The Government

I went to the Social Security Administration today so I could file the paperwork to change my name. Somewhat surprisingly to even me, I'm adding Lynch to the end -- I mainly think Lynch is a lot easier to spell and say than my current last name. I am still going to use both indefinitely for work purposes, but how often do you get the option to have a new name for the second half of your life? Sure. Let's change it.

I wait in line for about 45 minutes downstairs, surrounded on all sides by tons of families of every color speaking a million different languages. I get upstairs to a surprisingly calm and spacious office and hand the lady at Window 14 my form. She looks me up on the computer, and then asks "When did you get your passport?" Uh, 15 years ago?? "When did you become a citizen?" Since the day I was born in Ohio. "Well, they have you here as a resident alien who is ineligible to work in the US." Uh...WHAT?? I've been working in the United States, legally as far as I know, since I was about 14.

"I need your birth certificate as proof you were born here. You have to go get it and come back." I protest, saying that this has never come up before, even when issued a Driver's License, Passport, etc. so how can this be possible. I'm also finding it somewhat ironic that nearly every other person in the SSA today seems to be from another country, at least based on their language skills, but the white girl from the Midwest who was born in the good ol' USofA gets called on the carpet for being an illegal. WTF. She calls over her supervisor. Somehow, they get it sorted it out, by selecting a different pull down box, or changing the spelling. Or something.

She hands me the form to sign saying "You're going to see something that you won't think is right." Yep. My Dad's name is listed as Chester Kowelczyk. That's not even what it was before my parents changed it from Kowalczyk in 1960. I point it out. "Yes, I told you you'd see something that was wrong. Just ignore it." I guess the lady fudged it for me by changing my Dad's original name by one letter, even though I don't know how they pulled that up, as his name had been changed legally to the shortened by the time I was born. Okay, whatever. I'm cool with that. Just so I don't have to come back again. I pick up the pen.

I sign my name. My OLD name, that is. 30+ years of signing the same name, what can you do? It's a hard habit to break. The SSA lady is cracking up. "Didn't you JUST CHANGE YOUR NAME??" Oh yeah. I'm laughing too. THAT'S what I'm here doing. But wait! I haven't even practiced signing my new name on the cover of my sunset-patterned Trapper Keeper in loopy cursive writing! I can picture it: loads of arrow-punctured hearts saying Mrs. Steve...Mr. and Mrs. Steve...Mrs. Susan ....Cripes. I forgot to ever try writing it out. She prints out a new form. I sign and hand it back to her. She looks at the signature and observes "You need to practice this more. You'll get your card in 6-8 weeks."

I came home and signed my new name about 30 times. I still need practice.

Wedding Pix

I got around to editing down the photos, and they are now posted on my Flickr page. Best viewed in order from 1-210 for the exciting story of our wedding day...

On Your Wedding Day

SL and I up and got married on January 26th, 2009 in Thailand, on the first day of the Chinese New Year of the Ox. Here we are on Bottle Beach on the island of Ko Phangan with the most gorgeous wedding day we could have hoped for. Many more photos to come when we are home...

Golden Rings

Yesterday, SL and I made a trip to a crowded Aqueduct for the annual running of the Cigar Mile. The last Grade 1 stakes race for NYRA's year, it was a chance to see a quality field run in our own backyard at the Big A. These were the "pretty good" horses who say, came in 12th and 15th in the Derby this year. There was great betting to be had, with 6 legitimate contenders in the 9 horse field going off at odds between 7-1 and 10-1. Neither of us hit the Cigar Mile, but an easily attainable exacta for someone playing Tale of Ekati over Harlem Rocker would have netted them $142.50. The race ended up ugly, unfortunately, with an 9 minute inquiry that knocked Harlem Rocker down to second, and the tough 7 yr old gelding, Wanderin' Boy, needing to be euthanized after breaking down at the top of the stretch.

We did hit on a couple other races, with Steve nailing a $243 exacta on the 6th (the Demoiselle, won impressively in 9 1/4 lengths by the 2 yr old filly, Springside, who immediately was vanned off -- ugh), and I got the exactas on the 7th (The Remsen, won in 7 1/4 lengths by a 2 yr old colt trained by Larry Jones named Old Fashioned aka my first Derby pick of 2009,) and the 9th for a net total of $178. Since track money is found money to be spent immediately, we decided the best thing to do would be head straight over to Camille's and put a $300 deposit on the wedding rings she's making us.

