped to his left, his eyes closed behind the heavy framed glasses and his chest moved up and down, a shallow motion. She thought that maybe this human - of which she had seen few - was sleeping. She didn't understand how he could sleep comfortably in such a position, but she'd heard from the elders that humans were very strange creatures. It was the reason the elders had escaped from their farms when they were her age. They could take the strangeness and cruelty of the humans no longer.

She knew that she should walk away, warn the others about this male encroaching on their home, but he looked harmless enough. Then her wide wet nose - a nose that was the envy of all the cows because its beauty was unparalleled, desired by all the bulls - her sensitive nose picked up a subtle aroma. She stepped closer, cautious. She lifted her nose, trying to pinpoint the source of the scent. It was definitely coming from the human. Closer still she walked, remembering the tales of the elders, terrified but intrigued in spite of herself.

He slept on, unmindful of the cow now close enough to nudge his head, had she so chosen. The soft sounds continued to issue from his mouth and nose. Her nostrils flared as she moved her huge bovine head down his body.

There! There was the fragrance! Her moist brown eyes, already big as saucers, widened even more when she determined that the perfume was even more heavenly than she originally thought. Off to the side of the male were two shiny strange things with openings and strings. The smell from them were kin to the scent she loved, but too strong, almost over-wheming. No, the aroma that caused her to salivate came from his feet, from the stuff covering them. She was sure the stuff was not actually part of the human, so when she decided that she needed to taste that which gave off the fragrance that was seducing her, she was sure she could do so in such a way that would not harm him. For it was said that, despite her impatience with the others of her kind and her need for adventure, she was the most gentle of bovines in the pasture.

And so, very carefully, so as not to disturb him, she took the floppy tip of one of the coverings between her flat cow teeth and pulled. His foot twitched, but he did not waken. The covering was pulled free of the foot - a pale, wide, ugly thing, disturbingly spare of hair, though she had no way of knowing that the foot was particularly hairy for a human - and the prize dangled from her teeth. She chomped on the fragrant stuff and found the taste even more delectable than the scent.

Soon it was chewed and swallowed and she knew that she had to have the other. And she did, still not waking the male in the process. When that was gone she wanted more, but nothing else about him smelled so wonderful. So she started to walk away, dejected, when the human finally awoke. He stared at his bare feet, wondering what had happened to his foot coverings, and made vaguely upset noises about it.

Then he noticed Great-Grandmother nearby, looked her in the eyes. Somehow she was able to communicate to him with her wide saucer eyes all that had transpired. He seemed scared at first, then angry. She thought he was going to revert to all she had heard humans could be when his mouth stretch wide and he showed his teeth. But rather than looking frightening she thought that maybe, just maybe, he looked pleased. Then he roared. His roar was happy, she had to admit it, and he moved to her, put his slender, fragile hand on her thick neck and stroked it. The roar had subsided, but more happy sounds came from him. He was trying to communicate with her in his human way. She understood none of the noises, but she could sense his positive feelings. And somehow she knew he'd be back.

Of course he was, and over the course of the years he brought others from his seven-story building, who brought others. Never too many people. Just enough. They all knew to bring extra socks - worn, of course. Great-Grandmother convinced her tribe to give the socks a try. They were hesitant, but once tasted the need for worn socks could not be denied. They discovered the difference in tastes and smells that each person imparted to their socks, and how the same human could have different tasting socks from day to day, depending on so many factors that it took Great-Grandmother and Grandmother years to discover and enumerate them. She preferred argyles and women's trouser socks to the athletic socks that the coarser amongst them seemed to like.

Now it appeared that none of them would enjoy another sock. The humans, many of whom were as close to family as creatures of another species could be, came no more. And within a week she noticed, with the saucer brown eyes and wide moist nose inherited from Great-Grandmother, that the seven-story building was no more. The day before they had all heard a great boom as the ground shook beneath them. They huddled together in fear at the noise. And their fear mounted when she pointed out the red brick building, that had been there as long as any of them could remember, was gone.

For a couple of weeks they milled about, depressed. They didn't know how to get their humans back. Or their socks. Then she saw a male, big for a human, enter the clearing in the same spot that the first human male was said to be discovered. He was dressed very differently from the people they were used to: a hard yellow thing covered his head, stick and metal things dangled from his waist, and the shoes that usually covered the coveted socks were heavy looking and tan, instead of shiny and delicate and black. She watched him, thrilled that another human finally showed himself, but not sure if this one would be as friendly as the ones they had known.

