I think, therefore IM.
Do you like to eavesdrop on others' conversations, read others' mail? Are you alive? Are you something more than comatose at least? Then yes, you do. If you say no, you are either lying, or only inadvertantly following the linty balloon with your eyes while your mom videotapes it for the trial. Or for Diane Sawyer.
I have had an AOL account since about 1937. Back then, AOL handed out free dinner plates and chocolate bars, complimentary black muslin for covering up your windows during air raids. Wait, not 1937 so much as 1997. I dunno, I probably had an account back in '95 or so, when some of you were angrily teething.
I know this for sure- when I joined eBay in 1996, there were less than two hundred members, and four categories. One was 'antiques'.
What you know about me now: I am old and have lots of cheap used things. That and apparently I thought everyone should've let poor Terri Schiavo go gently into that, etc.
In other, more timely news, I made the acqaintance of a lot of people on ye olde AOL; bright, discerning people, what trend researchers like to call 'early adopters', people who get there early and get bored almost as fast. Likely-to-be-disentranced-people, I guess. Not the AOL of today, I suppose, but that was decidedly Then. Maybe even pre-Then; I am not a trend researcher, although I have had meals in restaurants with them on occasion. I was pointedly aloof.
I eventually met a remarkable number of Antique AOL People in-person (typically those in other parts of this grand country, so I wouldn't be doomed to spend time with them, onaccounta being so avidly antisocial and all.) After all these many years, some still remain extra-charming, dearly-regarded (apparently profoundly hyphenate) sans serif type in a window, like a lot of you folk. I maintain contact (in some cases I even relish and court contact- imagine that) with five or so of them, emailing and chatting on the phone when the whim sidles wantonly and ass-pinchy up to any of us.
Who fucking cares, you say? Indeed. Do you recall the first sentence of this idiotic post? I don't think that's requiring too much, especially since you can probably still cheat and read it without even using any neck muscles. And don't be so coarse.
All of those years, I saved IMs compulsively, archiving them to CD. Creepy, I know. I will freely admit that even after re-reading a great many of them, I have no recollection of some of the people with whom I inanely exchanged ugly Geneva type, especially in the early nineties. Most of the conversations are highly entertaining in a squeamish, repugnantly revealing manner, if simultaneously annoyingly topical. Monica Lewinsky references, outrage over Jodie Foster winning Academy Awards, Barbara Bush looks like Forrest Tucker, only with a smaller penis jokes- they're larded through with such dross. Really: I had an opinion, a lengthy, measured one even, about a pending new TV show called "The View." (I didn't think it sounded like good feminism, apparently.)
The nattering found below is between myself (portrayed by 'Me') and my friend R (a tour de force performance labeled 'Him'.) There's nothing special about this conversation, one of maybe 100 I have saved. If I cherry-picked one that was all significant somehow, that wouldn't be Free Range eavesdropping though, really.
R lived in Houston, where Brian (the man with whom I chose to have a ten year endurance test of a relationship) had just boozily relocated himself. I hadn't yet been so unwise as to go visit Brian there yet, so I made poor R fill me in on what sort of neighborhood Brian had landed himself in. R and I IM-ed and talked on the telephone weekly or so for a couple of years before I finally (and happily) made his corporeal acquaintance. R was an attorney, and a classic, if unripe Southern gentleman, all whiskeyishly courtly and genteel. I spent one of the most lovely melancholy Christmas Eve Days I have ever experienced with him in Houston, as we quietly drove around the city looking at old mansions and later lunching in a hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese cafe. He is a thoughtful, good-hearted man, and not nearly as needlessly glib and peculiar as this excerpt might make him seem, I dunno. For me, I offer no excuses, only this:
R and I often 'visited' on Sunday evenings, when both of us were negatively charged like bad attitude carpet static with anticipatory work dread. This timing was probably not a good idea, but we persevered fondly, if snidely.
Him: Hey you.
Me: Hullo.
Him: Well.
Me: It is Sunday, isn't it.
Him: YES
Me: All over the place.
Him: Except where it is already Monday.
Me: Even worse.
Him: Are you sad?
Him: I am a little.
Him: Typical Sunday angst.
Me: I am uncomfortably warm, and cabin-feverish.
Him: It must be very cold there.
Me: It's something like 10 below.
Him: It is in the upper twenties here. For Houston that is very cold.
Me: Esther (across the hall, lived here for 39 years, whiny Esther, Esther Michaels, remember her?) rang my bell to discuss the excessive heating situation tonight.
Him: I think that I would panic if I were in weather that cold.
Him: Yes; you call her Pester.
Him: Pester, Michael.
Him: What's her beef with it?
Me: Yes. Her.
Him: Is it too hot there?
Him: In your building I mean.
Me: Oh, it's way too fucking hot in my apartment. I have a window open. You'd think I'd have my own thunderstorm.
Him: Esther must be miserable.
Him: She could be a mummy by the morning.
Him: You really should check on her. Her old man friend probably can't get out in this weather.
Him: Is there snow too?
Me: About an inch or so. She's fine. She's too spiteful to die.
Him: Don't worry, I pulled up your weather on AOL, I won't bother you with stupid questions anymore.
Me: Stop yanking on my weather.
Me: So. Brian is going to live on Bartlett. Since you asked.
Him: Hmm.
Him: Bartlett. Sounds famliar.
Me: Uh-huh. Unrelated: I am surprised you liked "Little Voice". With whom did you see it?
