Tag: TheExHusband

everything’s gone green

help me, somebody help me.
i wonder what i am…
it seems like I’ve been here before.
– everything’s gone green by new order

Tonight at work, I was reading an email that Wired sends out with updates of late breaking news stories. I was reading some such article that had caught my eye, when it had links to websites that were eerily like mine in context, but just overall better designed. One of them, the Fray was awarded for it’s excellent design, and from there I ended up at other sites that were more or less like it: ego-taking domains that really hosted nothing but twenty-something angst, in this damn digital age. The only difference between my site(s) (I know own THREE domains, so therefore I am better) and theirs were two things:

  • Better designed and pleasing to the eye.
  •  A more regular update of content.

In a sense, this pissed me off. I had copied my files from home and brought them to work to *actually* work on (which, it seems I never have time to do, so I don’t know why I keep torturing myself). I immediately opened up ye olde EditPad and went to work hacking something together. But the more I worked on my site, the more angrier I got, and so I left it in lieu of deproving domains and fixing machines.
It got me thinking about a lot about my ‘writing’, though this is not necessarily a new thing.
See, I have been told since I was a child what an exceptional talent I had for weaving the written word. In college, one of my English profs went so far as to say that I could actually make a living off of satirical writing. While it pleased me (and ye olde ego) at the same time, I’ve always taken my ability to string sentences together for granted. For instance, when I was in school, and I had an article to write for the paper or a paper to write for a class, I would always wait till the last minute before I would pound out my masterpiece. And I would always get A’s.
A few months back, I was asked to write an article for an on-line magazine, and I actually got paid for it (400 smackers!). Justin says that I am now an “official” writer since I’ve actually been published. Sometimes I think he is more distraught over my lack of actually putting pen to paper than I am, but, I know since I was a wee tot that I’ve always wanted to be a writer. You know, sitting in some dingy bar in Paris with my drink while scribbling out my latest and greatest. Somewhere between that dream and now, reality happened.
I think about that a lot.
When I have time to browse the web, and I find things to read, I immediately chastise myself for not having written it, thought of it, or doing it myself. Justin asks me: “What is stopping you?”, and I say to him (and to console myself) “Nothing.” But in reality, I have always felt inferior to others when it comes to what I have to say, because I get cynical enough to say “Well, there are no original ideas and no original thoughts.” Mayhap, in a sense that is true, but dammit! I have a ‘voice’ and I know how to articulate myself, and I don’t know why I keep feeling like time (like sands in an hour glass, so are the days of our lives) is escaping me. Justin says that is how he feels about our relationship: he has to hurry up and love me, or else I will be gone.
Michael always tells me how silly I’m being when I start beating myself up. Words wound deep. For instance, when Jeff and I first met over a year and a half ago, it was my ‘writings’ that brought us together, and it was my writings he took the liberty to pummel when we broke up. blah.
In the movie Dream for an Insomniac, the lead character, Frankie; says something how boring the ordinary is and we should only reach for and live for the extraordinary. And I felt a kinship with her and her spirit. And that is how people see me: this free spirit who really doesn’t give a rats ass about what people think about her, but is super sensitive to criticism against her.
I’ve always hated the word ‘writer’. I think about some schmuck who is sitting at home with her fuzzy slippers and pounding out love stories for some cheesy romance novel. I think about the very stereotypical beret wearing, coffee drinking, all black absorbing poets who roam the world looking to get published. I think about people who actually are bad writers and just call themselves that because it is ‘cool’ or ‘neat’. I seemingly have issues with this. 😉
A few years ago (maybe less, maybe more), I was part of an email listserv that was dedicated to the Beat Generation. Since, at 23 I was one of the youngest people on the list, I would sit back and listen to those who had been friends, lovers with the likes of Ginsberg, Keuroac, Ferenghetti, and that ilk. One man, Leon Tabory, found my writings off of a link I had set up on my .sig file, and wrote me the best letters digizines ever saw. He said my “gift” was comparable to his buddies Keuroac and Ferenghetti and that this gift shouldn’t be wasted. I felt a sense of honor, and perhaps praise getting that from him. I felt, like I would achieve status at some point, though it has yet to happen.
When I was young, I used to say “Okay, this summer you are going to write (quote)The Great American Novel(unquote)” and it would .. never .. happen. I would think “Okay, you are going to get up at 8am and pound out something, no matter what for an hour” and it would .. never .. happen. I chastise myself for what I should of done, instead of what I could be doing! That perhaps pisses me off, for I have all these wonderful ideas in my head, things I want to discuss, things I want to do, and I just don’t!
My therapist says that my depression (I mean, is THAT not irony? Isn’t everyone depressed or borderline psychotic these days?) is the reason why I keep pulling this stunt: never finishing things I should be doing. Like college. Or falling in love. Or finishing my book(s). Or actually making something of myself. I think about all these things.
I think about them a lot.
Mayhap too much.