The rest of the tribe wandered close to her, keeping an eye on him. They observed him as he looked at them, then dropped something on the ground. He stretched his mouth at them, his white teeth flashing in the sunlight, and then he waved, yelling at them, and disappeared.

Apprehensively they stepped closer to the spot where the male had been. The breeze picked up, whipping at the trees, and an enticing perfume lifted on the breeze, whirling around them. They couldn't believe their noses. Their collective amble turned into a trot and soon they surrounded what had been dropped on the ground. Had they been capable of cheering, they would have.

Socks. Wondrous socks of all types and sizes and smells. Enough for each of them for at least a week.

She lifted her head from the pile of treats and spied the man nearly hidden amongst the trees. His brown eyes were wide behind their heavy-framed glasses and met hers. Silent communication passed between them, and she knew that this human would take care of them, the way his (she knew without knowing why she knew) ancestor took care of Great-Grandmother and her peers.

She dipped her great head at him, he waved in return, and he was gone, like a mirage.

But the socks were still there.

Labels: story time

... I'm twelve.

No, really. I may have the body and face of vivacious 37 year-old woman (oh, shut up), but I think I might actually be a twelve year-old. A hypocritical twelve year-old, to be precise.

Like other folks, I’m annoyed at the big brouhaha over the exposure of Janet Jackson’s breast during the Super Bowl. I’m pretty sure there are more devastating things over which to be offended than Janet’s one second peep-show, accidental or not.

It’s just a tit. A nice tit, to be sure, but a tit. Hell, you couldn’t even see that much nipplage. Grow the fuck up, people.

Or so I was telling myself. Until earlier today.

The assignment in which I’m currently working involves ad sales, marketing and the internet. So as I was innocently working away, updating a database, I stumbled across the phrase “KY Jelly”. And while I was outwardly perfectly professional, inwardly I actually snickered. There may have even been a mental “heh-heh”.

Yeah, I know. Grow the fuck up, Carol.

(KY Jelly... *snort*)

This may come as a shock to some people, but I'm not a tiny woman. Point of fact: I'm a bit on the large side. What may come as even more of a shock to people is the fact that I'm fully aware I'm a big girl. I see my image in the mirror, I look at the numbers on the scale, I read the size labels of my clothes. These factors - and others - lead me to believe that I'm more than a little Rubenesque. I'm not huge or obese, I carry my weight pretty well most of the time, I try to wear fashionable clothing that's flattering to someone with my size and figure. I've been both larger and smaller over the last ten years. However, the cold hard truth is that I am, well, fat. I may use other words to describe myself or others. Actually I prefer to use words that are less weighted (excuse the pun) in today's society or are more lyrical in nature. But let's be blunt: I'm a fat chick.

I've been pretty lucky, as fat chicks go. Unlike horror stories I've heard and read, I don't have strangers oinking at me as I walk down the street or suggesting that maybe I might not want that piece of cake or that mocha. Maybe strangers are less obnoxious in my neck of the woods. Maybe they're more understanding of people. Or maybe they can tell by the way I carry myself (head high, shoulders back, straight posture, full hips swinging with as much confidence as I can muster) that if they dared such a thing I - a gentle, peace-loving woman who fears confrontation - would gladly rip out their tongues with my bare hands, show them their still writhing, dismembered organs, then stuff them down their throats.

I'm not really sure.

I've wondered how I would react if someone I didn't know decided that I needed to be told how much better life would be if only I were smaller. Would I stare at them, stunned? Would I turn away, disgusted? Would I let them have a piece of my mind? Yesterday morning I found out.

I was standing at the bus stop, minding my own business, as I am wont to do, headphones resting on my ears, as they are wont to do. Two people walked up to the bus stop - a man in his 40s or 50s, I would have guessed, and a woman that easily looked to be in her 70s, if not older. The man turned to me and said something. I lowered my headphones and asked him to repeat himself. He first asked what time the bus came by, which I was able to answer, and then he asked how much the senior fare was, which I could not answer. I was pleasant to him, because even though I tend to be a bit of a loner on the bus, I still believe in being polite.

“I’m 65 and she’s 75,” he said proudly, obviously expecting me to stare in disbelief. I just smiled, said, “Oh?!” and replaced my headphones. He moved to talk to me again, which caused me to inwardly cringe because, though I’m polite, I’m still a bus loner and was not in the mood to chat at that time in the morning. Still I lowered my headphones again. It was then that the man decided to let me in on what he must have considered to be information of which I was unaware.

“You would be gorgeous if you lost weight.”

