Creative destruction

As is my current habit on Wednesdays, I've been working at the house tonight. The hardwood flooring contractor came to give me an estimate ($490 for the one room most in need of work, about $2200 to do the whole house, varying combinations of rooms costing different things). Anyway, he pointed out that there was almost certainly hardwood floor under the ugly linoleum, and I've spent the subsequent five hours with crowbar and chisel prying up the plywood layer. There was another layer of equally hideous linoleum underneath that, very worn and patched with a similarly colored but different pattern. I tore out about two-thirds of it, I suppose, so far. It's hard work, but actually easier than prying the lino tiles off the plywood, and far more gratifying. Pulling out great big pieces of splintered wood and broken tiles...The only real downside is that it left me covered in splinters, and of course the place looks far worse now than it did when I started. But sometimes you have to break things to fix them, and there is much fun to be had in the breaking. See the mess!

I can't quite decide, though, whether to have the hardwood floor underneath buffed and refinished (there are some places where it will definitely have to be patched) or to continue with my original plan and have ceramic or stone tile laid. I kind of like the idea of hardwood throughout the house, but I've wanted the ceramic tile for so long...

Either way the plywood had to be replaced (ceramic tile needs a different sort of underlayment), so I shall continue with my gleeful destruction on Friday night.

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Some friends (hi neeuqdrazil) have been asking for pictures of my (in)famous red-yellow-blue basement paint job. Here are some.
The stairs from the bottom
The stairs from above
The hallway moldings and doors

Here's a couple pictures of the kitchen cabinets
one
two

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And just because I'm proud of her, a picture of Rosa

Shared addresses

It really bugs me when multiple people write as a unit. "We are a bisexual couple...blah blah blah," as just landed in my inbox from one of my mailing lists. It wasn't a personal ad exactly, but still contained far too many lines like "we enjoy bowling and hiking" for a simple response to the topic of the thread.

Somehow this habit seems to be quite common among "couples looking for a third". I don't think I could ever be that third, not like that. I may be a hot bi babe, but I don't want to date couples, especially not couples so joined at the hip that they speak for each other. How does anyone get in? It'd be like inserting a knife between the stones of Macchu Picchu. Rarely successful, and not very healthy for the knife.

I want to get to know individuals. If they happen to know and love each other also, well, all the better. But my relationships need to be with individuals not groups. ("I think", and "so far", and all the other caveats that must be applied for someone still new to the practice of polyamory.)

And it may be my own fanatical private or independent streak, but I can not get my mind around the concept of two people sharing one email address. My own parents do that. Yet even they wouldn't open each other's private snailmail, though they almost always show it to each other afterwards.

If I want someone to read something that was sent to me, I'll either forward it or call them to read over my shoulder. But the default is always, it's mine mine mine. I share only as I choose. The idea that all my mail might be read by someone else at any time, like if I shared my address with someone, makes me shudder convulsively.

(no subject)

The phone rang this morning, just as I was about to leave for work. Thinking it might be the painters I had left a message for, I answered it.

Caller> ...mumblemumble in rapid Spanish...Está <my full name>?
Me> Habla <my full name>. Habla usted inglés?
Caller> No, gracias. ::click::

This annoys me. Yes, my surname is Hispanic. No, I am not Hispanic. And even though Ray was Hispanic, he was a third-generation US citizen, and less fluent in Spanish than I am. I happen to be quite fluent, but I refuse to speak Spanish just so someone can try to sell me long-distance service (which is what the calls are invariably about).

Playing with font colors

Whatever possessed mactavish to try this, I have no idea, but it's fun. ( Results )

Senior year

When I was a senior at Indiana University, the university had free computer accounts for students, with an internal bulletin board systerm called the Forum, where students could start topics and discussions. I spent hours on that, and then VAXphone (it was like a cross between AIM and chat: it worked with up to 5 people at a time) with people I had met there, and eventually meeting the people in person. It was at that time that I began using "semper, fiona" as my signoff phrase, and Fiona of Amber began to be my alter-ego/role-model.

Two of the first people I came to know were Lore and her friend Deb. I spent a lot of time with them in the beginning of that year. Lore talked about her boyfriend, Kirk, but I had never met or talked to him. Then one day I was on VAXphone with Lore, when Kirk logged on and she invited him into the conversation. When we happened to glance aside from the computers we were using in the lab, and noticed exactly the same thing on each other's screens, we realized we were sitting next to each other. That is how I met Kirk. It wasn't long after that that we became fast friends. We started going to the free movie premieres at the student union, sometimes with other VAXfriends, or just the three of us.

One night (the movie was "Look Who's Talking"), Kirk got out a deck of cards while we waited in line, and we bemoaned the lack of a fourth for euchre. At that, the boy seated in front of us in line turned and said he'd play; he became my partner. That was Jim. We played euchre until the movie started. Afterwards, a large group of us including Jim and his roommate, Kirk and Lore and some other friends, went back to Kirk's dorm and played cards and talked some more. Before the night was over, we had decided to make a trip to Brown County State Park that weekend to see the fall colors.

Jim collected everyone's phone numbers "to make the arrangements", and I don't know how I knew it, but I knew he did that just so he could get mine. Sure enough, two days later he asked me out, commenting that he'd wanted to call right away but waited because that was what you're "supposed to do". Odd thing: I still remember what I was wearing that night. In fact, I still have it (not for sentimental reasons, I still have most of the clothes I owned then). It was a pink sweater my parents had given me. I remember one other thing distinctly. Jim bet a dollar that no one would guess his middle name, given that his initial was C. Many guesses were made, but before too long I guessed it. Cecil. He paid me four quarters. I dated Jim all that year. We had a tumultous relationship, but he was my first real lover and I held on for dear life even after it was clearly falling apart.

I'd had sex for the first time with someone else (a man named Matt, six or eight years older than me) shortly before, but only once, somewhat under the influence of alcohol, and didn't make a relationship out of it. In fact I avoided him as much as possible given that we had two classes in common, especially after I'd met Jim. I didn't really like him, he gave me the willies a little bit. But he liked me a great deal--too much, in fact: he'd liked me since freshman year and after my junior year away he still remembered me. I remember him telling me once "I'd know that walk anywhere."

I felt almost stalked, but I didn't quite recognize it. I don't know why I ever slept with him, other than that I was somewhat drunk and also tired of being a 21-year-old virgin. I remember thinking that. "Finally, that's done with." I pointed him out to Lore once. Her comment was, "He's evil." And I hadn't told her anything about him at all.

It took me a lot of years after that to start finding redhaired men attractive again. Britton had been a redhead, and I had always liked red hair on men, but afte Matt that attraction switched off for a long time.