so very alone…

Before I begin the main topic of today’s post, I want to address the frustration some of you are bringing up about my being a “tease” in my last post. I am sorry. I don’t like the idea of holding back, especially with everything we did and talked about. And part of me wishes Jane didn’t know about this blog, because then I’d be able to be as open about this as I’d like to be.

On the other hand, if Jane hadn’t been reading this blog, I wouldn’t have ever been able to reconnect with her. It’s a weird Catch-22, and I’ve said too much.

Anyway, there wouldn’t be any news about Jane for this weekend even if I were able to talk about our developing relationship, because I’ll be out of town, visiting my sister for the weekend. It’s time to see whether our relationship is worth salvaging, which basically depends on her making some very obvious and factual concessions about reality and her insistence on deviating from it. I will also be prepared to make some concessions, such as that I was not entirely stable before. I’m still trying to decide whether I should make that concession in the form of an apology, or as a simple fact. To me, it doesn’t seem like I should have to apologize — it’s like apologizing for having had the measles. But I’m sure my sister will expect an apology, or at least some statement that amounts to, “Yes, you were right all along.”

Shit, I’m arguing with her already and I’m not even there. I know how this is going to end. Why am I even going? Maybe just to get it over with, once and for all.

OK, now onto my lunch yesterday with Mary. We talked about politics. I, of course, am firmly behind John McCain, because he won’t pull out of Iraq just because that’s currently the popular thing to do. I admire that kind of resolve. I also like that he doesn’t pretend like he has a solution to fix the economy (except for that gas tax holiday, which I think he was just kidding around with). Hasn’t anyone noticed that the President can’t really impact the economy? I mean, think about it: if the president could make the economy good, wouldn’t President Bush be doing so right now?

Anyway, I figured Mary would be for McCain too. Of course, with Mary, it’s not that simple.

Try to follow along. It won’t be easy.

Mary is publicly for McCain, since he is republican and she is an Evangelical. But even as an Evangelical, she has doubts about McCain. He is, she says, not a religious man. And his desertion of his first wife because she got injured, not to mention rampant adultery before and after aforementioned desertion, seem like they fly in the face of everything Mary believes in.

I told her these were the indiscretions of a younger man, and should not be counted against him. I am confident that John McCain does not cheat on Cindy. I wouldn’t, and you wouldn’t either. For one thing, she’s beautiful and I confess to having had lustful thoughts about her. For another thing, if I were her husband I would be cowed by her eyes. I suspect that those pale blue eyes are not human, but rather robotic, equipped with pale blue lasers that can set human flesh ablaze.

Mary didn’t think my joke about Cindy was funny, and remarked that Cindy wasn’t really her type anyway. I just assumed that lesbians would find the same women attractive that a straight guy does. I’ll have to take a closer look at what kind of images Mary’s hunting down during work hours.

So I asked Mary who she really wants for president. “Hillary Clinton,” she said.

My brain did a backflip.

“How is that even possible?” I asked. “She’s against everything you as an evangelical stand for, unless you buy the whole ‘working class protagonist’ bit she’s been pushing lately. Which is total bullshit, by the way, as everyone who doesn’t live in West Virginia can tell.”

“I know.”

“Is it because of her stance on homosexuality?”

“A little. Not really. I’m not coming out no matter what anyway.”

And then it occurred to me. “You’re not attracted to her, are you?”

She blushed.

So when I got back to work I tried to order a button for Mary from Hillary’s website:

Unfortunately, they’re no longer available.

43 Comments »

After I finished my quick blog update last night, I took the time to shower, shave (for the second time that day, which gave me a little bit of a razor burn), and change into clean clothes. (I wanted to mention, by the way, that since I’ve started the Celexa, I’ve lost nine pounds. I don’t think my eating habits have changed, but I have cut back on the drinking by a lot. So I’m back into my old pants.)

And I put some condoms in my back pocket, just in case.

On the drive over, I ran through a huge gamut of emotions.

Excitement: someone I had pined over for who knows how long had finally called me and invited me over.

Ambivalence: She hadn’t called until I had resolved I was over her.

Confusion: Was I over her for real, or not?

Lust: It didn’t really matter whether I loved her anymore; if I had a chance for sex, I was definitely going to take it. As someone who has had sex with exactly one person in my life, I am not interested in passing up opportunities to add diversity to my portfolio.

Curiosity: So why was had she called me? Certainly it wasn’t to find out nitty gritty details about why I had stolen her plant.

I got there, and she opened the door before I knocked, explaining that she didn’t want the neighbors to complain about loud sounds late at night.

I noticed she was no longer wearing the sweats, and that her makeup looked fresh. She smelled good, too.

And then she asked me if she could trust me. I wonder if any person in the history of the world has ever answered “no” to that question. I doubt it, which goes to show that it’s an extremely dumb question, since a person you shouldn’t trust will answer “yes” more readily than someone you should trust.

