THE STORY BEHIND THE SONG
(written March 2001)
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The following report is a true story. First thing I had in mind was to make a short novel or a screenplay out of it (just for the sake of the painful details and the cheesy drama potential it has), but then I came to understand that it wasn´t worth my time, nor the (virtual) paper it would have been written on. Instead I did what I can do the best: I wrote a song, using the lyrics of a poem I had finished three weeks earlier, “Anniversary”. I simply added a chorus, and voilŕ! This song marks the last step of my healing process, and therefore I am proud to present it to you. But now *drum roll*, the story behind “Cyber Freak”: An early summer Sunday morning, almost two years ago (in 1999), I was surfing the Internet for Xena-related fan fiction and poetry and wound up on a site where some more or less popular Xenites (=fans of the television show Xena: Warrior Princess) were introducing themselves, including a photograph of each of them. One girl immediately caught my eye, and I couldn´t help but staring at her picture for almost an hour. Afterwards I found more pics of her on her website. Physically, she wasn´t a “perfect” beauty (rather broad shoulders, slightly squinting eyes), but gods, I swear, there was something about her that took my breath away … and it wasn´t just her delicious fat lips and her undeniable resemblance to Liv Tyler on some of her pictures. So I gathered all my insanity and wrote her an email. Her reaction was like I had expected, since I already knew her from her posts to a mailing list we both had subscribed to: Her answer provided that sexy mix of superficial modesty and poorly hidden vanity – she was also known for being a smart ass, almost too smart for her 21 years (though at times one kept wondering about her occasional mental clumsiness). From that day on, we started exchanging emails every now and then (by the summer of 2000 we had reached an incredible amount of 2,000 emails), and after a while it became a habit of hers sending me her latest fan fiction and some poetry she had just written. As for its quality: Well, if parts of her poetry was comparable to Shakespeare, her fiction would be like an Ed Wood movie. Nevertheless, I was highly impressed by her sensitivity and her persona in general – I could sense that there was more going on underneath her beauty´s surface. I guess that´s what captured me in the first place, though it took me at least another six months to notice that my feelings had passed the line of pure attraction. Half a year later, about two months before Christmas, when our emails had already become much more personal and affectionate, I dared to contact her via ICQ. From this day on, we chatted on a regular basis. We would share our thoughts and bare our souls bit by bit. Since I have always been an open and straight-forward character, it worked faster for me than for her. But I refused to fall in love head over heels, for from what I had heard about online romances and due to my own experience in the world of cyber space it was a risky thing to do. By February 2000 my level-headedness had lost the fight against my heart – she was just too cute, the way she would send me emails between classes at university and work, about how she would shuffle the snow off the sidewalk in front of her parents house, the way the two of us would connect to each other, complete the other person´s thoughts, share the same opinion on crucial subjects and life in general. Okay, she was more experienced regarding sexual matters, what is why she was one of the moderators of a popular teenage message board on which she was advising girls in all things sex. She would tell me about the funny questions about menstruation and everything. Me on the other side, I would contribute what LJ (that was her name) used to call wisdom to our “friendship”. Soon, our platonic online friendship turned into serious flirting – on both sides. I remember her asking if it was fine with me for her to fall in love with my voice (she had downloaded my mp3´s) – there was something more behind that statement. I remember even better the one email that made my heart jump when I read it (after, in the course of an amusing discussion on that Xena mailing list, I had posted that the organizers of the German fan gatherings I used to attend were always trying to bribe me performing at their so-called Xena Camps by promising me that one day there´d be a phone interview with one of my favorite actresses, or another big surprise). LJ replied in private:
From what she had told me, I knew she wasn´t single at the time. But it was about the same time she stated that she had checked on flights to Austria (which is where I live) and that if she took the next one she would be here in none:
Crazy as she was, I assumed she seriously considered it an option. On one hand, it made me panick, on the other hand it filled me with lust and desire (I´m only human after all). Shortly after, I had to undergo a minor surgery at hospital. The brief mention of this in her website´s monthly journal touched me deeply, even more the comment that in a moment like this she wished she could be at two places at the same time (meaning by my side). That´s when I realized that we should take the next logical step – so I suggested a phone call. Her reaction was panicky. It wasn´t a secret that she suffered a severe case of panic disorder, but I managed to arrange that phone call anyway. I could tell that we both were scared, but we really wanted to get through with this. And guess what? It worked out quite fine. We talked for half an hour (I remember it being a beautiful weekend afternoon here and a nice morning at her place in Arlington, Virginia), mostly small talk, including – of course – music (I was pleasantly surprised that such a young woman would know so much about Bob Dylan). Her voice was husky and rather deep for a girl her age, but it also had a sexy color – I got lost in it. From there on, the phone calls became another regular thing in our lives´ schedule. She bought an international phone card, which was obviously cheaper for us than me calling her, and by the end of March phone calls (up to 8 hours or more on weekends) had turned into being part of my every day. When we talked, it felt like talking to an old friend, a related soul, the “One” you search for all your life. She revealed a lot about herself, her childhood, the traumatic loss of her biological father (who had left her and her mother when she was very little), about her super-duper stepfather (whom she adored infinitely, and affectionately referred to as "Daddy"), about her therapist (whom she would cynically refer to as her shrink), about everything. Yet I sensed that there was a secret she refused to share, but I was confident that with time she would completely open up to me. She also told me about her girlfriend whom she would still see, rarely though, but didn´t love as deeply anymore as she officially claimed to do (O-tone LJ: “We´ve never been as smooth as people would think…”). I also heard the tales about all her other ex´s (including the boys she had had sex with during her “experimental youth”). That kinda hurt, but I was willing to take the whole package, past and present . . . if only she was willing to make up her mind and tell me what she wanted (i.e. whom she wanted). She had told me dozens of times that she loved me, but I wasn´t longing for an illusion of a relationship with someone who was already taken. By April 1, she had made her choice which she planned to explain to her girlfriend. Despite her panicky nature, she had already mananged to call Rhonda (her gf at the time) in order to announce her decision as soon as possible. That conversation was supposed to take place that very day, but was cancelled last minute (anybody about to say “April, fools”?). They had decided to meet April 2 instead (unfortunately this was the same day I wouldn´t be at home but gone to Munich/Germany to attend a rock concert with my buddy Fredi). But when I returned she called to tell me that she had indeed finally broken up with Rhonda, and was in tears, but in no regret about her choice. I swear, the whole thing I thought I had with her truly felt like heaven (except for the one time where she had forgotten about my birthday and a friend had to remind her last minute). I had gotten used to her calling me “my darling” (I called her "my angel" in return), to the dearest affection and understanding between us. We enriched one another, in many ways, including music. She sent me a CD from Veruca Salt (a girl rock group) and Angela Motter (who covers different styles); I confronted her with Springsteen and Bryan Adams (I didn´t get the impression that she liked Hanson or Creed...). What we shared seemed so natural to me, so destined … I know, it sounds hyperbolical, even from my actual point of view, but believe me, back then this was exactly how it felt to me. Things like that happen … rarely, but they do. Did I mention rarely? Oh yeah, I did. Anyway . . . The next couple of months included daily phone calls, her fumble attempts to learn German, scented love letters (I will never forget the scent of “Poison Tendre”) sealed with kisses, signed photographs, cyber and phone sex and lots of conversations about the day we would meet face to face. We had already marked that special day for her flying over (my parents wouldn´t be home during summer for some time, which – of course – fit perfectly into our plans). The closer the day came, the more excited I got … the more in love I fell. Months passed, and only days before her arrival she wanted me to call her from work, each single day until her departure, so I could kiss her good morning on the phone and tell her that everything was going to be all right, that there was nothing she could disappoint me with, because I already knew her so well. It was undiscribably sweet to hear her voice when she was just waking up – made me want to cuddle up right next to her.