Track winning for rings. You can't beat that. Even in a country song.

Anniversary?

For those of you keeping track at home (or, like Retotted, actually present), it's been a year since SL became more than just some guy I-sort-of-had- known-forever- that-hung-out-at -dog-bar.

As I say as a regular one-liner when people ask how we met: "I thought he was a dirty drunk freak, and he thought I was too fancy for him. Turns out we were both right." Who knew then it would turn out to be such a great and lasting fit for both of us?? It's been a blessed year. (Hi Baby!!!)

Hometown Reviews

SL and I road tripped to Ohio this past week for the time-honored event known as "meeting the family." Comments included: "Once you get past the hair and tattoos, he's very nice" (Mom) and "He's great. We emphatically approve. You should marry him." (PatnJames) Well, okay then.

All in all, a fun trip. We even got to see the Reds actually WIN a game.

V-Day

I truly don't care about Valentine's Day - and I mean it. (A reminder here about the best Valentine EVER from last year -- still funny!)

As I said to SL a few days back, I'm not secretly wishing for diamonds or something, then plotting a complete freakout when nothing happens. That said, it's awfully nice to wake up to find a bag with loads of Jacques Torres chocolate, and a mix CD. A mix CD!! Boys don't make me mix CDs anymore. I feel like I'm 20. Warm and fuzzy.

MacGyver goes to Thailand

A list of non-clothing items brought by the lovely Steve Lynch in his one small bag to Thailand:

Krazy Glue; 10 feet of duct tape wrapped around a piece of cardboard; 'super bitchin' bandaids; self-threading needles; black and white thread; box and paper matches; zippo lighter; 20 feet of trick line; 2 buttons; 3 Coleman compact towels; dental floss (for emergency stitches, I'm told.); 6 clothespins; jump rope (my request); 50 feet of green rope (clothesline/makeshift luggage carrier/in case we need to drag something); bottle opener; Bacitracin; scissors; 3 sizes of safety pins; nail clippers; 6 AA batteries; twist ties; zipties (2 sizes); 2 large ziplock bags; 2 bottles of Deet spray; Maglight; 3 boxes of tea tree toothpicks; 5 pens; moist towelettes; paper; converter; 4 kinds of gum; a First Aid book; and a tube map of London. Plus 6 books.

He says "once a grip, always a grip." Or is it: once a Boy Scout, always a Boy Scout??? Anyway, we are prepared for whatever comes our way with these supplies. I'm sure we can build some Gilligan bikes using branches and zipties to power things if necessary.

I love this kind of preparation, of course. Best boy ever.

Been in Bangkok for 3 nights fighting against jet lag and the inevitable gasto-intestinal issues, so not so fun except for the $7 one hour daily Thai massages. We are leaving Bangkok tonight on the train and heading south for 2 weeks on Ko Phangan. I'm never eating Thai food in Greenpoint again, for it cannot be called Thai in good conscience.

We.

I used the word "WE" in reference to something the man friend and I might do in the future, and my god, you would have thought I gave him a million bucks with the grin I got in return. I am a dope.

This of course did not quell the minor panic attack that using said word caused me. My independence and fear do not go quietly into the night, but I'm tryin'. Really trying.

Maybe

One day I'll resume posting again, when I have head space.

The job reconfigurations of recent weeks are still causing anxiety -- not sure if I am going to go freelance starting in mid-Jan and only work on the Visionaire publication + other print projects for other clients (most likely) / get fired / find a new full-time job / quit in a huff during the next two weeks so I can run away to Thailand with my man friend for a couple months (most appealing).

I had a semi-relaxing trip to SF last week for my old roommate Mikey's wedding, Ann and Derek's 10th Anniversary dinner and the baptism of Denise's 8-month old Sonny. Loads of friends around - the vast majority from Ohio - and amazing weather for the 7th Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, where I saw Buddy Miller, Del McCoury, an Atlantic City-covering Jason Isbell, Dave Alvin, Doc Watson, Jim Lauderdale and the ubiquitous Emmylou. The 3-day Festival is a terrific free, yet not too crowded with dirty hippies, event in Golden Gate Park. Going out simply for the music would have been a good trip in itself.