Anyway, I told her that of course she could trust me.

She asked me if I would promise not to write about our meeting in my blog.

I told her that I was surprised she even remembered that I write a blog. She said that she’s read it a couple times.

I have to say, I really hated the idea of her reading my blog. This blog is where I come to say exactly what’s on my mind, even if there’s egg on my face at the end of the post. I’d prefer to keep my personal communication and my blog communication separate.

So I made a deal with her. I wouldn’t talk about her or about our relationship (whatever the kind of relationship it either is or may become) if she wouldn’t read my blog, so I could have a place where I could say whatever I want (except about her, of course) without worrying about whether I sound like an asshole to her.

I wish I could tell you what we talked about (and / or did), because it was pretty interesting.

28 Comments »

Without giving away what time zone I live in, it’s definitely too late for a phone call right now. Especially on a work night. But I just got a call.

From Jane.

She asked me why I stole her plant, even though I’m pretty sure she knows why I stole it. So (and I cannot believe I said this), I said it would be easier to explain in person.

She said, “Fine, explain it in person.”

“Now?”

“Whatever.”

So. I’m leaving to go talk to Jane. More soon.

43 Comments »

I mentioned that I was going to try to catch up with Jane to let her know different I am. I was amazed at the number of people who commented on this blog, saying what a bad idea that was.

I wish I would have listened. No, just kidding. The people who comment on this blog are about twice as screwed up as I used to be.

I figured, though, that since she didn’t email me telling her to leave her alone when I posted my intention to reconnect with her, it was because either she doesn’t read the blog anymore–and therefore doesn’t know how much I’ve changed–or she does read the blog and by not saying I couldn’t get ahold of her, she was tacitly asking me to get ahold of her.

I’m not sure my logic would hold up in a court of law, but I’m sticking with it.

Last night, after work, I drove up to her house and waited in my car until she got home. I waited down the street a little bit, so as not to alarm her. Then, after she had been there for about fifteen minutes, I went up to her door, knocked, and waited.

And waited.

After about two minutes (seemed like ten), I knocked again. I waited another minute, then rang the doorbell (even though I hate doorbells) a couple times.

Finally, she came to the door, looking miffed as she opened it.

Then she saw me and went from miffed to what I like to call a perfect mix of "frightened, angry, and surprised."

And right then, I realized I had made a huge mistake, for the following reasons.

First, I hadn’t thought about what I would say when I saw her. I should have had something prepared, or better yet, a whole bunch of different things, depending on how she looked.

Second, I knew as soon as I saw her eyes that she is not capable of loving me. No matter what, I will always be the strange, thieving, IT goober as far as she’s concerned. She’ll never see that I am also a man with dreams and needs.

Third, she doesn’t look like I remember her. Maybe the Celexa has cleared my mind and removed the soft-focus lens I seem to have reserved for Jane. Or maybe it’s that she was wearing baggy, food-stained sweats. Or maybe it’s that I no longer am so desperate for love that I see perfect beauty where there’s actually nothing but a woman of average height, average weight, average face, and a surprising amount of grey in the brown regrowth of her blonde, permed hair.

"Look, don’t even start," she said. "Just turn around and walk away."

"Fine by me," I replied. And I meant it. I was relieved.

So I went home, so happy that I have visited Jane’s house and discovered that I no longer give a damn about her.

15 Comments »

I went out to dinner on Saturday night with Richard and his new partner, who happens to be the most sober person I’ve ever met. If he were at a funeral directors’ party, he would be voted Most Depressing Person. So I’ll call him Captain Happy.

Richard and I agreed to meet in front of the restaurant, a fancy Thai place that foodies on the web rave about. The three of us arrived a few minutes before our reservation, so we chatted outside. I should say Richard and I chatted, while Captain Happy stood still with his hands behind his back, manservant-like.

Richard and I caught up quickly, reminding me of why I liked him so much. We agreed that Battlestar Galactica is the best show on television, but we disagreed on Bertha. He thinks I “completely misrepresented her” on my blog, while I suggested that perhaps he doesn’t know Bertha as well as he thinks he does. Captain Happy sniffed.

One of the things I like about Richard is that he can admit when he’s wrong. In fact, sometimes he’ll admit he’s wrong when he’s not.

The restaurant experience was miserable. First, they had no record of our reservation. I got upset, mostly because there’s not much to say other than, “But I called and made a reservation for 7:30!” The only thing you can do in that situation is to say it louder each time, which I did.

I was furious.

They finally seated us at a plain table that was right next to a table adorned with candles and flowers and elegantly folded napkins.

I asked the hostess seating us why our table wasn’t decorated. She didn’t speak good English, so it was difficult to talk to her. I think she said the other table was decorated for people with reservations, so I blew up. I demanded that napkins be brought to our table at once.

