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I have NO CLUE what to title this one.

Issue Date: Tuesday, Mar. 07, 2006

I am so distracted. I am supposed to be packing up my tee-tiny office so that we can move. I even have Friday off of work this week, but I can not seem to focus.

I am tired and headache-y and I am about to start my period.

You are welcome. I knew you wanted to know.

But the impending menstrual cycle is not the only thing that is bothering me. And I hate that I am feeling all possessive about my journal now because I know he has/think he has/wish he hadn’t found it. By the power of Google… dammit.

Ok, ok OKAY. I will tell you what I am all het up about BUT… but. If I am right and he has found this page, I will just be falling into his little trap. A trap of, “Susan, don’t reply to that email. He is getting a rise out of you and that is exactly what he wanted.”

I was going to tell ya’ll that Stacey and I went to this amazing show on Saturday night. We left our respective husbands at home and I picked her up at like 8:15. We drove around town for a little bit and then headed to a local bar. Our favorite band (purrrrrrrr-mrow) was playing and they were supposed to go on at 9:30.

Stupid Duke vs. UNC basketball game went WAY over and the guys didn’t even get set up until 10:30.

But all was right with the world while those guys were playing. Blues, R&B… soul. Delicious, I tell you. Really.

As J.Wo would say, “This? Right here? This is like an auditory orgasm.” And I totally agree.

So Stace and I drank a few drinks, smoked a couple of cigarettes (I Know.) and listened with rapt attention to the beautiful music being played. It was getting late and I had to get up early the next morning and Stacey did too so we decided to leave at their first break, at around midnight. They ended their set and we walked over to congratulate them and welcome the new drummer and basically oooh and ahh over their musical prowess.

Oohing and ahhing completed we kissed their faces, promised to see them again soon (as we frequently do) and left.

That is where the story ends right?


Here is a little backstory for you. I know how you love the backstory. It is like E!’s True Hollywood Story without anyone famous.

About, oh… say a frillion years ago in December of 1999 I met a guy.

On the Internet.

A guy who would remain a part of my life (no matter how much I fought it) until 2001 or so (little help? Stacey? Ames?). Off and on, fights and good times. Whatever. He was around… a lot. He even lived with me for… um… a long ass time. We were friends and lovers and then enemies. You may remember me mentioning him as my lap dog. No, not a terribly attractive term. But hell, if the collar fits…

Anyway. This guy and I used to frequent bars all over town. And one evening in January (February? March? or something) of 2000 we stumbled into a bar called The Blue Mule. It used to be downtown Dallas in the West End next to Dick’s Last Resort. We were walking past and I heard a strain of Robert Cray’s The Forecast Calls for Pain (or something equally as wonderful) coming from within the bar. The guy and I looked at one another, grinned, and trotted inside to find a table and listen to the live music.

This would become a big part of our time together, going to hear this band and loving the music and the lead musician. The lap dog even (ya’ll I am sorry for the “this band” and “the lap dog” terms, I have mentioned them both here before in full name detail – how stupid – and I just don’t want to turn up in anymore Google searches than I have too… I have a feeling the guy has found the site… and if so… Gah. And if not… then bully for me, another literary bullet dodged.) got the band to sing at my 29th(?) birthday party. It wasn’t a big of a deal as you think. They were playing at a bar and he had some friends come to said bar for my birthday. A cake was there and they sang Happy Birthday. Meh.

So we associated our relationship with this band.

I haven’t talked to this guy in oh, four years or so.

I have moved (twice), changed jobs, changed my email addresses, gotten married and changed my freaking name.

This morning at 8:22 I got an email from the guy.

At work.

With an MP3 of a song from the band attached.

How very dramatic no?


Uh, did I mention that he is re-married to his ex-wife? Has two children. And, AND, oh yes… AND used to use a picture of me to represent himself as ‘Amanda’ when he would visit married/gay/bi chat rooms on IRC?



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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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