I believe it was my junior year that Lisbon High School became graced with it's very first little person. Lance wasn't a technical midget, rather, he had a unique developmental problem with affected only the size of his legs, leaving him with the approximate proportions of a thin chimpanzee. Back then, he compensated for his diminuitive statute with an oversized, boisterous personality, and the ability to use his own arms as a jump rope. Nowadays, he compensates with a myspace profile chalk full of pictures of him from the waist up, my favorite being this one.

I've been cruising myspace a lot lately for additional people to add to my friend's list, for the sake of nostalgia, comradery, and publicity: I've taked to announcing my new blog posts on the bulletin board to drive people here, where they can experience, first-hand, the steaming pile of prose that is my self-interest. This is especially satisfying when the reader is one of the many I went to high school with but whom did not know me particularly well, seeing me only as the intellectual misfit who was constantly scribbling her thoughts into a notebook or blogging them on the library computers.

See how far I've, uh, come? *Ahem*

Sometimes I start writing a post without any intention of it being ironic, then, as it comes out, I become more and more aware of the subtle mockery I'm unconsciously making of myself. It seems that, here, there is a delicious parallel: In high school, I had Lance-legs in the areas of fashion sense, social skills and, let's face it, personal hygiene. I faced this with either defiant, counter-culture avoidance of the people I wasn't like and the skills I didn't have, or with a humorous, defensive turn of phrase, like "Hey, look at that short kid who can jump rope with his own arms!" Now, Lance's profile highlights his upper body and mine has only pictures of Pretty-From-A-Certain-Angle Girl.

And yet, I lead them here. Here, where I bare my soul, my flaws, my insecurities. Sure, I dress them up in their Sunday best, but still, this is a fairground of failings. It seems that I endeavor to face my deepest fear: That those who love me would not if they knew who I really was. Put it out there, unpretentious, and send the people there, to read about all the miserable things I say, think, and do. She's a snob, a pervert, and a hypocrite. She's a currently unemployed waste of human life, someone who clings to her own pathetic blog for validation.

But if she can make you laugh by the end of the post, well then, maybe that's something.


Fierygwenivere: I'm now finding the profiles of all the Popular guys who were too list that they went to LHS, so I have to search for their names individually. Justin Costello, Jeremy Steenson, etc. If they don't accept my friend requests, it's gonna be like my sixth grade birthday party all over again.
FieryGwenivere: I'm thinking of creating a second myspace profile that I will use for adding as many people as humanly possible, just so I can announce my updates on it and up my traffic.
Snappyguy: just tell everyone you're on a webcam like so many other girls seem to
FieryGwenivere: that's not the way to get thoughtful, literary traffic
FieryGwenivere: and you don't get a whole lot a guys who are like "A cam girl? Alright! Oh, it's a blog...even better! Now I can get to know her for the person she really is."



In other news, an new show will be airing on British television called "Masturbation for Girls", featuring "an 'orgasm coach' who teaches three ladies all her tricks, which they will demonstrate, live, to camera." The source of this information it this article by Carol Sarler, in which she argues that position that this is a disgrace to woman, a pitiful attempt to masquerade porn as education, and cheap television. She makes some decent points decently well and, unlike other online journalist I've read lately, can use a semi-colon. Do I agree with her? I don't know. Lately, my level of conservativeness is flippant at best, and reality TV has always been a bit of hot button for me. So, whether or not this is pornography or "cheap" isn't really something I see fit to argue from either side; however, there are some points she didn't make which beg to be argued, and I did so in the form of a comment to her article that the editors decided not to publish. So, I'll make them here.

First of all, porn or not porn, her viewpoint on this show seems to suggest that female sexuality, in whatever form it takes, is something to be ashamed of, and that's a stigma that has done quite enough damage to the world at large already. Secondly, with the world as it is today, more women than ever are reporting suffering from Female Sexual Dysfunction, as well as being pre-orgasmic. Whatever the marketing strategies behind it, here is a show that endeavors to teach women how to have an orgasm, a show that prioritizes a woman's pleasure. Carol Sarler argues that this show could not possibly be "mark of women's progress and of liberation". But the fact is that this day in age, there are still thousands of women utterly dissatisfied in their sex lives, and who have resigned themselves to being merely an aid to the pleasures of men. This is one of the arenas that, despite progress, true liberation has not fully occured. Science says, doubtlessly, that having an orgasm is an essential function of life, alleviating physical and emotional tension and instilling a level of confidence sorely needed in today's women. Advancing the progress of pre-orgasmic women, therefore, isn't "science, education or art"; it's a fucking cause.


Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with my brand-new, 60-dollar vibrator. Gonna go have a little women's movement of my own.

On with it.



Technorati Tags: compensation little person personal evolution myspace insecurities masturbation england reality TV vibrator women's movement hitachi magic wand

First and foremost, Happy Birthday, Emily!

Please feel free to leave a comment below for the birthday girl, if I you (or I) can figure out how to work it. (Click Here!)

On a vaguely related matter, if you're ordering flowers from a online site, a site that's entire purpose is to deliver flowers, shouldn't the delivery fee be included in the price? There's no way to pick up these flowers, the whole point of the place is just to deliver them...I think that's rather slippery, FTD. Slippery indeed. Now, I want it made clear to the birthday girl that this is not even the slightest concern, and if she spends even a moment thinking about it, I will send her flowers every day for a month as punishment. But the principal of the thing seems a bit wrong.

Rosie O'Donnell has apparently gone and offended fundamentalist Christians on her new gig on The View, and people are acting like everything Rosie O'Donnell is, and, in fact, everything most people are, didn't offend fundamentalist Christians from day one. Her exact words: “Radical Christianity is just as threatening as radical Islam in a country like America where we have separation of church and state.”

You don't have to know me very well to know that I agree. This is obvious enough that I, in fact, would not be blogging about this at all had I not read this commentary on the whole thing. In it, pundit wanna-be Robert Paul Reyes writes a short and simplistic agreement to her words, blatantly disregarding, on multiple occasions, the functionality of a semi-colon and ending the article with "You go Rosie! You go girl!"

This begs the question-- why the hell is this guy getting paid to write grammar-killing blurbs about celebrities and politics while I write this drivel for less than 25 visitors a day? The feeling that I need to be doing more with my writing has begun to build up, once again. Let's see how far it gets me this time.

I mean, I know I'll never be on Robert Paul Keyes' level. I let that possiblity slide on by when I passed 11th grade English. Jackass.

On with it.



Technorati Tags: Rosie O'Donnell The View Robert Paul Reyes semi-colon fundamentalist radical christianity grammar

The good thing about getting your circadian rhythym put into a blender is that being awake at crazy times exposes you to things you might never get a chance to experience during your normal routine: In this case, I've just watched an AMC show called "Movies that Shook the World" doing an episode on The China Syndrome. For those of you who have never heard about this movie, it was a 1979 thriller written by a controversial documentary film maker about a nuclear power plant experiencing a meltdown, as well as a conspiracy to cover the warning signs. The interesting thing about it: it was released twelve days before the incident at Three Mile Island. Many speculate, and rightly so, I believe, that the eerie parallels between the movie's message and release date and the accident had such an influence on the public's opinions of nuclear energy that it was single-handedly responsible for shutting down the growth of the nuclear power industry in America.

The question AMC posed: Was this a good thing or a bad thing?

Many would argue that nuclear energy may have been the closest thing to safe, clean, efficient energy we ever could have come, and that the movie irresponsibly drove people to have a disproportionate reaction the later occuring incident, which, while frightening, did relatively little damage. AMC, however, wrapped up the show in a different way, not surprisingly supporting the movie for it's role in preventing a major catastrophe: an expert at the end of the show came on to comment about how susceptible we would be to terrorism attacks on the hundreds of nuclear reactors that would have been built had it not been for the movie. This commentator left everyone feeling all warm and gooey about the wonderful job Hollywood did in preventing large-scale vulnerability in a post 9-11 America, twenty years in advance.

I may not have learned much in college, but the Critical Thinker that got the highest score in Mr. Thatcher's class couldn't help but pose the question no one was acknowledging: Had things gone as planned back in the seventies, would we still be today dependent enough on foreign oil that terrorism, specifically, the kind we fear today, would be that kind of concern? Would 9-11 have happened?