She seemed to agree, only she came back a couple minutes later with paper napkins. Like the kind you’d get at Hardees. I realized later that it was probably a misunderstanding – no one else had paper napkins – but I took it personally and got even madder.

Things went downhill from there. I don’t exactly recall what happened, but I know that I was asked several times to leave the restaurant. I shouted that I didn’t want to eat their rat-infested food anyway and stormed out, assuming that Richard and Captain Happy would join me shortly.

They didn’t. I waited outside for more than an hour before I left.

Now I regret agreeing to visit my sister. What was I thinking?

33 Comments »

I used to complain so much about how I am so alone, but I’m starting to realize that a lot of this is because I never asked anyone out. I don’t think I’ve ever had a group of people over for a birthday party in my adult life. I don’t ever make efforts to make or keep friends. I don’t even stay in friendly contact with my family.

I need to fix that, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I have the courage to do so. Here’s a list of the people I’m going to get back in touch with today, and try to see if I can repair what used to be good relationships.

• Richard: He was a good officemate and introduced me to Bertha. The fact that Bertha and I didn’t work out isn’t his fault.
• Jane: I was creepy to her before. I admit that freely. But I’m not creepy anymore. She needs to get to know the real me.
• My Sister: I’ve been angry at her for years because she kept telling me to get help. Now I’ve gotten some help (Celexa!) and it turns out she was right. I wonder what my sister would do if I called her up and said without irony, “You know, you were right. I got help. I feel better. Thank you.”

I’m also going to try to start developing new relationships. I’ve asked Stan to go out with me to lunch this Friday.

On an unrelated note, I made a note of the license plate of the jerk who beat me up yesterday. It’s a vanity license plate, on a silver Porsche Boxster. The text of the vanity plate is exactly what you’d expect it to be: “FASTER.”

Oh, please.

It occurs to me that if one were to exchange three of the letters on that license plate for a different three letters, the license plate would be more accurate, though perhaps less self-aggrandizing.

It also occurs to me that I have a color photo printer with a reasonable stock of glossy photo paper, and that clear adhesive plastic can be easily acquired at any office supply store.

54 Comments »

Back when I first started my new job, I ran across a guy who works in the same building (not the same company). Since I didn’t give this guy a cheery smile, a salute, and a how-do-ya-do, he decided it was his right / obligation to insert himself into my life by telling me that I had dropped my smile, and had better pick it up.

Honestly, I do not understand how the theory of evolution allows for people who are nothing but asshole.

Anyway, I saw this guy again today, in the office condo parking lot. And while last time I saw him I was too shy and humiliated to reply to his unwarranted intrusion, that is no longer the case. He was walking toward the building from his car; I was walking to my car from the building. He did a Zig Ziggler-inspired smile and wave, and I said, “You should just leave people alone. Whether I am smiling or not is none of your concern.”

Or words to that effect. I think in the moment I might have stumbled a bit on the actual phrasing.

“I beg your pardon?” he replied. Who says “I beg your pardon?” Does he think he’s Jimmy Stewart or something?

So I explained to him, “The last time you saw me, you told me I had dropped my smile and to pick it up. You had no right to say anything like that. For all you know, my sister might have just died.” I wish.

“Hey, buck up there, little camper.” Yes, he really said that. I am dead serious. Which turns out to be a good thing, because the correct response occurred to me right there.

“Hey, fuck off there, you big asshole.” And then I pushed him. Palms out, against the chest. A get-out-of-my-face gesture.

And then he punched me. Three punches, only one of which I sort of deflected. Sternum, stomach, throat. I kind of blocked the one coming at my face, which is why it hit me in the throat.

I’m not absolutely certain, but I think it would have hurt worse if the blow had hit me in the face. Still, getting hit in the throat hurts a lot.

I sat down in the parking lot. I couldn’t breathe. For a minute I thought I was going to die. Then I was able to breathe again, and I was sure he had broken a rib.

The doctor says nothing’s broken, though. Just a bruise.

Mary says I should press charges, but I just want to put this episode behind me.

39 Comments »

I had my first recurring Thursday lunch appointment with Mary yesterday. And get this: apparently, I am now Mary’s confidante.

She explained why, but it took a long time and sometimes my mind wandered. In fact, a couple times I told her when she was starting to repeat herself or had already made a point. It is a freaky and wonderful sensation to find myself with the confidence to say things like this.

Celexa, I love you.