champagne wishes and caviar dreams

Something felt amiss today.
I wasn’t sure what it was, and I am pretty sure it wasn’t my new schedule. I checked my credit cards, my keys, my smokes. I felt like something was not necessarily missing, but out of place, but, I wasn’t sure what it was.
I flipped through my day planner (what a joke! I last used it back in June), and took a look at birth dates, and realized that Jeff turned 22 a few days ago.
I remember last year, I became totally egotistical and sent him some cheesy e-card, in which I signed it “To Roark (insert crap here), Love Dominique”.
Not only how fast a year goes by, but how endless it seems to feel.
Next weekend is Def Con, and I am not going. My plans with people (who won’t be named) to take down se7en still has not been put into effect yet. Really though, it won’t be that hard. Nothing more than the over 200 emails I saved from our “courtship” (ha!), that pretty much show that everything he’s told me, the world, dc-stuff, was a lie. Reminds me, I have to call UCLA tomorrow.
Justin has a sprained ankle, the poor baby. I’ve been stuffing him with lime sherbert and pineapple juice whilst I do this page. He keeps attempting to hobble to the kitchen, and I won’t let him. 😉 Isn’t that what gf’s are for? 😉
A couple of days ago, I was actually browsing the web aimlessly (I don’t do that much anymore), when I found this article by C/Net about the review of the four big ISP’s. What a fucking joke, because it lists AOL as #1, when AOL is really an OSP (on-line service provider) not an ISP. Gawd!
You are probably wondering, why does this piss you off? Well, it’s pretty simple actually. I’ve been working in the Internet industry for about 3.5 years now, and no matter where I go, and what I do, it seems that there is nothing but miscommunications about what is ‘correct’ and what is ‘incorrect’. For instance, didja know that the Internet actually consists of more then WWW? Yep! I know it’s hard to believe, but the Internet (which was started as ArpaNet), has been around since the late 60’s, and it is actually comprised of seven protocols: IRC, FTP, News, Email, WWW, Telnet and I think Gopher is the last one. I always forget the last one! Anyway, people always assume that the WWW is the Internet, and that is it! And see, it goes without saying, that this is why I was ticked off about C/Net’s article. AOL provides majority of their services in-house, therefore, they are an On-line service provider. It was not till recently that they actually gave out Internet connectivity, and the amazing thing is that their programs (email and ftp) are so arcane and antiquated, that they are worthless. Might as well teach people command line and get it over with.
Which won’t happen, but a girl can dream can’t she?
A few days ago, a friend of mine on the email list, sf-fumblers, wrote about how Random House has put up the 100 best books of the 20th century, inviting readers to also submit their favorites. While the Readers Best constantly changes, I was amused a few days ago when I Want To Blow Monkeys by Ayn Rand was listed as number 6. heh. I hate Any Rand. Geez. The woman stole the plot line of Gone With The Wind from Mitchell. She was not creative at all. 😉
However, since I have been checking the list a few times a day, I decided that my new project (and Justin agreed) was to read all 100 books on the list, and some of the ones off the Readers Pick. It is easier than it looks, as I have already owned or read about 25% of those authors, so I think that since I’m not in school, I might as well edubacate myself.