Well, don't ask me. I don't fucking know. I just thought it was an argument someone should have been making. Also, every now and then I like to remind you all that I don't just obsess about my own life all the time. Sometimes, I take a few minutes to think globally.


*Phew.* Glad that's over.

On with it.



Technorati Tags: the china syndrome nuclear power three mile island 9/11/2001 terrorism what if...

What they mean when they tell you you're too smart for your own good.

• At an early age, before they had us approrpriately divided into classes based on your developmental stages and intelligence, and even after that, I found myself constantly able to do the work assigned to me in school without having to wait and listen to the instructions. Back then, this afforded me the head start to get it done and earn the status of being the best, the fastest, the smartest. In the long run, however, it just fucked me out of the important lesson you're suppose to learn at that stage of life: how to listen.
• Having identified me as gifted slightly later, they began taking me out of my regular classes during unimportant times, like penmanship practice, for advanced placement classes in Problem solving and creative writing. This afforded me the advantage of being able to write the best reports, stories and essays in class, but, to this day, nobody can read them until they're typed.
• And that brings us to: respect. While other kids were learning the importance of respecting their elders for their superior knowledge, intelligence, and common sense. It was much earlier than most that I began to realize that the many of the adults around me weren't smarter than I was, and this lead me into a very early, very prolonged "question authority" phase. This triggered the cockiness that caused me to doubt the reasoning behind every moral, standard, and institution I encountered, blazing my own trails in many ways that ultimately failed, for lack of the time-tested common sense that I was too good for. When I didn't want to do something a certain way, I could easily dream up an argument to justify the behavior I wanted and totally convince myself, and many others, of it's validity. Don't feel like going to school for another four years? Well, college is just part of a grossly overrated system that shuffles people blindly into a place they may or may not belong, costing them, in the long run, lots of time and money that often would be better spent developing their individual skills in a different environment. Don't want to do homework tonight? People put too much emphasis on academics, anyway; the pressure on students today is overwhelming to the point of suffocation, and nobody gives credit to teenagers whose achievements are more personal, like being an excellent friend, or just being kind.

Then I went and got married. I couldn't be bothered to listen to my mother when she plead with me to be nicer to his family, or to be yoked into a subservient wife role when she suggested that I spend some real time learning to cook the things he liked. When people would criticize me for the obvious hypocrisy I practiced in spending enormous amounts of time with ex-boyfriends but being controlling in his social life to the extreme, I said merely "I need what I need, he needs what he needs. It's not hypocrisy to need something of your partner that they don't nessecarily need back. It's simply being realistic."

I was drawn to Zack for a myriad of reasons, but one cannot deny the cold practicality behind some of them: Here was a boy with few opinions, whereas I could not shut up, in all my intellectual superiority, about the righteousness of what I believed. Here was a boy who was willing to follow where I wanted to go, whereas I was a girl determined to blaze her own trail. Here was a boy who, initially, thought so little of himself that he felt there was nothing of him worth holding onto; I, a girl who was unwilling to sacrifice.

It's taken this long, but now the unspoken tension has grown in intensity to the point that it's presence becomes, often, undeniable: he resents the respect I have neglected to give him, and I am dumbfounded and defensive at the all-too sudden build up of changing standards.

The vaginismus and related problems have, undoubtedly, provided us with more than our fair share of problems, but, as we scramble to fix those with little time left on a ticking clock that reminds us constantly of a deadline of frustration we have previously been willing to to acknowledge, it's impossible not to notice the unrelated problems that have taken their toll. Don't get me wrong-- I believe that the vaginismus has, at the very least, excelled the growth of every problem that we have. A man, many argue, needs respect in a relationship as fundamentally as a woman needs love-- perhaps not the most politically correct of ideas, but I believe there is a degree of truth to it. I also believe that sex can supply a man with a feeling of confidence that he can't nessecarily get anywhere else; a feeling, perish the thought, of providing for his wife in a way that demands her (oh, god, the feminist in me is shuddering here) respect and gratitute. (Jesus Christ. It's so awful to write.) I, of course, also must point out that this trade of pleasure for respect is a two-way street, and one a woman can more easily profit from, even. But perhaps one that a man needs more.

