So I'm Marrying a Mac Geek...

and yes, I do quite a few things Neil tells me to. I often pick up books in the bookstore, and eye them speculatively, wondering if they're worth the money. Then, on the cover, I will see, as if by magic, a quote from Neil Gaiman recommending it, and I start digging to see if I have exact change.

It's one of the reasons I bought "Sunshine" by Robin McKinley, which is my reigning favorite novel and has been for the last two or three years.

So because Neil told me to, I'm linking to his blog here:
http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/2007/02/and-in-time-it-took-to-say-that-neil.html

Which talks about National Gorilla Suit Day, mostly.

Wedding progress is actually happening, slowly, because I'm stressed and don't quite know where to start.

John, however is wonderful, and talked me out of a complete panic the other night, then spent last night going over a possible song list for our reception with me. My parents are going to have a fit, and several other eyebrows will probably try to crawl off of their owners foreheads, but I think it's more important that WE like the music playing and that it means something to us.

Although I may be vetoing a few of John's choices (and vice versa, I'm sure), because the man has no concept of "Wedding Music."

Also, I want to kick his ex for choosing one of my favorite songs for their wedding dance, which thereby negates it as a possibility for mine. I intend to wear steel toed shoes, when I do the kicking. Not fair. (Although considering the movie it comes from, I should probably stop complaining about life not being fair.)

Speaking of: it is a hideous morning, with rain and thunder and lighting and tornadoes. Mother nature isn't happy...

but at least she washed my car.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I let Shawn get to me. Sorry I let him get under my skin and piss me off. Sorry I said what I said last night. There are lines, and then there are lines. I normally ignore lines, but sometimes I'm aware that I've crossed them and maybe shouldn't have. Last night I crossed one, and I'm sorry.

The thing is: I started watching Shawn's show because it was a way for me to get a glimpse into John's life. It was something I could do, that he was part of, even though we are so far apart. Long distance relationships don't allow for much social interaction, sometimes.

Unfortunately, most of the things discussed on Shawn's show either don't interest me, or go so far over my head that I'm waiting for the sonic boom on their reentry into the atmosphere.

It's rare that he brings up a topic that I'm interested in. Rarer still that it's something I feel I can contribute something to, either externally (such as here) or in the discussion in the chatroom. So when he did, I pounced.

And then he shot me down over and over again. Refused to give any validity to my arguments, and did so in a very public manner. Last night he brought up the same subject again in a way that I thought was baiting me to react. I did.

Shouldn't have. But did.

Only to be patronized and condescended to. Which pissed me off the point that I overreacted. It doesn't happen often, but there are a few things that really push my buttons: people who don't listen to me (and I don't care if they disagree, but at least listen to what I say and acknowledge that while it may not fit with your view of the world, it's still valid), and people who patronize me. And people who call me "Sweetie."

For the record: I hate that term. It should never be applied to anyone over the age of ten. It's the most condescending, insulting "endearment" and I start grinding my teeth when people start throwing it in my direction. I'm not your "sweetie", and there's nothing fucking sweet about me.

But I'm still sorry I overreacted so publicly. What I should have done was left the chatroom, turned off the show, and gone and done something that wouldn't have pissed me off. Which is what I did do after I lost my temper. I just wish I hadn't let it get that far.

So I'm sorry, Shawn, that I overreacted. Sorry I crossed the line. Sorry, too that I'm probably not going to join the chatroom for awhile, since I really don't have any opinions worth contributing to the show. I joined it for John's sake, and I think he'll understand if I back away.

John and I have argued about a few things over the last few years. Surprisingly, (for some of you, anyway), we're not big arguers.

Stop laughing. Really. I swear it.

Anyway, we argue so seldom that it makes the few small skirmishes we do have stand out a bit more. Luckily, they're almost entirely silly fights. For example:

The Holy Land Experience:
For those of you who don't know, Orlando has many, many, many theme parks and tourist attractions. The Holy Land Experience (or HoLE as we shall call it henceforth) is one of them. Essentially it's a Christian theme park, with exhibits featuring events from the bible, a few small attractions, and several stage shows, including the story of the Crucifixion.

