Happy Birthday, Fluffer
This is my birthday love letter to my Fluffer, diseased_inside. Most people, won’t give a crap about this but hey, it is her birthday, I promised her something, and this is my public declaration of our ohsowrong!love. (see, baby, I love you so much that I don’t even f-lock this! Everyone can see how buttcrazy I am for you!) Plus, you original present, just wasn’t happening. So tough cookies! You have to settle for my outpouring of love and you will like it! :)
I still remember the day that we met, ten years this July. I was an innocent girl, trapped in a college computer lab, trying to kill some time because my roommate was a total f’ing psychopath who stole my money and tried to stab me with a box cutter. But that really is more back story that isn’t important here, I just needed pity. (And to also establish WHY I was in a god-forsaken university computer lab). I was familiar with chat rooms, having cut my teeth on HTML chats whose names I don’t recall now. But never before had I been exposed to the perversity that was chat room RPing. Oh! The debauchery! The language! The filth! I was in love. And there you were, beasty in the corner, ready to violate me cyberly with a rather large sex toy. Everyone else that was witness thought that we were sick sick individuals. I am sure the people in the computer lab thought it was strange that was laughing so hard that my face was red and I peed my pants. (No really, I did. At least, I think it was pee!)
The next couple of years, we didn’t really speak much. I got involved with that dreaded thing called real life. There were friends to drink with, songs to be booty shooken to, men and women to have dirty anonymous sex acts with. The place where we first met crashed and burned, along with several other incarnations. I had gotten back into the scene thanks to a summer spent with mono because really, when you end up almost dying from mono, what else is there to do but to harass people on the intrawebbing? And that is when we really reconnected again. That was seven years ago.
When I suggested that we get together, actually meet in person, it was the first time in meeting someone from the net that I didn’t feel any hesitation about. Actually, never in the decade that I have known you have I ever had any hesitation in regards to you. Otherwise, I sure as hell wouldn’t have let you touch my bathing suit area in a public chat room!
I’ll never forget that first night, where we went out drinking, dancing, and stayed out until sunset. Nor will I forget that idiot bouncer who took my damn ID because he thought it was fake. I was WAY old enough. Asshat. And how could I forget the fire dancers or the girl in the bathroom that I thought was hot and who you thought had fake tits. That was one of the funniest nights of my life, one I thought could never be replaced until...pizza night.
Never in my life have I ever laughed so hard at a movie. I can’t walk past Treasure Planet now without screams of “bacon grease!” and breaking into a fit of giggles. Every time I hear Total Eclipse of the Heart on the radio (which is a lot now, they came out with a dance remix), I get a warm feeling because it reminds me of you and the fact that you let me touch your boobies while we were hot tubbing. If I wasn’t in love with you before, it happened that trip to Seattle.
So why do I love you? Exactly? In coming up with this, it went through several rewrites because I want to make sure that I counted all the of the ways that you are special to me. My list was so huge, I knew that it would be WAY over the LJ word limit. Here are just a couple of highlights.
- I love you because even though you HATE talking on the phone, you have never once told me no when I needed to talk to you. You never once said “I have to go” during one of our marathon conversations. You even let me talk to you while at work when really, you should not be gossiping with me. You should be doing your work, missy! But I know that even though you hate the telephone, you love the fact that I always have good gossip and serious comeuppance stories. See, I know your dirty little secret and now, everyone else does. Mwahaha!
- I hate the fact that you are a better writer than I am and yet you don’t get published. Not because you aren’t good because you are one of the most talented writers I have ever read. It is because you don’t have confidence. And I hate that. Yes, I know, love letter but this has to be said because it does connect with my love for you. I love your writing. I love that when you were writing Magnolia (I think that is the right title), I got to read chapters before everyone else. I love that you let me do the same with your Merlin fic. I would get all giddy when I saw your email in my inbox with a new chapter. Things that would bother me with other people’s writings, subject matters, don’t with yours because it is you. I can read about a baby-demon-trapped-in-an-adult’s-body seducing her much, much older father so not human father without the automatic icky factor. I can laugh my ass off about someone who keeps a zombie as a pet, even though zombies scare the crap out of me. I’ll read anything from the beautiful to the profane because it is from you the same as I would digest and adore anything by any of my treasure famous authors.
- Then again, since I do that for you, you do something special for me. And that is pretty much let me do whatever the hell I want when we RP. Whether I am playing a Russian lesbian bombshell in love with a black drug/gun runner to coming up with a crazy plot where your demon got kidnapped and experimented on but she doesn’t remember it (including her own daughter!) to just doing something cute and light with our favorite lesbian darlings. And let’s not forget our night out with Daneel and Justine at the strip club RP. That was too damn funny. You were even down with playing a pet vampire for my crazed Laurent, even though I know you aren’t fond of the Play By E-Mail. In 10 years, you have never once told me a story line was stupid, a character was stupid, or that something didn’t work. You were always down for whatever I suggested, which was a whole lot more than I ever got from anyone else, that is for sure. Usually being the one who had to bend to what others wanted, it was nice that you were my bitch. (I mean that in the most loving way possible).
