Virtual Friends, Meatspace Strangers

In high school, most of nearly every girl's time is either spent thinking about, talking about, or scheming up ways to best subtly approach boys.

I was no exception.

Well...except that I never could work up the courage to subtly approach anyone resembling a boy and, instead, used the not so successful tactic of pining away silently and hoping the object of my affection would notice.

 

It shouldn't surprise you then to learn my first serious boyfriend didn't come along until the year after I left high school.

But this story isn't about that first boyfriend.

There was a boy I liked - let's call him The Honorable Lord Vigo, Scourge of Carpathia and Sorrow of Moldavia¹ - Vigo for short. I really only saw him a handful of times. We didn't attend the same school. Hell! By the time I met him, I lived in another town. So it wasn't one of those angsty, heart-wrenching, watching-him-lean-on-his-locker-and-slowly-dying-inside-day-after-day sort of crushes. It was simply one of those crushes where, from the moment I met him, I just really liked being near him. It felt good to be near him. He was adorable and funny. So, whenever I was in his town visiting, I was always super happy when our paths crossed.

Me, of course, being the shy, tongue-tied, type didn't ever hope to make an impression. If I recall correctly, I may have said all of 10 words to him during that time and likely they were monosyllabic. And, as one-by-one my closest friends from that town - Beasley, Brad, Nykki - moved up and out of it, I didn't see Vigo again...Not for nearly 25 years.

Eventually, the crush floated away on the winds of Wyoming as it blew in other boys who would become men.

Still...every once in awhile, I'd wonder what happened to him.

I would, rarely, get updates through the Beasley-Brad-Nykki vine. Eventually, they too lost touch with him. For many years there was nothing.

And then? Facebook happened. I think it was Brad's 40th birthday party invitation when I became aware of Vigo's online existence and knew he was physically present here, in Denver. He had a new last name and only recent pictures but it couldn't possibly be anyone but him. It was him. That was in 2010.

You have to understand...I wanted to send him a friend request back then. I really did! But! There are many people who date back from that time in my life - people I thought quite highly of - who, I fear, wouldn't even remember me. It was a time in my life I spent mostly in the corner, smoking, writing bad poetry, fearing rejection, deflecting attention. I didn't want anyone to see me...except that I really did...unless I knew they would like me. I was convinced no one actually liked me...except Beasley, Brad, Nykki.

Finally, at Beasley's insistence, near my birthday in 2013, I sent Vigo a friend request. It was weird. I felt weird. But he accepted right away.

Turns out? He did remember me.

Turns out? I intimidated him back then.

I blame it on resting bitch face.

Still got it.

And the fact that, since I couldn't actually formulate full sentences in the presence of testosterone then, I likely just grunted and growled and, occasionally, squeaked which probably made me seem a little whacko.

Anyway!

He accepted my friend request. Subsequently, I learned more about him and the man he's become through Facebook than I ever knew about the boy he was then.

But, even though he was here, in Denver, my adopted city, we weren't compelled to hang out until last week. We'd exchanged a few private messages prior to last week. Mostly about my dad, last summer, when I was looking for an elder care facility for him...something Vigo knows a lot about.

But then, last week, I was thinking a lot about being an empath. I stumbled across an article and, in reading the comments, I developed a theory about empaths. A theory that suggested empaths, including me, feel lonely, even in the presence of fellow empaths, because, in social situations, we are so used to feeling the feels of others and giving away our energy that it's all but impossible for us to know how to receive it. I wanted to test my theory - or discuss it with a fellow empath. So I posted something about it. Asked my friends on Facebook if they identified as an empath.Vigo said yes.

That's what started it. The conversation.

I think I started it - the private conversation - after he commented that he was an empath. We talked. A lot. We shared a lot via email. Not just about being empaths. About lots of things. And then he asked me to meet him on Friday for supper.

So...Friday night, we met, for the first time since 1989.

I was nervous. I was shaking as he approached. The high school crush thing wasn't the issue. It felt as though I was meeting him for the very first time. Virtual friends, meatspace strangers. What would he think of me? Would we have anything to say? Would we argue? Would we meet each other's expectations? Would we run out of conversation before we'd reviewed the menu? Would I forget my words and resort to prehistoric grunts and growls and squeaks?

 

I worry too much.

He got to the table, I stood up, and we hugged long and hard and then we both just started laughing.

The moment we sat down, we were on.

Words, his, mine, tumbling over the top of one another. Tell me this story, that story, OMG! That really happened?!

