Friday, October 10, 2003

Yes, more! 

It's 4:42 am and I've got another hour and eighteen minutes before I get to go home. Needless to say, I'm bored. I was going to go read Heather's blog but I'm getting an error message. Figures.

Steve bitched when I wrote my background posts that I'd glossed over the six months we spent talking for hours every day, before we met in person. He's right, I did, and it was actually a pretty interesting phase of my life, so I'll write about it now.

Sometime in October or November of last year, I was banned from Anarchy Online for exploiting. I opened up a free trial account to use for posting on the boards, though, because I needed something to keep me occupied at work. Shortly before I was banned, I'd noticed several of Steve's posts, and had begun to develop a crush on him, despite the fact we'd never talked.

Well, in late November, he posted to the boards that he was quitting the game. I'd just started playing another game, so I sent him a private message, with the intent of luring him there. It worked. I persuaded him to email me, with the excuse that I wanted to share the gory details of my banning without the forum moderator being able to read it.

Steve answered my email with a rather lengthy one of his own, and I was incredibly flattered. It was like, "Wow, this really cool, funny guy is writing to me!" And within a few days, he was playing the new game with me. I think we clicked pretty much right away -- he was just great, and not an asshole at all (at least not to me!)

I'd just moved my AO guild over to the new game, and invited him to join. He did, and I made him an officer damn quick, mostly because I was trying to kiss his ass. I liked him, a lot, but I'd also read in one of his posts that he was a teenager and I assumed that meant he was off-limits.

Meanwhile, another member of my guild had displayed an awful lot of interest in me, and also seemed pretty cool, although I wasn't gaga over him the way I was over Steve. The other guy, however, was definitely legal (in fact, he was in his mid-thirties as I recall).

So I had a little pow-wow with some friends. "Jailbait, or the old man?" Mind you, I have absolutely no qualms about internet relationships. I believe very strongly that there is absolutely nothing wrong with finding a partner online, even if there's a large distance, as long as one party is willing to eventually move if things get to that point. So that wasn't even a factor.

My friends pushed for the old man -- after all, he was established, he made good money, and he seemed nice enough. He was also utterly infatuated with me. Steve, on the other hand, might not even be of age, was still in high school, and it seemed highly unlikely he had any interest in me other than friendship (judging from his behavior).

So I started talking to the old man (I'll call him "DF" for reasons that will be apparent later) more regularly. I carefully dodged his attempts to form a relationship with me, as I certainly didn't want to go anywhere near as fast as he did... I hadn't even seen a picture of the guy yet!

The trouble started when DF and I exchanged pictures. He was smitten by mine, and I was... uh... well, to be honest, revolted by his. The guy was a minimum of 400 lbs, looked like he hadn't shaved or trimmed his beard in months, was wearing sloppy, dirty clothes, and had the most awful slack-jawed expression I've ever seen on his face.

Around that time, DF made some kind of comment about how he wanted to buy me some kind of frilly pink dress that looked like one a character he had was wearing. I was kind of taken aback by this. I'm not the kind of woman who wears dresses, ever. Hell, a good portion of my clothes are men's, and the rest are boobie shirts and jeans.

And then DF wanted to call, so I caved in and let him. All the while, I was trying to convince myself that he was such a nice guy, surely I could accept his appearance, right? Then I heard his voice. My God. This man was supposedly a coder, and he sounded flat-out retarded. Badly retarded.

After the call, I backed off more, trying to cool him down and hoping he'd lose interest in me. He was still a damn good guild member, and a cool friend, but I just could not imagine myself in the sack with this man.

And DF pushed harder. He asked me to talk to him in IRC one day, and told me he thought total honesty was really important, so he wanted to share some embarassing secrets about himself with me. And that is when he revealed that he fucks dogs. Male dogs. In the ass.

If you haven't guessed by now, I refer to him as "DF" for "Dog Fucker".

I told him at this point that a relationship was out of the question. Sexual relations with animals is definitely a deal-breaker for me. Poor DF was devastated, but I tried to be gentle about it.