Him: Kelly.
Him: Really? Though I would have liked it better with subtitles.
Me: Oh. Her. (C'mon: take some bait.)
Him: The biggest problem I had with it was that I couldn't understand the catharsis.
Him: It is not much of a relief when you don't have a fucking clue what she is saying.
Him: It was a little too pat, too. A little too Johnny Belinda meets a Star is Born.
Me: I thought you wouldn't see it at all, =really, I guess.
Me: That 'really' up there looks like it was driving really fast.
Him: Got a swoop to it.
Me: Did you ever watch Ab Fab?
Me: I couldn't really get past the Bubble connection, Horrocks-wise.
Him: Yes, and I really liked it, though I had trouble understanding Bubble and all of the other characters on that too.
Him: Bartlett Street doesn't exist, says Yahoo.
Him: But I know I have heard of it.
Me: Maybe it's Avenue, or Road.
Me: Or Place.
Him: I don't know. It says my street doesn't exist either.
Him: I am stupid, apparently.
Me: Or maybe you are a figment of my imagination.
Me: Maybe I created you.
Him: Well, you could have done better.
Me: At least I put you far far way.
Him: Sometimes I worry that my entire life is a giant hallucination.
Him: Thanks for putting me somewhere warm.
Him: I really appreciate that.
Me: De nada. They say that in TX, right? While eating soil?
Him: Okay. I found Bartlett.
Him: In a moment I will be able to report to you on his neighborhood.
Me: His complex (apartment I mean) is called Museum Place or something.
Him: Oh.
Him: I know exactly where that is.
Him: He is really in a good area.
Me: He's living in a teeny efficiency. Actually.
Him: Big mix of places around there.
Him: Old very expensive mansions.
Me: He likes it.
Him: A fancy gay midrise.
Him: nice condos.
Me: But mainly he likes it because it is not Mpls.
Him: And rat nest aptmts.
Him: What is his beef with Mpls?
Me: Cold. Family. And he's fucked up too many times to stay here.
Him: I see. Well, Houston is a good city to make a start in. It is affordable and warm, and people are nicer here than in many cities.
Me: Says you, Chamber of Horrors.
Him: You know, I bet you more people move to Mpls. to escape from Houston than vice versa.
Me: You would really dislike Minneapolis.
Him: I would? Why do you thik?
Him: ...Think?
Me: I thik because I ak.
Him: I knew that was coming.
Me: Damn.
Him: What happened?
Me: I froze, or rather AOL did.
Me: It wouldn't let me back on. Kept telling me I was already signed on, and the number to call about it, if I was in Sweden.
Him: Do you recall our talk at all the other night? [He was tipsy.]
Me: My charming Midwestern tones?
Him: Your tones?
Him: To tell the truth, I really don't recall much about the conversation. Imagine that.
Me: My lovely voice, free of any singsong Minniesewda accent.
Him: Ah yes. I remember your voice.
Him: I remember talking about the accent.
Me: As I recall (and unlike you, I do) you said you fucked some Artspace dude. Who talked it real bad.
Him: LOL.
Him: Now, that I had forgotten that I mentioned.
Him: I am laughing and blushing simultaneously.
Me: Did he talk that way during? Ooooh, yahhh, dew it tew me, yaahhhh.
Him: Oh GOODnuss.
Me: Afterward, did he say, "Theeeeenks"?
Me: Oh god, I SO recognize the 'Goodnuss'. That's classic MN-speak.
Him: : )
Me: Yuck.
Him: Yes.
Me: So, you bagged your first Minnesotan.
Him: Yes.
Him: That I know of.
Me: Oh, you'd know.
Him: No kidding.
Me: We squeal like old ladies.
Me: It's our official state noise.
Him: Stop.
Him: It is nauseating me a little.
Him: Thoughts of Pester next door.
Me: Poor thing: she's like a boiled chicken wing, shaped like a 'C'.
Him: Big week planned?
Me: Yeah. Like always. NY, Monaco, Berfuckinglin...
Him: Same here.
Him: Maybe I will run into you.
Me: Maybe. Although I hate my jetset life.
Me: But my hair looks great.
Him: Your red hair.
Me: I am going to mail you a brushful, to shut you up with the red nonsense.
Him: Stop.
Him: Send it to Pester.
Me: She could crochet an afghan.
Him: It would give her something to do.
Me: Do you have to deal with [racist litigant in car accident lawsuit] this week?
Him: Yes. She filed some bullshit this weekend. My partner and I will have to work all day tomorrow responding to it.
Me: Tell her that TV Land is going to start running The Jeffersons reruns this month. See what she says.
Him: Don't even bait me into race baiting.
Me: If the glove don't fit, you must acquit.
Me: Why can't you be a rhyming attorney?
Him: I try. But with my accent it gets confusing.
Me: I have to go get my car... you sir are a goddamned lahhr...
Me: See? So simple.
Him: That's pretty good.
Him: That's really good.
Me: I am bilingual.
Him: That's pretty much what happened too.
Me: I know. I paraphrased is all.
Him: You are talented. You could do that FOR A LIVING.[pet peeve of mine, when people say it to me.]
Him: I wish you had to deal with her.
Me: Have I ever asked you if you have other screennames?
Him: No you have not.
Me: Oh.
Him: I just had such a delicious tangerine that I am now going to have another. Your turn.
Me: I bought my sister some antique botanical prints of tangerines for Christmas.
Me: Mainly she was outraged that she would never be able to afford to frame them, and that I didn't realize that.
