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I am mean.

Issue Date: Friday, Apr. 20, 2007

Okay, so the gossip. You all know that I am queen of Google, or a slave to it. I also have a Blogger account, this DiaryLand account, a MySpace page (really, it is just for stalking purposes) and I may even have something on WordPress. Not sure.

So the other day during lunch I was adding my favorite musicians to my MySpace account. I thought to myself, “Self, why do you see who these awesome musicians call their friends?” And holy shit. That is where I found it.

I have told you guys all about my ho-ness. I have told you about the boyfriends, the freaks, the ex-husband and the various random lovahs. Yes? I totally have. I have told you about my chatting on IRC phase and I have told you, well, let’s just get down to it. When you are all very familiar with the workings of my uterus, there pretty much isn’t a thing I haven’t told you.

Well, except for that. THAT? Goes with me to the grave. And yes, Stacey totally knows.

So I opened up this page on MySpace. Heh.

I want to link to it like I want a huge block of cheese served to me cold on a platter, sliced, right now. But someone here would totally blow my cover. My MySpace page doesn’t have one leeetle link to direct traffic to this page. It is my little secret. Well, yes, of course, it’s on the internet, so how secret could it get? Not very, but still. I don’t want to link. (Email me if you want it. I will totally give it to you, but you have to call me so we can giggle over the pictures. Deal?)

I will tell you who I found.

Do you guys remember me telling you about Marcus? No? Yes, you do. Okay, a few quick excerpts:

From this link here:

“In the year of our Lord 2001 I was dating a whiny little princess named Marcus. I don’t know if you could call it dating. It was more along the lines of me trying to run him off with a stick and him thinking I was trying to play fetch. He just showed up one day and wouldn’t leave until I got him his own apartment and moved him myself.

Marcus was good for several things: dancing at gay bars, movies, introducing me to View Askew Productions and the joy of Henry Rollins Spoken Word comedy. He also had a fabulous fashion sense* except that his hair was trapped in the 80’s.

*I swear… this guy was so in denial about his sexuality.” (Also, nice vest. Smell that? It’s sarcasm.)

From this link here:

“After a failed attempt at marriage and a move back to Dallas I took on a project named Marcus. He was content to move in with me and allow me to pay his legal bills, car payments, groceries and to put a down payment on an apartment for him when I could not bear for him to live with me any longer. I am not sure why I selected this type of man to “date” [read: raise]. Many a colleague, friend and psychologist offered that I selected the same type of man that I had just divorced to see if I could succeed this time.

After one of many insufficient funds fees (yes, he had my debit card… yes, I was stupid) I realized that I resented him with a passion almost akin to hate. Anything nice that I had done for Marcus before I wanted to rip his eyes out was lost in resentment. The eye rolling quality of “what do you want now!?” really changed the tone of anything kind I had done previously for him.

I was not a nice girl, kind of heart and generous with love, money and patience. I was a bitter woman waiting for the next person to take advantage of me. The pendulum of my trust swung WAY to the right and I waited it out like an ant in a rainstorm. Pissed and scared but almost helpless to change my situation. I was surprised at the depth of my wrath, my need for affection and my desire to make it alone. Walking contradiction? Table for one please. It was then that I realized that my boundaries were off kilter and that I needed to make changes to what Co-worker C calls “my core”.” (Hi, dramatic much?)

Annnnnnnnnnnnnd from this link here:

“I logged into IRC, did the password thing, hopped into channel and immediately got bombarded by a bunch of newbies with private messages asking “Age? Sex? Location?” I ignored them or told them to collectively fuck off and found my girlfriend Amy, she was an operator in the channel and she was the one who asked me to come in when I got home.

Amy: Hey chica.
Me: What’s up?
Amy: You’re never going to believe this…
Me: Try me..
Amy: First… how was your trip?
Me: Stop stalling… it was fine… give up the gossip sweets…
Amy: Well, M was in here earlier and he was asking about you.
Me: Marcus? No shit? I thought he’d given up. Last thing I knew, his ex-wife moved back to town and brought his kids with her.
Amy: Well check this out….

Amy told me that he had been in the channel and she was curious, so she pinged his IP address and did a “whois” on his nickname to see if it was him and what channels he was in. Some very interesting information came up when she did that.

He was visiting some “married-but-bi” channels or something.

I was aware of M’s leanings hence the ex term in front of the boyfriend moniker. There was more, so very much more as to why we weren’t together but I was done with him and not really worried about his sexual orientation.

Amy: That’s not really the reason I asked you to come online.
Me: What’s the deal?
Amy: Did he ever take a picture of you?
Me: Ames, how long was he hanging around? Since God was in short pants right?
Amy: Riiiiiiiight.
Me: Oh, no.
Amy: Oh yes.
Me: What did he do?
Amy: Well, he’s in some gay/bi/married channel or something and he has a picture of you that he’s sending out as himself with the name of Amanda on it.
Me: Isn’t that his ex-wife’s name?…. Oh shit.

So, a fun filled evening of finding out what pictures of me were floating around some sleazy channel (and the Internet) was the order of business. I called him on it and seriously considered putting an ad with his real home phone and address in a gay men’s magazine or just making neon flyers and passing them out down in the gay district of Dallas… but alas, my nice side won out and I just placated myself with thinking of him working at Burger King.” (Oh, this one kills me every time… hee!)

Yes… I totally found him.

Not really on purpose… but I was just kind of doing my lunch hour scroll through my blogs of choice and chatting a bit. When it registered in my noggin that he had sent me an email (with a song… and that is it… very Say Anything of you dear) to my work address a year or so ago.

I had no clue that he knew where I worked or what my new name was. If you search my old name you will find. Well, I think I was some sort of Kansas Rodeo Queen in the 80’s or something. So yeah, not me.

So when I got the email from him I was perplexed, and a bit paranoid. Perplexed because… how did he find my new name out unless he has been searching through the public records in our county or if… anyway, I don’t know. And paranoid because the last time I saw him, he threatened suicide if I broke up with him. We weren’t dating then anyways so I (callously) told him to be sure and slice vertically.

Yeah, not so nice. Well, apparently I’m still not nice because I totally sent an email to Stacey with one word, “Doooooooooooooooooooooooooooode.” And a copy of the link. She called me at work, we giggled over the pictures, decided that bangs weren’t a good look for him and many other such childish (but damn so much fun) things.


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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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