Mary explained to me why she felt she could confide in me. She was long-winded, so I will boil it down to the essentials:

1. She finds me entirely unattractive. I asked her if this wasn’t the case with all men, seeing as how she was a lesbian. “No,” she replied. “Some men are still somewhat attractive to me, but not you. No offense.” Of course. How could my feelings possibly be hurt by that?
2. I know her secrets. I know, for example, that she is a lesbian. I also know that she goes in for hardcore girl-on-girl amateur porn. And I know that she hates herself for loving porn more than her church, which she also loves.
3. I don’t care about her secrets. She sees me as being non-judgmental, but really I just find her secrets to be funny. Like she’s punching herself in the face while saying, “I wish I would stop punching myself in the face!”
4. She doesn’t feel obligated to convert me. With most people, Mary feels like she needs to approach every conversation with the end-goal of saving their souls. We have agreed that she will not save my soul, so she can now say whatever she wants.

We traded stories at first, until I realized she is one of those “toppers” — people who start their stories with “You think that’s bad? One time I….” Except she was more of a “bottomer” than a “topper.” When I told her about my brother and his wife and how I still get an erection when I think about our time together, she told me about her pastor (or preacher or priest or whatever — I don’t know the difference) and how she’s married and everything but Mary is still certain that she (her pastor) secretly wants her (Mary), and that she is both aroused and horrified at the thought.

I told her that I steal at Walmart because I’m good at it (I didn’t tell her about the getting caught part) and because it’s a good release valve; she told me she masturbates while watching Rachel Maddow on the Keith Olbermann show. I am not sure how she saw those two things as connected, but she sure did.

I told her that I once traveled to Vegas to hire a hooker, but then spent the entire time alone in my hotel room. She says she has gone to Atlanta for the same reason at least thirty times, because she figures she doesn’t have to worry about seeing people from her church there. Although she points out that she at least isn’t afraid to pull the trigger.

I’m tempted to share my Celexa with Mary, because I think it could help her. But I only have enough for me.

What caught me off guard, though, was that toward the end of the lunch, Mary asked me what she should do. She was that general. “What should I do, Harlan?”

“About what?” I said.

“About life.”

“I think you should stop punching yourself in the face,” I said. And I started laughing again, because it’s such a funny image.

I thought that would offend her, but she did a little ha-ha laugh too.

37 Comments »

I had a work emergency. As I mentioned a while back, my boss here is, in addition to my tattletale duties, asking me to build email and web tools that, as far as I can tell, already exist in the form of open source projects, giving me unprecedented amounts of free time.

Except on Tuesday afternoon, he pulled me into his office, all excited, and showed me an article he had been reading in one of his multi-level marketing guru websites about an exciting "program" that could be repurposed for spamming.

It came complete with screenshots.

So Devin has me look at this and says, "This is a lot like one of the projects I’m having you work on, but with some cool extra features. Could you add those features to the project?"

What I did not answer was, "Sure I can, because I found this utility about two weeks ago, had inserted the company logo and removed the opensource citations from the interface, and was planning on giving it to you next week, saying I had come up with a few new features you might be interested in, therefore making you think I’m the best employee in the world even though I’ve spent exactly 90 minutes actually working this month."

Instead, I said, "No problem, but some of those features may not make it into version 1.0" and then I’ve spent the past two days doing the first actual hard work I’ve had to do for this job: covering my ass. I’ve been skinning the interface to make it look completely different (and let’s face it: worse) than it used to. I’ve disabled or hidden the interface to some of the features he was excited about. Then I can add them in later.

I think I’m safe. I also think I need to start paying attention to the work-related sites Devin reads, to make sure this doesn’t happen again.

Anyway, that’s why I haven’t had time to post.

I should recap really fast what happened in that lunch with Mary, even though it’s nowhere near as fresh in my mind as it used to be.

Basically, she told me how hard it is to resolve her faith with her "animal urges," as she called them, and that she hoped I would not tell Devin either about her "devil-sent desires" nor about her "disgusting" workplace porn habit.

And I did the weirdest thing: I started laughing. I told her I was sorry for laughing, even though I was suppressing a laugh while I did it. And I told her that I didn’t really care about what kind of porn she looks at, as long as she stopped pushing religion on me. And that I didn’t plan to tell on her or anyone else in the company.

When, a second ago, I said laughing was the weirdest thing, I was wrong. What came next was the weirdest thing. She offered me her hand, and we shook. As if we had just concluded an important negotiation. If I would have thought about it, I would have suggested we spit on our hands before shaking.

And then, later that afternoon, Mary sent me an Outlook meeting: a recurring Thursday lunch meeting. I accepted. Hell, why not?

45 Comments »

I had decided to stop writing this blog, but then today I had lunch with the weirdest person I have ever talked to. Yes, that’s right: Mary. We had lunch. And while she was telling me her sad, sad story, I kept thinking to myself, "I’ve got to tell someone about this."

And that someone, I realized, is this blog.

I’ll get to that later this afternoon, when I have time. Right now I just wanted to mention that I am sticking around.

55 Comments »