Needless to say that on the day before her arrival I was a nervous wreck. I kept myself busy by cleaning the apartment and going grocery shopping so we´d have enough food supplies for at least five days. <g> I even bought some massage oil and candles and other mushy stuff. I wanted everything to be perfect.
This was a later message from her, because unfortunately she had to cancel the first flight the week before (her mother got ill), so we delayed our "date". But then the day was finally there . . . She was going to take a flight early night my time (we are six hours ahead here, CET), and I told her that if she felt a panic attack was building up, she could call me anytime. We´d get through it together. Three hours before her departure she called. She could hear her throwing up, and she was telling me that she couldn´t do this. I felt my heart sink and an incredible pain bashing through it. I was dying to see her! I wouldn´t allow her (or me) to give up easily. So I talked to her. Calmed her down. Told her that there was nothing to be afraid of. That I would be there when she leaves the plane to wrap my arms around her and never let go. It worked . . . at first. She promised to get ready. An hour later she called again. I had to literally command her downstairs with her suitcases to get her father to drive her to the airport. I wouldn´t stop talking to LJ until she had climbed into the car. I even got to talk to Mike, her half-bro, that afternoon (it wasn´t the first time – he had often picked up the phone instead of Lisa ... and had also often forgotten to deliver messages I had left for her). Everybody was very nice, except her mother who seemed to have developed a strong jealosy towards me, for I was trying to “take her beloved daughter away from her”. She had always talked in a strangly cold voice to me and wasn´t too thrilled about the idea of Lisa and me meeting here in Vienna. But it was her daughters will. As LJ and “Daddy” left home, an endless horror trip began for me: Lisa called me from the airport, telling me that she had taken some meds to keep her calm, and that she would get into that plane at any price. But there was something else that felt distinctively wrong. I could sense it (my sixth sense has always been very strong). For that reason I asked her, why it was so quite all around her when she was at an airport. She answered that she was in a phone booth. I got her to “open the door” (her father was waiting outside), but it still sounded completely quiet. I started asking myself if she was really at the airport or just pretending. But she repeatedly swore she was there waiting to leave. So I decided to believe her. After a couple of minutes her dad was calling her out (that´s what she said), and I had to hang up. A little later, she called again to let me know that an upcoming storm had delayed the flight. I could already hear the thunder roll in the background. Why could I hear the thunder, but not the other sounds at a usually crowded airport? I had to force myself to stop asking these question – my head was close to burst. Then she had to hang up again, telling me that it was time to check in. Ooookay . . . I went into the kitchen to make myself a late dinner. Afterwards I made our bed, or whatever you would call the two mattresses I had placed on the floor of my room, since I didn´t have a bed large enough for both of us. I even scented the pillows and put kitschy rose leaves all around, so all I´d have to do the next morning was to get up and go pick my sweetheart up at the airport. With mixed feelings I sat down and waited. And waited. Finally, the phone rang. It was a rather soft male voice – yet it sounded familiar. “Hi, Theo. This is Gary. I´m Lisa´s father. She didn´t make it.” My mind screamed: “NO!!” “She collapsed while we were waiting in line”, he continued, “they had to sedate her. She´s gonna be okay, but she´s still asleep, and probably won´t wake up before tomorrow.” I didn´t get it at first. My mind wouldn´t accept the information it had just received. I was still hoping there´d be a chance for me to take her in my arms by noon. But after 20 minutes of talk, the truth finally hit me. I tried hard to stay as calm as possible. After taking a deep breath, while listening to his voice, another thing hit me: He sounded exactly like Lisa, only that his voice had a slightly deeper and somewhat masculine color. But the speech pattern, the pauses he made, the nibbling at his lower lip (which I could hear through the phone) . . . everything reminded me of her. I didn´t say a word about my suspicion in particular, which was that I was actually talking to Lisa who was pretending to be her father. In a casual tone, I asked if “he” knew that they sounded quite alike. He went like, “well, it must be a bad case of strong adoration.” (or something like that) Before hanging up, he promised that Lisa would call tomorrow as soon as she got up. In my time zone, it was already 3:45 in the morning. I called a friend in Germany to “share my concern” (“How stupid does she think I am? I can recognize a voice I have listened to a thousand times!”). Two hours later, I went to bed, crying, her photograph in my hand. The next day, after a short and almost sleepless night, the phone rang and woke me up. I had placed it right next to my mattrass so I would hear it whenever she calls. It was going to stay there and be my 24/7 companion for the next five weeks, but at this point I didn´t know that. I had told Lisa my suspicion about last night via email, but as usual she managed to annihilate my doubts. I don´t want to bore you with details of the following weeks, so I´ll keep this part of the story short: The next five weeks were filled with at least 3 more attempts to take a flight to Austria. I had refused various job offers to stay ready for her arrival and our vacation together. I played the advisor and personal therapist for her, advised her to go to the airport and talk to the responsible personnel to inform them about her “problem” and to find a solution. I suggested she should visit the airport daily in order to get familiar with the surroundings etc. I had installed a webcam at home so she could see me and lose some of her fear, I even suggested a cell phone and/or a laptop for the flight, but for security reasons that was not allowed. The weeks passed with me not getting any sleep except for an occasional hour per day (so I could be there for her … so she could call me whenever she needed to … so she would know she was not alone and didn´t feel like she had failed ....... gosh, this was exhausting). Those weeks were characterized by empty promises, lots of pain, me not being able at one point to move for almost two days (because my whole body was shaking like crazy and my arms and legs had gone completely numb), by vows of her undying love for me, by her fantasizing about our future together, about having children, about marriage . . . by me losing my mind and thrashing some of our household´s inventory (which was a completely new experience of rage for me). I asked myself and her, why she was doing this to us. The worst part was where she called from her therapist´s office to inform me that she was told she wasn´t in the right mental condition to meet me right now. Weird, because according to what I had read about panic disorder, the patients could lead a normal life, if they only got the right medication and therapy. But what did I know? I got quite angry, due to my helplessness and despair, so I started yelling at her. She began to cry, as usual, whining, “Don´t yell at me!” It was a losing battle. In the meantime, a mutual online acquaintance had informed me that as far as she knew, Lisa and her now-ex-girlfriend Rhonda had never met in person, not even once. I couldn´t believe this. More lies? After all we have been through during the last months? Of course, I told her about my newly gained knowledge, and she started crying (same old same old). Promising that she would never lie to me again, she sent me the following email:
