Oh Crap. Crap Crap Crap. Crap. SNAVAM!!!

I have a date. Match Girl I popped the question. Now, you know I like that assertive stuff. I haven't answered yet, but it's there for me to take.

But I don't have any meds yet and I'm fighting the urge to dive under the covers and stay for six weeks until all the smoke clears.

Oh lookie there! Worst-Case Scenario Man has brought in a gazillion of his friends and they've commenced to performing a full scale opera on How Many Ways This Will Suck.

Did she forget the e-mail that contained all my geekitude? She wants to meet and show me her pictures. Have coffee or a drink or something.

This terror is ridiculous.

Am I ready or not?

You know how Billy Batson only had to utter the word "SHAZAM!" and he'd transform into Captain Marvel? The word was made up of the first letters of the beings that gave him his power.
* The wisdom of Solomon;
* The strength of Hercules;
* The stamina of Atlas;
* The power of Zeus;
* The courage of Achilles; and
* The speed of Mercury.

I need a word like this! I need
* The wisdom of Scott
* The stamina of Ned
* The strength of Alex
* The attitude of Vi
* The humor of Ari and
* The courage of Mike

"SNAVAM?"

"SNAVAM!!!"

Three Things

1) This was over the weekend (I haven't yet posted a movie using Blogger so here goes--update, Blogger took too long (two hours with no end in sight, so I YouTubed it instead); Yes, I took the video myself!

2) In reconnecting with MatchGirl (I), I asked to see pictures of her vacation and she wants, gushingly, to show them to me. Is that my invitation to give my personal e-mail? And when she ends the message with "So how are you doing?" on a separate line, how do I prevent telling her everything--which is what I'd like to do so terribly. I want to rest my head in her virtual lap and weep openly. That car wreck's got me all wonky. This morning, I lay in bed until 9:01am, until I realized I was on the wrong side of the street and had to move the car lest I get ticketed.
Help?

3) I discovered a new song off of Janet's new album and it possessed me. And when I tell you possessed, I mean that I remixed it into 24 minute loop and played that continuously all weekend. Yep, obsessive like that. As with any female singer's songs, it's sung about a guy, but the thing that grips me is

A) The music (in absence of Janet's voice power, her most successful songs have wave after wave of layered harmony--no less here) and

B) The car accident theme. Uncanny how I discovered it at this time of life. Here's a YouTube of the song--the visuals are homemade by another fan.

And here are dance classes doing the damn thing to the song. Treat yourself to the little girl at the 01:38 mark



LUV

I've been down this road before
I know it very well
And I just can't believe I've been struck
I didn't see ya (comin')
Like I was (blindfolded)
I'm caught up in (collision)
And now I'm so done
You crept up like a spider
I got caught in your web
And there was no way to escape
I tried to switch (my lane)
But then I hit (my brakes)
Sparks turned into (flames)
I shoulda stopped at the red light 'cause

Now I'm like a deer caught in headlights
Ugh, he hit me with his love, love, love, love, love
He hit me with his (love)
And now I'm in love, love, love, love
Got me caught in a wreck, I'm a mess
Got me caught in a wreck, I'm a mess
Got me caught in a wreck
Somebody call the paramedics 'cause
He hit me with his love, love, love, love

I was grippin' the road
Just knew I had control
So how did I end up gettin' hit
I had on my (belt)
I checked it (myself)
So how in the (world) did I get caught
I had the right of way
The signs you saw you disobeyed
(It was your fault)
I can't believe the way you impacted my heart
I think I should sue ya
I shoulda stopped at the red light 'cause

Now I'm like a deer caught in headlights
Ugh, he hit me with his love, love, love, love, love
He hit me with his (love)
And now I'm in love, love, love, love
Got me caught in a wreck, I'm a mess
Got me caught in a wreck, I'm a mess
Got me caught in a wreck
Somebody call the paramedics 'cause
He hit me with his love, love, love, love

You caught me by surprise
I can't believe that I'm falling for this guy
Somebody call the cops 'cause I'm going flat line
You caught me by surprise
I can't believe that I'm falling for this guy
Somebody call the cops 'cause I'm going flat line

I shoulda stopped at the red light 'cause

Now I'm like a deer caught in headlights
Ugh, he hit me with his love, love, love, love, love
He hit me with his (love)
And now I'm in love, love, love, love
Got me caught in a wreck, I'm a mess
Got me caught in a wreck, I'm a mess
Got me caught in a wreck
Somebody call the paramedics 'cause
He hit me with his love

He crashed into my heart
He crashed into my heart
Somebody call the paramedics 'cause
He hit me with his love
He crashed into my heart
He crashed into my heart
Somebody call the paramedics 'cause
He hit me with his love, love, love, love, love


Addendum--I'm still home because the insurance repairguy called today and is coming to get the car. So no driving means no day job, which suits me JUST FINE. I've even found a job that sounds good for me, here in NYC, which pays more, that I'm going to submit a resume for and see what happens. If I never got in another car to drive, never paid another car note, and never peeled off another check to an insurance company in this life, that'd be gravy for me.