Said man friend came along, and was an unsurprising hit. And I didn't even have to put on my mature and meet his ex-girlfriend, also in town all weekend.

Sweetness

..is your man friend going upstate for a couple days, and bringing you back the last tomatoes, green beans, zucchini and lavender from his sister's garden.

Better than jewelry. And more thoughtful.

Revenge is Immature

Draining, and yet often strangely satisfying. Just ask a cunty ex-friend of mine who, four years later, still carries her anger around and irrelevantly writes in her sex advice column about the end of our friendship (three days before my dad died, nice.) The ax-grinding is due to the fact that a crush of hers dared to decide he dug me, instead of her victimized ass. We had seriously bad chemistry as friends, but on the off-chance I read her column (she is smart and I did miss her voice), finding a mention for the umpteenth time only reinforces a "good riddance" to the best thing to ever leave my life. I am fortunate I escaped only a couple years in.

Anyhoo, I digress. Summary of the link: When a boyfriend dumped her by email, French artist Sophie Calle asked 100 women to read it - and became the star of the Venice Biennale.

Here's an much-discussed post in a similar vein. After reading about Calle's project, I think I let him off easy, and shoulda made a billboard calling it art. Against my instincts, I took crazy's name off that original post, after he repeatedly Googled himself, found his emails online in all their glory, REALLY flipped out, and wrote me threatening emails. He continued to Google himself every day thereafter for, oh, about 3 months, promising to sue me for libel. Again, I only breathe a sigh of relief that I didn't get in any deeper.

Quote of the Week

From one of my oldest friends, the Little Feat-loving Roger, in reference to making out with people you've traditionally been "just friends" with. "Yeah, if it keeps happening, than you move up one base per episode, and see if you care enough to eventually get to home." Had me cryin'.

Summertime...

And the living is eeeeeeasy.... I never get tired of that song, especially Billie Holiday's version, and it was playing in my head since the start of this 4-day Memorial Day weekend. It's been (almost) all good things in the last week, and with much to do, who wants to sit inside and blog??

Things that made me happy: a "personal day" on Friday after not wanting to come home on Thursday night; driving in the hot summer sun with sunroof open; vodka, lime and sodas; oysters with smart ladies at happy hour; a bolstering, kind, and hassle-free booty call; folks stopping by for cocktails on the veranda; Sunday AM coffee klatsch on the veranda; the gottdamn veranda in general; baseball; hitting Bloomingdale's with a new credit card; the first day of the season and 75th anniversary of Riis Beach; a date with a fella who just dished out the compliments; a birthday party (groaningly turned too lengthy) locals-only night out; the baby pool filled up again at TQH; and M. and I both hitting trifectas on Met Mile day at Belmont, allowing us to come home solid winners.

Although this is the first summer in five that I won't be renting at my beloved Shelter Island, I have rediscovered that summer in the city soothes my spirit, ups the energy, improves my appearance, and quiets the discontent. I'm surely crowing and clanging a bit, but it is nice to be back.

Coo Coo Ka-choo

What amazes me about Vegas is that people actually save up their money to take a vacation there. After not visiting for 11 years, I had an amazingly fun weekend mainly due to the company, but sheesh--the place is nothing but morbidly depressing. Chock full of chain store EVERYTHING, idiotic and ugly people treating the plane ride like a spring break trip to Daytona, readily available vices that will cause you to slit your wrists and the most shallow forms of entertainment imaginable, I thought most of it was a joke, but am not sure 90% of visitors do. I was fascinated by all the stand-up comics on their third lives (Rita Rudner?), and the celebrity impersonators, where no one ever dies or leaves: Barbra, Frank, 3 kinds of Elvis, The Beatles, the Rat Pack and yes, even a John Denver. I can't imagine paying to see some of this crap, much less searching it out.

