October 3, 1998.

I've identified the voices coming out of my modem as Chinese speakers. I have yet to determine whether it's Mandarin or Cantonese. Kinda makes me feel like the mysterious schizo voices are getting easier to understand. Brr. Either way, it means that I can't connect without many frustrating attempts, and then not for longer than a few seconds. I'll try to upload today, but I'm making no promises.

Last night wasn't a very good night for me. Although the prospect of my first free weekend since August was a tad overwhelming, I made almost-plans with Sister Sunshine & was ready to relax in front of the first new episode of "South Park" I've been able to catch this season. Then Trevor received word that one of his ex-roomies (Christina the Shameless) was in town for a few days, and plans were afoot to assemble much of the old household. I was pretty nervous about the whole thing, since I would basically be on display to a bunch of people who've known Trevor a lot longer than I have. He seemed to like the idea, though, and we set off.

I tried not to retreat too much, but it was awfully damn hard trying to be part of a night dedicated to nostalgia that I knew nothing about. Met some really nice people, including Hunter, an anthro doctoral candidate from a tiny rural town who lives with a beautiful Russian law student and keeps a hedgehog as a pet. Listening to him spin stories about the other roomies was in some ways better than talking to the actual people involved. Especially when he described Marcus, an engineer who began working on a single-engine plane in his tiny hallway of a room.

Hunter: "I'd rush in and say, 'Marcus! I just learned the most amazing thing about pygmies!' And he'd say, 'you know, if I owned my own house, I could smelt metal in the basement!' Or he'd be on the internet, looking for a make-your-own windmill kit to put on the roof, as an extra energy source. We had to have house meetings to decide when he should stop using the rivet gun at night. And once a month, we'd have a fight over the bacon drippings. He wanted to use them as food, and I wanted to make Inuit soapstone lamps."

That part was cool, especially during the primate discussion, when he expressed a longing for the dewclaw found in a species of primate that's exclusively intended for combing hair. Our science anthro background is identical, since I took ANT100, and he's TA'ing it now. Kinda odd to think that about a doctoral candidate - that we have a very similar primate background.

But the worst was yet to come.

I suppose this is point where I discuss my feelings about Christina the Shameless. I had really no issues about her previous to meeting her. Sure I wondered exactly how much she figured in Trevor's psyche, since she's a former go-go dancer, an Arts master and a bit of a leather queen. I've heard numerous cute little anecdotes about her extensive sex life; such as the fact that she had chains bolted to her futon, that she would bring people home almost constantly, and that Trevor wore out a Jingle Cats recording by playing it every time she was having sex in the next room.

Now, I have certain sexual hang-ups (which are none of your damn business, BTW, so don't ask) but even if I didn't, who wouldn't be a bit intimidated meeting such an archetypal figure? It's worse than meeting an ex-girlf, because they don't hold a cherished place in your boyf's heart. How am I supposed to compete in anyone's imagination with a goddamned S & M queen??

Well, it was all that, and a little bit worse. All that and a bag of All Dressed chips, which I loathe. Not that she wasn't nice to me, because she was. But on a night of reunion, one is forbidden to interrupt. It's bad manners and bad taste. One has to wait until one is drawn in to the fold. By the time Trevor & Christina the Shameless had a chance to talk, we had hit the Garden. I was already tired & feeling hideously self-conscious in my "rumpled university student on the go" corduroy clothes...very pretty, but not in the Garden. And certainly not next to a girl in fishnets & PVC.

So I waited for them to call me over. And I talked to Greg and I waited. And I danced and I waited. And I watched my boyfriend unable to continue dancing because he was so fascinated with the sight of Christina the Shameless in the go-go cage with 2 other dancers.

By the time the bar closed, I was so goddamned jealous, my eyes were turning emerald.

Her parting words to me were: "take care of my Trevor for me." And that's how I felt at that point. Like I was just babysitting for a goth goddess, someone who was pure sex...purer than Aphrodite, even. I haven't checked my list of aspirations lately, but I'm pretty sure babysitting Trevor for a leather queen isn't goddamn on it.

Basically, I felt like shit. Worse than I've felt in a really long time...since the latter days of the Poet & Tiger Lily triangle, now that I think about it. So I picked a screaming, accusing, bitter, wailing face-down on the bed fight with Trevor when we got home. Just like the old days of my love life. The first fight we've ever had. And I still feel pretty bad about last night. There are things burrowing into me like lime-ticks, things that cannot be cured by open communication.

This is me on fear and jealousy. Any questions?

one year ago today: responsibility's sober grip