Me: happy, tired, full, still a little buzzed, listening to My Robot Friend and warning you now that this is going to be a post of utter incoherence.
You: going to read it anyway.
First, I need to change my shirt, because it looks like someone took a giant shit on my sleeve. Be right back…
Back! Oh god, I can tell already that this is going to be incredibly dorky. I am too uncontrollably excited right now to write fluently and coherently, so anyone reading this will have to endure the overexcited enthusiasm of a little girl. You know the deal: don\’t like it? Don\’t read it.
If I still cared about things like revenge, this would be one of those FUCK YOU LOOK HOW WELL AND HAPPY I AM DOING NOW posts, but I really do not give a shit. It is not a damn contest (unless we are drinking or fucking, and then it is a contest), and this is not that kind of post. This is the utterly inane ramblings of one who was socially and emotionally isolated for so long, and now feels like she has
a place several places and many groups of friends where she feels comfortable. After I experienced six years of conducting most of my interactions over the internet and rarely seeing anyone in person, tonight is one of those nights that confirmed to me how beautiful social interaction really is. And god, I love these nights.
After a strange day at home, I went to \”A\”\’s for dinner and to set up his box. I have not seen much of him since early February, and it was good to be around him again. Dude, my friends never like any of the people I have dated. Granted, I generally do not like most of the people I have dated, but geeze. I have two in town that I do like, and my friends and they are civil to each other — social politeness — but then my friends will admit that they do not like these people much. I seem to have this problem where my friends and my lovers are two entirely different types of people, generally speaking. In the past this was not a problem because I did not like introducing my friends to my lovers — I fucking hated it. I was so embarrassed. \”Uhhhh, this is the guy I am seeing, and how about those Mets? That\’s baseball, right? Suddenly, I love baseball! Let\’s talk about baseball and completely ignore the presence of the guy I will be taking home with me to screw later tonight, because he is not worthy of either of our presences and I am completely and utterly embarrassed to be socially linked to him.\” I pulled that fucking shit for years. Now that I have not been having problems (see the last three people I have dated, mostly), my friends are balking. Is my taste that horrible even now that I still can not see it? \”Dude, he\’s a dork.\” \”I think he\’s shifty.\” \”He\’s an ass.\” \”He\’s not in your league.\” \”He\’s a monkey.\” \”He\’s average. Why are you wasting your time?\” \”He\’s… sure. Hey, he\’s not coming with us tomorrow night, is he?\” Daaaaaamn, man. Fucking harsh! So fucking harsh!
I finally found another person who treats me like gold 24/7, someone I have actually grown to like and respect, and he\’s \”shifty.\” By the way, I am not mad at the person who said this, I am just really fucking amused. It makes me wonder if I am STILL being fucking TOTALLY blind and am STILL getting fucking SCREWED the way I was even with \”A,\” who is actually a more than decent human being; he just did not handle the me issue very well. And some might say that in some respects, he still does not. Check this, on the ride to the Black Cat tonight, the following exchange occurred:
(talking about the people we have run into on the Nerve personals and things about online dating, do not remember exactly how the conversation led to the below:)
Me: \”Yeah, especially since you have replied to my different ads THREE times. If you keep having a vague sense it is me, why the hell do you keep writing to me?
\”A\”: \”And a fourth time, today.\”
Me: \”Hahaha, you saw that? It was only up for a few hours.\”
\”A\”: \”Yeah, it is just the same people at this point, and we keep running into each other.\” (actually, I have yet to ever run into him) \”Thing is, I keep falling for your schtick.\”
Me: \”It\’s not a shtick in the ads you keep finding and can tell that it\’s me. That\’s really me there, talking. I even poke fun at myself for being pretentious.\”
\”A\”: \”I know it\’s not a schtick.\”
Um. If he knows it is not a schtick, and he \”keeps falling\” for it, and keeps messaging me like he\’s trying to get in my pants when he is not sure if it is me, then would someone please fucking explain what happened last fall to me? Because I am too far into this to see it for what it is. I feel like I am being self centered if I say that I think he actually does like me and never stopped and that he just has other issues, but a friend offered to me that theory on his own, and another friend agreed with it. Dude. That is so wrong. The man is like a surrogate older brother to me, and yeah, we all used to live in West Virginia, but we have since moved. Or at least I have. I have no idea what the hell he is doing.