There were tears. There was laughter. There were stories galore!

Five hours we sat there asking, answering - empath to empath - about everything under the sun. We shared secrets. I told him things I haven't shared with anyone. It was a gloriously stimulating energy exchange the likes of which are exceedingly rare in my experience.

By the time I got home, there was an e-mail from him. We talked via e-mail for a couple more hours. I was so energized, I was practically giddy. I stayed up past 3, writing for the first time in months.

 

My theory was thoroughly debunked and in the best way possible. It would also seem that whatever that exchange was cured me of the constipation of the writing kind from which I'd been suffering since January. Pretty cool, huh?

 

So...that's the story. It's better than the first serious boyfriend one anyway. Trust me.

 

Thanks, Vigo. That was rad. Let's do it again soon.

 

 

1. I asked him how he'd like to be known for this entry. That's what he selected.

Neeeeeeeeeerds!!!

Every September, my friend, Spux, has a bar crawl to celebrate his birthday. And, every year, the bar crawl has some kind of costume theme.

I met Spux New Year's Eve before last (2009) and so I'd just missed the Debutante Crawl. Last year, I had something going on during the Bible Crawl and missed that one too. So this year, the year of the Nerd, I was hellbound and determined to make it.

Why?

Because A) I helped pick the theme and B) because hello! NERDS! w00t!

Spux as Ogre at the Nerd Crawl

Now, truthfully, I'm terrible with costumes. It's not that I don't like costumes because I totally do. It's that I don't like ME in body-shape inappropriate costumes and, let's face it, most costumes are not conducive to the Jane body shape.

But nerd shape? I'm totally that.

I had some costuming ideas going into Saturday just past (the day of the Crawl), most of which I shared with Acr0nym on our 2,200+ mile trek through the heartland. He, in turn, stole every one when we arrived back home and started to put our costumes together in earnest.

Acr0nym pointing to his calculator watch and hiding his pocket protector.

And, since I didn't have time to order a calculator watch or have a shirt requiring a pocket protector, I was left scrambling on Saturday morning for anything resembling nerdery...well...except the trapper keeper I'd purchased on the road.

Luckily, Spux was in a mood to nerd shop Saturday afternoon. Hence, he and I headed over to the K-Mart - not to buy lawn darts but to buy a nerd shirt.



And! Oh boy! Did we ever find a nerd shirt 2 sizes too big and full of the awesome for me to wear.

Powder blue sweatshirt with a kitten and gold studs on it. Who could possibly ask for anything more? Well...besides me carrying a violin case (which I didn't do but wanted to but didn't because a violin case could draw suspicion from law enforcement a la St. Valentine's Day massacre...like we weren't already drawing serious attention to ourselves already).

Here I am in full nerditude...

Jane...er...at the end of the night. Photo (dis)courtesy of Acr0nym

Now...you should know...mommy (me) drinks.

Also? You should know, Spux's friend, Kelli, built an actual "panty cannon" - a cannon that fires panties - just for the occasion.

Spux with Princess Kelli's Panti-Blaster

At precisely 9 p.m. on Saturday at Blue Ice on Broadway, Nerd Mayhem commenced.

Here are some of my favorite shots...

Jane & Peej on a stick (there's obviously a story there)

Spux and Hans Gothwökkit at...er...I have no idea

Spux and panties from the panty cannon

Acr0 & DK - NERDS! My favorite shot of the night.

Peej and Peej on a stick at (I think) Skylark.

Peej and Jane at...huh? I dunno where.

There were WAY more people and WAY more pictures than these but A) I didn't want to clog your readers with pictures and B) I didn't want to bother gathering up permissions from every person photographed (some of whom I did not know and some I would not want to ask).

Point is? The Nerd Crawl? Was The. Best. Ever! Everyone had a most excellent time! There were panties hanging from wires and in the street, there were nerds a plenty, there were hipsters we were sure were part of the Crawl but then figured out they weren't when they were slightly offended to be mistaken as such...I guess it's all in their "irony"...er...or something. There were bars and cocktails and beers and shots and hoots and shenanigans and, at the very end, Nerd Karaoke.

OK fine but just this one of Nerd Karaoke because hello! Nerd Karaoke!

*sigh*

The Nerd Crawl? Was a mighty fine time. The hangover? Most definitely worth it.

Happiest of birthdays, September babies! Thanks for letting me tag along. And, most especially, happy birthday, Spux. You know how to throw one helluva party.

