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Archive for September, 2004

|| September 21, 2004 || 7:40 pm || Comments (6) ||

The Meeting

~ I wrote this a long, long time ago, in a burst of inspiration. Read into it what you will, but know that you’re probably wrong ~

This will be one of those things that I write wondering going in if I will ever send it. I’ve decided to definitely wait until we can discuss it real time before I spring it on you (I know you’re not good with e-mails). Regardless, I hope that if you ever do receive it, you’ll understand that I’m telling you these things, not to burden you or freak you out, but because there’s really no one else that I can tell them to. As you’ve reminded me sooo many times, people feel this need to tell you stuff (I just wonder how often it so directly pertains to you). Plus, we think so much alike, I hope that maybe you’ll get some insight from hearing what makes me tick. I’m sorry that this isn’t funny and doesn’t rhyme…..it probably sounds cold and detached…..please realize that I’m discussing real emotions and feelings here, despite the lack of flowery language. God, this intro is way too long. Tough.

You sounded genuinely puzzled yesterday when I balked at the thought of meeting you. Once again, I figured it would be obvious to you why I’m hesitant….maybe it is obvious, but, like me, you want to hear what the other person is thinking, and verify that your assumption is correct. I couldn’t put it into words yesterday, and even if I could I’m not sure I would’ve told you the truth right away….even the most brutally honest relationships have little secrets, little white lies, and since we had only become as close as we have over the last week (only a week!), who knows how much truth this friendship can handle. I’m not in a rush to find the breaking point.

For as long as I’ve been using this medium to socialize and interact with people, I’ve also used it as a way to keep them at arm’s length. Some relationships ran deeper than others, some burned hot and fast, but I had my set of rules that kept me safe from getting too close, too involved. The “real me” was kept hidden away, and feelings were something limited to the physical realm, never the emotional one. All that has changed now, my rules have all been broken, my armor is gone……I have never gotten as close to someone (or let someone get as close to me), not on here. And not very often in real life either….you have joined a very small group. And my emotions have been released from their cage, running rampant, and making me feel alive – for the first time in a very long time. You told me how you never get angry and hate to cry….I think we both pride ourselves on staying composed and in control….but I wonder if we aren’t missing out on something too?

I know that you wonder where the line is, that point of no return that forever changes a relationship, and friends become lovers and can never again be friends. Well for me, crossing that line requires actually meeting, actually touching, it can never be crossed in the virtual world. That is how I’m able to tell you with confidence that nothing that we do or say online will change our friendship as far as I’m concerned. It’s also why the thought of being in the same room with you is so scary….at that point you become completely “real”, no Internet or phone lines keeping us apart. Maybe the line is somewhere else for other people, I can’t say.

So what if we did meet, you and I, in some crowded restaurant, or smoky lounge, or secluded hideaway? What then? I’m sure we’d enjoy each other’s company and laugh a lot. I’m also sure that my mind would race with thoughts of holding you, pleasing you, having you. And in my mind, the meeting could really only have two possible conclusions – either we’d sleep together, or we wouldn’t, neither of which would be good for me, or for us, in my opinion. If we didn’t, you would probably leave thinking how much fun it was, and how much closer we’d become, while for the rest of my life, I’d be kicking myself for passing up a once in a lifetime opportunity to be with a beautiful, smart, sexy woman. Sadly, this is the best option of the two.

How in the world can sex be a bad thing? Especially with the girl of your dreams, sex that is pretty much guaranteed to be out of this world?? Well, suppose you decided to have your way with me, whether out of pity, or intoxication, or weakness, or desire….the “why” really doesn’t matter here. Hopefully you’d enjoy it, hopefully it would be everything I think it could be, once again you might leave thinking how much fun it was, and how much closer we’d become. We’re both familiar with “just having sex”, meeting someone just to play, and enjoy each other, we’ve both contemplated it with other people. But I’m not sure I could “just have sex” with you, in fact I doubt that I could, and you are the only person that I’ve ever been able to say that about. Could I handle it? What if I couldn’t – would I throw away everything I have and pursue you, regardless of whether you wanted me to or not? Or would I choke it down and put on my brave face and go to my grave wondering if I had done the right thing, or if I had walked away from something truly special…

So, now that I’ve blown whatever miniscule chance I had of ever getting you in the sack, you may ask “what the hell’s your point here?” I’m getting to that, hopefully you’re still with me. These feelings have been here for a while, the only thing that this week changed is that I’m able to tell you about them and feel like maybe you’ll understand. And these feelings would be here no matter what you had said or done, they’re completely my creation. So as you continue your quest for “why”, maybe you’re looking in the wrong place. Take a look inside, maybe some of the answers are there.