Him: Well that was pretty rude of you.
Me: I had planned to offer to pay for framing for her birthday (next week) but I changed my mind.
Me: These were very pretty, actually.
Him: What did she give you, for Christmas that is.
Me: Oh, stuff from William Sonoma, where she works.
Me: Expensive knives, roasting pans, etc.
Me: Gay gifts of Luxury.
Him: Tell her I need a 1 and half quart souffle dish.
Me: Why? Fag.
Him: I might want to make a souffle, maybe.
Me: Again: why? Fag.
Him: This is my only attempt in the culinary arts.
Me: Defensive fag.
Him: I am notorious for not cooking, honest, believe me. Ask anybody.
Him: I am masculine enough to make a souffle rise just by looking at it sternly.
Me: Now THAT's GAY.
Him: And lightly stamping my foot impatiently.
Me: Hissy fag.
Him: And of course I know to add a little cream of tartar if things get rough.
Him: You know, I had always thought that I was the type of person who could open a rare book bookstore or an art gallery if I had the money etc.
Me: And sell rare book books?
Him: But, suddenly as I am talking to you, I realize that I would be very bored doing that.
Me: To wealthy stutterers?
Him: I know, I was trying to be clear, not emphatic.
Me: Did you ever see the movie Letter to Three Wives?
Him: No.
Me: Watch it with me sometime.
Him: Doesn't it have a mute woman who could sing show tunes?
Me: No, no, no.
Him: Oh. Okay, let's.
Him: I like movies with show-tune-singing mutes. Your turn.
Me: I don't want to go to school tomorrow.
Him: Me neither. I should go to bed, but I don't wanna.
Me: Stay up and be cynical with me.
Me: See that glass half empty until dawn.
Him: for a little longer, I will.
Me: Do you enjoy the company of your business partner?
Him: Yes and no.
Him: He is like a brother to me.
Him: On Mondays we spend huge amounts of time sharing what we did on the weekend.
Him: He tells me problems that he has with his wife.
Him: And I give suggestions.
Him: I am a little more in touch with women's thoughts than he is.
Me: I'll just bet.
Me: Hair and nails, hair and nails.
Him: Yes, and female troubles.
Me: Is he at all attractive?
Him: Yes.
Me: I could tell by how you were typing. Do you worry that ala Monica Lewinsky, someday all of our chats will be subpoenaed?
Him: I never thought about it until just this second.
Me: And we will be mortified in front of a nosy, but dispassionate America?
Him: It wouldn't make me very happy.
Me: Me either.
Me: Don't lets blow the President ever though.
Him: No, okay. But I think it sounds more like something I would do.
Him: So, I will pledge not to do it.
Me: At least there would be no Snapple commercials blaring in the background while Linda Tripp chews on beef jerky and rattles the wrapper.
Him: What's that clicking? Do you hear clicking?
Me: That's me surfing distractedly while I talk to you. Is all. Have you read my new profile?
Him: No.
Me: I ditched the old-guy magnet one.
Him: I liked the old one.
Me: Yeah, but I wanted to talk to some smart fag one night, and you weren't around.
Him: What a nice thing to say.
Him: You know, I think I would never IM someone who said they were looking to talk to smart people.
Me: Really? You would shun such a person?
Him: Not that I don't think that I am smart, just not sure that I am up for being judged.
Me: I judge you CONSTANTLY.
Me: Powdered wig and the whole bit.
Me: Do your friends ask you to do free attorney stuff a lot?
Me: Write threatening letters, etc?
Him: Not too often.
Him: From time to time.
Me: Do you get all huffy and self-righteous when they do?
Him: Sometimes they want me to do that or write a will or something.
Him: They offer to pay, and it really isn't worth my time to bill them even.
Me: If I was an attorney, I would write free huffy letters all the damn time.
Him: I generally tell them to call the person and try to work it out.
Me: Ppppfff. I like writing really irate letters. I am good at it.
Him: Well, if I am not careful about what I do I could get sued.
Me: Oh, well. That.
Him: I am generally concerned about incurring liability when I do free work for people.
Me: I am currently toying with this bill collector idiot.
Him: Tell her that she is in violation of the "Fair Debt Collection Act."
Me: She harassed me endlessly, and really condescendingly, over less than $200.
Him: That could actually scare her.
Me: Oh, I am getting even, and having fun.
Him: Tell her that you have consulted an attorney.
Him: Ask her who her insurance carrier is.
Him: Ask her if she is bonded.
Him: Tell her that she may also be in violation of the "Fair Credit Reporting Act."
Him: Ask her who her attorney is.
Me: Lordalmighty, are you going to charge me now?
Me: She wanted me to pay a bill, that I was sure was already paid (I was wrong.) I asked her to send me a statement first, and she told me "We are WAY past that stage, Mr. Whittier."
Me: Eventually I sent her a check, finally, with a huge notation on it, about the terms that endorsement constituted.
Me: So now EVERY day I call her, much like she did me, and I whine , VERY CONDESCENDINGLY about her RESPONSIBILITIES.
Me: Miss Dachis, don't you understand that when you make an agreement, you are obligated to uphold it?
Me: She doesn't take my calls now, so Susan, her admin, just writes it all down. Susan evidently hates her boss, and finds it very entertaining.
Him: I have a blister.
Him: On my heel.
Him: It hurts.
Me: I don't do feet. Sorry.
Him: So, consequently, I rode the trolley home from the gym.