Whisper This

If you're familiar with the Denver metro area, then you are also likely to have heard of Aurora.

Aurora is the east side suburb of Denver and, to be honest, the butt of every location joke told by Denver urbanites. It's not a particularly nice place. Most of us try to avoid going there. Some of us attempt to pretend it doesn't exist.

So, when the electro-industrial-synthpop band, Synapse, announced they'd be playing a show at Whispers in Aurora, there were a whole lot of us who were thinking wait...what? Aurora?! Are you kidding? No. They were not, in fact, kidding.

And had this been any old band, I would not have even thought of going out there. But Synapse isn't just any band. This is the project of Peej's own Mr. S, Aggro Ginger, and Hippie Ginger - all friends of mine - and I happen to think they are excellent beyond a local level. So I always want to show my support for them whenever they have an opportunity to play live.

Now, I wasn't familiar with the venue itself but, from what I could gather from Yelp, this isn't quite the place you'd expect to see this type of band. Decidedly small, it's a neighborhood dive bar inhabited mostly by people who come for the karaoke and (allegedly) the piano bar. As you can imagine then, the clientele is typically older, working class, middle Americans looking for a relatively quiet place to nurse a cocktail.

More than one quip was made about how Whispers wasn't going to know what hit them when the Goth Invasion took place.

When Acr0nym and I arrived at about 9:30, the place was already packed, parking lot full (I'll give that to Aurora...there's always somewhere to park), and the pre-show playlist blaring. It was clear that Peej had been there awhile because she'd already made fast friends with a table full of regulars - all obviously in their mid- to late 60's. Possibly 70's. As I looked around, I noticed we hadn't completely run several of the regulars off. Two older gentlemen sat at the end of the bar practically giddy at the sight of so many young, fresh-faced, beautiful girls in corsets. I spoke to them quite a bit throughout the night.

The bartender, Anthony, was harried. Peej had warned him early, "Look. You're going to be slammed. We drink. A lot. But we're nice and we tip well. Still...you're going to be busy." They'd already had to re-stock beer and mixers...twice...by 10. Clearly, they were unprepared for us.

Before Synapse even took the stage, the bar owner pulled Mr. S and Aggro Ginger aside and asked when he could have them back. Turns out, this was the biggest crowd he'd ever had. The owner of a neighboring bar walked down from his establishment when he noticed the unusual traffic and asked them for booking information.

Most everyone was all smiles.

We kept expecting the regulars to make hasty exits once the band started to play. The table of Peej's older folk friends assured her, in fact, that the pre-show music was too loud for their liking and they'd be leaving in short order...

But they didn't. And when Synapse got up and began to play, something unexpected happened.

One of the women - age 66 by her own admission and, by all appearances, a typical grandmotherly type - got up and began to dance along with the goth crowd. Several of us cheered and clapped. She even began to pull people up out of their seats to join her. She was LOVING EVERY MINUTE OF IT!

My two new gentlemen friends at the end of the bar were smiling and clapping and having a grand time. Most all of the regulars stayed to the bitter end. They didn't complain (at least, not that I heard) and they took the invasion in stride, buying drinks for some of us, commenting on how friendly we were...not scary at all.

Two stereotypes were broken last night. The people we descended upon learned that while we may look freaky and listen to loud music, we're actually quite friendly, polite, and pacifists. We don't want to fight. We just want to drink and lose ourselves in the music.

Meanwhile, we learned that whatever we might say about Aurora and its residents, the residents of Whispers can hang. They also taught us a little something about capturing and experiencing youth wherever you might find it.

I can't wait for Synapse to play them again.

Cheers.

Who's On the Phone

Today's entry inspired by Michael's Fishbowl's adaptation of the classic Abbott & Costello's "Who's On First" bit in honor of the US visit by Chinese President Hu. Seriously. Go read it. That bit never gets old.


Long, long ago, perhaps in another life, I was an elementary school secretary.

No. Really. I was.

Don't you know that when you spend 4 years studying Sociology and Psychology you are qualified to do/be (do/be do/be do)...um...not much of anything? Thus, I took a job in which I could spend my days observing - and ofttimes being rendered speechless by - the sheer brilliance, charm, and stupidity of the human offspring ages 4 to 12.

You may be surprised to know this was, in reality, a pretty fun job. Sure, it had its moments...typically on Thursdays which, for some unknown reason, always seemed to be the day we'd have to call the police and social services...but generally I enjoyed myself, my co-workers, and *gasp* the kids.