Anyway, \”A\” is the bombdiggity regardless of whatever and there are few things that could make me stop loving him. I wish we were as close as we used to be, but all dynamics change, and you just have to let it go. Actually, in most ways I like it better now. I am much more comfortable around him (I can fucking pee in his apartment now on command, versus struggling for ten minutes and having to keep the water running), happier, and it is just fucking weird how things have worked out. When I drop by from time to time at the nights, his boys treat me like one of the gang. There have been times where I have spent more time talking with them than with \”A.\” I exchange e-mails with one, and another and I talk on the phone. I feel so accepted, it literally pains me.
After years of not being able to make friends without the internet, and years of not being able to branch out, and years of being just too fucking terrified of everyone, I am fucking connecting with people. I am LIKED. Liked. That fucking amazes me, still. People like me? No fucking way! No one could possibly like me, there is nothing to like. But… people like me. Wow. I must be okay. And you know what? I am okay. In fact, I am more than okay. I am getting so much fucking better, I am on the motherfucking last stretch. I can feel it in my bones (so that\’s what all that pain is!). I know it in my head. People around me point it out. It might still take me five years to get through this last bend, but it is the last bend! I can see home plate from here, and god, it looks goooooooood like they way my toilet looks in my mind right now. Geeze, I need to pee. Be right back.
I am back, and this Snapdragon song is still playing, and god, it sucks. But it is so damn good. Music. That is right, tonight was about the music!
I am so happy to have gone down tonight. Sometimes when I have been out with \”A\” I feel like I am the equivalent of a wart, because he knows about one fourth of the people wherever we go, and he will be off talking to them, or even standing there right by me talking to them, and he rarely introduces me or includes me, so my friend for the evening becomes my drink or some corner on the wall that I can stare at and pretend that I am oblivious to the fact that I am the only person sitting there by themselves. Trust me, I care, and I am terrified. At least, that used to be the way it was. Not so much anymore, and I do not even have to be out with a \”mission,\” as it were. For a while I solved the problem by bringing something to read and curling up with that, ignoring everything around me. I still read at clubs and bars from time to time, but now it is because I really just want to read and hear the music, not because I am hiding. Now I will even strike up conversations with complete strangers without hitting on them.
Total improvement and a complete one eighty from how I was a year ago — scared, reliant on my ex-boyfriend for most of my social life but then unwilling to acknowledge him once we were out, and so we stopped going out. I wonder what happened that got me here, why it took so long to come together. Some of the factors are my friends, the medication I was on for a while, where I was in my therapy, and above all, just being fucking ready to change. I grew the lining on my ovaries fucking thick and sent that estrogen coursing through my veins in overdrive. I even like talking to women now. I almost PREFER talking to women now. What the hell has happened? Damn, this is so cool. So cool! Healthy is cool!
Please understand that I am laughing my ass off as I write this, but I really am serious. For so long, being fucked-up was cool, and healthy was boring. I revelled in my bad behavior. I thought it could never get any better, so why try? I like the fact that I proved myself wrong.
I told you this was going to be incoherent and dorky, and I have yet to even talk about tonight yet.
If you see me first, say hello, and if I see you first, I\’ll say hello.
I am trying to find a way to logically and concisely discuss tonight, but I am too emotional to produce anything other than over-excited drivel. Therefore, snippets — not even vignettes.
- Tonight I was able to hang out with \”A,\” the divine ms. m, ms. \”don\’t underestimate me\” whom I now want to go drinking with so that I truly will not underestimate her again, the brave lass who was willing to dance twee, the man who really did dance twee, and mr. bitter twee. I was also introduced to about a dozen other people, none of whom\’s names I recall. Oops.
- I brought the man who really did dance twee up to see Hella. He was pleased. So was I. So was everyone else in the damn audience. The band was not. They told their roadie, Joe, who related this to mr. bitter twee and I, that it was the worst show they had ever done. No, dude! It was the best fucking thing I have seen since Suicide. \”A\” said they boys in Hella were young, and that they would soon learn what a bad show was and how to read the audience. Not a single person in attendance thought they were anywhere near bad. So highly on the contrary! They put on such a fucking hot show, that to quote mr. bitter twee, half the people in the room wanted to blow them. I might have if they did not have such skanky hair (it matters! you want it clean if you are going to pull on it!). Luckily for all involved, they are a pair of Sacramento, CA hippies. \”Get your patchouli stink outta my store.\” Oh god. I quoted High Fidelity, the fucking male version of Bridget Jones\’s Diary. I am going to pop culture hell.