Yay, More Cats!

I really miss having a cat. I can't tell you about my last cat because I think I really messed up with how I left it with her. Okay, I'll tell you. I left her at George's house, knowing full well that he was/is an irresponsible person, which is the kindest understatement anyone can make. In fact, I'm so glad that I haven't had occasion to talk about him as much as I once did, but I'll spare him this one additional tag count.

I was planning on finding a no-kill shelter to place her when I moved from George's, but all that I found were booked solid. So I left her at George's. Knowing that George spent his nights in a drunken stupor with his screen doors ripped open by his other cats. Knowing that my cat didn't get along with the other cats. Knowing that my cat would wonder where the hell I went.

Half a year went by before I got a call from George asking if I came by and picked up my cat.

No, George. No I didn't.

Because my cat was gone and he didn't know where she went.

Now, it is completely to George's credit, 1) That he housed me rent-free for nearly two years and that 2) He housed my cat for 6 months more--which includes feeding her and giving her a place to poop. He honestly owed me or my cat nothing at all. So I have nothing against George. My reaction to him is based on my own antisocialness and how resentful I was about how my life had turned out to lead me into his basement.

My cat didn't deserve to be abandoned. I got her from a shelter in Missouri and promised I would take care of her. I moved her Missouri to Trenton New Jersey, and then to Harlem New York, and then to Paramus New Jersey. And then I left.

Obviously, I haven't beat myself up over it. I've been a cat freak since forever, bearing cat hair stained suits, slogged through cat hair tumbleweeds, left cat pissed matted carpets in my wake and sacrificed girls in favor of cats. My cat love was obsessive nutty pet owner kind of love. I did want to be free of that and try to be the kind of guy who just likes cats ... but my cat didn't deserve to be abandoned.

So that's a reveal on how maybe I deserve my loneliness, and losing my new friend Ned, and having car accidents, and all sorts of crap.

But I mean, what am I going to do? Kill myself?

Dang. This post turned out way different than the way I intended to start it out.

In Which Our Hero Survives Again

Well, I threw up a YouTuber to avoid reporting the events of my yesterday.

I had another car accident.

I was heading in early to do an all-day training for my day job, and a pregnant woman in a minivan ran her STOP sign and plowed into my drivers side door.

As opposed to last time, I could do little to nothing to save myself. I did hit my brakes and I was wearing my seat belt and too, I threw my hands over my head and I'm sure I hollered, so that was the "little". Everything else was the "nothing" which fortunately also included not peeing my pants from terror.

None of my windows shattered this time, so she wasn't going too very fast, but fast enough to turn me 45 degrees, and score all four panels on my drivers side, plus crunch both doors enough to compromise the airseal so that now when I drive, the "Open Door" light is constantly on and the wind whistles. I can extend my fingers through the gaps.

Remember that ultra-cheap car insurance I bought for NYC living? Now it'll bite me in the arse. They're only open 9-5 for reporting accidents.

I went to the hospital this time because I wasn't sure. I felt a tightness in my neck and side, plus my thigh stung a little. I didn't get out of my car, so I let a father & son paramedic team stabilize my head and take me away in an ambulance. The son was 18, and his father seemed about my age, if not 5 years older. He kept saying that he was the rookie and he was following his son's lead. At 18, this kid's out rescuing accident victims? Superhero-in-the-making.

MFTD wants me to find a personal injury lawyer and get in the gravy train line. This morning, I find only a little stiffness. My body feels fine. So I don't know about getting a lawyer.

In my head, I never want to drive again.

And yes, the pregnant lady was okay. She told everybody at the scene that it was her fault, and so did all the witnesses. And it was. But she was pregnant, so of course the sympathy flowed in her direction first. (How else would I have known she was pregnant, except everyone with a vocal opinion had to say it aloud.) I didn't begrudge the crowd. I was hoping the baby wasn't hurt as well. But the Mom? I'd like to have slapped her.