Still, here is a problem that we have that's not directly related to vaginismus; one that would have manifested itself eventually. I have failed to respect him adequately in the past, and, over the years, part of him has become very angry. He has become a man who is ready to demand what he needs and deserves. As for my part, I have lost sight of the girl who was selfishly stubborn, and lost sight of the relationship I was drawn to, in part, because of convenience. I find myself, scared as a girl, but no less a woman in love with a man, and realizing that she has little time to figure out precisely how to give him what he now needs and has always deserved.

Where are my grade school teachers, now?


On with it.

Technorati Tags: intelligence development personal evolution gifted and talented respect question authority cockiness hypocrisy vaginismus sex men and women

For those of you who have been following along with the blog since the beginning, this will be familiar to you.

I saw our dear prodigal daugher, Tina the Troubled Teen, again when I happened upon at the weblog of The Mad Dater. Tina was lost, for those of you who don't know, in one of my earliest template changeovers, back in probably 2001. The Mad Dater, who was, apparently, a regular reader at one point, was lost when I forgot to renew my subscription to my domain name, Suedecaramel.com. It was when my poor name was hijacked by a "domain speculator" looking to cash in on the existing links cast throughout the world wide web to, once upon a time, my site. The Mad Dater was just one of the many, many readers who got lost in the whirlwind of it all, and it was then, in my disappointment, that the wind went out of my sails for this blog.


Right now, I find myself in the midst of a hurricane, fueled by drenching torrents of emotion, purposeful winds of inspiration, and the booming static energy that is...unpresented amounts of in-between-jobs freetime. With a whole, eager crew made up of the voices in my head, I, the masterful navigator of self-interested prose that I am, will guide this little ship from port to port, dazzling all with treasures of truth, bounty of beauty, and mountains of metaphors that I take way too far.

Something that
<--this guy
wouldn't like very much.

On with it.

Technorati tags: blogging verbosity

I read conversations, saved on my computer, that he and I had nearly seven years ago. Our inferior vocabularies, our youthful exuberance, and references to first-run Simpsons episodes that were still funny are all reminscent of a very different time. I was trying to break him into liking the newly-released "Mad Season" CD by Matchbox Twenty, which, of course, wasn't going to happen. We planned impossible trips to Mexico. We invented words together-- Sarcasmic. We didn't yet know each other's last names-- I still called him Andrew-- and we were learning bits and pieces about each other in a way that was constantly new and exciting; we had the advantage, I suppose, being that our lives were still new and exciting, back then.

I like trying to figure out how old the conversations are from the context clues, since the harddrive has been moved from computer to computer enough so that the "date created" stamps have nothing whatsoever to do with the date they were actually created. But I feel pretty safe to say that we're partying like it's 1999.


Two days ago, we had a conversation which has left me thinking of very little else, with the exception of the recently persistent feelings of dread which drove me to go to him in the first place. I've been thinking about how badly I needed to confide in someone about my plans, how I expected him to react; the quite unexpected way in which he did react. I am thinking about his anger laced with compassion, his telltale frustration which revealed a surprisng concern for my wellbeing, and, consequently, his. My future and his; two things I honestly didn't expect to have become woven together in seven years of online conversations, scattered late-night phone calls and three real-life appearences.

Not out of lack for my love for him, mind you.

He told me, "I guess all I can say, is that from what I've learned from you, from what I've experienced through you and from the person I've come to know as Linda, if you're done with it, then Andrew Elorza, being forever less than that, has even less to hope for and to expect from himself."

It's what stands out about the conversation now, that concept...what he's experienced through me, the person he's come to know as Linda. He seems to know my weakness for people calling me by my name. He seems to know that all I've ever really wanted from him is the chance to know him, the chance for him to know me, and the chance that one day, the extent of my esteem for him would be mutual.