Me: Not really consequently exactly, but okay. Trolley?
Me: Mister Rogers?
Me: Like: clang clang clang? Mr. Trolley?
Him: Yes.
Him: There are "trolleys" in downtown Houston. Really more like buses with costumes on.
Me: Fancy. Fancy Schmancy, even.
Him: Yeah. I was limping down the street and I waved it down. I looked very virile.
Me: But you had a sheen of perspiration from exercise.
Me: So that's something.
Him: Yes.
Him: That's true.
Him: The bizarre bus driver liked talking to me.
Him: She used to be a nurse at the free hospital emergency room.
Him: She told me nasty stories.
Me: About proverbial flashlights in proverbial rectums?
Him: hmm. I didn't take that long a ride. Glass in baby's faces.
Him: I only made it that far.
Me: S'what you get for sitting in that chattering idiot seat up by the driver. Fraidy White Boy. I sit IN BACK.
Him: So what did you do all day?
Me: I don't like that question.
Him: Sorry.
Him: I can see the problem.
Me: You know, earlier I was writing to you...
Him: How kind of you. What did you say?
Me: I've just mailed what I had written. I was venting. Apartment management bullshit.
[management company wanted unlimited access, including keys copied for an unsupervised heating firm, for three days while I was at work]
Me: The most aggravating part is I have no idea what they are doing for THREE days.
Him: It seems a little odd.
Me: I don't want them moving furniture, etc. I have nine foot bookcases, full of stuff, in front of outlets.
Him: Hmm. Call the guy tomorrow and quiz him.
Him: Tell him you discussed the situation with your attorney and that you are concerned.
Me: There is no 'guy'. Just an office full of annoying twenty year old rental agent chicks.
Me: Who will have no answers, and act all annnoyed that I am asking questions.
Him: With really highlighted hair and too much perfume? They claim ignorance whenever asked the tough questions?
Me: EXACTLY.
Him: Yes, I know them well.
Me: There are about six of them, with a very high turnover rate.
Me: I think the owner schtupps them and gives them free apartments, because he's nasty and he can.
Him: Yes, there are only six of these women in all the country.
Him: They just go from one apartment complex to the next. We have met them all.
Him: Tammy and Susie and Janie and
Him: ... Missy and Kim.
Me: An actual Tammy quote: "Well, maybe you could plug the microwave in in the bathroom. Do you have an extension cord?"
Him: Perfect.
Me: Inmates at Auschwitz had better lease terms than I do. I am supposed to get written permission before hanging a picture.
Him: Well, I think at worst you have the same lease terms as Auschwitz inmates. I heard they had that picture hanging clause too.
Me: I just know they are going to try and get in when I am showering tomorrow. Speaking of Auschwitz.
Him: NOT THE SHOWERS! It's a trick!
Me: It seems ridiculous that I have to actually buy a house, just to avoid this shit. I don't really want a house.
Me: Houses are for old guys.
Him: You have not even commented on my font/color choice. What kind of designer are you?
Me: Okay. It's pretty wretched. Chunky and navy. I was holding back my disapproval.
Him: Well, I will work on it. I will find something better for next time. It is a preference, so I don't feel like resetting it right now. But I will do better. I thought that it was easy to read.
Me: I mean: it's lovely.
Me: It's really fat.
Him: Thanks.
Me: Not phat: fat.
Me: Did I ever tell you about the used Phranq CD I once saw?
Him: Hmm. I am thinking that surely you did.
Him: Tell me.
Him: Again. Over and over.
Me: Fine. Someone had written on it: Phranq is the Phuqqing koolest phreaqin' mind-phuq.
Me: It made me snicker, happily. I pictured a junior high lesbian all into it.
Me: Incidentally, are you still seeing the hair dude?
Him: No, we had two dates. That was a sufficiency. I told him to call me but I was real unenthusiastic. Happy me, he never called.
Him: But, I have a date tomorrow with a young man from the gym.
Me: Young?
Him: Well, I am not sure how young. Probably about 27 - 30. Young for me.
Me: What's his specialness about then?
Him: He has a boyish charm.
Him: He has strawberry blond hair.
Him: He is handsome to me.
Me: You and your red hair fascination.
Him: Hmm. I just thought about that.
Me: Is he smart? Can he talk?
Him: My father has red hair you know.
Me: No, I don't know. You never bring me to the family picnics. I am your secret shame.
Him: We don't have picnics.
Me: I will never go out with anyone stupid ever again. [A lie, possibly inadvertant.]
Him: Well, he seems to have a nice sense of humor. And we have a mutual friend who says that he is very funny.
Him: Okay, I really don't know him at all.
Me: Funny is good, but smart and funny is better.
Him: I have several secret shames.
Me: "We don't have picnics". That's your excuse this time.
Him: Yes. It worked.
Me: We don't have: Christmas/picnics/weddings/birthdays/relatives/graduations/open houses/national sales meetings/rumbles. Sure.
Him: Yes. You are on to me.
Him: But we really don't have tupperware parties.
Me: I suppose you are an orphan.
Him: I would like to have one though.
Him: I sometimes have prayed for it.
Me: Right. Whose orphanage doesn't have reunions?
Me: Okay. I missed you greatly, but I am too fidgety to sit here and type. I have to go do something, or I will get all weird. Weirder, even.
Him: Okay. I need to go to bed anyhow. Tomorrow is a long, long day.
Him: Adios.
Me: Don't make me kick your ass, man.