The Wynn was gorgeous, and had the most beautiful Sports Book I've ever seen, and really, what's not to like about 3500 square feet of bettable sports on TV? (Thoughtfully provided Sports Books allowed me to drop a pile on the Florida Derby by only betting off the morning line odds and memory. Der.) One hilarious misfire: a visit to the Star Trek bar in the Hilton, where Tommy's enthusiasm from his last visit had me totally convinced that a smoking fish bowl containing about a gallon of pink god-knows-what-kind-of-liquor while sitting next to a mean female Klingon was a great idea.

That said, it is tough to beat sitting by the pool for two days with frozen drinks and periodic rides down the water slide; ghetto 2 AM under-the-influence blackjack at The Golden Gate with two of my best girls; seeing Anne marry a good fella she truly loves; lots of quality time with the crowd I have the greatest comfort levels with; and running around with six unambiguous under-30-friends- of-the-groom until all hours with true Mrs. Robinson style. Got it: rejuvenation.

Darkest Before the Dawn

The dawn in this case being: VEGAS, Baby...I'm off tomorrow evening for 4 nights in Vegas at the Golden Nugget with many of my dearest, oldest and bestest friends from across America in attendance for Ms. Anne Miller's wedding.

The past two weeks have been harsh, so it truly couldn't come a better time. I always seem to get black this time of year, with winter taking me down with its final gasps of the season. Add a several-month romance finally going south after a few weeks of pretending it wasn't, and the continuing struggles to find new ways to deal with the reoccurring problems of being HUMAN (dammit!), beyond shutting it out with weed, have made the recent days no fun. That said, my friends have been amazing as I find a new way. I know that taking a few positive steps, including being a fascist about the musts of regular exercise, will pay off with a little time. And you gotta love the anxiety taking off any extra winter weight.

Let the sun shine in and let the gambling heal my wounds.

Quote of the Weekend

Camille on hooking up with someone you just met:
I thought it was love at first sight...but it turns out it wasn't.

How Stella Got Her Groove Back

While I find super personal posts on the blog cringe-inducing, I have inserted the name "Susan" in that headline in my brain, and it is (luckily) where I have found myself for the past few months. I don't know if it's in the stars, the return of my self-confidence after a couple years, all the fun going-out to be had in recent weeks, lessons learned from being around Ms. Heater, or possibly just lots of whiskey, but there's sure been a lot of boys to be flirt with and kiss in recent days.

Now by commenting on it, I have no doubt jinxed myself with the rest of 2007 being completely action-free. Ah well. It's good while it lasts. It is what it is. When it rains, it pours. And bunch of other cliches that let me know I'm in a good yet-always-temporary phase.

The Most Romantic Valentine EVER

True confessions time (and my brothers should quit reading here...) This is so great, I must share. I've had this booty call going for over a year, although it's more or less run its course at this point. This boy is tall, hot, sweet and alas, just not bright enough for me. A perfect example: last night I get the image below on my phone around 9pm (his name removed). I think it's a little sappy and queer, but nonetheless a nice enough sentiment.


Until I scroll up on the message, and see that he's sent it to TEN OTHER NUMBERS across America!! Helllllllooooo Bcc: please! I literally laughed so hard I almost cried.

Of course, I shared it with nearly every person I came across for the rest of the night, and then saved it on my phone to give me a giggle when I need one in the future. Ah, modern romance!

Romance, Nerve-style

I've been on and off Nerve for the past few years. Online dating works in my brain, but in practice, it's really mostly a drag. I try to remain positive but chemistry is not something you can determine over a computer. You show up, and 8 times out of 10, you aren't into the person, at least not that way. I continue onward in hopes that the law of averages will eventually play in my favor. And at the very least, you often meet nice people.

I dated this guy a couple years back. We had a lot in common, he was smart, a film critic and professor at the New School, a little too old for me at the age of 48, often very arrogant, and not really cute, but I gave it a shot for a few months in an effort to try something different and break out of my regular dating patterns. Something didn't quite connect between us, like he had some big secret (I guessed herpes!) but I thought it might pass with time and familiarity.

After fairly regular contact while both of us were out of town over the winter holidays and maybe 6 or 7 dates, he disappeared about 3 months into it. No email, no call, no explanation, zip. Okay, this happens. (BTW, It's classic guy behavior like this that makes women crazy when an bullshit explanation like "I just can't do this" would suffice, but I digress.) Anyway, it made me feel crappy. I was a bit bummed, but since I was still involved with Colum the whole time I dated this guy, I wrote it off and moved on.