All through this time I'd been talking to Steve regularly, but had kept things at a friendly level. I joked that he was jailbait. He didn't know what that meant... he thought I was saying he was gay. Eventually, after some weird misunderstandings, he asked, and I explained what it meant. I stressed the fact that if someone is jailbait, that means you're tempted to bang them despite the risk of getting locked up.

Steve was 17 at the time, and I found it out then. I was actually okay with that. It's on the edge of my lower limit for ages I'd date, but his birthday wasn't too far away, so hey...

But in the meantime, I had an RL prospect. I'd recently discovered that a co-worker of mine, a guy named Chris (NOT the Chris I've linked to in my sidebar) was interested in me. Now that was a match made in hell. Good God.

I'll back up a bit. I was hanging out with Chris a fair amount... we'd become pretty good friends, despite the fact I ragged on him every chance I got. One day, we were standing outside talking at work, when I just randomly said, "Stop staring at my tits!" He turned bright red and looked away. "Well, shit," I thought to myself. "Chris wants to fuck me."

So I figured, "Why not?" He seemed okay, if a little odd. He was reasonably attractive, intelligent, and hadn't driven me nuts after working with him for the last four or five months.

And so, like any good woman, I started winding up the sexual tension crank. All women are equipped with this device at puberty, although some know how to use it better than others. I have an easy time of it, probably because I have big tits.

Within a few days, Chris gave me the "my pants are about to pop" look and asked if I'd get mad if he kissed me. I said no, and he did. He's tongue-tied, so it wasn't that great, but he apparently nearly creamed his jeans. He probably hadn't gotten laid in months. I'm not THAT good of a kisser.

He asked me out a couple of days later. I hemmed and hawed a bit, because at the time I was sharing an apartment with my brother. My brother is loud, outspoken, and obnoxious. I knew he'd raise a bunch of shit if I went out with anyone, let alone Chris, who he knew and disliked.

I agreed, and told my brother I was going to a movie with "some people from work".

It was a passable date, although I have to say the movie was more interesting than the guy sitting next to me. I was kind of psyched when I went home, though, because I'd become something of a hermit and hadn't gone out in a long time.

A few days later we had sex. At work, in the backseat of his car. It'd been over a year for me, and he was rough. It hurt, I bled (not much, but still). He noticed, and mentioned this in passing, as though he was observing that I have a mole on my right boob (which I do, btw). No apologies.

Then, not even ten minutes later, Chris split up with me, saying that he still had feelings for some other woman (who was living with her fiance). I was pretty unhappy, I mean... after all, I'd just had bad sex and then I got dumped. It sucked.

A few days later Chris called me, drunk, and said some shit about how I was too good for him. Then he said that if I really cared for him, I'd "hold down other women while he raped them". I told him he was right, I was entirely too good for his sorry ass.

I told Steve that I got dumped, and noticed he seemed rather pleased about it. Hmm. I decided to go after him, and started flirting with him a lot. I was joking that I was going to fly him down here and take his virginity. He said I could send a plane ticket for any weekend, and he'd happily show up.

A few days later, I told Steve that while I certainly wanted a piece of him, I wasn't really capable of no-strings-attached sex. And he told me he always thought there wasn't such a thing, anyway. I was smitten. I decided at that moment that I was going to get this man, come hell or high water. He was mine, dammit.

So Steve and I continued talking a lot and exchanging emails. I chased after him like a bitch in heat. There was another older guy who had a crush on me at the time, and we drove him up the wall by flirting constantly in front of him. This guy sent me his picture one night in IRC, and Steve did as well. The old guy was painfully ugly, and Steve... well... Steve was fucking hot.

After some time and a lot of shyness on both of our parts, we made it official. We were in a relationship. Damn, was I happy. I felt like I'd won the damned lottery. I still feel that way, actually.

I started saving money with the intent to move to Maryland, get an apartment, and move this relationship into real life. I prepared my parents and brother for this. My parents weren't real happy, and my brother was absolutely livid. I'd been splitting the bills with him and his family for over a year, and that meant he didn't have to work. My moving out meant he would have to get a job.