Well, fine. She had opened up at last. But was she also strong enough to finally make it over? After five weeks the limit of my patience was reached. Her constant “I love you´s” wouldn´t help any longer – those words coming from her mouth have become meaningless to me. I wasn´t able to recognize myself. I had turned into a zombie: pale, nervous, depressed. I hadn´t gone outside for weeks (except for buying some food every now and then), I hadn´t seen any friends, I had lost about 16 lbs and I was feeling like my whole world was crumbling down. In one sentense: I couldn´t stand myself anymore. It was time to take action instead of remaining the passive part in this journey through hell. Friday evening I called her, not to talk to her, but to her father, whom I wanted to submit a plan I had forged the night before. She just replied “Okay”, and then I heard her going downstairs. A knock on a door, followed by silence. The door was opened, I heard her saying “Daddy, Theo wants to talk to you.” Silence. Then I heard Gary saying, “Hi.” Since I wanted to talk to him in private, he went into another room and closed the door behind him. My plan was simple: The plan sounded perfect to me, so I asked “Daddy” if he and Lisa´s shrink were okay with my idea of flying over to surprise Lisa. He said that he couldn´t make this decision alone before he hadn´t talked to his wife. And so I waited, once more. Day after day passed, he called me each single one of them, finding excuses why it wouldn´t work and telling me that Lisa´s mother wouldn´t agree anyway. He later told me that LJ´s mom had yelled at him, saying stuff like e.g. that he wasn´t her “real” (i.e. biological) father and that he hadn´t any saying in this. I felt crushed when the final word was: “No, you cannot come over, not now.” He promised he´d keep on trying: “We´ll find a way to bring the two of you together. You are good for her, she needs you.”
I was so darn tired of empty promises. Thus I made up a plan of my own, not involving anybody but me and the woman I loved. I checked on flights to Washington D.C., tricked Lisa into a conversation about the D.C. area so I would learn more details about where I was going to fly (without letting her know about my actual plan, though). Next thing I did was to gather enough money to at least be able to afford the ticket, the rent of a motel room for a couple of days and some food. Then I made the ticket reservation, memorized the map of Arlington, wrote down the names of some of the cheaper motels, packed my stuff, and called my buddy Andreas to ask him to accompany me to the airport on Wednesday. Never before had I been afraid like this. I was about to fly to a foreign country on another continent, where I didn´t know a single soul, with no place to stay, into a future uncertain. But I was sure I wanted to do this, and nothing could hold me back.
Day 1 – Wednesday, August 9: I got up early after another sleepless night, feeling nervous as hell, checked the apartment one last time and got ready to go. Andi and I would meet at the subway metro station. He helped me carrying my baggage and encouraged me, also joking that there was still time for me to change my mind. But I remained stubborn. As we arrived at the airport, I was close to tears – this was definitely worse than stage-fright. We went to buy my ticket, knowing that now there was no turning back. The remaining time until I had to check in, we spend with a fast food breakfast, talking about my trip to the U.S. Some time in the afternoon, local time, I was there. At the Viennese airport I had had a long conversation with a nice couple from Arlington about my plan to fly over to surprise “a dear friend” etc., and they had gone like: “You are sooo brave! Here, take some additional money and our phone number. Get a taxi to take you to your hotel, make sure you´ll be safe. And if anything happens, please call!” I had only starred at them in disbelief and said: “Thanks a lot, but I can´t accept your money! I am practically a stranger to you!” The woman had answered that she would insist on me taking the money and that what I was about to do was exceptional and I shouldn´t refuse their help. I had had to relent. Leaving the plane, I exchanged some last words with those sweet people, then I was alone … among hundreds of strangers. After a short, but detailed interrogation by the custom service (”Your last name is Bulgarian, isn´t it?” – “Yeah, and I´m a Russian spy…”), I picked up my baggage and headed towards the info center to ask if there were any affordable hotels close to where she was living. As I passed the public phones in this noisy building, I noticed that there were no phone booths. I frowned. With some addresses in hand and a quick price comparision, I chose the “Day´s Inn” and walked out of the airport to find a “shuttle” (=some sort of collective taxi) to take me there. So, this was the United States of America. Looked exactly like on television, only a little less impressive. The humidity though was higher than expected. Dealing with some minor communication problems at the motel´s reception (“No, ma´am. I´m NOT from Australia. I am from AUSTRIA.” – “Ah, I see. Errr… but I can´t find your zip code in Australia!” – “I told you, I am Austrian. You know? Austria. In Europe. That small country right below Germany and next to Switzerland?”), I finally managed to get to my small, yet half-decent motel room. I entered, unpacked the necessary stuff, took a shower, and then went straight to bed. Though I had been able to sleep on the plane (it´s the only way I can forget about my fear of flying), I still felt extremely tired from the latest events. It was 6 p.m., but since I intended to get up early in the morning, I decided it was the best to go to bed immediately. I was full of hope and enthusiasm for the next day, thus I managed to sleep soundly, until my alarm clock would start. Day 2 – Thursday, August 10: 6 a.m. – time to get ready for the day. The hotel shuttle would take me to the metro station. A nice lady explained the ticket system to me, and down I went to catch my metro. I knew where Lisa was working after classes and during summer (she had told me a couple of times), at the Borders bookstore near the Pentagon (i.e. close to her Daddy). Work was some sort of therapy for her to learn to deal with people in order to control her disorder better. Since I had bought a map of D.C., I had no trouble to find the store. It was half past seven – I knew her shift was starting at 8, so I had enough time to roam the area, looking for a florist. I bought a bunch of roses and headed back to Borders. The humidity was unbearable, even at this early hour. The closer I was getting, the more I was sweating. I was praying that Lisa wouldn´t faint or get a panic attack at my sight. As I entered the small shopping center, I heard the title song of "Dawson´s Creek" being played over the speakers: It was the very same song I had been listening to for days before I had left home – it kinda used to have an encouraging effect on me. I couldn´t believe they were playing this very song! I entered the store . . . No sign of Lisa. I asked the beautiful clerk at the coffee machine if Ms. Thompson was already in (Lisa had told me she would be working all week). The young woman raised an eyebrow and told me that there was no such