Love, Skillzy

|| September 20, 2004 || 1:13 pm || Comments (0) ||

My Sky Captain review is up now. Check it out.

|| September 19, 2004 || 6:54 am || Comments (3) ||

I haven’t been blogging much lately, or writing, or thinking too much either, for that matter. But I didn’t want to miss the party. So here y’go.

|| September 18, 2004 || 6:03 pm || Comments (7) ||

My Very First Vidblog: Live from Scotland

Hi, I’m The Dane. Jett asked me to put up this video of footage she shot in Scotland. I don’t pretend to know what she’s playing at. I only do as I’m told. Like Nazis and ambitious Wal Mart employees.

|| September 18, 2004 || 2:43 pm || Comments (0) ||

Chellee’s Guide to Common Sense for Men

I’m guest poster Chellee. I’m an art teacher in Texas, and I have a blog over at blogspot called Telling Deeds. Go check it out. Now for the learnin’.

A few days ago a fellow teacher told me about something that her husband had said to her. She’s trying to grow her hair after it being short for a while. According to her, he looked at her and said something like, “What’s up with your hair?”

You might think that common sense, or being married for several years might have forestalled such a bonehead comment. You’d be so wrong. I hold the opinion that common sense is in reality not quite so common. Common sense must be taught. So, Wonderful On-Loan-Muffinasses, here is

Chellee’s Guide to Common Sense for Men.

Your significant other will frequently ask you questions. How you answer those questions can be the difference between some hot lovin’ and whether or not you sleep on the couch. Honestly, some of the questions we women ask are stupid, but we still do it for reasons I won’t go into in depth here. Abbreviated, it’s mostly because we and everyone else on the planet values us for our appearance. Following are some of those doofus questions and your correct responses. I’ve done all the thinking for you!

First question:

Does this make me look fat?

The answer to this is always “No.” Whether she’s gained weight and looks like a beached whale, or is nine months pregnant, always say “No.” If you need a follow-up, say, “I like your shape.”

Second question:

How do I look in this color/top/outfit?

The answer here is not “good” or “fine.” Don’t get caught in the mediocre response trap. Say instead something like, “That’s pretty sexy,” or “I really like you in [such and such outfit].

Third question:

Is that girl pretty?

This one is tough. You could be honest and say “Yes,” because she probably already knows you think the girl is pretty. However, if you take that bait, the next question will be, “Is she prettier than me?” and you don’t want to have to dodge that bullet. Say instead “I don’t find her that attractive.”
If you do answer that yes that girl is pretty, and she does hit you with the prettier than me, say, “No, I think that you have that girl next door quality which is much more attractive.”

Fourth question:

What are you thinking?

This one is a killer. Telling your girl what you are really thinking will either motivate disgust for sexual perversion or distaste for banality. I know what you’re thinking, but your girl needs a good lie. So for this one say, “I was just thinking how comfortable I am around you.” Let’s be honest. If guys were to ask questions like this, the response would be super easy. Men would want to hear women say, “Throw me down on the couch and give me a good, deep dicking.” Since a man will never, ever ask that question, that will never happen.

Fifth question:

Where is our relationship going?

Wow. I can’t believe women really say this. Okay, this one is a challenge. Here goes. Say, “I really like you and I like where we are right now. Let’s just see where things go.” Now, some women will hate this answer. If she is a bit more controlling and needs a definite answer tell her, “Well, right now we have this great boyfriend/girlfriend thing going. I really enjoy being with you. Let’s give it a bit more time and then maybe we can talk about moving in together.” Now if you don’t intend to keep drinking from this trough, don’t say the second one, that’s just cruel.

Sixth question:

What did you like about me the first time we met?

Under no circumstances say, “You have a great rack.” If she has a high tolerance for bullshit, tell her that it was her ability to light up the room. Make up something nice about her eyes if she has a pretty good bs meter.

Last and most important question:

Do you know what today is?

Chances are if you’ve ever had even a short term girlfriend you’ve been burned by this one. Here is the perfect answer to keep you from being either divorced or hit or cried, “Of course I do, and the card that I bought you is in my desk.” Then you go to your desk, look at the calendar on which you’ve written the important dates, and pull out the appropriate card from the stack that you keep in a drawer for just such an occasion.

See, not so hard is it? Go forth, and use the knowledge you have gained from your Chellee only for good.

The one about how I taught my filthy roommate Chris to clean up after hisdamnself.