Part of my love for this job, frankly, stemmed from the vast refugee/immigrant population we served. Children from all over the world flocked to my little corner of urban Denver - from Bosnia, Somalia, Afghanistan, Croatia - and I loved every last one of those punkins. So cute! And well-behaved (well...except for the one - my personal favorite, Anab - but she's a story for another time).

As such, there was a wonderful, sweet family from China with a child by the name of Ho Yu enrolled. And, even though his parents didn't speak any English, they were always so conscientious about calling to let me know when Ho Yu would be absent from school.

The conversation would go something like this:

Me:  [redacted] Elementary School. This is Jane.

Mrs./Mr./Grandma Ho Yu:  Ho Yu! Ho Yu!

Me: Ah! Ho Yu will not be at school today?

Mrs./Mr./Grandma Ho Yu:  Yes. Ho Yu.

Me: Thank you for calling! Goodbye.

This system worked for us. Until...

One day, the school office was INSANELY busy! It was snowing outside, the busses were running late, kids were coming in attempting to get tardy passes and dripping muddy slush all over the floor, the phones ringing. Off. The. Hook.

The principal came in and, in an attempt to help me, I heard her pick up the phone. And this is what I heard...

Principal:  [redacted] Elementary School...What?...What?...Excuse me?...(yelling) I'M THE PRINCIPAL. WHO YOU?!

Getting By With a Little Help From His Friends

So...remember when I posted way back here (you know, a month or so ago) the video and poem by Paulie Lipman - poet extraordinaire - in support of the It Gets Better project?

I had the distinct pleasure of meeting (and hugging) Paulie this Saturday just past which was, in a word, fantabulous (which is really a mashup of 2 words but, you know, whatever).

He's just as awesome and personable and well spoken in person as I knew he would be.

During our conversation, we talked about how he was getting ready to launch a kickstarter.com project to raise money so that he can begin to record and produce his poetry and music independently.

For an artist, the digital age has made some of the most far out dreams of artists everywhere a very real possibility. It no longer takes getting "discovered" by an agent or a record producer nor does it take tens of thousands of dollars, a recording contract, and access to a recording studio.

No. Artists - GREAT artists, like Paulie - have the ability to record and master their own material, distribute it electronically, and retain control of content...

IF! And that's a big if - they can get just a little bit of help with the start up costs to do so.

Paulie's committed to his art and manages to eke out a humble existence through performances and sales of his chapbooks.

But he needs our help.

His kickstarter project launched today and he has 30 days to raise $3,000 - the cost of the computer and recording equipment he would need to make his dream a reality. If he does not get enough pledges to meet his goal, he receives nothing and no one is charged.

Donations can be as small as $1 or as much as anyone would like to give and charges are processed once the goal is met via Amazon.com payments.

I had the pleasure of being the first to pledge.

Will you have that pleasure too?

Metaphorically Speaking

Pinball.

You've played it...right?

Look at the machine. What is your objective? What are your obstacles? What's going to win you extra balls and replays?

You slip the quarter in the slot and watch as the playfield lights flash and dazzle you and as your hand reaches for the plunger, you have to make a decision.

Go all out or go for the skill shot.

What's it going to be?

Nervous anticipation swells as the ball flies out of the shoot and begins its first descent through the playfield, catching the easy bumpers first as it comes rolling toward you.

Gripping the flipper buttons tightly, you watch anxiously, asking yourself which way, which way, god dammit!

The first strike with the flipper is smooth and propels the ball back up through a ramp, gently rolling over the top. Ramp shot. Points.

But then! Stuck. Between a bumper and a kicker, the ball pings itself between the two rapidly. Ping ping ping ping ping ping PING! Powerless, you are, at that moment to do anything but watch...and wait.

Maddening as it ricochets, you're gripping the buttons, swearing under your breath, stomach knots, as the ball flings itself off a slingshot and comes hurtling toward you and your sweaty fingers.

Which way? Which way?! WHICH WAY?!

Plop.

In a hole. Points.

You continue. Finessing the flippers, at times with a caress, sometimes with a tap tap smack. Working the left, the right, both together.

The lights, the sounds, they all begin to mesmerize you and you can't walk away...even when you've got to pee. You're in the pinball zone as you watch, manipulate, tap, slap, bump...tilt.

Which way?

Be the ball.

Be the player.

Be (hee hee) The Game.

A Second Chance

It's odd the way life twists and turns back on itself.