person working here. I showed her a photograph, since I assumed that Lisa might use a different name. She looked at me very apologetic and said that she had never seen that girl before. I was stunned. Great! Lisa had lied to me again. Big surprise . . . not. But very unfortunate in this case. Now what? Her Daddy. Gary was the only solution I could think of at the moment. Of course, that would spoil my whole plan, but I couldn´t think of any other way. I told the clerks my story, and they were totally helpful by trying to find out Gary´s phone number at work. But uh oh, the Pentagon didn´t seem very cooperative, so I had to wait till evening to call him at home. My earlier phone conversation with LJ´s mom wasn´t too pleasant (“I don´t know where Lisa is working.” *click*). Lunch time I had spent outside the building, walking to the Pentagon, checking the area, sitting down on a park bench to take a nap . . . I was close to giving up. One of Borders´ clerks had given me his private number, in case I needed help of any kind. He had also shown me how those American phone cards work, and I had called Andi to let him know I was okay. Early afternoon, I went back to Borders. They hadn´t made any progress in finding out Gary´s number, so I had no choice but calling Lisa herself (who must have been home by now), which I knew would spoil the whole element of surprise. She was really there: LJ: “Hello?” Me: “Lisa?” LJ: “Yeah. Theo? Hi!” Me: “You don´t work at Borders, do you?” <beat> LJ: “What?” Me: “You haven´t been at work today. At least, you haven´t worked here.” LJ: “. . . oh my God . . .” At this point, she must have realized the number of the incoming call showing up on her phone display was a local one. Me: <trying to sound reasonable> “See? I told you I would do the craziest things for you. I have always been honest with you. Why did you lie to me?” LJ: <desperate> “I don´t know.” Me: “You shouldn´t make it so hard on us. I am here, I know you lied, but I am not going to leave anytime soon. I love you anyway, in spite of everything that has happened, and I want to be with you. Do you understand?” LJ: <trembling> “Yes.” Me: “Don´t you want to be with me?” LJ: “Fuck, I want to be with you, Theo!” Me: “Okay, okay! Calm down, honey pie. Please. Meet me later at my motel, okay?” LJ: “´kay . . . I´ll try…” I gave her the address, talked to her a bit longer, then hung up and said goodbye to the people at Borders. This part of the U.S. was apparently widely populated with nice and especially helpful people. I was glad about the moral support. Back at my hotel room, I took another shower, then waited for her arrival at 7 p.m. Shortly passed 7, I heard a car stopping in front of my room. As I looked through the window, I saw a man getting out an old Japanese car. Thanks to pictures LJ had sent me, I recognized him as Gary, her father. So I unlocked the door. The first thing he said when he saw me, was: “Hey, you´re real!?!” He smiled, I smiled, we hugged, he showed me his ID card to prove who he was. Laughing, I explained that I knew who he was. Then I glanced over his shoulder and asked: “Where´s Lisa?” His expression turned serious. “She didn´t come.” I felt the stab through my heart. “Why not?” “She was too excited and started to panick. But she promised to call you later and explain things to you. Here´s a letter she wanted me to deliver. That´s why I actually came.” I invited him in, then read the letter and sighed. Why did things have to be this complicated? We talked for a while about this and that, about me and Lisa, about my flight. All the time, he didn´t stop staring at my hands. But my eyes examined him as well: He was older than on the pictures I got. He had a friendly face, a badly cut moustache (something that would keep catching my attention throughout the following days), and long, thin and slightly curly hair he was wearing bond together in a ponytail. His body was somewhat misshaped by his weight, and his taste of clothing questionable, but I immediately felt some sort of connection to him. So, this was the man who was hopefully going to become my “father-in-law”, so to speak. I smiled at the thought and wondered how he and my old man would get along. I gave him a short note before I accompanied him to the door, along with a necklace of mine I wanted Lisa to have so she would wear me close to her heart until we finally met. Andi had contributed an Austrian baseball cap, since Lisa was a softball player (he had also given me an introduction into the rules of baseball and softball, and had tought me some basics, since he was a baseball player himself and had been coaching softball for several years). Half an hour later, Lisa called. She thanked me for the nice gifts, told me that her dad had enjoyed the conversation with me, that she still couldn´t believe that I had really come over to the States, that she loved me, and that she was looking forward to meet me. I was only waiting for that line to propose the question, “When?” We agreed on having dinner the next day, preferably something Greek, and that she would come to pick me up at 6 p.m. She also apologized for the lie and said she had named Borders as her working place to avoid people (i.e. stalkers) to look for her, and that she was actually working at Barnes and Noble (another renowned bookstore company). This sounded unlogical to me, but I was too tired to waste my thoughts on it. I only asked her to show me her working place occasionally. Then we said good night, and I went to sleep, devoured by doubts. Day 3 – Friday, August 11: Once again, the phone woke me up. It was Lisa, telling me that she had to bring her computer to the computer store to get something fixed, and that she was totally excited and looking forward to spending the evening (and perhaps the night, too) with me. I had bought another bunch of fresh red roses yesterday afternoon, which however were old by now, but my financial resources didn´t allow further expenses of this sort, since it didn´t look like I was going to move out of this motel and in to Lisa´s place anytime soon. I got a small breakfast and spend the rest of the day waiting . . . I had gotten a lot of practice in that lately, so it didn´t bother me too much. I was only sorry I didn´t get to see anything of Washington. At 5 p.m. Lisa called to tell me that she was getting ready to leave and that she wasn´t panicky at all, but happy. I used the time I was waiting to call my parents, who were still on vacation, to tell them that I had arrived and that everything was okay. They asked me how my first date with Lisa had gone and were quite concerned to hear that I hadn´t met her yet. But I was optimistic and said that in twenty minutes I would. 