That's the thing that stands out about the conversation; that, and the ending line, which has me terrified. Something I've waited so long for, and now I fear it was all out of...strategy and desperation. One line that, in this particular relationship, has become something of a holy grail. One line that has brought down epic friendships before-- a line that brought down me and Casey. But, then, I've seen a lot of people come and go in the time I've known Elorza.

I want to tell him I'm terrified, but it's a bad idea to give the event the attention that...that I've already given it, times ten. It's a bad idea to acknowledge that I've been thinking about it, but I get so detrimentally honest when I'm scared. It's an instinct. It generally happens when my planning or manipulation has gone badly, when the things I've been hiding are blowing up in my face. When I can't keep track of my own lies anymore. So I tell the truth, all of it.

That, I guess, is what this is. Odds are, he'll read this eventually, and then I'll be exposed, and he'll realize that I paid attention when he said it, and he'll regret it. He'll be afraid to take it back-- no one wants to disappoint the girl who's unsure whether or not she wants anything to do with her future-- he'll be convinced it'll upset me more. Instead, he'll avoid me, block me, not come online for a few months.

God, I hope I'm wrong. It seems I've lost my ability to believe anything but the worst.

I should have quit the word when Casey did, when Casey suggested that I should, too. I should have adjusted my vocabulary, clung to awkward phrasing. "Ineffable fondness." Didn't give that it's due credit. Seems fucking perfect, about now. Had I been willing to go with that, I wouldn't be where I am now with Elorza, and I'd still have Casey as a buffer. It's just, it didn't seem honest enough for me. And I get honest when I'm scared.

Which I always am.


Scared shitless and detrimentally honest. That's what this is, I guess. On with it.



Technorati Tags: honesty love ineffable fondness weakness mutuality friendship suicide insecurity sarcasmic

I wrote this entry, and it's all nice, and cohesive, and I like the way it turned out, except that I forgot the whole reason I was writing it was to point out that I've updated my template slightly to include a small section for links to writing I've done that has been featured on other websites. Check them out...three of my best works, really, and that says a lot, because, you know, I'm so talented and prolific. Thought I'd mention it pre-post, rather than screw up the rather nicely somber mood of the post below, once you get into it.

----

Dan, the newest regular reader of my blog, tells me the other day that I should be a professional writer, like it's his idea. When I mention it to my newest group of friends, they agree with him in such a way that reminds me how little they really know about me. It seems that I've become so focused on the practical applications of my life that those I interact the most with aren't even aware of my impractical dreams. It's what I've always wanted. But do I have the courage to want anymore?

"You have the talent," Dan says, "Just write a book and get it published."

Sam, later, asks the daunting question, "Well, have you ever tried to be a real writer?"

I'm a little drawn back by the question: what is trying to be a real writer? "You could say my whole life has been one long, largely failing attempt."

"That's not really an answer." He says. Among many, many other things, this is what I love about Sam.


But what is trying for it? Is it going to college as an English major? Graduating cumme laude and getting an internship at some local paper? Surely, the last five years of logging my thoughts in a public way, and a way that's practiced and at least reasonably eloquent, surely that counts as some effort. Surely, the hundreds of pages, the dozens of readers, the things people have felt when they read what I have to say-- does it count for anything?

What is a real writer, and why am I not it?


I guess the reason is that I haven't claimed the title as my own. Haven't committed myself to my desires, have been unwilling to lose control to the passion. There's a story waiting to be written here about the many parallels between my waster literary potential, and my dysfunctional sex life, but I'm not going to write it any more than I'm going to have an orgasm anytime soon.

I've been reading books about how to do the latter, lately. Trying to learn the skill, so advised by the therapist who I have been seeing for the Vaginsimus. The world, or those who accept my invitation into mine at least, might as well known that I can't have a satisfying orgasm any better than I can accept penetration, and that, in the last couple of years, I've experienced a great deal of physical pain with clitoral arousal. Any one of these things is enough to cause a lifetime's worth of frustration; together, the three are a viscious trifecta which is slowly but surely withering away everything it touches: the self esteems of and love between Zack and I, in the most obvious ways. My very ability to function as a person, more subtly.