Not quite a year ago, I was confused and sad over the end of the beginning of a relationship at which I'd looked forward. A relationship that ended in a stupid explosion over hurt feelings.

I was so very sad at the time. Dealing with the death of Andy. It seemed as though everyone was leaving, one after the other, and life just kept getting harder.

But there was a glimmer of hope that perhaps, one day, everything would work itself out and we could, at the very least, be friends.

So I went on with life, doing what I do, whatever it is I do, meeting new people, exploring interesting side roads along my path, and just generally enjoying myself. Always though, there was a gnawing feeling of something left undone and a little bit of hope.

As time wore on, hope dissipated and I began to believe that the mini-explosion was, in fact, the end. Occasionally, I would find myself lost in reverie over the events leading up to the end and wondering where and how he was, but the thoughts began to come farther and farther apart.

Until last week.

After receiving an incredibly surreal text message in the middle of the night.

And I'm like all wait...what?

Because, I think, we may end up friends again. After all this time. After lost hope.

And this is happiness. I missed him.

Thanks.


A year ago: Wine sophisticate, I am not

You Can Take The Girl Out of Wyoming But You Can't Ever Turn Her Into Fresh Fruit

It's time.

My girl, Nykki, American by birth, kiwi by choice, is coming home today from New Zealand...uhm...I think.

Wait.

There's a whole 18-hour time difference and I get confused about what day it is for her and then I forget what day it is for me and she said yesterday which was actually my tomorrow (which, coincidentally, is now today) that she only had one more sleep¹ before she got on a plane and so, even though she's not coming in until Monday here, she's leaving on Sunday there and oh my gawd I'm so confused.

What is today?

Beside the point.

Sometime in the next 48 hours, Nykki will be here!

And I'm so excited to see her.

Nykki and I have managed to maintain our friendship across decades, miles, and years of no contact. Able to pick up right where we left off the last time we spoke.

Nykki, Brad, Grandma Francis, and Me - Casa Bonita 1989

Nykki, Brad, and Joel - senior prom 1989 - so hot she had 2 dates
Pic stolen from Brad's Facebook

She is perhaps the most colorful character in my stable of friends - and that's saying something considering the sheer number of colorful characters I've surrounded myself with - a Wyoming Princess who always wears heels and dresses, paints her nails, and has an incredible talent for knowing the crudest thing possible to say at any given moment...and then says it.











She's taught me a lot in the 22 years I've known her.

Most importantly, she taught me that if you're going to conduct a walk of shame - and you will - always make sure your panties match your shoes and your purse.

Invaluable advice.

So she's coming home.

Not for good or anything. Just for a couple of weeks.

She's bringing a kiwi man with her - Dave - and they're going to get married.

Well, OK, they're technically already married - got married in March in a lovely² little ceremony in Auckland. But I don't consider them officially married until they've consummated it on American soil...which, knowing Nykki, will be done about 30 minutes into their visit.

We're going to have to pack a lot of face time in before they head back because the last 18 months without her here have been hard. She's one of only two women with whom I can be completely candid, let down my guard, cry on her shoulder, rage against the injustices of the world, laugh about politically incorrect things, giggle about stupid boys and dumb girls, all while drinking wine or gin or bourbon.

I already miss her fiercely again. And she hasn't even gotten here yet.

Here's to New Zealand in 2011 - my post-apoca-audit vacation next year.

Nykki, Brad, and Me - 20 years later

1: Which she should be right smack in the middle of right this very second.


2: Or so I hear.

Random and Memorable Moment

On my first full day in Seattle, Jenni took me down to Pike Place so that I could absorb the ultimate in Seattle tourist offerings. It was good.

After walking for what felt like miles, we got back to the car and I opted to stay at it while Jenni went to fetch the rolled hanks of luxury yarn we'd purchased earlier in the day.

While I was there, a man of the street approached me, and since I wasn't engaged in anything particularly noteworthy, he and I struck up a conversation. He asked me for change for a dollar and while I was digging out 4 shiny quarters from the depths of my little handbag (there were definite depths), we talked about gum, gum ball machines, and laughed about nieces and nephews and his 8 grandchildren.

It was a nice visit.

He didn't stick around very long before he turned and meandered up the street talking to himself. I went back to leaning on the car and losing myself in thoughts.

Pretty soon though, he came back in my direction still muttering to himself. As he passed me by once more, he said to me,

"You. You are VERY special to someone."

And then continued to walk away until I couldn't see him anymore.

And I started to cry.