6 p.m. passed, and no sign of her. I called her dad to ask him what has happened, and he said she had left ten minutes ago and that, if she wasn´t there by 6:30, I should call him again. Of course, she never arrived, so I called. He told me to wait – he would take the other car and go look for her. She was probably driving around the block, what she had done a couple of times before. I could have killed myself for not suggesting to go with him. Waiting, waiting, waiting . . . At 7 something it knocked on my door. It was Gary, telling me that he had found her and had taken her home. She was nicely drugged now and asleep. He had brought me another letter in which she was apologizing for her repeated failure and that she would try again tomorrow, no matter what. The whole situation was devastating. After a while, he asked if I was hungry. I didn´t feel hungry, though I hadn´t eaten much today. My mind was too occupied by other stuff to ponder over the condition of my stomach. But on the other hand, I didn´t want to spend the evening all alone, so I accepted his invitation for dinner. We went to what he called their “family Italian restaurant” and had dinner together. Lisa, and Gary, had claimed to be partly Italian. He had to put on his eyeglasses, which made him look even older, but also somewhat cute. I noticed his broken fingernails and the translucent nailpolisher he had put on them. That kinda irritated me, as well as his table manners (he was honestly eating like a pig). The spaghetti I had ordered were okay, though not very Italian, but hey, I wasn´t in Europe anymore, right? I asked him if he could take me with him to surprise Lisa while she was still asleep, but he insisted that it wasn´t a good idea, at least not for now, because of his wife and because I should let LJ get some rest tonight. He sounded very caring, so I obeyed. Back at my motel room, I submitted my new plan which he accepted (I started feeling like James Bond). When he left, I felt like I had totally failed today. What else could go wrong? I wasn´t able to fall asleep, so I went for an after-midnight walk. Day 4 – Saturday, August 12: ....you get up late, which pisses off the charwomen. You prepare to go to Borders again, to hide there until Lisa and her Daddy arrive for lunch, at the restaurant next to the bookstore… My plan was for Gary to take Lisa out for lunch, so I could surprise her there. I drove to Borders by taxi, since I was running late. There I put on my summer jacket and my sunglasses, and waited for noon to pass. Then I walked out and headed towards the restaurant. On the other end of the corridor, I could already make out Gary´s silhouette standing next to a card phone. He was alone. I took off my sunnies and walked over to him. “Okay, what went wrong this time?” He looked sad. “She has taken the car early this morning and left. Due to what Dorothy said, they had a fight, and Lisa ran away. We don´t know where she is.” This whole thing was getting more and more ridiculous. "Listen,” I said, “no matter what, I will stay by your side for the rest of the day. Wherever you go, I go." " ´kay.” I gave my parents another short call. My report didn´t satisfy them, but they were thousands of miles away and not in the position to do anything about it. (As I would learn later, they had found someone who talked a halfway passable English to call Gary in order to claim some answers. My father was convinced that “Her father is playing some game with our daughter.”) Gary and I went up to the parking lots on the roof. I got a lovely view over parts of the area and was regretting once more that I haven´t seen much of the city yet. “Where do we go?” he asked. “I don´t know. You´re the expert in locating your daughter´s hideouts and bringing her back home. Any suggestions?” “Lemme think.” He started the motor of his dirty old car, and we headed off to search for Lisa … which appeared to be a futile venture, since she could have gone anywhere. But I had reached a point where I would clutch at the tiniest glimpse of hope. I simply didn´t want everything I had done and sacrificed so far to be in vain. We drove by numerous monuments along the Mall. This was a poor version of a sight-seeing tour, but we had other worries. After having lunch at McDonald´s, we ended up in “Lisa´s favorite park”, a huge, beautiful facility with an artifical creek, where she used to go for a walk whenever she needed to hide out and compose herself. At first, I walked about 50 meters behind Gary so Lisa wouldn´t see me and start to panick ... in case we would find her, that was. Families passing us by stared at me. I felt darn silly. We looked here and checked there, and at one point I had to lend Daddy a hand as we were climbing up a little hill. He was gasping and sweating – no wonder, it was another hot summer day in this typical southern climate. No luck, Lisa stayed missing. We went back to the car and drove around some more, while he continued to talk about "his little girl" (I asked him stuff like how tall she actually was, etc.), and I started feeling more and more helpless, so close to her and still not with her. Next step of our little tour went passed Lisa´s computer shop and ended at a Wal-Mart. We strolled the aisles, and stopped in the wine section. He told me that this was the meeting point for singles (uh huh), that Californian wine was better then French wine, and some other entertaining anecdotes. He was impressed by my Italian pronunciation of the texts on the bottle labels, but I told him that – thought I could read the words – I was hardly able to figure out their meaning. Later, Gary called home to learn that Lisa has informed her mother she had left town to drive up to the mountains, a three hours ride away. There was no way to get to her anytime soon. But I had reached a level of stubborness where practically nothing would stop me. So I switched to an alternative plan: I wanted her dad to drive me home to his house, so I would hide around the corner in my hooded jacket and sunglasses (I knew her mother wouldn´t let me inside) to wait for Lisa to return. Gary looked a little undecided for a moment, but then he agreed. As we arrived, he dropped me off at the corner, then parked the car and went inside to have dinner with the rest of his family, while I was standing outside and served as dinner for hundreds of hungry mosquitos – I regretted wearing shorts. Time passed, neighbors stared at me (I was glad nobody called the police), and Gary would occasionally come by to see how I was doing and to introduce me to Lisa´s cat (What did I care about the damn cat in a moment like this?). Since I am allergic to cats, I didn´t get too intimate with the little bugger. It must have been around 7 when Gary came out to offer me some prunes from his garden and to let me know that Lisa wouldn´t be back before late this evening. He suggested to get me a real dinner or go for a walk some place and return later. I didn´t feel comfortable about it, but counting the many mosquito bites on my legs, I wasn´t too thrilled about staying, either. So we went to Downtown Alexandria, a gorgeous, historic part of the D.C. area, where we enjoyed a long walk and talk. His story of how he had often been here with Lisa almost broke my heart – though it was a romantic evening and a nice walk, I would have rather been there with Lisa than with him, and the fact that I wasn´t … well, words fail any appropriate description. My brain was busy making up a new plan: Going back as soon as darkness has settled, me hiding on the passenger seat until we have parked the car in the driveway, Gary going into the house to ask Lisa to help him getting something out of the trunk, me hiding behind the car, waiting for both to come out … you can think of the rest. As we were waiting for the dusk, we discussed several American tv shows from the 80´s. In the back of my head, I could hear the clock ticking. Then it was time. We returned to the public garage, sat into the car and drove home. On the way, I asked him if he was nervous – I knew he was concerned about his daughter and how she was going to react. He responded with a quick "Yes", and I said, “So am I.” I took his hand, and squeezed it tightly. It felt like we were allies in a war. As we drove into his street, I sank into the small space between seat and fascia. Lisa´s car was back, which means that she was back as well. Gary stopped the motor, and we opened and closed the doors simultaneously, so no one would know he wasn´t alone. I crouched behind the car, while he went inside. Sitting in the dirt, I heard the front door open about ten minutes later. A woman was yelling in a high-pitched voice, “Come out behind the car, grrrl!” I ignored her and stayed covered. Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck! What was going on? Two minutes later Gary came back and commanded me into the car. I hesitantly obeyed. “What happened??” “Lisa is nicely drugged up and sound asleep. I couldn´t get to wake her up. I would shake her and she would go ‘mmmmh´, but she didn´t open her eyes,“ he reported nervously. “And my wife got suspicious.” “So what?? Let´s go back and talk to her! Pleeeeze. Give me this one chance to talk to her! I know it ain´t easy for you, sitting between chairs, but I promise, if she gets outrageous, we´ll leave.” He glanced over, then nodded and turned the car around. At his house, he went to call his wife out. I felt this was a losing battle, but at least I wanted to lose bravely. Dorothy came out and hugged me. “Nice to meet you.” Huh? I was confused. “Yeah, listen,” I started, “I know how much you care about your daughter, but so do I. Your husband stated how good I was for Lisa and that she has become much more self-confident and happier since she knows me. I need to be with her as much as she needs to be with me. Please, let me go upstairs to get at least a tiny glimpse at her.” She gave me a stern look. “Sorry, I can´t do this, Theo.” “Why not???” I started panicking. This was probably my very last chance. “Look,” I pulled out a card Lisa had sent me a couple of weeks ago, which was saying: T, I have not yet boarded that silly airplane, but it is only a matter of time until I am with you. I love you – so very much that at times it would seem that you have an unfair advantage over me (except that I have the same advantage over you <g>). I melt at the sound of your voice, giggle when you laugh. I am yours, darling. We are destined to be together. You are the source of my strength, the warmth of my heart and the love of my life. Ich liebe Dich, Lisa I gave Dorothy a hopeful look. “She sent me this. And I know she means every word. She´s old enough to make her own choices. Please, don´t do this to us!” Dorothy´s voice got grimmer. “I can´t let you into the house!” “WHY NOT?” “My reasons are my own and none of your business!! I only do what´s best for my daughter!” Tears started rolling down my face. “…please…” Gary grabbed my elbow. “C´mon, let´s go.” “No!” I gave it another try, but I was running against a wall. How could a mother be this selfish? There was something wrong. I knew it. I felt it instinctively. Finally, I trotted back to the car, and Gary brought me to my motel room. The whole way back, I cried uncontrolled, and he was holding my hand. He couldn´t provide any answers to my questions, but he said he wouldn´t leave me alone tonight until I had calmed down. Calmed down? How could I calm down? This was like a bad dream … a cheap, lousy, very bad dream. After taking some deep breaths, I asked him inside. “Look at my butt, “ I sighed, “my pants got all dirty.” “Looks good to me … for a lesbian butt,” he joked. But I didn´t feel like joking. I had no hope left, but I had one day left before I had to fly home. And I would seize that last day. I wanted us to try this night´s plan again in the morning. He gave me a quiet look, then asked if I knew that I had a “vicious mind”. I felt impelled to laugh. “Well, it comes in handy at times!” Vicious … hm. I only wanted to be with his daughter, so badly that I would have done almost everything to make it happen. We decided I would call him in the morning, and he would pick me up an hour later.
A look out of the window made it pretty clear that we could forget about my plan – it was raining cats and dogs. I rolled my eyes. Was everybody against me? Okay, new plan. I called Gary. His wife picked up the phone instead. I cleared my throat and asked in a neutral tone: “I´d like to talk to your husband, please.” She handed him the phone with a snippish remark: “She wants to talk to my husband.” Gary took over. “Hi.” He was going outside, probably into the backyard, because my ears could make out the patter of rain. We kept it short, and I asked him to come by, despite the heavy rain. He told me his wife wasn´t talking to him at the moment. I didn´t really care. I took a shower, packed my clothes, cosmetics and everything else and prepared for my last day in Arlington, Virginia. Then I started writing a letter. My hands were shaking, but I ignored the fact. This letter was my desperate plea to Lisa to take some action: If she really felt about me the way I felt about her, she should come to the airport by any means – we didn´t need to talk, but she could at least wave me goodbye. I no longer had any great expectations in her – it was obvious to me that she had a severe mental problem that was much worse than regular panic disorder. As Gary arrived, I loaded up my stuff in the trunk and checked out (one of the guys working at the lobby gave me a nice goodbye gift – a bunch of roses, what else? – I snorted in regard of the irony). We drove down Lisa´s place where I kept waiting in the rain while Gary went to deliver the letter. Forty minutes later, I saw the car coming back. I hid behind a bush, in case – and contrary to what I was actually expecting – Lisa was sitting next to Gary. But she wasn´t. Gary told me he was sorry and that Lisa had cried over what I had written, but didn´t feel ready yet for that next step. The day proceeded like followed: We went to have a typical American breakfast at Bob & Edith´s (the very same place he and Lisa used to eat at times). Our meal consisted of scrambled eggs, potatoes and bacon … very unhealthy, but also quite good. As I got into a conversation with one of the owners, we discovered we were from the same hometown in northern Germany! So we continued the conversation in German, which led Gary to the remark that, as he had already told Lisa, I would fit in here perfectly. I told him that maybe some day I would be back, at which he replied that I was going to be back for sure, and that he would do anything possible to bring Lisa and me together, even if he had to kidnap her and fly her over to Austria himself. Sounded a bit exaggerated, but sweet. Then we went for what Andi would later jokingly call an “L.J. Memorial Tour”: Gary showed me Lisa´s former highschool and her university, and shared some touching “behind the scenes” stories with me. I was wondering about his lack of tact – didn´t he know that this, for me, was hardly bearable? We called home several times that day, between stopps, to try to catch Lisa, and finally wound up at the airport. During the drive he continuously assured me that everything would be all right, and that I had convinced him how serious I was about his daughter. (Duh!) The remaining time we spend with souvenir shopping and talking about Gary´s youth, while we were sitting in the green grass next to the parking lot (it were the same stories LJ had told me about her dad). Everytime a car passed by, I would jerk, hoping that it was Lisa. But she never came. We had a pizza from Pizza Hut for dinner, he ordered a beer at the bar, then we tried to call Lisa one last time. But only her brother would pick up the phone. So Gary escorted me to the terminal and we went to have a seat in the waiting hall. I couldn´t control my tears as I watched a young couple playing with their child. I know how hyper-dramatical this sounds, but it is the truth. I had to think of Lisa and our plans and how their fullfilment seemed out of reach now. Gary laid his arm around my shoulder and said he would let Lisa know “what she was missing”. I gave him a sloppy kiss on the lips and hugged him one last time, then I went down the aisle and flew back to Austria, crying all the way.