Firstlies, howdy, Muffin-nuts! I’m usually over at Unxmaal.com, but today I stopped by and found that Jett had left posting privs enabled. SQUIRT!

Back in the day, [er, 1995ish], I had a college roommate named Chris. He was filthy. Cleaning was “women’s work”. Not enough of a picture? Tall dark gruesome with longish thin brown hair, a straggly moustache, never went a day without wearing black, or without wearing his inverted pentacle, or without wearing his cowboy boots. Which were black. Yeah, that guy.

Chris smoked all the time. Sometimes, he’d smoke two cigarrettes at once. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even inhale — just leave ‘em burning in the tray. He “liked the smell”. He was the type who, after finishing a fag [my petty revenge, yes] would thump the cherry into the tray, squeeze the tobacco remnants onto it, then arrange strips of the filter into a little bonfire. Burning cigarrette filters makes such a nice impression on the cute waitress at the local sports bar. Really.

In between butts, Chris drank Coke. And he’d spit into the cans, and then he’d ash into them. He didn’t throw a can out for the duration of the school year.

Since I’m such a nice guy, I let his filth, his stink, and his random bodily fluids slide, so long as they didn’t slither over to “my side” of the dorm room. Too bad we shared a bathroom.

For all of his “I’mnotfromtheSouth” pretensions, Chris was a big ole redneck — a redneck who grew up used to septic tanks. One Sunday afternoon, coming back from my family’s home, I was greeted at the door to the dorm room with a horrid, acrid stench: three-day-old urine, left unflushed in the toilet.

Chris pranced in shortly after.

“What. The. Hell. Is wrong with you,” I asked.


“Why didn’t you flush the toilet before you left?”

“Oh, well that’s how we do it at home. We’ve got a septic tank. You know: ‘if it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.’”

“So.. you let it … mellow… for three days.”


The following Thursday, I made sure that I dined well on Two-For-One Footlong Meatball Subs at Subway. With jalapenos. And extra mayo.

I got in late on Sunday. Chris had the door open and a brand-new box fan in the window.

“What did you do, shove a dead cat up your ass?!” he yelled.

I just looked at him.

“All my clothes smell like … like SHIT!!”

“Sorry, man, I must’ve gotten confused about that rhyme. How’d it go? ‘If it’s brown, let it mellow…’”

“NO! If it’s BROWN, flush it DOWN!”

“Oh, yeah, that’s it. Tell you what. You remember that we’re not on a septic tank system here, and that you should flush after you piss, or I might ‘forget’ again.”

Chris wasn’t the brightest wet mouse in the sack of hammers. Even after this ‘tutoring’, he was still a slob in the bathroom.

Chris didn’t put the lid back on his toothpaste. Ever. And he used that goddamn tube kind, white, that squozed and left little minty slug-trails all over the sink.

I went to the grocery store, and picked up some raisins.

When Chris was out, I used a toothpick to shove some of the raisins down into his toothpaste tube, then squished em all down inside the tube.

Days later, I heard a “What the fuck?!” from the bathroom. Chris ran out, holding his toothbrush. “What the hell is this?!”

On his toothbrush was this horrid, black, shrivelled thing, coated in white toothpaste.

“I dunno, man. I saw bugs crawling around in there yesterday. I think they were roaches but they were pretty frickin’ big. I whacked at em, but they ran.”

Chris stared at the bug embryo on his toothbrush in horror. “Bugs…” He ran back to the bathroom, and started squeezing all the toothpaste out of the tube, into the toilet.

Plip. Ploop. Plop. Out came more black, wizened little minty bug-turdlets.

“You know, I hear cockroaches eat feces. I bet those are egg-sacs. I’m going to work.”

When I got home, the bathroom was spotless. And Chris kept his toothpaste and toothbrush sealed in a Tupperware container until the end of the semester.

|| September 17, 2004 || 6:46 pm || Comments (0) ||

Doesn’t it figure that I roll by to see if Ivan blew away our lovely hostess away only to find that she’s not even around and has let all sorts of people run riot in her absence.

And I thought I was special. *sniff*

Oh, well. C’est la whatever. I guess I’ll heed Jett’s command to hype my site, the aptly and succinctly-named “DIRKWORLD“, which will be the repository of “Musings, Rants, Raves, Conjecture and Assorted Stuff & Nonsense (For The Like-Minded and Those Needing Conversion)”.

Since it just launched today and I’m trying to sort out template editing, it’s not much to look at, but at least the text is wide and readable. *cough* Stay tuned.

(Jett – Hope the house is still there when y’all get home.)