Sometimes I think it's gonna be a chain reaction. A victory in one arena will trigger progress in another, and at once, there will be a wave of relief running through my marriage, and my life. The creative juices will drip off of me, and, practically mid-coitus, I will write the great american novel, the world's greatest love story finishing with a little death that the main character won't soon wake from.

I think perhaps that it is only then that I'll be able to free myself from this feeilng, this not so petite mortality that looms whenever I find myself momentarily alone, drowning in thoughts of what will happen if nothing is fixed soon. I've been giving out warnings and staring at the soft skin of my wrists. I've been desperately grasping at back-up plans and being as honest as I can, either because lying is a bad idea or because I don't have the strength for it anymore. I've been preparing for the worst, because the worst keeps finding me, as fast as I run from it.

I fear for the safety of my marriage, and, resultingly, my willingness to keep fighting. Fighting to fix what's broken in me. Fighting to make a change in the world. Fighting to realize my potential.


Maybe it seems I'm doing the bitching I've chastised so many for, as of late, but I don't think that's it. It's fair warning, on one hand, due dilligence. On the other, it's me, still scratching and clawing at the fears and the doubts and the pain, the only way I know how.

That, I suppose, is what makes me a real writer. Let's see where it gets me.

On with it.



Technorati Tags: writing blogging vaginismus orgasm sex suicide marriage

I need to stop and take stock of what I'm thankful for. Before I let negativity drag me so far that I become ineffective: I can't let that happen, because this is my life. This is the only one I get.

• I'm thankful for the friends I've been reconnecting with lately, and the newer people I've been getting closer to. I'm thankful for Emily's birthday, the oppurtunity I'm going to have to make her happy. I'm thankful that Dan seems to appreciate my input in his hopelessly typical awkward teenaged scenario. I'm thankful that Jenn and I have more in common than we used to, and that she seems open to the idea of getting to know each other again. I'm thankful that Jeremey calls me back when I text message him, even if he doesn't catch the Family Guy reference. I'm thankful that Elorza and I can still pull off the occasional three-hour, late-night online conversation. I'm thankful that Sam's listened to the mix CD I made him so many times, and that he gets Hallelujah. I'm thankful that no matter how paranoid I get that Mike is mad at me, he never really is. I'm thankful to be one of Mr. Ladd's "important people."
• I'm thankful for "Sunday Morning" by Maroon 5. It's the perfect song to listen to when you're trying to shrug off the melodrama for a few minutes and just be a little bit lighter. I'm gonna play it again right now.
• I'm thankful for myself, for the strength I've had in wading through the circumstances that I've been dealt. I'm thankful for my willingness to fight the good fight, however unnoticed it may be. I'm thankful for my own courage, for my body, for the things about me that are wonderful even when I do not know they are wonderful. I am thankful for my mind and my words, both of which I continue to have faith will take me great places, when I'm ready to devote the attention to getting there.
• I'm thankful for my husband's willingness to work two jobs and help us pull through this otherwise very lean time for us. I'm thankful for the fact that, for the first time ever, I was able to see myself in a bad situation with a job and get out before I was kicked out. I'm thankful for the possibility that lays before me, even when it is overwhelming.
• I'm thankful for how much fun I can have on my own, dancing around my living room. I'm thankful for Diana Ross' "Coming Out" and James Brown's "Play that Funky Music, White Boy". I'm thankful for Beyonce's "Crazy in Love" and Sean Paul's "Temperature." I'm thankful for the different ways I've learned to move my ass and I'm thankful for the way I look with just a light coat of sweat on my face.
• I'm thankful for my ability to be thankful; to occasionally remind myself that life's not all shit, that it's my responsibility to feel the full spectrum, that no one's gonna do it for me. I'm thankful, right now.

On with it.

Technorati Tags: friendship thankful maroon 5 vaginismus

Today's quotables:

A bore is a man who deprives you of solitude without providing you with company.
~Gian Vincenzo Gravina
(Whoever that is. From my blogger start page. I liked it enough to share, but all of you with gmail probably had the same thing. oh well.)