Leaving aside the fact that I already think I’m gorgeous most of the time, or at least pretty damned attractive (sometimes I’m not the most modest of people, though I'm not sure how much of it is bravado), I couldn’t believe that he thought 1) I’d be unaware of such a fact, especially considering I was dressed rather nicely and was obviously not trying hide my size and 2) that such a thought would be welcome from someone I’d never met before.

As he started to tell me how he’d been 45 pounds overweight I raised my hand to stop him from talking, replaced my headphones, and told him, “That’s very rude.”

Through the music in my ears I could hear him trying to continue talking about his weight loss. I stopped him again. “I didn’t ask your advice,” I said calmly, if a bit haughtily.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, but – “

“You didn’t hurt my feelings, but that’s just very rude of you.” He didn’t try to talk to me after that.

Okay, perhaps I lied a bit. He did hurt my feelings a little (though it's satisfying to know that I'm less likely to let questionable comments be said without standing up for myself - something I would have done all too easily in the past). I know he was “just trying to help.” But for someone who apparently was once overweight, he obviously didn’t bring away any sensitivity from his experience. Perhaps he’s just a born-again thin(ish) person, wanting to spread the gospel of weight-loss to everyone he perceives to be in need of his help. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people that proselytize. Whether it be religion, weight-loss or anything else, that’s the surest way to lose my interest.

He should have remembered that most overweight people tend to be much harder on themselves than anyone else could possibly be, especially in a society such as ours that often seems to prize svelteness above all else. And such “attempts to help”, especially from strangers, are very rarely welcome and can be more damaging to an ego that has already been bashed and battered by people close to them.

Do I have weight issues? You bet your bippy I do. Am I trying to work on them, both internally and externally? Yes I am, the best I know how. I’m trying to find a balance, in this as in everything. I’m fully aware that if I were about 60 pounds lighter – at the least – I’d have no problem attracting men. I’d probably have to fight them off. This isn’t an over-inflated ego talking, believe it or not. It’s knowing that my current confidence, combined with my natural looks, a smaller body (not slender – my natural body type is hour-glass, which I prefer anyway) and a personality that I like to think is a good one, would be an unbeatable combination.

But I’m not willing to over-extend myself to get to that point. And, due to personal history, though I tend to dress rather sexily I also have a need to know that it’s my brains, humor and personality that are attracting the men in question. Besides, in the past I’ve attracted men that have admitted that they are not normally attracted to BBWs (that stands for Big Beautiful Women, BTW). I may not be able to keep a guy right now, but I’ve got to be doing something right.

Even though there are many times I feel that people are laughing at me behind my back. I know that's not the truth, but on those days when the self-esteem is a bit wobbly, it can feel that way.

Look, it’s all still very much a work in progress. I’m still very much a work in progress. As touchy-feely as it sounds (and I don’t blame you if you want to poke your eyes out, what with all the platitudes I’m spouting, but please don’t, that’s terribly painful and messy), I’m going to continue to love myself as best I can. I'm going to try to work on the issues that I need to work on - to try to be healthier; physically, emotionally and mentally.

And I'm going to ignore the comments of strangers.

I think that maybe I didn't think through the whole "Not hanging out with CuteNerdBoy for a while" thing. See, if I do that, then I probably won't end up going back to the Moulin Rouge midnight showing, which we discussed as a possibility since his friend, henceforth referred to as MoulinRougeFan, said she would definitely like to go some time and I'm very easy when it comes to costume contests. I mean, all a person has to say are the words, "Costume contest," and I'm there going, "What? Where? When?"

Besides which, I have this gorgeous red feather boa with black tips that CuteNerdBoy brought back from New Orleans for me and I need to wear it at some point, otherwise it will sit languishing as a decoration on the top of my bookshelf. I can't have that and such a costume contest would be perfect, if I can just find something to wear with it.

If MoulinRougeFan can wait until after the March BookCrossing meeting, that would be perfect. If not, I'll have to maybe push back my decision to not see CuteNerdBoy. I mean, costumes! Contests! And maybe me even singing and dancing in front of total strangers, making a complete fool of myself, all for prizes. A girl's gotta have priorities, ya know.

********************

In case you're wondering, I am feeling a bit better. Sleeping until 11:30am helped, as did getting out of the house and taking a walk to a nearby cafe/bookstore for breakfast/lunch/dinner and a big mocha, soaking in the Vitamin D on the way, trusty pedometer on the waistband of my jeans and new black athletic shoes cozily covering my none-too-tiny feet. Approximately a 2 1/2 mile walk, round trip, which isn't far at all and makes me wonder why I don't walk in that direction more often.