When the plane landed, I felt relieved. Suddenly, everything that had happened seemed so unreal. Andi welcomed me with a curious smile and a comforting hug – it was good to be back. At least this was a person I could count on. The first question I got was: “How was it?” I only raised an eyebrow, then started to share the story of my fruitless efforts. I still couldn´t believe this has happened. For the next couple of days, Andi became my room mate again. We would have breakfast together, he would leave in the morning for work, go home afterwards and then come back to spend the night at my place. It took me five days to settle down and clear my head. Once again, doubts got the better of me. Who was LJ? Did she exist at all? If so, what was wrong with her? Her behavior had gone far beyond that of a panic disordered person. The following Friday, I contacted Lisa. She had no good explanation for her actions, only lame excuses. She was crying again on the phone. I had been crying almost constantly during the last 2 months. We chatted for hours while listening to the same CD (thanks to technology, you can do almost everything together via Internet … except for touching or sharing the real life with each other). I knew I had to put
her under a three-step ultimatum: 1) She would have to install a webcam the very next day, so she could prove to me that she was the girl on the pictures, because I simply didn´t believe her anymore, though she had given me her word a hundred times in the last one and a half years. 2) I asked her to dedicate her next poem to me. She had written dozens of poems for/about me and had published them on her website, but had never even once mentioned my name in them. Not that it had bothered me, but now I simply wanted a proof that she was able to commit to someone at all, to commit to me in public. She said she hasn´t done that before, because the one time she actually had dedicated a poem to her lovers (it was a “triad” thingie), she wasn´t able to read the poem anymore after that relationship had broken apart. Yet, she agreed to make an exception in my case. (How noble of her.) 3) I wanted her to stop lying to me, even if the truth was that she was a transsexual, which would have been okay with me (I never got a reply to that last comment). I also suggested that – if she could afford – she should find an apartment of her own to get away from her apparently possessive mother. Saturday came, and Lisa called me in the morning, telling me what a beautiful day it was, how happy she was and that she would go buy the webcam after breakfast and install it immediately. She also mentioned that her plans for next week included looking for a nice apartment with her dad. Sounded good to me. Before rushing off to get the webcam, she said she would give me a call when she was ready for the live chat. The hours passed, and nothing happened. I called. Her dad answered, and I asked him what might possibly take his daughter so long. He said he didn´t know, but he would let me know as soon as he did. When he called, he presented me the most stupid story I have ever heard: Lisa had returned, crying (what´s new?), telling him that she couldn´t get the webcam installed, and that “now Theo will think I didn´t try!” I wanted to talk to LJ. Gary asked me to wait. The sound of steps was pounding through the phoneline, followed by a doorknock, then a door was opened. Sudden silence. Then I heard Lisa´s sobbing voice: “Hi…” I told her to get a grip and stop behaving like a baby, but to grab her comp instead and go to the computer shop she was a regular costumer at to find a webcam that would fit and get the damn thing installed. “Yes, Theo…” *sob sob* Oh, well … that person was driving me nuts, that´s for sure. Of course, she didn´t get the webcam installed. Instead, she took the poem down she had published on her website. She put it back up the next day though, but it didn´t really make a difference anymore. On Monday I searched for the phone numbers of all Barnes & Noble bookstores in her area and called them one by one to find out if Lisa was really working for one of them. I wasn´t surprised to find out that she wasn´t. Then I called the university she claimed to had graduated that summer. She had never attended any classes there. In the meantime, Andi was doing some research from his place, trying to find any proof of Lisa´s existence. There was none. Between phone calls, I talked to Gary via email. He was using his work account (supposedly at the Pentagon), while LJ was mailing me from home at the same time. Here´s a short
excerpt from our conversations – I had collected these to send them to LJ in one
single email, adding the following comment (the email addresses are cut on
purpose, as done above): -----
Original Message ----- Just
in case Gary and you ARE two different people: So,
what you are saying is: I should sacrifice whatever is left of my strength (she
has taken most of it already) to help HER, while SHE doesn´t show not even the
slightest hint of willingness to take the next step? --
Instead, she continues to lie to me ... look what we have been through,
and SHE still lies to me. A few hours later
the following reply came in (she also sent a CC to “her Daddy´s” work account): -----
Original Message ----- T,
I wrote back: No
way.
So I reached out for the phone to call instead ... when it suddenly rang. I was her!
Me: “Listen, I don´t intend to humiliate you in public. But I fucking deserve the truth!” LJ: “You´re right.” <silence> Me: “You mean, Gary and LJ a r e one and the same person?” LJ: “Yes.”
The next moment I broke into tears, partly relieved, babbling: “I´m not insane! I am not insane!” Andi hugged me tight, until I had composed myself a bit. It was already late at night, but I had to get out of there, so we went for a walk. We simply strolled the streets, with no particular destination in mind, having some interesting psychological discussions, interrupted by my repeatedly stating that "I can´t believe it!" I felt like I was standing outside my own body, watching myself, as if I wasn´t involved into the whole fiasco. My head felt numb. To make it short: Again, it was Andi who helped me through the following weeks and held me in his arms when I woke up in the middle of the night, with unrational wishes coming from my lips: “I want her back. I want my little Angel back!” Andi would softly whisper: “You can´t have her back. She doesn´t exist.” It was a hard time. Initially, I couldn´t let go, trying to hold a bond of friendship that had actually never existed between “LJ” and me – as little as the person herself. From a rational point of view, it was silly. But it took me a while to understand the whole impact of what had happened and what was going on. At first, I clinged to Gary´s new version of being a poor, misunderstood transgendered guy, a woman in a man´s body (Eh? A 21 year old lesbian in the body of a 52 year old family father???), who had made the wrong choices to follow the road society had assigned for him, blah blah blah... The women I had talked to on the phone and who had all pretended to be “Lisa´s mother” were actually Gary´s daughters. "Mike" was his own son. Suddenly everything made perfect sense. Everything? It still didn´t
explain why he had to do the things he did, and why he hadn´t stopped before
somebody got hurt. I had given
“her” a dozen chances, over and over again, but he obviously never cared enough
to take any of them. I suppose it must have been