"At the end of the day, the fact that we have the courage to still bestanding is reason enough to celebrate."
~Meredith Grey from my DVR-ed episode of Grey's Anatomy

---

Fun internet activity: go to the website of the best little whorehouse in Northern Nevada, click on the "Bunny Babes" Tab, and pick out your ideal a "Three Girl Party", then, if you like post it in a comment...if I can figure out how to turn them on. (I believe what you want to do is click on the timestamp to get this post on a page by itself, then click the "post a comment" link underneath the broken HTML thingy.)

Mine? April Showers, Natalia and Yasmin Moon.

Road trip, anyone?

On with it.


Technorati Tags: whorehouse bunny ranch grey's anatomy

FieryGwenivere: It was always a fantasy of mine in high school to be the unpopular girl who had a really close online friendship with "the cool guy" from another school.
xKxOx: that'd be fun
FieryGwenivere: And I was!
FieryGwenivere: But no one would have believed me
xKxOx: you could've taken a picture, blown it up, made a cardboard figure and walked around with it
FieryGwenivere: Yeah. That would have helped me convince them I was cool.
xKxOx: it woulda done something, i tell you what
FieryGwenivere: I bet there were like a thousand unpopular new jersey girls who would have died to be the one who was IMing you late at night. Having you get to know their inner beauty.
xKxOx: yup, hundreds of thousands actually
FieryGwenivere: I was always sorta hoping there was some sort of universal secret soceity of popular people, and you could, like, vouch for me with
the popular people at my school
xKxOx: you seem to have some grandiose ideas about me
FieryGwenivere: "Hey, Jeremy Steenson-- this chick is da bomb. Just so you know."
FieryGwenivere: "Sincerely,
Elorza
Popular Guy, Hightstown High, Highstown, NJ
Popular Guy Reference Number 8675309"
xKxOx: of course, that would work
xKxOx: i would've sent a memo through the popular guy interstate mail service with my personal seal
xKxOx: you should've just let me know
FieryGwenivere: You should have volunteered.
xKxOx: woulda been aaaallll taken care of
xKxOx: well, i had the hundreds of thousands of other girls to dust off my shoulders
FieryGwenivere: You know what's a great song? "Going the Distance" by Cake
xKxOx: it got hectic
xKxOx: you know what I disagree with? people who like cake
FieryGwenivere: hahaha
FieryGwenivere: This is a great song, though@
FieryGwenivere: !
xKxOx: meh
FieryGwenivere: Have you heard it?
xKxOx: that's how i feel about em all around
xKxOx: sure have
xKxOx: as much as anyone else within earshot of a radio during it's heyday
FieryGwenivere: I was pretty "meh" to it till I really listened to it, like a week ago
xKxOx: and then you realized, "man, that guy really is going the distance!"
FieryGwenivere: :-D
xKxOx: and cake's helping him get there!!
FieryGwenivere: you're a jerk.
xKxOx: no, my friend. I'm an asshole.
xKxOx: one that may rival even goatse.cx himself
FieryGwenivere: oooh. Subtleties.
FieryGwenivere: Psssh. That's nothing.
xKxOx: that's a pretty big asshole
xKxOx: you could fit fists into that asshole
FieryGwenivere: If you think that's impressive, wait till you see my urethra.
xKxOx: hhhmmmmmmmmm
xKxOx: I would never in my life want to even consider the possibility of a urethra being even close to that large
xKxOx: that.... ooh, that hurts to even think about
The connection with xKxOx was not successful. Make sure that your Buddy is using the latest version of AIM. Changing your settings in the Firewall preference may help. Also both you and your Buddy may need to adjust the settings of the firewall software on your individual networks.
FieryGwenivere: what happened to the direct connect
FieryGwenivere wants to directly connect.
xKxOx is now directly connected.
xKxOx: i dunno, i din close it
FieryGwenivere:


FieryGwenivere: impressive, no?
xKxOx: kiknd of scary, really
FieryGwenivere: just don't go spreading that shit around the internet, Zack doesn't like showing off pictures.'
FieryGwenivere: it's not scary...wait, do girls have urethras?
xKxOx: though i guess it's nice of you to0o take stray cats in like that
xKxOx: yuppers
FieryGwenivere: oooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuch




I love this man. Still.


On with it.