Him: Sure, okay.
Me: Whoops: I meant I missed you. Talk to you soon.
Me: Night.
Him: yes, me too.
I have had an AOL account since about 1937. Back then, AOL handed out free dinner plates and chocolate bars, complimentary black muslin for covering up your windows during air raids. Wait, not 1937 so much as 1997. I dunno, I probably had an account back in '95 or so, when some of you were angrily teething.
I know this for sure- when I joined eBay in 1996, there were less than two hundred members, and four categories. One was 'antiques'.
What you know about me now: I am old and have lots of cheap used things. That and apparently I thought everyone should've let poor Terri Schiavo go gently into that, etc.
In other, more timely news, I made the acqaintance of a lot of people on ye olde AOL; bright, discerning people, what trend researchers like to call 'early adopters', people who get there early and get bored almost as fast. Likely-to-be-disentranced-people, I guess. Not the AOL of today, I suppose, but that was decidedly Then. Maybe even pre-Then; I am not a trend researcher, although I have had meals in restaurants with them on occasion. I was pointedly aloof.
I eventually met a remarkable number of Antique AOL People in-person (typically those in other parts of this grand country, so I wouldn't be doomed to spend time with them, onaccounta being so avidly antisocial and all.) After all these many years, some still remain extra-charming, dearly-regarded (apparently profoundly hyphenate) sans serif type in a window, like a lot of you folk. I maintain contact (in some cases I even relish and court contact- imagine that) with five or so of them, emailing and chatting on the phone when the whim sidles wantonly and ass-pinchy up to any of us.
Who fucking cares, you say? Indeed. Do you recall the first sentence of this idiotic post? I don't think that's requiring too much, especially since you can probably still cheat and read it without even using any neck muscles. And don't be so coarse.
All of those years, I saved IMs compulsively, archiving them to CD. Creepy, I know. I will freely admit that even after re-reading a great many of them, I have no recollection of some of the people with whom I inanely exchanged ugly Geneva type, especially in the early nineties. Most of the conversations are highly entertaining in a squeamish, repugnantly revealing manner, if simultaneously annoyingly topical. Monica Lewinsky references, outrage over Jodie Foster winning Academy Awards, Barbara Bush looks like Forrest Tucker, only with a smaller penis jokes- they're larded through with such dross. Really: I had an opinion, a lengthy, measured one even, about a pending new TV show called "The View." (I didn't think it sounded like good feminism, apparently.)
The nattering found below is between myself (portrayed by 'Me') and my friend R (a tour de force performance labeled 'Him'.) There's nothing special about this conversation, one of maybe 100 I have saved. If I cherry-picked one that was all significant somehow, that wouldn't be Free Range eavesdropping though, really.
R lived in Houston, where Brian (the man with whom I chose to have a ten year endurance test of a relationship) had just boozily relocated himself. I hadn't yet been so unwise as to go visit Brian there yet, so I made poor R fill me in on what sort of neighborhood Brian had landed himself in. R and I IM-ed and talked on the telephone weekly or so for a couple of years before I finally (and happily) made his corporeal acquaintance. R was an attorney, and a classic, if unripe Southern gentleman, all whiskeyishly courtly and genteel. I spent one of the most lovely melancholy Christmas Eve Days I have ever experienced with him in Houston, as we quietly drove around the city looking at old mansions and later lunching in a hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese cafe. He is a thoughtful, good-hearted man, and not nearly as needlessly glib and peculiar as this excerpt might make him seem, I dunno. For me, I offer no excuses, only this:
R and I often 'visited' on Sunday evenings, when both of us were negatively charged like bad attitude carpet static with anticipatory work dread. This timing was probably not a good idea, but we persevered fondly, if snidely.
Him: Hey you.
Me: Hullo.
Him: Well.
Me: It is Sunday, isn't it.
Him: YES
Me: All over the place.
Him: Except where it is already Monday.
Me: Even worse.
Him: Are you sad?
Him: I am a little.
Him: Typical Sunday angst.
Me: I am uncomfortably warm, and cabin-feverish.
Him: It must be very cold there.
Me: It's something like 10 below.
Him: It is in the upper twenties here. For Houston that is very cold.
Me: Esther (across the hall, lived here for 39 years, whiny Esther, Esther Michaels, remember her?) rang my bell to discuss the excessive heating situation tonight.
Him: I think that I would panic if I were in weather that cold.
Him: Yes; you call her Pester.
Him: Pester, Michael.
Him: What's her beef with it?
Me: Yes. Her.
Him: Is it too hot there?
Him: In your building I mean.
Me: Oh, it's way too fucking hot in my apartment. I have a window open. You'd think I'd have my own thunderstorm.
Him: Esther must be miserable.
Him: She could be a mummy by the morning.
Him: You really should check on her. Her old man friend probably can't get out in this weather.
Him: Is there snow too?
Me: About an inch or so. She's fine. She's too spiteful to die.
Him: Don't worry, I pulled up your weather on AOL, I won't bother you with stupid questions anymore.
Me: Stop yanking on my weather.
Me: So. Brian is going to live on Bartlett. Since you asked.
Him: Hmm.
Him: Bartlett. Sounds famliar.
Me: Uh-huh. Unrelated: I am surprised you liked "Little Voice". With whom did you see it?
Him: Kelly.
Him: Really? Though I would have liked it better with subtitles.
Me: Oh. Her. (C'mon: take some bait.)