- Despite the fact that this is really unhealthy and I shouldn’t be praising or saying my love for it, I love that you “get” my food issues. Never once have you told me that I was sick. You never thought it was odd that I have quirks like not being able to eat the first piece of bread in a loaf or that everything on the table has to be arranged just so before I can eat or if there are too many people in a restaurant, I can’t eat. (And god knows, this is the tip of the iceberg of the crazy eating habits!) You never judged me. You understood that sometimes, bulemics and anorexics aren’t a size 0 and 86 lbs. Sometimes, your disease, your addiction, is a struggle. You win some, you lose some. It doesn’t make you any worse or any better than anyone else with an eating disorder. You don’t ever ask me why I want to know what you ate, you just tell me. We can do what so many people with food issues do, talk about food. I can’t do that with anyone else because they don’t “get” it. They don’t understand. How can they get that sometimes, I have to talk about food, I need to know what other people ate, that I...enjoy it? It sounds weird even writing it. But you do and you never made any sort of deal about it, which I admire since I have to live in a world where I am constantly judged for my eating habits, food choices, and quirks. You are my safe haven, my rock, someone I can depend on who will tell me that it is okay that I can’t eat food that has touched other food.
- Or there is the simple fact that I never had a backbone before I met you. You have helped me grow from someone who took everyone’s shit and then some, to being the woman who actually tells people no, who stands up for herself, who says you have hurt me! I never would have been able to do it had you not continually pushed me, told me that I was worth something, and that no one has the right to treat me poorly. It is a slow process and I know it hasn’t been an easy one. But you helped me to go from letting a certain person walk all over me to telling him when he has hurt me and to demanding an apology from him. That is a huge step for me and it wouldn’t have been possible without your encouragement.
- And while I could go on and on here, trust me, the list is huge, I will do more of a blanket statement in this. I love you because you are screwed up. You had a screwed up childhood, screwed up adulthood, screwed up sex life, screwed up love life, screwed up work life, screwed up healthwise, screwed six ways to Sunday, baby. But the great thing is, so have I. You relate to me on a level that no one before and no one since has. You know when to sit back and listen and when to threaten to stab a bitch. When I screw my screwed up life up even more, you are never there with judgments or lectures, it is just support. You know me so well that you know when I finally need someone to say STOP IT! and to tell me what to do. You are my soul sister, closer than blood, because we have spent so many lifetimes together. We understand each other. You speak my language, I speak yours, even if it is saying nothing at all.
Throughout all my years on this planet, I have never met anyone that is as special and gifted as you are. I only hope that the past ten years were just the start and that I have another ten, twenty, thirty, hell, even fifty years with you. I can’t imagine my life without you in it, being able to talk to you every day, even if it is something as simple as gossiping about Paris Hilton. Every moment spent with you is special and that is why I hope you have a very Happy Birthday.
I still remember the day that we met, ten years this July. I was an innocent girl, trapped in a college computer lab, trying to kill some time because my roommate was a total f’ing psychopath who stole my money and tried to stab me with a box cutter. But that really is more back story that isn’t important here, I just needed pity. (And to also establish WHY I was in a god-forsaken university computer lab). I was familiar with chat rooms, having cut my teeth on HTML chats whose names I don’t recall now. But never before had I been exposed to the perversity that was chat room RPing. Oh! The debauchery! The language! The filth! I was in love. And there you were, beasty in the corner, ready to violate me cyberly with a rather large sex toy. Everyone else that was witness thought that we were sick sick individuals. I am sure the people in the computer lab thought it was strange that was laughing so hard that my face was red and I peed my pants. (No really, I did. At least, I think it was pee!)
The next couple of years, we didn’t really speak much. I got involved with that dreaded thing called real life. There were friends to drink with, songs to be booty shooken to, men and women to have dirty anonymous sex acts with. The place where we first met crashed and burned, along with several other incarnations. I had gotten back into the scene thanks to a summer spent with mono because really, when you end up almost dying from mono, what else is there to do but to harass people on the intrawebbing? And that is when we really reconnected again. That was seven years ago.
When I suggested that we get together, actually meet in person, it was the first time in meeting someone from the net that I didn’t feel any hesitation about. Actually, never in the decade that I have known you have I ever had any hesitation in regards to you. Otherwise, I sure as hell wouldn’t have let you touch my bathing suit area in a public chat room!
I’ll never forget that first night, where we went out drinking, dancing, and stayed out until sunset. Nor will I forget that idiot bouncer who took my damn ID because he thought it was fake. I was WAY old enough. Asshat. And how could I forget the fire dancers or the girl in the bathroom that I thought was hot and who you thought had fake tits. That was one of the funniest nights of my life, one I thought could never be replaced until...pizza night.
Never in my life have I ever laughed so hard at a movie. I can’t walk past Treasure Planet now without screams of “bacon grease!” and breaking into a fit of giggles. Every time I hear Total Eclipse of the Heart on the radio (which is a lot now, they came out with a dance remix), I get a warm feeling because it reminds me of you and the fact that you let me touch your boobies while we were hot tubbing. If I wasn’t in love with you before, it happened that trip to Seattle.