And then Steve surprised the hell out of me by saying he wanted to move to Texas, instead. Well, it certainly made things easier, in a lot of ways. We made plans, he told his parents (his mom went ballistic). I told my parents I wasn't going to move after all, and that there was a guy involved, who was moving out here instead. They were amazingly supportive.

About a month before Steve was supposed to move here, he made a snap decision to arrive early. We had the money together we needed, and I suspect his own parents were driving him batshit crazy. I bought him a plane ticket, and he just packed up and moved one day, without telling anyone.

I'd continue the story, but unfortunately it's time for me to do some actual work at work, so it'll have to wait.

People read this shit 

I know, it's amazing to me, too. They do, though, because my name and this link keep popping up in other people's blogs, along with mostly positive commentary.

Secretly, I've been saving all these comments and blog entries (by other people, that is) about me, and filing them away in a text document entitled "Ego stroking.txt". Yes, it's pathetic. No, I don't care. At least I'm not so hung up on myself as to paste them into my own entries (although any scathing comments will find their way here, as those are just amusing).

I've had a few requests for pictures. Unfortunately, I don't know of a site I can host them on (for free, I'm a cheapskate) and link directly to. If someone knows one, I'd love to hear about it.

Meanwhile, there's a couple shitty mugshots out there:
Me, with pink hair
Me, as a blonde
The second link will probably not work if you click it. You can, however, paste this into your address bar and it will load:

I have no idea why typing the link works, but links to it do not. Some protection against direct linking, I presume.

My hair is currently a dark red/auburn color, which I like better than the pink and blonde. Pink was fun for a while, though... it certainly got some amusing comments, especially from the old ladies.

I'll eventually quit being lazy and get more pictures up, including some of Steve. There's one faintly green & tiny, but hot, picture of him out there I know of, and another really awful one. I'll post the good one later if he doesn't mind, or I'll take a picture of him if he lets me.

There's also a picture of my tits out there, but that one I'm not going to post. Sorry. Steve would kick my ass, anyway. He wants them all for himself. That's fine with me, except he doesn't want me to get a reduction, and the damn things are entirely too big. Oh well.

And now for my obligatory "Why I'm writing this drivel" essay:

The primary purpose of this blog is to eliminate boredom. My own, that is. If I'm reducing anyone else's boredom, that's not just a happy coincidence, but also quite surprising.

I think I mentioned once that I work as a security officer for a high-profile defense contractor. It sounds a lot cooler than it is. In truth, my job consists of sitting on my ass in front of this computer for between four and eight hours a night. The rest of my shift is spent "patrolling", which means I walk around the facility, lock some doors, check some machinery, turn off light switches, and (I can't believe I'm admitting this) turn off coffee makers.

Well, you might be thinking, at least a job guarding half-built missiles and blueprints from terrorists must pay well, right? Ha. Guess again. I make precisely $5.88 an hour before taxes. Burger flippers makes more than I do. Then again, they don't get to sit on their asses playing on the computer all night, either.

Needless to say, I get bored. Back when I was gaming regularly, I ran a guild, and wrote a ridiculously lengthy email newsletter for my members to waste my time. I no longer have the time to play computer games much at all, as I can't do that at work, and I prefer to spend my time at home hanging out with Steve.

For a while, I'd waste my time at work by writing him really long email messages. I got sick of that, because he doesn't answer them. To be fair, I'll point out he doesn't really have the time to do so, because he doesn't get to do it on company time, and why should he type me messages when I'm at home? We'd both rather he was just talking to me.

So, one day about a week and a half ago, I decided to do this. I was, at first, reluctant to even give him the address, and quite afraid he'd mock me for doing it. But hey, he didn't, and in fact he occasionally writes a post here as well. Not as often as I'd like, but sometimes.

The other reason this seemed like a good idea is that I could sit down and type honestly and openly about my perspective of what's going on with us, without directly addressing him. For some reason that makes it easier. So, in that sense, this blog is something of a relationship aid. Certainly, it's proved useful in allowing me to vent without ripping Steve's head off...