Him: The biggest problem I had with it was that I couldn't understand the catharsis.
Him: It is not much of a relief when you don't have a fucking clue what she is saying.
Him: It was a little too pat, too. A little too Johnny Belinda meets a Star is Born.
Me: I thought you wouldn't see it at all, =really, I guess.
Me: That 'really' up there looks like it was driving really fast.
Him: Got a swoop to it.
Me: Did you ever watch Ab Fab?
Me: I couldn't really get past the Bubble connection, Horrocks-wise.
Him: Yes, and I really liked it, though I had trouble understanding Bubble and all of the other characters on that too.
Him: Bartlett Street doesn't exist, says Yahoo.
Him: But I know I have heard of it.
Me: Maybe it's Avenue, or Road.
Me: Or Place.
Him: I don't know. It says my street doesn't exist either.
Him: I am stupid, apparently.
Me: Or maybe you are a figment of my imagination.
Me: Maybe I created you.
Him: Well, you could have done better.
Me: At least I put you far far way.
Him: Sometimes I worry that my entire life is a giant hallucination.
Him: Thanks for putting me somewhere warm.
Him: I really appreciate that.
Me: De nada. They say that in TX, right? While eating soil?
Him: Okay. I found Bartlett.
Him: In a moment I will be able to report to you on his neighborhood.
Me: His complex (apartment I mean) is called Museum Place or something.
Him: Oh.
Him: I know exactly where that is.
Him: He is really in a good area.
Me: He's living in a teeny efficiency. Actually.
Him: Big mix of places around there.
Him: Old very expensive mansions.
Me: He likes it.
Him: A fancy gay midrise.
Him: nice condos.
Me: But mainly he likes it because it is not Mpls.
Him: And rat nest aptmts.
Him: What is his beef with Mpls?
Me: Cold. Family. And he's fucked up too many times to stay here.
Him: I see. Well, Houston is a good city to make a start in. It is affordable and warm, and people are nicer here than in many cities.
Me: Says you, Chamber of Horrors.
Him: You know, I bet you more people move to Mpls. to escape from Houston than vice versa.
Me: You would really dislike Minneapolis.
Him: I would? Why do you thik?
Him: ...Think?
Me: I thik because I ak.
Him: I knew that was coming.
Me: Damn.
Him: What happened?
Me: I froze, or rather AOL did.
Me: It wouldn't let me back on. Kept telling me I was already signed on, and the number to call about it, if I was in Sweden.
Him: Do you recall our talk at all the other night? [He was tipsy.]
Me: My charming Midwestern tones?
Him: Your tones?
Him: To tell the truth, I really don't recall much about the conversation. Imagine that.
Me: My lovely voice, free of any singsong Minniesewda accent.
Him: Ah yes. I remember your voice.
Him: I remember talking about the accent.
Me: As I recall (and unlike you, I do) you said you fucked some Artspace dude. Who talked it real bad.
Him: LOL.
Him: Now, that I had forgotten that I mentioned.
Him: I am laughing and blushing simultaneously.
Me: Did he talk that way during? Ooooh, yahhh, dew it tew me, yaahhhh.
Him: Oh GOODnuss.
Me: Afterward, did he say, "Theeeeenks"?
Me: Oh god, I SO recognize the 'Goodnuss'. That's classic MN-speak.
Him: : )
Me: Yuck.
Him: Yes.
Me: So, you bagged your first Minnesotan.
Him: Yes.
Him: That I know of.
Me: Oh, you'd know.
Him: No kidding.
Me: We squeal like old ladies.
Me: It's our official state noise.
Him: Stop.
Him: It is nauseating me a little.
Him: Thoughts of Pester next door.
Me: Poor thing: she's like a boiled chicken wing, shaped like a 'C'.
Him: Big week planned?
Me: Yeah. Like always. NY, Monaco, Berfuckinglin...
Him: Same here.
Him: Maybe I will run into you.
Me: Maybe. Although I hate my jetset life.
Me: But my hair looks great.
Him: Your red hair.
Me: I am going to mail you a brushful, to shut you up with the red nonsense.
Him: Stop.
Him: Send it to Pester.
Me: She could crochet an afghan.
Him: It would give her something to do.
Me: Do you have to deal with [racist litigant in car accident lawsuit] this week?
Him: Yes. She filed some bullshit this weekend. My partner and I will have to work all day tomorrow responding to it.
Me: Tell her that TV Land is going to start running The Jeffersons reruns this month. See what she says.
Him: Don't even bait me into race baiting.
Me: If the glove don't fit, you must acquit.
Me: Why can't you be a rhyming attorney?
Him: I try. But with my accent it gets confusing.
Me: I have to go get my car... you sir are a goddamned lahhr...
Me: See? So simple.
Him: That's pretty good.
Him: That's really good.
Me: I am bilingual.
Him: That's pretty much what happened too.
Me: I know. I paraphrased is all.
Him: You are talented. You could do that FOR A LIVING.[pet peeve of mine, when people say it to me.]
Him: I wish you had to deal with her.
Me: Have I ever asked you if you have other screennames?
Him: No you have not.
Me: Oh.
Him: I just had such a delicious tangerine that I am now going to have another. Your turn.
Me: I bought my sister some antique botanical prints of tangerines for Christmas.
Me: Mainly she was outraged that she would never be able to afford to frame them, and that I didn't realize that.
Him: Well that was pretty rude of you.
Me: I had planned to offer to pay for framing for her birthday (next week) but I changed my mind.