The sun had started to set by the time I got home and I really wished I had someone to get together with, since I'm not really in the mood be alone today, as I was yesterday, but my friends are busy, so there's not much to be done about that.

It's okay. A little cleaning up around the house, maybe some writing, and then I'll go to bed early so that I can get up early for work tomorrow. I'm still a little bit down, but hey, that'll pass too. It always does. And again I think, getting together with CuteNerdBoy when I'm in the midst of PMS is really something to be avoided in the future. I mean, the feelings would be there regardless of my cycle, but that PMS sure has a nasty way of magnifying them.

Stupid PMS.

Friday was certainly...interesting. A lot of fun, but sometimes, well, not so much.

After work I bussed over to the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade to meet CuterNerdBoy for dinner and a midnight showing of Moulin Rouge. I'd never seen the movie before, mainly because its use of popular songs reminded me somewhat strongly of an extremely bad movie - Sextette, starring Mae West and Timothy Dalton. When I told CuteNerdBoy about that a couple of weeks ago, he stared at me in disbelief. Well, as much as he could while driving. Then he offered to have me over to his place for DVD watching, before quickly throwing out that maybe I wanted to watch it at Summer'85Boy's place instead, since I had previously mentioned that he had invited me over for DVD watching since I have no DVD player. I was amused by what I took to be some extraordinarily fast backpedaling (though FFDWG(FKaSarah) thought maybe it was a bit of a test). Then last weekend, when I asked to take him up on his offer, he told me that a theater in Santa Monica was playing it as a midnight showing.

Anyway, CuteNerdBoy had also invited two of his oldest and dearest friends to join us and I admit I was actually a little nervous about it. I have met a good portion of his family, but I had yet to meet any of his friends (though he's met several of mine).

Okay, that's not entirely true. One of his friends that was invited on Friday I had met before, back in high school. But that's because he was in my French class and was my peanut M&M's pusher (he sold them for chorus fundraising). But we weren't exceptionally close and I haven't seen him in nearly 20 years, so it's almost like meeting him for the first time. His other friend was a woman he had spoken about numerous times and is apparently the biggest Moulin Rouge fan alive so I was eager to meet her. I admit that I wanted to make a good impression on both of them. Probably because, despite our agreement that we're only good friends, there's a part of me that wonders if there's some way I can change his mind about that.

Yeah, those feelings are still far too prevalent. And Friday night they were out in full force.

So I met him in front of the theater as agreed, with our customary hugs and kisses, but he was alone. One of his friends definitely couldn't meet us, as she was comforting a mutual friend of theirs (who I also knew in high school). He called the other, who was still at work in Pasadena and most likely was unable to join us for dinner, and couldn't make the movie since he had to be up early the next day. But he would try to meet us somewhere between dinner and the movie, since he lived in the area. He never made it, but CuteNerdBoy was not surprised by that whatsoever.

I was both disappointed and pleased. I really did want to meet both of them, because they seem like they'd be pretty cool people. But the thought of having CuteNerdBoy to myself for at least most of the evening was appealing.

See my above comment re: my feelings.

So off to dinner we went, where we had some very yummy Asian food. I called FFDWG(FKaSarah) as I had previously agreed because I invited her along but she had a previous commitment and would try to join us for dinner once we let her know where we ended up. She was also unable to join us for dinner but would try to make the movie with her roommate.

It was a very fun dinner. We both had martinis (his a dragon-something, mine a dirty martini - and they certainly didn't skimp on the Tangueray) and laughed and ate. He told excrutiating puns, which earned him glares aplenty from me, and yet I had to admit they were fun puns. The alcohol made those niggling little feelings of mine unfurl just a little bit more. And I became more than a little flirtatious.

After dinner we walked some more, ducked into a used bookshop and both of us left with several books. By that time most of the stores were closing so I couldn't shop the way I truly wanted, which was probably just as well. More walking, more talking, some coffee at Barnes and Noble, many incidences of me playfully threatening to thwack him for some comment or other. And some complaining about my shoes, which were fine at first but now were growing painful, so we sat in front of the theater. And talked. About my insistence on wearing shoes that aren't entirely appropriate for walking (I had to dress up for my first day at work and, besides, I wanted to look nice - I don't feel that flat shoes look all that nice on me). About Rocky Horror Picture Show and our experiences attending midnight showings of that. He determined that, should I decide to ever dress up for Rocky Horror, I should go as Magenta. Which, considering that she's the one I've wanted to dress up as, was a good choice.

(Today I was talking to FFDWG(FKaSarah) about last night, as she was curious about my thoughts on Moulin Rouge and she ended up not joining us for the movie, and she also came up with Magenta for me. Apparently I am, without a doubt, a Magenta type. I have no idea what, if anything, that says about me.)