And I continued to hate her for the following 8 hours.

Without being able to control these people on the roads, how can I guarantee my own safety? How much more easy would it have been to have been killed? How many more times in this high volume driving that my day job requires am I going to have a car accident?

So I'm not going to work today. And last night, I cancelled two of my most lucrative therapy cases (in that they pay the full rate, no insurance co-pay) because I was so sick of powerlessness.

And I never want to drive again, although I'm sure I will. But I want to ditch this car, stop paying high premium insurance and astronomically high-interest monthly car payments, and work exclusively on the island of Manhattan. Gas prices are doing what India.Arie said they were doing two years ago, "they just keep on risin' ". But she also said, "we gotta keep on survivn' keep living our truth and do the best we can do."

And then she said "There's Hope."

9 hours ago, Match Girl-I wrote me back, begging my pardon because she lost internet connection while on her vacation, then got caught up in "personal matters" and she hopes I'm doing well and she's wants to get back in touch. She says she hasn't burnt the bridge.

So either my geekdom did not chase her away, or she was handling another man while deciding if my geekdom was doable. And of course, for me, the exciting sheen has worn off. I'm glad I'm not as rejected as I thought I was, which would have been "permanently". And too, maybe I was not at all rejected. Maybe what she says is true.

But this is the real of relationships now. This is where it feels like most people live--somewhere between hope and disappointment. Our partners falling short of the ideal, and we settle. Take what we can get. Endeavor to work on giving in return of our get, even when we don't feel like giving.

Facts are, I had looked over a few more Match profiles but I really didn't want them. I like Match Girl-I's sense of humor better, and her diction, punctuation, and smile.

So.

What a difference a day makes, right?

Oh, and the psychiatrist which was recommended to me is covered under my insurance, but she's going away for a few weeks before I can get the meds. If I get in a relationship with Match Girl-I before the psych gets back, I prolly won't need the meds.

I dunno.

Baby steps.

Now to modify this post with a meme;

Here are the rules:

1. link the person who tagged you. Q

2. mention the rules in your blog…

3. tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours

4. tag 6 following bloggers by linking them. leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged

6 Unspectacular Quirks
a) I can ride a unicycle.

b) I used to be profoundly cross-eyed when I was a boy. When I "grew into it", it was then only "off," meaning I'd look at someone and talk to them, and they'd constantly be asking me, "Are you talking to me?" It took me as long as 1999 to get an operation to correct it. Meaning that only for the last 8 years, I've been looking people in the eye when I speak to them.

c) I've managed to save a few thousand dollars since I started my evening work in Manhattan. I owe friends roughly 8 times that amount in total.

d) I have survived two major car crashes in the last year and a half.

e) When I say to myself, "I'm probably as bisexual as any college girl with a few beers in her" I find that I'm actually okay with that.

I tag no one! But if you've read this and like it--OOPS! You're tagged now!

More Hey Yaey Goodness

The melody! The harmony! The syncopated ukeleles! 1/2 of "Flight of the Conchords"!

Who AM I? I Mean REALLY?

Last night, drifting off to sleep, I was listening to one of the podcasts from Geek Central. (The spoken word is my Ambien. My wife-to-be won't be happy with that, I'm sure.) And long about the 8 minute mark, one of the hosts, who I missed seeing at the comic convention, calls up the guy who I had mentioned in my weekend report. The guy that I got along with real well and wanted to go to the afterparty bar with me as we left together? Seems this guy and the host of this show were "convention buddies" (Whenever they go to the same convention, they pair up and see/do things together). Now, I wasn't prepared for a podcast host to incorporate a phone call to a "listener/fan," but I guess it's no different than calling up your co-host and chatting with him/her/them for the content of the show. Podcast are talkshows, after all, so anyone who will chat'bout with you is fair game. (I even did three hours with another pair of podcasters a month or so ago).

But I was ESPECIALLY unprepared for that listener/fan to mention ME when he was telling the host about his Saturday night. Here, listen for yourself. The phone call starts after 8 mins and he talks about me at 8:50. And he said nice things!

And I'm laying in the bed like, "What the HELL...?" Of all the artists, and comics, and costumed people, and toys, and pizza, and geeks he experienced, not to mention the afterparty he might have gone to, and he mentions me?? He was thinking of me??

I mean, maybe my early departure and non-compliance for more company left an imprint? But it didn't piss him off and make him think of me as a party pooper, a stuck-up prig, or an anxiety-ridden loser?

That maybe my company is actually enjoyable?