like a drug for him. And why luring young women into the illusion of a relationship? Okay, one has to admit that his mental maturity isn´t beyond that of a 21 year old … rather below. Despite everything, we kept writing each other. At first, I tried hard to understand and support “her”, encouraging “her” to come out and stop lying to “her” friends. One Saturday night we had another nice phone conversation – the last one, to be more precise. It was painful for me to let go and except the truth, especially while I was listening to “LJ´s” voice ... geez, he was faking a real good woman´s voice. I couldn´t call him “LJ” or “Lisa” anymore, so we went for “L” and then “Geri”. But it didn´t change anything for me. Then, two days later, I learnt that Gary hadn´t done all this for the first time. He had gone almost this far before, mind-fucking with both, women and men via Internet, but preferably with young lesbians (only God knows how he had been acting in real life before he discovered the unfinite possibilities of the ‘net). Plus, he had never told any of his so-called friends (actually just people he knew online) about me. Instead, he told them different stories, that “she” was living with “her” girlfriend Emily (actually the name of his eldest daughter) away from “her” parents. He even played that Emily persona online by sending emails under that name. For several logical reasons I am convinced that “Rhonda” is also just another outpour of his fantasy – but if she ain´t, then it is even scarier regarding her strange argumentation in private emails to me as well as her lame public statements in support of “LJ”. His whole life (at least the part connected to his cyber crimes, coz that´s what I consider it: emotional rapture) turned out to be a web of lies. He has never gotten in touch with any of the institutions in his area that are supporting transgendered/transsexual people. Neither has he ever had a therapist (although “Lisa” was talking about "her shrink" all the time like she was referring to a good old friend), but suddenly he claimed to have found one online who was advising him. He also claimed to have been taking hormones for years – if so, no wonder his mind has gotten even more screwed up than is must have been already. I learnt about other stuff too, which finally led me to the decision to break my word and make the whole thing public, e.g. that most of the photos he used as pics of "LJ" were actually showing a girl he had been coaching at softball and with whom he had a rather friendly relationship (the poor thing – she had no clue that her fatherly “friend” was using her character profile to enhance “LJ´s” and make “her” more believable). Or maybe she was an active part of the game ... I don´t know. What I know though is that he had taken some traits from probably every person he had exploited over the years. I have no clue which role each of the people involved really play in this whole game, but that is no longer for me to find out. So, I finally realized that I was trying to sympathize with a freak who didn´t deserve any sympathy. That´s why, after all, I made it public on the mailing list and to everybody else who would ask. I feel no regrets about it, because fact is that whatever Gary has said in his defense can under no circumstances be seen as an excuse, nor an explanation or justification for the cruelty of how determined he has been playing people´s emotions. It is nothing but a sick, egocentric and undoubtfully sociopathic game with him in the leading role. He has been hurting others on purpose and continues to do so by selling more lies about who/what he is and putting real transgendered people in a completely wrong perspective – TG/TS´s are not mentally ill (as opposed to Mr. Bullshit here). "She" once called me her "trophy dyke". Back then, I took it as a sweet, amusing compliment. Now that I´ve learnt that while I was madly in love with an illusion, Gary W. Bull was keeping up other cyber relationships besides the one with me, I understand that in fact he was celebrating his success over another "dumb dyke". He even passed songs I had written for "her" around the ´net, showing off his victory over my silly heart – just one amongst many in his collection. He is never going
to stop, until somebody stops him (not my duty anymore –
I have enough living with this memory). If you read his newer additions to
his site (which is a paragon of bad taste in design and structure), you will
realize how much he has been falling back into his old pattern since "his
coming out" (insert contemptuous laughter) –
there is merely a hint of a transgendered 52 year old family father there, which
is just another proof of his lying. I know, sooner or later he is going to pay for all the queasiness and pain he has caused. Actually, he is already paying by leading such a miserable life caught in his own lies, which alone provide him a tiny purpose to his worthless existence. Or as Veruca Salt have put it nicely into words: Don´t
hate me for what you got
So
listen up, ugly breed: Stop listing my name among those of your "ex
girlfriends", and don´t you ever send my music around again. Because
I have never ever been in love with you, only with an illusion,
and I didn´t ever write a song for you ... except for "Cyber Freak",
which I lovingly dedicate to you. What did I learn from my last year´s experience? 1)
I am tougher than I ever thought I could be. 2)
I am able to love. Completely
and beyond any barriers. 3)
One should avoid at any price to fall in love with somebody one has not
even met yet. 4)
Sometimes, listening to your instincts is the wisest thing to do. 5)
Without true friends you are lost. 6)
Fuck you, Gary.
Theo My
favorite “LJ” quotes These will probably feel like bad jokes, but looking back with your actual knowledge of the whole story, some of them may seem hilarious. “The tears were real, though.” Gary/LJ (August 21, 2000 – phone call) "There are a LOT of pix of me I don´t like though.
I´m fussy about my image even as I protest. I retain right of
approval over photos taken of me, even by hotshot art students.
And you realize that it´s easy for me to downplay looks and I admit to
using them to my advantage when necessary (I can gain access to people and
places -- I won´t use them past that point of access, I just want people to
notice my writing). I am apparently
hard to give a traffic ticket to, though. <g>” LJ (July 7, 1999 – email) “I think I´d have trouble resisting you if you put
your mind to it. You look good enough to eat. <best innocent femme
smile>” LJ (November 26, 1999 – email) “Tried to walk a fine line between a recomendation
and wet dyke enthusiasm. <g>” LJ (December 5, 1999 – email) “May I say, after studying psychoanalysis from the
receiving end for a good portion of my life, I believe you do have a sleep
disorder, darlin´. Even for a musician, your hours are atrocious.
Musicians don´t wake up early (or in the morning for that matter).
Want me to disorder your sleep for you, Theo?” LJ (January 21, 2000 – email) “He [= a tv writer/producer]
signs his emails to me "Steve". […]
I´ve been corresponding and flirting with S. since half way through the first
year. […] And you´re lesbian and smart, just the
type of woman S. prefers. <g>” LJ (January 21, 2000 – email) Poor Steve … “How many femmy dykes have you dealt with, anyway?
<g>” LJ (January 23, 2000 – email) “[…] But just being myself seems to have that
effect on people sometimes. I´m honestly not trying to haunt people´s
dreams. It just seems to happen <g>.” LJ (January 23, 2000 – email) “I get to start my last semester in Uni today –
don´t feel like a student anymore though.” LJ (January 24, 2000 – email) “My birthday is October 8. Born 1978.
<eek>” LJ (January 24, 2000 – email) “Want to know how femme I feel at the moment?
I´ve been shopping here: LJ (January 26, 2000 – email) "She [=her
shrink]
gave me Clonazepam (brand names Klonopin or
Rivotril). Absorbed within 1 to 2 hours, half life of 18 to 50 hours.
Side-effects: drowsiness and ataxia (lack of coordination)." "We haven´t been intimate though since Rhonda and I got serious. I did sleep in her arms one night (she stayed awake until I finally fell asleep)." LJ (August 5, 2000 – email about her "ex, Emily") "Theo, I hadn´t/haven´t
made the reservations when I talked to you. I just blurted out what I
intended to do in one long rush of words, trying to tell you everything on my
mind at the moment. I will stay three or four weeks, if that is alright with
you. I´m sorry if I upset you, I´m not entirely in charge of my mind with the meds.
Ich liebe Dich, darling. We do
everything together as partners." "Should be an interesting family session at the therapist on Friday." Gary (August 17, 2000 – email about the upcoming therapy session with "LJ´s shrink") He told me they have been having big trouble and family fights after I had left Arlington ... wonder why. "I know Lisa checked her email last night because she came looking for me downstairs. Apparently she had read your email because between the tears she said "Daddy, I think I´ve thrown my life away." " Gary (August 15, 2000 – email) |
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