Soon we were standing in line, along with some people dressed up in costume, and as we talked all I could think of that I just wanted him to shut up, put his arms around me and kiss me.

Those stupid feelings? The ones I've been trying so hard to hold at bay, to tell them they're not entirely welcome because there is absolutely no point to them since he doesn't feel the same way? Were so not listening to me Friday night. And his wool black coat didn't help one iota. Because he looks so cute, so hot in that coat. I nearly whimpered the first time I saw him in it on Game Night.

It wasn't long before we entered the theater. They tried to have a preshow, with the costumed people participating in dancing, singing and costume contests. CuteNerdBoy urged me to go up there for the dancing and singing contests and I demurred. At first I thought he was just joking around, but later he insisted that, if I didn't have a cold (which was definitely affecting the sound of my voice) I should go up there and sing. That's when I realized he was serious. I guess he likes the sound of my singing voice. I thanked him and told him he was being very sweet, because I know that my singing voice is an iffy thing, sometimes very good and sometimes horribly off-key, especially in front of people, but I was, and am, very touched.

Then it was movie time. An interesting movie, and one that still needs to settle in. I didn't hate it. That's more than I thought I could say about it. There are parts of it that I loved - the Roxanne number was terrific, as were a few other numbers, and parts of it moved me tremendously. But as the movie ended and I sat in my seat, stunned, the only thought that ran around the hamster wheel in my mind was, "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return, huh? Well, I've got the first part of that equation down cold. Why do I have so much difficulty with the second part?" I think, had I not been tired from being up for almost two days straight and had my eyes not been dry due to my tiredness I would have definitely been crying by the end of the movie.

Off home we went. He immediately popped in the mix CD that I gave him that night (#3 - play list is over to the side there). Not much talking, mainly because I just couldn't think of anything to say. I was tired and I was both numb and emotional. Instead I sang along to the music. I wondered aloud what type of song I could have sung in the singing contest with my cold-ridden voice - he suggested something, perhaps, from the Tom Waits ouevre, which earned him a verbal thwacking.

I remembered what he had said earlier in the evening, about the previous mix CDs. He had told me that he liked #2, but that #1 was excellent, that he thought I was inspired with that one. I didn't say to him, "Yeah, by you," though that was my thought. Then again, the other two are also inspired by him, each one with an over-riding theme that I realize after listening to them.

(#1 - I Want That Boy. #2 - That Boy Makes Me Sad and Horny. #3 - No Matter What, I'll Always Be There For That Boy. Yeah, it seems he's heavily influencing my song selection. I'm 2/3 done with compiling #4 - it'll be interesting to see what that one is all about.)

Anyway, we were back at my place by 3:30am and he walked me to my door, but he didn't really come in, even for his usual moment. Maybe the pieces of wood strewn about the living room (an Ikea end table I have to put together, once I get some wood glue to fix wood that was split while I was putting it together) put him off, along with the other messiness. But he didn't hug me either, just a quick peck on the lips. And he was gone.

I listened to some music, thought about the evening, going over his words and actions, dissecting them, as I always do, because sometimes I'm just too pathetic for words, and the tears that refused to fall before made an appearance. I know the alcohol was part of it, and I suspect PMS probably figures into it, but those things only magnified what was already there. And I was asleep by 4:30am, not waking up, until after noon. Saturday I just slept and watched TV and ate a little. My previous lack of sleep finally caught up with me, mixed with a bit of depression over this situation I've allowed myself to get caught in. Again.

I had a great time with him. I pretty much always do. But when those damned feelings push their way to the forefront, even when they know they're not going to be reciprocated, it makes it tough to say the night was an unqualified success. And I don't know how I'm going to get over these feelings. I know that I will eventually, at least I hope that I do, but man, it's just so hard. Next week is his birthday, so I'm going to take him out for dinner and a little something else (I haven't decided what yet), then the following Tuesday is February's BookCrossing meeting, so I know I'll be seeing him again pretty soon. But after that I'm thinking that I need a little time away from him. Or maybe time with no alcohol to exacerbate my feelings. I don't know. I care for him so much that the thought of being away from him hurts, but being with him isn't helping those feelings either, those feelings of adoration and "Why the hell doesn't he open up those damned soft brown eyes of his and see what, see who he could have?"

I'm not going to cut him out of my life, not at all. I don't think I could bear losing him again. But maybe I'll just let a month go by before seeing him at the BookCrossing meeting in March. Maybe that'll help a little.

G-d, I hope so.