I ... I don't get it sometimes.

You'd think I'd be happy about it, but I just don't see what these people see sometimes.

But I did like this dude, and so I look forward to meeting him again somehow. And although I don't know what HE saw in me, it is nice to think that somebody else thinks of me nicely after just one dinner.

My fellow blogedeers, this is not a solicitation for more nice words in my comments section. Honestly. :-) I still remember all the awesome things you've already said to me over these weeks, and months, and nearly two years. And I already know how much I actually feel like love towards you guys and gals.

This was just so unexpected and, well, in the absence of having my own Q, I had to come and share.

Every once in a while, life throws you a bone.

I'll take it. :-)

Paging Dr. Feelgood...!

Okay, my calls are on the phone-answering systems of two prescribing practitioners, as recommended to me by my therapist. Whoever gets back to me first scores the co-pay.

I am SO going to take these meds.

Yesterday, Sunday, I didn't even go to the convention. And mind you, Saturday night ended with a mix of avoidance and geek bonding. At the convention I got a couple of geekasms when I attended exclusive screenings for the Incredible Hulk movie due out this summer. (SPOILER:





















Tony Stark, as played by Robert Downey Jr, is going to be in the Hulk movie, offering his services to Thunderbolt Ross to take down the Hulk. This opens the way for a future Avengers movie. Plus, the villain of the Hulk movie becomes that way because he takes a "Super Soldier serum"--which is the thing that made Captain America.

UHH!

Was it good for you?)













I brushed paths with MFTD and his brother and his brother's friend. To be alone, I had sacrificed my time with them on Saturday. I did this both at home, and then after I got to the convention (to see the Hulk trailer. And Hellboy II and Indiana Jones IV and something else that I can absolutely not remember. Evidently it involved mutants and Xavier wiped all our memories.) When we finally caught up, we did that men's-circle insult, jibe, tough-talk, non-bonding bullcrap that we men do so terribly well, and then they left. And I sighed a breath of relief. He's my best friend, and I didn't want to hang out with him and his brother (and brother's friend).

Then after a very few more "hello's" to my podcasting geekmates, I left the con went a few blocks and some avenues over to buy a comicbook (hello, I had BEEN at a comic convention--what did I leave it for?), and waited for 8:30.

At 8:30, about 100 of us geeks had a geek-in at an upscale pizzeria, hosted and arranged by the two podcasters who held that party last year were I got my geek on, and took that b&w picture with the beautiful married British lady. I felt safe in the size of the crowd, and I even engaged a few in laughy conversation about comics and The Geek Life, and my Hulk revelations. Oh I was the life of my little section of the party. And I even made my way over, and sat at the table where the attractive Geek Girl I met in person on Friday was with her crew. But she preened about her boyfriend, as all hot chicks seem wont to do, and I disengaged after a little bit. I got on famously with a guy from Long Island, and when the party was over and it was time for the afterparty (read: bar gathering) he and I left together. Then when no further than the pizza restaurant's front door he said, "Are you coming to the bar?" clearly wanting me to walk with him to 6th Ave, and kick up the festivities a notch, it was as natural a thing for me to say "no, that's alright" as it was to burp up the pepperoni sitting in my knotted gut. And so, to the #1 Train I went, and then to Home Sweet Alone. That was Saturday. Next day, I didn't return to midtown convention life. I got more smoky meats from my fave BBQ joint, ate it in the park where liveth the aggressive squirrels (again), and went home to finish up one of the audio drama series.

I think the medication will help me at those social decision-gates. When I have the option to say yes, I think the medication will help me do that. If it doesn't work, then truly, I will not be getting married, or taking a lover, or doing anything else in life that involves a face-to-face personal relationship on the longterm.

And you know what else?

If the medication doesn't work, I'm deciding not to care. Because I do not want to spend what's left of my life in a miasma of regret and "I Wish I Coulds"

The sh!t is getting tired and I'm getting too effing old for it. It's time to love up on who and what I am, and eff the world if it can't take a joke. People appreciate me for what I already am. They like the work I do. And I do people good both in my hobby life and my professional life. Plus I'm saving money like never before.

If the medication doesn't work, then I'm done trying to fix me.

For now, anyway.