analog girl living in a digital world

It is officially after midnight, and thus it is officially Friday July 17th. I still haven’t gotten used to the Bay weather as of yet.. the fact that right now it is in the mid 50’s and cool in the middle of summer seems preposterous to me. The other day, I was sitting on TJ’s floor and Dave, Drew, TJ and I were discussing where we came from (geographically) and comparison to the Bay area. The irony is that almost everyone there decided we all missed snow.
My eye is feeling a lot better then it was this morning, but it still is tearing up and is red as hell. I ended up falling asleep whilst I was attempting to read Of Human Bondage. Justin came home from work at about 7pm, bearing wild flowers for me. 🙂
God, I wish my eye felt better. I was so ticked off as Justin and I planned on having an official “date” this evening, going to the Fine Arts Museum, and I end up getting pink eye. blah.
The irony of “dating” whilst living together is numerous, to say the least. Neither one of us expected to have this happen all so quickly, but it did, and here we are.
I swore after the charade with Christian and Danny that I wouldn’t live with another lover for a long time, and then I realized that it had been about a year.
One of my biggest fears is this whole relationship ideal: I don’t have a fricken clue as to what I am doing.
What I had realized is that with my introduction to the ‘Net, in 1994, I had not dated anyone, literally anyone locally since Alan. All of my relationships (save a few quickies) were based off of meeting someone from the Internet. Danny (whom I met and dated in 1996) was a failure, and I knew that wasn’t going to work regardless. Thusly I realized that the reason I was “successful” in on-line/LDR and not “day to day” ones was the easiness of control, ability to remove myself and to present the “best” side of me. I had instilled in my brain that I was going to end up being a crotchety old maid, and I was literally living like one. Having Justin look at me, pink eye and all, and telling me how very beautiful I am is scary.
I’m still grappling with my emotions over all of this, and I have attempted to distance myself away from him, but!, something inside of me is telling me not to.
My friend Jane from work has this rad web page, and I was spending a lot of time reading her stuff the other night. In one of her commentaries, she mentions about how this boy she was in love with, Neil, wanted her (paraphrased) safely locked away in America, and he wasn’t able to deal with the reality of her being there in England with him.
She had hit the proverbial nail on the head with that quote (paraphrased), and I realized that is exactly the same situation I had going with Jeff. It made, in my mind, (finally!) good fucking explanation of why Jeff was such a tart to me. Finally, seven months later, I could make some peace with myself and not feel like so insecure about myself and about my body. I have (yes!!!!!!) finally let him go.
It still doesn’t clear up matters about several different things, and I wonder really how much better I am for it. But Justin would say I was obsessing about things again, and I can’t be doing that.
(If you at this point have taken a look at Jane’s website, and notice similarities, yes, I did “steal” ideas from her. She knows about it, so it’s all good. I just love the design as it is clean and easy to read, and since she and I have similar interests, so :P)

everyday is a new beginning

I am sitting outside, under the stars writing. My feet feel the coolness of the grass and for one brief moment, I am happy.
Things went really well today. In fact, truth be told, they went much better than I had anticipated. I left work at 1pm (and feeling frisky after double fraps and flirting with Justin) and came back to my old digs. I wasn’t feeling anxious, amazingly, I felt calm and almost carefree. Rob and his dad Rick had already started packing the U-Haul. My job was very simple: pack the rest of my things.
I had already packed over 10 boxes, mainly having to do with my books (so many!) and cds. My collection since I have been here in San Francisco has grown astronomically, to over double of what I had originally moved with.
I have gotten really lucky! Cathleen and Rob are good people. I have become a part of their group and accepted as being one of them with no muss or fuss. Cathleen and I have gotten closer to being almost sisters. Rob treats me as though our kiss last weekend never happened (a good thing). Rob even went so far as to go and create a space in his office for my bed (which I pilfered from Irene) and now I have security of “mine”. It is indeed a wonderful feeling.
After arranging “my” area, I laid on my bed and didn’t think. God, how long had it been since i have done that? Probably so long that I cannot remember when.. I remember vividly being 8 or 9 years old and sitting on the back porch at the house I grew up in, in Port Huron Michigan. Had it really been that long? Oh my, it cannot be that long!?!?!
Grass.
God, it feels so good against my feet. Though it has gotten chillier here then back in Grand Rapids.
Stars.
I am sitting under the stars. God, what a new exhilarating concept. I pinch myself to feel pain to make it more real.
I think about the events of the past year, and I shudder for a brief moment. Christian. Irene. Danny. Jeff. People who have changed my life in some significant way, but yet insignificant in what I want now.
50 weeks to the day.
I am so damn calm, that it is awe inspiring.
A missive by any other name….
I am going to go relax some more. Lay back down on my bed, with my hands behind my head and not think. Go take a bath and then go curl up back in my bed and read for awhile.
It has been a long day.