Personally, I'm agnostic, and even I'm mildly embarrassed by the place. I mean, we're willing to stoop fairly low in Orlando, to earn a few bucks off the tourists, but this is sinking to previously unplumbed depths.

John, however, is fascinated by the HoLE, in much the same fashion as my cat when she sees a lizard. There's something unholy in the way his eyes light up at the mere mention of the HoLE. He's wanted to go from the moment I first mentioned it.

I'm wise enough not to take him. I can just picture him, snapping photos during the Crucifixion and commenting that there's not enough flagellating or something. It would be bad. Very bad. Tempting fate Bad. I love my fiancé. I'd rather he wasn't a crater in the earth.

So, our first argument was about the HoLE. I didn't want to take him. He kept pestering me about going. This went on for a long time until, unable to stand it any longer, I lied.

There, I admit it. I lied.

I said "Yes, John, we'll go, the next time you come down to visit, we'll go."

What else was I to do? He wouldn't let it go, and I was tired of saying no. So I lied.

The next time he came down, I did not take him to the HoLE. I took him to Universal instead. And when he called me on it later, I admitted that I had lied.

He has not, to this day, let me forget this.

Today I drove past the HoLE, and from a great height, I looked down at that grandiose testament to man's ability to milk money from a stone and thought how peaceful it seemed, sitting there in the sunlight. I thought about all the lovely workers, and their sheep (there are sheep) and their donkeys (there are donkeys) and their matinée showing of the Crucifixion (and vaguely wondered if in the winter they let Jesus wear something warmer than his diaper when he's hanging from the cross, like they do for the characters at Disney), and I vowed once more, that while I may love John enough to do almost anything for him...

there are still some things that must remain sacred in this world.

I've never won in life's little popularity contests. Never much cared. Never tried that hard to win either, since I figure it doesn't really matter.

Still, the cut hurts.

I knew that the opening post to this blog had been put up on Digg (not by me, no I'd never willingly submit myself to that kind of crap). I'd avoided it because I knew that the likelihood of anyone on there even giving a shit about what I had to say about anything was pretty slim.

But there are days when you're bored and you do dumb things. I went and found it.

In 19 comments I was called:
Shallow
Sad
Lame
an iTard
a stupid prude
a fucking sheep
a stupid twat
and compared to Katie Holmes

Wow.

Can't tell you how much that made my day.

Are people always this rude? Or does Digg just bring out a special brand of fucktards? Did they bother to read anything beyond my first post? Did they bother to even read my first post?

If I don't like it, (I can hear the fucktards now) then why do I even bother with a blog? Good question. One I can't really answer. Suffice it to say, I do. I still don't think that gives you a license to be an asshole. If you want one, c'mere and I'll tattoo it on your forehead: Asshole. Then you can say whatever mean stuff you like and people will just blow you off because, well, hey, you're an asshole.

For those of you who somehow got the mistaken impression that I wasn't a geek, please consider: I've been a geek my ENTIRE life. I'm talking big glasses (long since gone), bad hair cut (also gone), mother dressing me (no more of that), acne (cleared up), theater geek (and proud of it), gaming geek (proud of it), art geek (make money from it), and book geek (ditto on the proud and the money).

For those of you who think that the ONLY reason I love John is because he introduced me to computers: Get a fucking clue, dillholes.

This post, this is called a bad reaction, and yeah, I'm pissed. Wouldn't you be?

Personally, I think popularity sites like Digg should be taken out, shot and buried in the cesspits from which they arose. What good do they do? What purpose do they serve other than to attract all the assholes of the world and give them a place to take a collective dump. I've never seen anything nice on Digg--admittedly, I never looked that hard, since if there is anything nice it's buried under a load of crap.

If you don't like me, don't like what I write, fine, keep it to yourself and get the fuck out of my blog.