Flawed

(Since I couldn't stop responding in the Comments section, I turned it into a post)

Scott don't be surprised, my friend. I have nothing to excuse myself and I didn't make a slip of the tongue, I just didn't want to think of myself as lacking the nutrient. I want to be self-sufficient, muscular, handsome, sexy, confident, funny, masculine, rich, and some other things I haven't thought of yet. I could accept going to a therapist for my own emotional upsets, but not that I might have a chemical imbalance. (I also hate that I have a pot belly that is turning into a cauldron). I could accept what I think is a weakness in someone else, but not for myself. It's wrong. I idealize too much. I acknowledge that.

But I'm relieved the rest of your response is a support to me because it means you haven't written me off for this flawed thinking. That's what I care about. You're a friend that can accept my mistakes.

It's more than possible--maybe probable--that the feeling of "expertise" in mental health has become a great deal of my identity and there wasn't room for that chink in this armor.

But I've spoken to my therapist and she gave me some references for psychiatry, so next week I'm going to see someone and hopefully start taking some meds. No matter how wrongheaded I thought about it, I'm getting what I might need in that department.

Today was my first visit to the Convention (I shall have pictures) and you know what I saw? I saw Geek Girls. Of all variety. Black ones, white ones, young ones, costumed ones, thin ones, round ones. At least two of them were friendly to me, enough to make me feel the slightest comfort and encouragement to return the friendliness. And the greatest fact was/is that we were all the same. None wearing the t-shirt, but they didn't have to. This was our element. It was implicit that I was not going to reject them for being there, and they were not going to reject me for the same. One of the girls, I had an honest in with--I had already met her at Geek Central, online. In person, I found her comely.

I won't over-dramatize my reaction to these golden opportunities. Suffice it to say that I did nothing past the "Hello" and the smile I offered. As usual. So here it is, the right type of people, and I got nothin'.

I hope others have felt the thing I'm about to describe, and comment on it please, but this is what happens...

I look up and notice it's a "she" as we brush against one another politely in the throng of people. She enunciates in the clear, clipped tone of the genius geek, "Excuse me." and I do the same. I find her few words are an iceberg tip, full of promise and possibility. I say, "Yeah, no I'm sorry," and I smile because I liked her voice, and that she's here and that she's cute. And I think of how to make this last a little longer, or how to put a bookmark in it for a later return, and then a spike of fear pulses in my chest like Barry Allen's symbol and I continue my walk. We're going in the same direction, but I know I'm done. I'm not going to say anything else. No, "Is this your 2nd NYCC?" no "Did you score any goodies?" or a whole host of normal conversational rejoinders that would not have hurt me in the slightest to say. And as the immediate crush fades and the people meander out of the clutch we found ourselves in, she walks off to nowhere and I do the same. I glance back and see that she does not. And on I go.

That pulse of fear caused me to turn around the first time I saw one of my podcaster buddies at his podcasting table in podcasting alley where at Geek Central he practically begged everyone to come by and see him. I could have just walked up and said "Hey!" the first time, but I couldn't. I turned and walked in the other direction until my heart stopped racing. Then I approached from the opposite direction. He had no idea I had hesitated. For a half an hour.

My Hero didn't come to this convention, but his two runners-up did. The heroine who stood with him at the show's conclusion was at her table in Autograph Alley and was offering big smiles to passersby. There was no line to contend with. I could have walked right up to her to say, "My Hero sends his regards!" I could have walked right up to her and said a thousand things. And she would have greeted me with the same smile, or maybe something even more familiar since last year I worked the line for her and My Hero. But I said nothing. I kept moving. My mouth was dry and my heart was doing that wonderful little staccato it likes to do.

This? This is irrationality. This is a social anxiety. I can't think of any other term for it. None of those people mean me any harm. I am in good standing with at least two of them and no doubt attractive to the third. But my heart goes, "No!" and before its finished my head goes, "Yeah, no, dude get outta there!"

And those were the people I did meet, to say nothing of the people I wanted to meet.

I did eventually manage to fight through some of that fear and actually initiate a conversation--but it was with a guy wearing a costume and I wanted to take his picture, and he let me, and then I was gone.

Scott, Ned, it is fear of rejection, apparently, but is my reaction to that fear a normal one? It doesn't feel like it. It feels like my animal self is taking over WAY out of proportion to any actual threat.

And now I'm finishing this post on a Saturday morning (started it yesterday) instead of going down to the convention on-time to meet My Friend The Doctor and his brother because I'm thinking of how miserable its going to feel to want to be somebody else all day long, instead of being able to enjoy my-fuc&ing-self for a change.

And if I hurt Tom because of my being an asshole in that original post from whence cometh this one, then I all the more wish I were somebody else, because that is SO not ever what I wanted to do. Tom, if you would post back and tell me I'm an asshole and accept my apology, that would be really great. Please.

