No sense in mincing words. Sometimes, it can be a perfect sunrise on a beautiful horizon. Other times, fate is as disturbing as a rat turd in a bag of potato chips.
I'm on the old laptop, downloading Mp3s and catching up on work. I'm chatting online with Kfig about the good ol' days and the bad new ones. I'm chatting with Miss Monkeythong.
A third IM window pops up.
A very sweet college student found my blog while browsing Alice's links a while back, felt bad for reading, and wanted to say hi. I asked her permission to post about our conversation; I think she was just relieved somebody cared enough to hear her out.
Basically, a guy she'd been dating since Fall Semester dumped her because she spent too much time studying and wasn't interested in sex 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. She found out at a party Friday night that the guy had told just about every mutual friend that she was the campus slut and that a guy only had to get her drunk to get into her pants.
It is appalling to me that guys like this girl's ex-boyfriend continue to exist in the 21st Century. In fact, it's downright offensive to me - as a man - that there are little boys who think they've earned the right to call themselves men simply because their balls drop and they get pubic hair.
Having a penis does not make a man; it is an honor measured in things greater than a few inches of flesh.
She and the ex? They had sex once. She explained how damned awkward it felt, how uncomfortable she was being in a strange room naked, how unpretty she felt while actually doing something that film and television actors make look so easy.
Sex is relatively easy. Its all that intimacy stuff that gets in the way.
This strange IMer tells me she met a guy at a library, a student worker. She thought he was way too cute to be interested in her, so she brought up my last post to break the ice. The guy thought it was pretty funny. They talked. He got yelled at by his supervisor. And then he walked her home and asked her on a date.
She just wanted to say thanks.
Getting a random IM like that made my frigging month. Somebody got a date as a result of a blog. That just fucking rocks.
If the girl who IMed me is reading this, I hope you had an awesome date Sunday. The ex-boyfriend is, in my humble opinion, a complete and utter waste of natural resources. In the future, don't date assholes.
I'm sitting in a coffee shop in Oxford Bloody Ohio, a thousand miles from nowhere. I'm having three conversations simultaneously with women in Dayton, Ohio, Colorado, and New England. One conversation, I'm nostalgic. Another, I'm professional. And in yet another, I'm told that, through some twist of fate, a girl was able to get a date in part because she read this blog.
A blog she found through another blog months ago, written by a woman I've never met. I found Wonderland or Not through a fellow L-World blogger, Zydeco Fish. I discovered ol' ZF through one of his fellow Canadian bloggers, the Library Bitch.
This thing we call the Internet isn't really a thing; lost in the pop culture hype is the fact that the World Wide Web is nothing more than a medium by which people are able to touch one another through electrified bundles of wire, processors, and plastic.
There is nothing more humbling than the acknowledgement that information is, indeed, power and that communication is the engine that drives us all, beyond the veil of microchips and processors.
Fate is a total bastard sometimes. Sometimes, that's a good thing.
Small fucking world.