Me: These were very pretty, actually.
Him: What did she give you, for Christmas that is.
Me: Oh, stuff from William Sonoma, where she works.
Me: Expensive knives, roasting pans, etc.
Me: Gay gifts of Luxury.
Him: Tell her I need a 1 and half quart souffle dish.
Me: Why? Fag.
Him: I might want to make a souffle, maybe.
Me: Again: why? Fag.
Him: This is my only attempt in the culinary arts.
Me: Defensive fag.
Him: I am notorious for not cooking, honest, believe me. Ask anybody.
Him: I am masculine enough to make a souffle rise just by looking at it sternly.
Me: Now THAT's GAY.
Him: And lightly stamping my foot impatiently.
Me: Hissy fag.
Him: And of course I know to add a little cream of tartar if things get rough.
Him: You know, I had always thought that I was the type of person who could open a rare book bookstore or an art gallery if I had the money etc.
Me: And sell rare book books?
Him: But, suddenly as I am talking to you, I realize that I would be very bored doing that.
Me: To wealthy stutterers?
Him: I know, I was trying to be clear, not emphatic.
Me: Did you ever see the movie Letter to Three Wives?
Him: No.
Me: Watch it with me sometime.
Him: Doesn't it have a mute woman who could sing show tunes?
Me: No, no, no.
Him: Oh. Okay, let's.
Him: I like movies with show-tune-singing mutes. Your turn.
Me: I don't want to go to school tomorrow.
Him: Me neither. I should go to bed, but I don't wanna.
Me: Stay up and be cynical with me.
Me: See that glass half empty until dawn.
Him: for a little longer, I will.
Me: Do you enjoy the company of your business partner?
Him: Yes and no.
Him: He is like a brother to me.
Him: On Mondays we spend huge amounts of time sharing what we did on the weekend.
Him: He tells me problems that he has with his wife.
Him: And I give suggestions.
Him: I am a little more in touch with women's thoughts than he is.
Me: I'll just bet.
Me: Hair and nails, hair and nails.
Him: Yes, and female troubles.
Me: Is he at all attractive?
Him: Yes.
Me: I could tell by how you were typing. Do you worry that ala Monica Lewinsky, someday all of our chats will be subpoenaed?
Him: I never thought about it until just this second.
Me: And we will be mortified in front of a nosy, but dispassionate America?
Him: It wouldn't make me very happy.
Me: Me either.
Me: Don't lets blow the President ever though.
Him: No, okay. But I think it sounds more like something I would do.
Him: So, I will pledge not to do it.
Me: At least there would be no Snapple commercials blaring in the background while Linda Tripp chews on beef jerky and rattles the wrapper.
Him: What's that clicking? Do you hear clicking?
Me: That's me surfing distractedly while I talk to you. Is all. Have you read my new profile?
Him: No.
Me: I ditched the old-guy magnet one.
Him: I liked the old one.
Me: Yeah, but I wanted to talk to some smart fag one night, and you weren't around.
Him: What a nice thing to say.
Him: You know, I think I would never IM someone who said they were looking to talk to smart people.
Me: Really? You would shun such a person?
Him: Not that I don't think that I am smart, just not sure that I am up for being judged.
Me: I judge you CONSTANTLY.
Me: Powdered wig and the whole bit.
Me: Do your friends ask you to do free attorney stuff a lot?
Me: Write threatening letters, etc?
Him: Not too often.
Him: From time to time.
Me: Do you get all huffy and self-righteous when they do?
Him: Sometimes they want me to do that or write a will or something.
Him: They offer to pay, and it really isn't worth my time to bill them even.
Me: If I was an attorney, I would write free huffy letters all the damn time.
Him: I generally tell them to call the person and try to work it out.
Me: Ppppfff. I like writing really irate letters. I am good at it.
Him: Well, if I am not careful about what I do I could get sued.
Me: Oh, well. That.
Him: I am generally concerned about incurring liability when I do free work for people.
Me: I am currently toying with this bill collector idiot.
Him: Tell her that she is in violation of the "Fair Debt Collection Act."
Me: She harassed me endlessly, and really condescendingly, over less than $200.
Him: That could actually scare her.
Me: Oh, I am getting even, and having fun.
Him: Tell her that you have consulted an attorney.
Him: Ask her who her insurance carrier is.
Him: Ask her if she is bonded.
Him: Tell her that she may also be in violation of the "Fair Credit Reporting Act."
Him: Ask her who her attorney is.
Me: Lordalmighty, are you going to charge me now?
Me: She wanted me to pay a bill, that I was sure was already paid (I was wrong.) I asked her to send me a statement first, and she told me "We are WAY past that stage, Mr. Whittier."
Me: Eventually I sent her a check, finally, with a huge notation on it, about the terms that endorsement constituted.
Me: So now EVERY day I call her, much like she did me, and I whine , VERY CONDESCENDINGLY about her RESPONSIBILITIES.
Me: Miss Dachis, don't you understand that when you make an agreement, you are obligated to uphold it?
Me: She doesn't take my calls now, so Susan, her admin, just writes it all down. Susan evidently hates her boss, and finds it very entertaining.
Him: I have a blister.
Him: On my heel.
Him: It hurts.
Me: I don't do feet. Sorry.
Him: So, consequently, I rode the trolley home from the gym.
Me: Not really consequently exactly, but okay. Trolley?
Me: Mister Rogers?
Me: Like: clang clang clang? Mr. Trolley?