So I'm going to take meds and see what happens. I've tried everything else (including blogging) short of alcohol and illegal substances. It can't be any worse than this.

Sweet Bliss

This is where I'll be Fri-Sun. I'm checking out of reality for a little bit (more). I'll be making my appointment today for a prescription to help with social anxiety.
But if I see a girl wearing this (saw it in a La Brea store window on Broadway)

then meds or not, I'm approaching her.
Nah, probably not. I need my meds.

When Reasons Start To Sound Like Excuses

Actually, all reasons sound like excuses, and people hate to hear excuses. And I hate trying to make them. More often than not, I find myself in the role of The Fixer. It's something I like to give my energy to. I like how it feels to watch something knit together and then step back from the result and admire the finished project. Call it the Man Gene--I quite like thinking of myself that way.

But myself, ah, well...that's another story. Can I fix myself? What I hate is making progress and then sliding backwards from the progress. I hate thinking that I'm stringing people along with all my planning and good intentions, only to flop onto my face and let everyone down.

Because here's the deal, I feel more relief than sadness that Match Girl (I) has dropped off the radar (or dropped me off her radar). I wouldn't be surprised if the self-proective little gnome that lives in my subconscious didn't dump my geekiness on her to chase her away.

If I really ... and I mean REALLY wanted to be with someone, wouldn't I already be with someone? I mean, you guys are not stupid or blind--you see qualities in me that I can believe I do have. Some think I'm handsome, and I think that may be true. Others think I have a good career and a good mind, and again, I have to admit that I feel grateful for both. My life could have been so much worse, given the mess that it came from.

So why am I not turning this fantastic little man that I am into someone's fantastic little boyufriend?

What excuse can I offer? None. But there are reasons.

I'm not going to list those reasons, however, and I've done so numerous times anyway. But I just want to blog out this process as its happening--the ins and outs of my Becoming Another Somebody.

Thinking about taking on the interpersonal challenges of another human is scary, and has, to date, pushed me out of the running. I get waves of energy to try again--I get them from you guys, and I get them from society. And if there was a way to exist on the same planet you guys do, and remain free from the need to fit onto it--I would do what I want to do, and not what I feel like I should do.

Which leads me to think again about the possibility that something's not quite cricket in my head. I've toyed with the idea that I have autism. I've also played with the idea of having bipolar disorder. Then I've also told myself that I'm a normal guy who got handed a sh!t sandwich way way ago which derailed my chances for a normal life. All those might but true, or any calculaic combination of the three.

But the facts remain as they are right now. I'm not dating. It feels better not to than to. I feel safer without it. Safety is more important to me than love. Sucks that my mind frames it that way, but that's the equipment I'm working with. For some, love equals safety. Not for me. For me it equals risk and vulnerability and fear. Horrible ways to live.

So I'd rather not, thank you all the same.

That's not the end of the story. I have two friends, one very close in geography and one far away, who have shared with me the efficacy of anxiety medication. These medications I am very familiar with, since in my career I assist people with getting hold of these meds and I have seen what happens when they went off them. I believe in meds.

So why have I never tried to take some for myself? Stigma! Do I want to be a therapist who is on psych meds?

Please. Get over yourself, Alan.

What looks worse, crawling around on the ground ignoring the cane, or walking around using the cane? Either way, my leg's still broken. Gotta do something about it.

Whew.

This ain't easy.

Cherchez La Femme

Little bit in this mood, lyricwise, but can't help but dig the upbeat tempo and the fun the singer is having with this song.

Match Girl has been off the radar for four days, as Match is kind enough to inform me below her picture. Seriously, how long should I wait before I start writing other women? Fringes, are you still willing to help me draft a womancatching letter?

By the way, I have no idea what "cherchez la femme" means. Except it has something to do with women and Mariah Carey's ex-husband.

Who Is Obadiah Parker And How The Hell Did They Get So Cool?

Obadiah Parker is apparently the band's name. This chap is called Matt Weddle, and he is my new mancrush. He even messes up and starts over, and still does the damn thing. The song proper begins at the 1:00 mark and he KICKS ITS ASS.

You betta WORK IT My Caucasian!

??! I just realized something!!! "Caucasian" has "Asian" at the end of it.

Okay, I'd betta go move my car and maybe go to work. ENJOY!!