Fast forward to six months ago. I've been back on Nerve, sort of hanging out and seeing what happens. I notice him checking out my profile regularly through the "Who's viewing me" option and adding me to his "Hot List." (both features that can drive you nuts, btw) Then he spams me about his long-promised book -- yet another biography of Gram Parsons (because there apparently needs to be a fifth 'definitive' one...) I tell him to not spam me and please take me off his Hot List. He does.

This fall, I notice he's still checking me out. It starts to annoy me more and more, as I'm thinking "Hey, you blew me off. You were not nice, and I want nothing to do with you because of it. No backsies." Finally, this week, after noticing him doing weekly viewings, I shoot him an email that says something along the lines of the above, telling him it's creepy and weird, and it was his choice to disappear without any explanation so why is he still interested? The correspondence from yesterday over a 12-hour period triggered by my first three sentence email appears below.

Truly bizarre and icky. And a lesson in why online dating is not for the faint-hearted.

----------

Susan
It's not weird nor creepy. Well, from my end there's no wierd nor creepy intent. And nothing voyueristic either, since that implies passivity.

I apologize if my checking you out has made you uncomfortable or annoyed. It'd be nice if you would be flattered; there is, from my end, a flattering explanation if you're at all open to talking to me after my vanishing two years ago. If you ain't, I understand. I know I behaved like an asshole. I am sorry.

I've been looking at your profile because you're been very much on my mind and I've been summoning the will/nerve to write you. I was going to write you to your old email address rather than here. It seemed more real. But today's a precipitating day, it seems.

A couple months after I last saw you, I started a relationship with someone. (NO, I was NOT seeing someone when we met) That ended a few months ago. And since then, I've thought of you...I've been to a few shows wherein I could just see you being there. One of my best friends married the guitar player from Soul Asylum, and at the various SA & Golden Smog shows I've been to here I looked around for you, wondering.....this past week, too, I re-tooled my fucked up iTunes and Push-Pull (a mix CD I made for him) reappeared after an absence of some time. That was probably when I went right to your profile...

I was shocked when I came back on the site and you were still here, still looking.

I'd like to talk. I'd like to see you. Here's a photo from the Third Man Ferris Wheel in Vienna. If you would rather not, tell me and I'll piss off. I still have numbers for you, but don't know if they're working. Mine is: xxxxxxx. I've moved; I lived on the west side of xxxx now and my Gram Parsons book is actually done. It's quite good.
I trust you're fine, that all is well...I'm not that much an apologer by nature, but I am sorry if I've been intrusive...
There it is

I respond:

Not only did you behave like an asshole, you WERE an asshole.

It's not surprising that in this whole email, there's no explanation STILL, 2 years later, for your disappearing act. And that's all it would have taken back then: a few sentences, a little bit of communication to let me know what was going on. Even a "I can't do this right now" or a "I've met someone else" -- whatever it was. I'm a big girl, but you never had the balls to step up and be honest with me. It didn't have to be that way, but you decided it was.

Instead, there was nothing but a big, fat silence. Is your ego really such that you'd think I'd want anything to do with you again, or could trust you again after that kind of nonsense? Plus, a total disregard for my feelings? You really have got to be kidding. And to act like you are doing me some great service by apologizing now -- well, now I'm the one shocked.

My numbers and email have never changed, so had you wanted to contact me at any point, it would have been very easy. Instead, this late, great apology comes because I finally contacted you first. I just want you to quit making me feel stalked by someone who made it so crystal clear that they wanted nothing to do with me anymore.

And since you semi-asked, I am good. I've had success with work in the past year or so, getting to travel a lot and working on publications I'm really proud of. I'm sure the long-awaited Gram book is fine, but as you might guess, I won't be giving it much lip service.

As you said, there it is. Hell hath no fury and all that shit.