Someone asked if my name is really Kataine. It is not. Kataine is a nick I used in an online game at one point (before I sold that account). It's not my usual nick, because I have a feeling if I used that one, certain family members I'd rather not read this, will do just that. Steve's name, however, is really Steve.

I was once told by some random person in that game that "Kataine" translates roughly to, "I'm hard (tough)" in Japanese. I'm not sure if that's true or not, but I've liked the name more since then. I actually got the nick from a random name generator I wrote several years ago.

Another reason today is shitty -- I've got my period, some 15 days early. Stupid hormones. On this particular subject, I'll restrain my impulse to share every detail, as I do have some male readers. Wouldn't want to give the poor boys nightmares...


Today has been an all-around crappy day, but on the bright side, there wasn't any drama. Yay.

It was supposed to be the last time I had to work that awful 2pm-6pm shift I hate so much. Since I went back to my security job, I've had the schedule reserved for noobs. Night shift four days a week (10pm-6am) which I like, but I also have split days off, and that one day shift on Thursdays. And it's only 36 hours.

I hate that 2pm-6pm shift because I have to wake up far earlier than I'm accustomed to, and for only four hours of work. Plus it's day shift, which means significantly more actual work, if you call walking around for two hours attempting to look like I'm doing something "actual work". Also, since Steve is at work until 3:15pm, I don't really have transportation on that day. My boss used to take me in, but now he's riding his new motorcycle to work, and I'm too much of a pussy to hop on the back of that thing.

But today was supposed to be the last day of that, since one of my co-workers on the night shift quit, and I was taking over his shift. Unfortunately, since the new work week starts on Friday at midnight, that meant I start my new schedule then... which meant I had to go back to work six hours after I got home.

So I didn't get enough sleep, and went in to work this afternoon... Steve took me to work during his scheduled break at 1:30 (which I'm certain, despite his assurances to the contrary, was a major pain in the ass for him). I got to work at about 1:35 and sat around looking dumb until my shift started. Floppio was on patrol, so I was stuck out at the guard shack until almost 4pm, running back and forth and signing people in, searching trucks, etc.

I did my patrol from 4pm until 5:30, when my boss called me up to the lobby to assist with baggage searches. This I don't mind, since my boss (Louie) is a rather cool guy and I like shooting the shit with him. Well, baggage searches ended at around 5:45 when most everyone had left for the day, and Louie decided to show me his collection of photos from his honeymoon. Again. I think this is at least the fourth time.

I smiled and made approving noises, and pointed out at least three times that I needed to go back to the guard shack as my shift was about to end and Steve would be coming to pick me up. He persisted. I looked at more pictures. What else could I do? I mean, the guy *is* my boss.

Anyway, I got back to the guard shack a couple of minutes past 6:00, and Steve was already out there waiting for me. We went home, and I immediately crawled into bed to sleep since I was hella tired and had to go back at midnight. Around 7:00, the phone started ringing. We figured it was his mom, but he was too tired to answer and talk to her, so I turned the ringer off.

I woke up at 9:00, feeling surprisingly awake, and washed some dishes & cooked dinner. I'm not sure why, because the kitchen was a disaster (as it has been, for months) and I generally refuse to cook unless Steve cleans the kitchen. It's a fair tradeoff, I think -- it takes maybe 20 minutes to clean the kitchen, and usually at least an hour to cook. Cooking is less boring than cleaning, though.

Side note: When I got home from work, I was hungry but too tired to bother eating. Steve cooked some frozen fish while I was at work. Rather than wash a pan to cook it in, and a plate, he baked it on a piece of aluminum foil and ate off the top of an old pizza box. Sheesh.