And then here he is doing a Bjork song, which I've never jeard before in the original, but it sounds like a straight up Christian contemporary song, which I didn't know Bjork sang, and am speedily dashing off now to find her orignal. Meanwhile, I like Matt's haircut better here, but this predates the "Hey Ya" above, so he's grown it out since. :-( And he does a "Hey Ya" in this setting, but whoever made the vid cut it together with Andre 3000's vid, and I wanted one with just this dude.

Anyway. Car is moved, meter is paid for 2 hrs, and I don't want to go to work anymore.

But I will.

Before I do! I found this--explains everything (but has the Andre300 interstitials)!


And here's the original Bjork "Who Is It"

Bump In The Road

It may be that I scared off Match Girl. It also may be that she's busy enjoying her vacation with her sister and didn't want to step away from her to write to me just yet. It also also may be that I'll get an e-mail from her the second I post this.

I also had a chat last night with My Mentor, the guy who stepped in as my father figure when I went out to Missouri in hopes of becoming the next best thing in religious circles. My having left the religious circles didn't stop him from caring about me, but in the last year, I hadn't called him. In hindsight, I was stepping away from him because of all the alternatives I was considering. He would not have approved. He doesn't approve of my current plan, at his core, but he was supportive anyway. His solution for my life is to get back in church. That was his closing line as we disengaged the call, and to my surprise I laughed involuntarily for about two minutes. It was just so him. And I remember when things were that simple--when I didn't doubt the voracity of the Bible or the intention of God for humanity.

Anyway, the reason Match Girl might be gone is that I unloaded my Geekdom on her in my last e-mail. She wanted to know the reason for my screen name, which is the name of a comicbook title. So I explained ... everything. I sent her a link to the audio drama (at broken sea dot com) and told her about My Hero. I just had to. She expressed value in a man who was dedicated to anything, a career, a hobby--just something. So I showed her that I was. But from another perspective, maybe it made me look childish. She's pretty successful--maybe I no longer fit her ideals.

In which case, I'll recover. I wouldn't change who I am or what I like, so whoever's in my future has got to accept me and my everythings. I wonder how long I should wait until I wink at Match Girl II?

Like A House Afire...

...that's how well I think I'm getting along with Match Girl. In fact, I'll probably start toning down the posts about her because it's starting to feel intimate.

Well?! Y'all don't tell me everything!! LOL!

Suffice it to say that we've been trading emails regularly, still in the Match Anonymous system, but within hours of one another. I can see what's important to her and I think I'm up to the task. I love her interests and I think she loves mine. I am outclassed by her, but I think you were right, Ned, I'm bringing some nice things to the table too.

So, this is good. I'm getting comfortable with the idea. It feels like it's time.

My Agenda

This was quite a nice Saturday, full of the promise of Spring. I was surprised to see how much the twigs of Winter have bloomed at 80th St on Central Park West. To my stunned surprise, I was very close to the area whereupon my background photo was taken. So here's what that area looked like on April 5th, 2008;

It was the kind of temperature where you saw a huge mix of dress. From scarves and winter coats down to tank tops and flipflops (Go on guess which segment of God's rainbow were wearing those).

And the kids. A million kids. Which meant an average of 1.75 million parents accompanying them.

Which brings me to My Agenda. The Neighbor, Ned, opened up the topic by invoking my honest, critical eye upon my motives for wanting to pursue Match Girl (as I shall now call her). Ned shared that after his experience with this process, he found that he just wants to matter to someone. Today's your lucky day, Ned. You matter to me, and I'm just a stranger on the other side of a computer link.

So from the time I posted my response to Ned's comment until now, I've been figuring it out. Going through the Park today, taking the Lexington Avenue line downtown (with inhumanly clean subway tracks at 77th St)

revisiting the Karaoke joint and giving my 90% healed vocal chords a work out (and they've come back even better than before the strange and sudden illness which hit me with laryngitis back in, like, Oct or Nov), and going through the decimated Washington Square Park (they dug up that fountain. BASTARDS!! Every movie you've ever seen with Washington Square Park and the fountain--never again. I've no idea who's bright idea it was to irreversably alter this landmark, but here's the proof

on the way back across the village (where I also encountered the world's smallest art gallery opening

and the weirdest set of plaster-of-paris gay couples set I ever seen. Well, the only set I've ever seen)

to the Number 1 train for the return home.

Seeing all the permutations of life out there made me so aware of how "outside" I feel. Sometimes I feel that clients coming to me is like them going to J'onn Jonzz, The Martian Manhunter, for therapy.