And then he goes a bit crazy and gets kind of scary. Whoa, dude. No need to freak. I just don't like you:

Susan,
I thought I made it plain when I wrote you earlier, that I was waiting to speak to you, or communicate directly with you about how I behaved. I did apologize; it's right there in my email from earlier today. It seems to me MORE chickenshit to disappear as I did, then WRITE an apology/explanation than to communicate with you, tell you to your face/voice that I am and was sorry. And to try and explain my behavior. In this email from you, you rank on me because I didn't say more NOW? This confuses me...I would like to talk to you, and tell you I'm sorry, and try to describe my own behavior (though it eludes me, too, at times. ) Then you can tell me to fuck off in person or over the phone and that'll be that.

It had nothing to do with you being a good girl. Simply me being uncertain and a coward. I just faded away -- I wasn't sure what my feelings were or how to proceed, so I reverted to adolescence. No excuse.

An FUCK THAT STALKING BULLSHIT...yes, I looked at your profile a couple of times. And so did 10,000 other men in NYC. You could have blocked me from seeing it any time you wanted. So, let's keep language - our specialites -- in the realm of the real. Have I ever called you? Ever emailed you? Ever kept my attentions on you in some aggressive way? Never - a profile's public space and yours to close off. So, be as pissed as you may be, but could we please keep the name-calling to a minimum?

AND NOBODY SAID I WAS DOING YOU A SERVICE BY APOLOGIZING...please to read my email again. I was attempting to clear the air. That you have always behaved perfectly in every relationship situation is now clear to me - I didn't understand that before.

And hell yes, I thought you might want to see me once more. 'Trust you after that sort of nonsense'? What sort? Letting things fade? Did I ever press you for anything you didn't want to do? Was I not the soul of rectitude? You got a pretty servere fucking ego yourself, Susan, or else you're quite pissed at someone else and taking my apology as a chance to unload that anger. And this much anger is just plain disproportionate.

Yes, I came back after 2 years and here you still are, on the web. Could that lead me to think that you had yet to find someone to connect to? And to think back on the commonalities we had and to see if we might try again? Yes. And nothing untoward about that, either.

But you would rather not connect. You'd rather hang onto anger. Hang onto it, then. Wallow in the moral high ground to your heart's content. And in two more years, you'll be right here.

I offered you my apology. I offered you a chance to explain. I offered you a moment of re-connection. You threw a tantrum, and judging by the content, it ain't got shit to do with me.

Now THAT is weird and creepy.
And it's too bad, too.
There THAT is.
D

Then this, 30 minutes later. This is where I become convinced he's bi-polar or at the very least, psychotic:

Susan, I'm sorry you're so pissed at me. My crimes seem a bit less to me than your explosion, but so be it. I actually thought of inviting you to the Soul Asylum/Cheap Trick show on Thursday. Fuck it - I still will. I'm plus 1, you can come as my guest and never speak to me again for the evening if you like..or yell at me all night if you prefer... And you know what, you WILL give my book lip service when it comes out because it's fucking good. D

And my last email to him, in reference to the pre-invite email:

This email is really mean and kind of scary.

I’m not that angry, and you haven’t even come close to seeing me in “explosion.” I just don’t think you treated me very well. You blew me off. And that’s your choice: no problem. But I didn’t like it, it hurt my feelings and because of that behavior, I don’t have any interest in you except to clear the air once and for all, since I never got that chance before. Why does that make you so angry with me? Why does that call for such comments like “Yes, I came back after 2 years and here you still are, on the web.”?

That’s super nice, and really makes me want to see you. Do you even know there was someone else the whole time I knew you, who I became more serious with after you? And I’m still here. Funny what you assume about me just to be mean-spirited.

Most simply put, I wish you had talked to me two years ago when it might have made a difference and I wasn’t just Plan B.

And his vitrol ups in his final missive. Notice, he makes fun of the mix CD i made him as a parting shot, which cracks me up:

No, it's OK music, with one or two really good songs and several dull seques
...hey - you got what you wanted: an apology. And you got to be shitty after it.
If you want to communicate, pick up the phone.
I'm done emailing with you.
I reached out, I apologized, I got a huge load of disproportionate anger
And then I get accused of being mean & scary
So, one way or another, you neither have to address your own tone or leave the moral high ground.
Whoa- good for you.
And this after I said no more rancor.
Go away or pick up the phone.
All else gets deleted unread.

The End. And thank god I never did really get involved with him. What a total freak and chump.