So why do I love you? Exactly? In coming up with this, it went through several rewrites because I want to make sure that I counted all the of the ways that you are special to me. My list was so huge, I knew that it would be WAY over the LJ word limit. Here are just a couple of highlights.
- I love you because even though you HATE talking on the phone, you have never once told me no when I needed to talk to you. You never once said “I have to go” during one of our marathon conversations. You even let me talk to you while at work when really, you should not be gossiping with me. You should be doing your work, missy! But I know that even though you hate the telephone, you love the fact that I always have good gossip and serious comeuppance stories. See, I know your dirty little secret and now, everyone else does. Mwahaha!
- I hate the fact that you are a better writer than I am and yet you don’t get published. Not because you aren’t good because you are one of the most talented writers I have ever read. It is because you don’t have confidence. And I hate that. Yes, I know, love letter but this has to be said because it does connect with my love for you. I love your writing. I love that when you were writing Magnolia (I think that is the right title), I got to read chapters before everyone else. I love that you let me do the same with your Merlin fic. I would get all giddy when I saw your email in my inbox with a new chapter. Things that would bother me with other people’s writings, subject matters, don’t with yours because it is you. I can read about a baby-demon-trapped-in-an-adult’s-body seducing her much, much older father so not human father without the automatic icky factor. I can laugh my ass off about someone who keeps a zombie as a pet, even though zombies scare the crap out of me. I’ll read anything from the beautiful to the profane because it is from you the same as I would digest and adore anything by any of my treasure famous authors.
- Then again, since I do that for you, you do something special for me. And that is pretty much let me do whatever the hell I want when we RP. Whether I am playing a Russian lesbian bombshell in love with a black drug/gun runner to coming up with a crazy plot where your demon got kidnapped and experimented on but she doesn’t remember it (including her own daughter!) to just doing something cute and light with our favorite lesbian darlings. And let’s not forget our night out with Daneel and Justine at the strip club RP. That was too damn funny. You were even down with playing a pet vampire for my crazed Laurent, even though I know you aren’t fond of the Play By E-Mail. In 10 years, you have never once told me a story line was stupid, a character was stupid, or that something didn’t work. You were always down for whatever I suggested, which was a whole lot more than I ever got from anyone else, that is for sure. Usually being the one who had to bend to what others wanted, it was nice that you were my bitch. (I mean that in the most loving way possible).
- Despite the fact that this is really unhealthy and I shouldn’t be praising or saying my love for it, I love that you “get” my food issues. Never once have you told me that I was sick. You never thought it was odd that I have quirks like not being able to eat the first piece of bread in a loaf or that everything on the table has to be arranged just so before I can eat or if there are too many people in a restaurant, I can’t eat. (And god knows, this is the tip of the iceberg of the crazy eating habits!) You never judged me. You understood that sometimes, bulemics and anorexics aren’t a size 0 and 86 lbs. Sometimes, your disease, your addiction, is a struggle. You win some, you lose some. It doesn’t make you any worse or any better than anyone else with an eating disorder. You don’t ever ask me why I want to know what you ate, you just tell me. We can do what so many people with food issues do, talk about food. I can’t do that with anyone else because they don’t “get” it. They don’t understand. How can they get that sometimes, I have to talk about food, I need to know what other people ate, that I...enjoy it? It sounds weird even writing it. But you do and you never made any sort of deal about it, which I admire since I have to live in a world where I am constantly judged for my eating habits, food choices, and quirks. You are my safe haven, my rock, someone I can depend on who will tell me that it is okay that I can’t eat food that has touched other food.
- Or there is the simple fact that I never had a backbone before I met you. You have helped me grow from someone who took everyone’s shit and then some, to being the woman who actually tells people no, who stands up for herself, who says you have hurt me! I never would have been able to do it had you not continually pushed me, told me that I was worth something, and that no one has the right to treat me poorly. It is a slow process and I know it hasn’t been an easy one. But you helped me to go from letting a certain person walk all over me to telling him when he has hurt me and to demanding an apology from him. That is a huge step for me and it wouldn’t have been possible without your encouragement.
- And while I could go on and on here, trust me, the list is huge, I will do more of a blanket statement in this. I love you because you are screwed up. You had a screwed up childhood, screwed up adulthood, screwed up sex life, screwed up love life, screwed up work life, screwed up healthwise, screwed six ways to Sunday, baby. But the great thing is, so have I. You relate to me on a level that no one before and no one since has. You know when to sit back and listen and when to threaten to stab a bitch. When I screw my screwed up life up even more, you are never there with judgments or lectures, it is just support. You know me so well that you know when I finally need someone to say STOP IT! and to tell me what to do. You are my soul sister, closer than blood, because we have spent so many lifetimes together. We understand each other. You speak my language, I speak yours, even if it is saying nothing at all.
Throughout all my years on this planet, I have never met anyone that is as special and gifted as you are. I only hope that the past ten years were just the start and that I have another ten, twenty, thirty, hell, even fifty years with you. I can’t imagine my life without you in it, being able to talk to you every day, even if it is something as simple as gossiping about Paris Hilton. Every moment spent with you is special and that is why I hope you have a very Happy Birthday.