How do I even know that I'm making a lick of sense when I'm, for all intents and purposes, divorced from my clients' experiences as human beings?

So My Agenda is simply this; I want to belong to the human race. I want to take my place in society as a member of it. I want to conform to how our society is shaped, how it grows, and what is expected of its members. I want to be normal. This may sound like the Vulcan Guide's Answer To Love, but when the rubber meets the road (no pun intended) that's what I really, really need. The fluffies of love, the hand-holding, the laugh-sharing, the snuggles, the wondrous experiences of seeing new plays together, eating new foods together, getting caught in the rain together. All fringe benefits.

Heehee, I said "fringe"

And by the way, I received another e-mail from Match Girl. We're trading info on our music tastes but she has now asked about some details of my life. Clearly, she wants to see what size this fish on her line is, and if she'll have to throw it back.

If You Could See Me Right Now

...you would call the paramedics.

Like when my hands were itching like crazy during my trip out to Cali, and My Friend The Doctor (but not a medical one, unfortunately) had to help me de-escalate because I was rubbing them and wigging out, Lady MacBeth-style.

Well, it seems like a month since I wrote my Match letter, but according to the profile it was only yesterday. And she has responded today.

I want to paste it here, word for word, but I can't risk her doing a Google! Not yet anyways. Or ever?

But since I've started typing here, I've managed to calm down considerably. And of course, I am going to tell you the highlights of the letter! :D

So she answered my question about the thing, and then she said that she really liked my note to her, and that it and my profile made her laugh!!!

HHHHHHHHHHHHHEE!!!!!! By God, I'm fourteen all over again, and this time, the girl I'm asking out isn't laughing AT me, she's laughing WITH me!! She likes me!!!!

Then she said that since I have these people on my mp3 that I MUST be perfect! (Capitalization HERS!! She's got a sense of humor too!!!!! Which I sensed through her profile, when she mentioned the blinds installation!!!!)

She then mentions what music she's listening to now, and in response to a little gem I plunked at the end of my profile...


"And I'm caught up on at least 7 monthly ( these people) and (these people) titles (A big plus if you know what these companies produce :-D )."

...she said this;

"(these people) and (these people) make comic books, right?"

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

And I suddenly saw us a year from now on a Match TV commercial saying how we found one another!!!

I mean ... okay, I'm emotional, I know. I know I know I know. Okay. ALRIGHT!

But I mean, come on ... this is like reading a note from Grizz or Fringes, or any one of you lovely smart, clever, wonderfully pithy, full-of-heart ladies - only, you know, different! Because she's responding to me in ... well ... THAT way. She don't gots a man already.

I mean, y'know ... yet. :-D

Gosh, I'm scared, but it's been such a long time that this were possible. well, no, not just "possible" but, say, ACTUAL. Oh and you should see this lady's lovely smile. And her dimples. I hope one day I get the chance to show it to yous!

So, okay. Yeah. No, this is good. Yeah. You were right, Ned. It IS a silly sensation! I like it!

Okay, now I gotta write her back again!

I know just what to say!

"Do U Love Me? 1=Yes, 2=No, 3=Maybe So!"

OH! And I forgot to add that she said some of HER favorite places are these places and these places too!!

I Got A WINK!!!

Okay. Okay okay okay okay.

So.

My profile has been viewed 16 times, and it shows all the ladies' profiles who have looked. Okay.

So.

Yesterday I paid (payed?) attention to one of the looking ladies. Says she's a full-figured gal, and her pictures attest to it, but so was my babysitter back when I was a tot and I adored her. So, I considered writing to her, for that's what Match suggests you do, and then I noticed that she hadn't been active for over three weeks. That's the top time category they use. That's what it said for me after I hadn't been active for a year. So. I figured she was long gone--or that she read my profile a year ago, back when I was the Crazy Basement Guy.

Okay. Whatever. But this morning is says her profile has been active within the last 24 hrs! Yipes!! So if I write her now ....

she ...

SHE MIGHT RESPOND!!!

(hide me)

This is crazy. I'm so friggin' scared. What the hell?

And yeah, I did get a Wink, from a totally hot blonde chick, no less! But when I clicked on her profile it said, "We're sorry, the profile you're looking for could not be found. Please try another profile."

I smell shenanigans!!!

Which is all a nice diversion from the fact that I might could actually get a date, and I'm all watery in the knees. Worst-Case Scenario Man is dancing a jig in my brain, telling me just how life-complicatingly, soul-wiltingly BAD this could turn out!

Somebody tell me something.

KHAAAAANN!!