Rating for Hella: A-. Fucking hott, but bordering on the occasional self indulgence. Hopefully they will learn instead of becoming worse.
- The Quails had the sandwhich slot. Started out okay (not the acappella song, but after that they started rocking) and then it just all sounded the same. Completely uninnovative, but points for at least being better than The Butchies. Thicker than Sleater-Kinney, but going nowhere with that. So you can shake. So can Shakira.
- Next up, the reason most everyone was there tonight: The Aislers Set. Seeing them play further cemented my feeling of completely not liking this sort of music. In fact, it makes me want to brush my teeth because it feels like they are rotting from all the sweetness. Anything that can be branched under a label like twee, needs to reassess. Do you really want to be associated with a word like twee? It is just so… so tweet! Augh. So with that out of the way, I would just like to say that I am addicted to The Aislers Set in a way that makes one think of a sugar junkie. The Aislers Set is fucking Fraggle Rock. It makes me want to pogo with twee glee and run across a field of green in the summer, arms spread and breeze whipping my hair, while I sing inane pretty things and use meaningful words like \”languor,\” \”malaise,\” and \”reprise.\” Beautiful! Lovely! And oh, so very… ineffectual. It is the sort of thing you want to hear when you have just fallen in love, and as soon as you are no longer there, the very thought of these songs becomes repellent to you. Well I happen to be in love, and I give The Aislers Set a B+ for making me feel like a giddy two year old.
- The brave lass who was willing to dance twee said \”Please stop trying to eat my face,\” to mr. bitter twee, which strikes me as perhaps the most ridiculously amusing part of the evening. Watching the man who really did dance twee get his metal on was also a fantastic moment. And talking with the divine ms. m was, has it has been, completely engaging and utterly comfortable.
- After the show some of us headed over to the Blue Room for Root, where we pretended to get our swank on with the ESL run offs and rejects. People are so fucking amusing, truly. Anyway, the music was mostly bland. After advertising a night of \”urban rhythm\” on LemureGene, which I mistakenly interpreted to be a night of hip-hop, it turned out to be a night of \”chilled out global dub funk jazz original rhythm and atmosphere,\” which essentially equals \”yawn,\” or at least \”baby, slide on ovah hea so I can show you some luuuuv before I nod off or get the munchies.\” I like downtempo! I really do. But I have to seriously be in the mood. Milo did at least play an amazing song off the new Tosca album, Dehli 9. The last two records in the four record set are all piano compositions, and they are beautiful. Shall have to pick that up.
- Mr. bitter twee asked me to make music with The Black Guys and said that I had incredible taste in music. The man who really did dance twee agreed. I have rarely felt so honored and proud.
- The brave lass who was willing to dance twee, mr. bitter twee, and myself then descended upon The Diner. We did not leave until a little past three in the morning, and they both have to work in a few hours. I feel kind of guilty for keeping them out so late, but I had such a good time. I hope they did, too.
The sun is fucking up now and the sky is light blue. Sheeeut. This is the fifth night in a row that I have done this. I need a night at home. Maybe on Thursday.
Quick shout outs: Mattikins! I have been wanting to call you, but our schedules are not sinking up!! Call me from work tomorrow during your break or call me when you get home on my cell phone, okay? I want to talk to you, and we ought to make some plans! I miss you! Exclamation points in succession annoy me! That is all!
The divine ms. m! I can go ahead and make you copies of those CDs that I gave to the man who really did dance twee; it would not be a problem. The CDs are just comps of underexposed music, though, and it is all off my computer or from my collection to my computer. IE, no mixing has been involved. But I have plenty. Free introductory My Headphones Saved My Life CDs for anyone who asks nicely. Well, free if you are local. Expect to cough up a few clams if you want me to ship them to you, sorry. Or offer trades.
6:14am. I am so tired, I feel like I am going to drop out at any second. My neck and back are stiff to the point where it is getting hard to move. And I am incredibly happy.