Him: Yes.
Him: There are "trolleys" in downtown Houston. Really more like buses with costumes on.
Me: Fancy. Fancy Schmancy, even.
Him: Yeah. I was limping down the street and I waved it down. I looked very virile.
Me: But you had a sheen of perspiration from exercise.
Me: So that's something.
Him: Yes.
Him: That's true.
Him: The bizarre bus driver liked talking to me.
Him: She used to be a nurse at the free hospital emergency room.
Him: She told me nasty stories.
Me: About proverbial flashlights in proverbial rectums?
Him: hmm. I didn't take that long a ride. Glass in baby's faces.
Him: I only made it that far.
Me: S'what you get for sitting in that chattering idiot seat up by the driver. Fraidy White Boy. I sit IN BACK.
Him: So what did you do all day?
Me: I don't like that question.
Him: Sorry.
Him: I can see the problem.
Me: You know, earlier I was writing to you...
Him: How kind of you. What did you say?
Me: I've just mailed what I had written. I was venting. Apartment management bullshit.
[management company wanted unlimited access, including keys copied for an unsupervised heating firm, for three days while I was at work]
Me: The most aggravating part is I have no idea what they are doing for THREE days.
Him: It seems a little odd.
Me: I don't want them moving furniture, etc. I have nine foot bookcases, full of stuff, in front of outlets.
Him: Hmm. Call the guy tomorrow and quiz him.
Him: Tell him you discussed the situation with your attorney and that you are concerned.
Me: There is no 'guy'. Just an office full of annoying twenty year old rental agent chicks.
Me: Who will have no answers, and act all annnoyed that I am asking questions.
Him: With really highlighted hair and too much perfume? They claim ignorance whenever asked the tough questions?
Me: EXACTLY.
Him: Yes, I know them well.
Me: There are about six of them, with a very high turnover rate.
Me: I think the owner schtupps them and gives them free apartments, because he's nasty and he can.
Him: Yes, there are only six of these women in all the country.
Him: They just go from one apartment complex to the next. We have met them all.
Him: Tammy and Susie and Janie and
Him: ... Missy and Kim.
Me: An actual Tammy quote: "Well, maybe you could plug the microwave in in the bathroom. Do you have an extension cord?"
Him: Perfect.
Me: Inmates at Auschwitz had better lease terms than I do. I am supposed to get written permission before hanging a picture.
Him: Well, I think at worst you have the same lease terms as Auschwitz inmates. I heard they had that picture hanging clause too.
Me: I just know they are going to try and get in when I am showering tomorrow. Speaking of Auschwitz.
Him: NOT THE SHOWERS! It's a trick!
Me: It seems ridiculous that I have to actually buy a house, just to avoid this shit. I don't really want a house.
Me: Houses are for old guys.
Him: You have not even commented on my font/color choice. What kind of designer are you?
Me: Okay. It's pretty wretched. Chunky and navy. I was holding back my disapproval.
Him: Well, I will work on it. I will find something better for next time. It is a preference, so I don't feel like resetting it right now. But I will do better. I thought that it was easy to read.
Me: I mean: it's lovely.
Me: It's really fat.
Him: Thanks.
Me: Not phat: fat.
Me: Did I ever tell you about the used Phranq CD I once saw?
Him: Hmm. I am thinking that surely you did.
Him: Tell me.
Him: Again. Over and over.
Me: Fine. Someone had written on it: Phranq is the Phuqqing koolest phreaqin' mind-phuq.
Me: It made me snicker, happily. I pictured a junior high lesbian all into it.
Me: Incidentally, are you still seeing the hair dude?
Him: No, we had two dates. That was a sufficiency. I told him to call me but I was real unenthusiastic. Happy me, he never called.
Him: But, I have a date tomorrow with a young man from the gym.
Me: Young?
Him: Well, I am not sure how young. Probably about 27 - 30. Young for me.
Me: What's his specialness about then?
Him: He has a boyish charm.
Him: He has strawberry blond hair.
Him: He is handsome to me.
Me: You and your red hair fascination.
Him: Hmm. I just thought about that.
Me: Is he smart? Can he talk?
Him: My father has red hair you know.
Me: No, I don't know. You never bring me to the family picnics. I am your secret shame.
Him: We don't have picnics.
Me: I will never go out with anyone stupid ever again. [A lie, possibly inadvertant.]
Him: Well, he seems to have a nice sense of humor. And we have a mutual friend who says that he is very funny.
Him: Okay, I really don't know him at all.
Me: Funny is good, but smart and funny is better.
Him: I have several secret shames.
Me: "We don't have picnics". That's your excuse this time.
Him: Yes. It worked.
Me: We don't have: Christmas/picnics/weddings/birthdays/relatives/graduations/open houses/national sales meetings/rumbles. Sure.
Him: Yes. You are on to me.
Him: But we really don't have tupperware parties.
Me: I suppose you are an orphan.
Him: I would like to have one though.
Him: I sometimes have prayed for it.
Me: Right. Whose orphanage doesn't have reunions?
Me: Okay. I missed you greatly, but I am too fidgety to sit here and type. I have to go do something, or I will get all weird. Weirder, even.
Him: Okay. I need to go to bed anyhow. Tomorrow is a long, long day.
Him: Adios.
Me: Don't make me kick your ass, man.
Him: Sure, okay.
Me: Whoops: I meant I missed you. Talk to you soon.
Me: Night.
Him: yes, me too.