Anyway, I'm stupid, and not as stubborn as I should be, so I cleaned and cooked while he was asleep, then woke him up to see if he wanted to eat. While he was sleeping, we had the following conversation:

Steve: "Ok."
Kataine: "Huh? What are you saying ok to? A dream?"
Steve: "Yeah."
Kataine: "Hey, you should wake up now, I cooked dinner."
Steve: "How about those little can things?"
Kataine: "Little can things?"
Steve: "Sterno."
Kataine: "We don't have any Sterno, honey. I made the Frito pie..."
Steve: "You did?"
Kataine: "Yeah, you want to wake up and eat some?"
Steve: "Not right now, thanks."
Kataine: "Well, can you wake up for a little while? I'd like to get some time with you before I go back to work."
Steve: "Who are you cheating with?"
Kataine: "I'm not cheating on you, dear, I think you're dreaming..."
Steve: "Oh, it was a hook-up... maybe I could find a way to do that, that doesn't hurt my fucking arm."
(I noticed I was laying on his arm at this point, so I moved it, figuring he was referring to that in his incoherant way.)
Kataine: "I'm sorry, I think I was crushing your arm. C'mon, wake up, there's food."
Steve: "Ok."

He woke up a few minutes later and ate with me, while I resisted the urge to bitch too much about the fact he hasn't cleaned the kitchen in practically forever. We went back to sleep.

I got back up at 11:30pm and went back to work. So, I go into work, and there's my co-worker who's quitting. "Hey, Sef, last night?" I said to him.

"Well, no, not really... I got into an accident and I don't have insurance, so I'm staying on for a couple more weeks because I need the money. Louie was trying and trying to call you, but you didn't answer, he was going to tell you that you didn't have to come in tonight..."

Well, great. It wasn't Steve's mom trying to call, it was my boss, and he was going to tell me I didn't have to work that night, which would have been terribly welcome news. Only now, since I didn't answer the phone, I did have to work. Bleah.

And since Sef isn't quitting, that means I'll probably wind up working that damned 2pm-6pm shift on Thursdays for a while longer. Argh. Sef did say he was figuring on taking my old schedule and letting me have his, BUT he can't work 2-6 because of his classes. So unless Louie pulls a miracle out of his ass, I'm going to be stuck with it.

On the bright side, I might at least get Mondays & Tuesdays off, which gives me significantly more time with Steve, and that's generally a good thing.

In other news, I wrote a long post on ISCA, where there was some kind of debate raging over "assholes vs. good guys". I'm going to c/p it here, since it's like free content -- I already wrote it, but I bet none of you have read it!

Someone mentioned that nice guys generally wind up with divorced women, whose first marriage was to an asshole. How true that is... at least for me.

I was married to an Asshole(tm) for four years, after about a two-year long
engagement. Those were, without a doubt, the most miserable years of my life. He was overconfidant, egotistical, annoying as hell, overbearing, controlling, had the most godawful sense of entitlement I've ever seen in a person, and just all-around a real prick. So, six years or more after I *should* have kicked him to the curb, I finally did.

That was almost three years ago, and when I did start looking again for a serious relationship, my criteria for the perfect man looked something like this:
1. The complete opposite of my ex-husband.

...which is precisely what I got. Well, I can't say they're total opposites.. there are some traits they both share, such as having a penis. But now, I'm engaged to a man I'd consider my version of the "nice guy". I guess it's probably different than what a lot of people call "nice guys", though.

He farts, burps, tells disgusting jokes, shows me gross pictures he's found on the internet... but that's all in private. In public, he's shy, but polite, well-mannered, and just a pleasure to be around. I don't mind the crudity at home -- hell, I'm cruder than he is, and I find it hysterically funny when he rips one right in the middle of serious conversation.

I guess a lot of women like to be pursued, and like a man who is likely to start ripping her clothes off after the first date, but I don't. This may have a lot to do with why I went for this guy. There's no question I pursued him, start to finish (well, I didn't ask him to marry me, but I would have :P). We met online, and when we finally met in person (six months later) it took him four hours to work up the courage to touch me at all. And this after I'd told him repeatedly that I wanted his *expletive deleted* (Hey, my mom might be reading this!)

I suppose I understand why some women want men with a lot of self-confidence, who will pursue them, take control, yadda yadda... but I'd rather make a bunch of male friends (usually the shy, "nice guy" sort), get to know them and hang out with them until I find one I'm truly interested in, and then chase him. Women underrate the thrill of the chase, I think.. it's too long been considered a man's game. Pfft.

The Marlboro Man is calling me, so that's all for now. Undoubtably more later, as, like most women, I never shut up.

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