amplified to rock
Re: that
personality test: I am 100% compatible with
Jack Saturn. (Can you imagine the hopelessly romantic journal entries that would come out of *that* pairing? Heh...)
I am also 100% compatible with someone named Otis Wheeler, who is on my "friends of a friend" list. Other people who are compatible with me include someone's friend Laura Wren (98%), the late Sebastian "Signal Drench" Stirling (94%), and Tom Ewing of NYLPM and Blue Lines (81%).
Re: someone I went to high school with who linked me in his weblog: if you have issues with my life, my feelings, my personality, etc., do me a favor and email me. Don't post snarky commentary about me in your weblog. I'm amused by the fact that you think you "knew" me back then. I didn't know you back then, I don't know you now, please refrain from making silly pointless judgments about me. I'd appreciate it. Thanks.
(Wow, that felt weird. I've never done that before, that whole snapping back at someone via the weblog. Hopefully this is the first and last time.)
Now, another one of those silly personality tests, this one courtesy of
thespark.com. I'm a Performer, which didn't surprise me in the least.
This test contains the added feature of showing you how compatible you are with the people you know who have taken the test, so if you've ever wanted to know how compatible you are with, say, me, you could type in my email address (that's nanette@spoonbender.org) in the "people you know" part and find out. Aaron and I are 98% compatible. The test also tells you how compatible you are with your friends' friends, so I was able to find out that I am only 59% compatible with Aaron's ex-girlfriend. Hey, that information might come in handy someday, you never know.
It sounds corny, but being involved with Aaron has changed my view of the world. There are still parts of me that are completely afraid of the way I feel about him, but I think they're losing the war here. I pride myself on being cynical about love and relationships. I've been through so many failures and disasters that I've got tons of protective barriers, layers of sarcasm and jaded indifference, keeping me from being hurt. And it seems like every time I drop the front and let someone in, they change their mind, they decide that they're too wounded/scared/hurt/troubled to be in love. I'm so used to falling the boys who are "unboyfriendable" (to borrow a term from the Magnetic Fields) that I've come to expect it.
I've always looked at people who pined over someone they couldn't have as being somewhat pathetic. I mean, if the person says no, if they won't even kiss you or acknowledge you, why bother? And that makes me a total hypocrite, because what did I do in my last two relationships? I relentlessly chased people who said that they didn't--and wouldn't--care. (Of course, one of them changed his mind in the eleventh hour and made a big mess out of the whole situation, but that's another mess entirely and one I would rather not discuss at this time because it still bothers me.) If I was the sort of person who liked to overanalyze every little situation, I'd pick my relationship with Aaron apart, I'd try to figure out if I'm in love with him because it defies previous patterns, if I developed these feelings for him because I know it's safe and acceptable and all right, or if I'm in love with him because, well, how could I not be?
And how could I not be? Everything you read in this weblog or in my journal or in any of my other little online writing projects online--it all traces back to Aaron. He was merely a vague acquaintance, a friend-of-a-friend, yet he influenced the last two years of my life to a drastic degree. Without knowing it. Without trying. It's strange to realize how much of my life would be different had Colin not happened to look at Aaron's personal website that morning in early October of 1998 while I was sitting on the bed looking over his shoulder.
When I became reacquainted with him in person last August, I felt something. And it pains me to drop my cynicism and admit that. It makes me cringe that I am publicly admitting all of this because it seems to go against so much of what I stand for, this whole cranky jaded "been there done that" persona that I've been cultivating for the past...um...ten years? And I felt it again when he sent me that first IM two and a half weeks ago. I want to tell him everything, because somehow I think he's going to understand all of it.
If you're laughing at this, if you think I'm being stupid and childish, well, I don't blame you. Because if I had been reading this instead of writing this, I'd laugh and think it was stupid and childish, and that the writer needed a good cold dose of reality. But I am completely in awe of what I am feeling right now, and all I can do is hope to capture it in words.
Elliott Smith is
touring again. The Chicago show is November 3 at the Vic.
I have the worst phone in this entire building. It's staticky, and half the time the intercom doesn't work. I tried switching my phone for another phone, but it didn't help, so it's a line problem of some sort. Usually, it doesn't matter because I attempt to avoid using the phone at all costs.
This morning, the receptionist tried to page me. I heard the phone beep, then I heard some mumbling, and I answered her, but didn't hear a response, so I figured there was some phone call for me and I'd get an emailed message within a few seconds. I waited to see if I'd get an email, and I got paged again. This time, Phyllis asked if I was going to come up to the front desk.
Well, I was glad I did, because I got flowers. Lots and lots of nice-smelling flowers. A big blue vase full of flowers.
I love surprises!
Aaron says that it was his cat Lucy's idea to send me flowers...Lucy and I befriended each other last weekend. She likes my shoelaces. I'm supposed to bring the flowers back to her when they die so she can chew on them.
I might have had an incredibly good weekend, but I can't help but wish that I could have been at
this. An early-90s indie night...man. That would have brought back so many memories for me. I go through phases where all I listen to is stuff that I was really into during my sophomore year of college, which was by far the best of the four years I spent there. No fucked-up freshman drama, no strange bouts of depression, no living with asshole ex-boyfriend. I listened to Ride and My Bloody Valentine and Inspiral Carpets and Charlatans and Stone Roses and Happy Mondays. I bought the NME (when I could find it) and had posters of cute British indie boys on my dorm room walls. I had amazing adventures with my roommate/best friend, I went to see shows in St. Louis, I got into clubs with a fake ID and partied in Champaign-Urbana on the weekends.
Anyhow, if I had been at that indie night, I would have danced all night. I might have sat out during that Stereo MCs song (I never cared much for them) but I would have yelped with glee at being able to dance to Ride's "Twisterella" in a location other than my living room.
