344 lines
16 KiB
Plaintext
344 lines
16 KiB
Plaintext
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... Reid Fleming: Lady Killer
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by Reid Fleming
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09/01/1997-#337
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__///////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\\__
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\\\\\\\/ Everything You Need Since 1986 \///////
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___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___
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|___heal_the_sick___raise_the_dead___cleanse_the_lepers___cast_out_demons___|
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I wrote this thing in September of 1994. My life has changed considerably
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since then.
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I no longer work for a multimedia software publisher.
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I am pierced.
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And, thanks to the cDc, the money & girlies have poured in.
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But way back then, when I was desperate for human female companionship, a
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personal ad in the local weekly seemed appropriate. The following is an
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account of one of the dates generated by my ad.
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
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I placed a personal ad in the paper a few weeks ago:
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"SWM, 25, seeks HIV- 20ish mentally agile borderline alcoholic, profane, and
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likes books and comix. OPTIONAL LIKES: MST3k, L7, Xuxa, Janeane Garofalo. No
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goths or veggies."
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This is my outgoing voicemail message at the newspaper's personals VMB:
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Hi, my name is Reid.
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Let me explain myself a little bit: I'm a flabby 25 year-old U.S. citizen
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with full-time gainful employment at a software company. I read _Wired_
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magazine, _Scientific American_, and _Film Threat_ on a regular basis, and then
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whatever comes across my purview.
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My favorite authors are Neal Stephenson, Charles Bukowski, Thomas Pynchon,
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Marvin Mudrick, David Hume, and David Mamet. I just finished a book called
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_Friday Night Lights_ about high school football in Odessa, Texas. It's
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amazing.
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My favorite filmmakers include Stanley Kubrick, John Sayles, John Woo, Jane
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Campion, and David Mamet again. I just saw Romeo Is Bleeding, Natural Born
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Killers, and Colossus: The Forbin Project.
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On TV, I like to watch the Secret Life of Machines, Nova, Talk Soup, Kids in
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the Hall, MST3k, Absolutely Fabulous, The Simpsons, Duckman, TV O, and Larry
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Sanders whenever possible (although I don't pay for HBO). I'm looking forward
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to Saturday Night Live's new season if Janeane Garofalo's really on it with
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those two Kids in the Hall members, but we'll see if that happens.
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In the comics world, I like to read Alan Moore's stuff, Eddie Campbell,
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Frank Miller, Neil Gaiman, whatever.
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I'm more or less looking for somebody who's really smart, if possible. Not
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necessarily genius, but just somebody who's sharp, and who doesn't buy into all
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the cultural stereotypes that are expected of us. I don't mean that I'm looking
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for somebody who's necessarily covered with tattoos or anything, but just
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somebody who doesn't buy into all the bullshit.
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Anyway, I'm a sucker for nose rings. Although not septum rings. They look
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too much... bovine to me.
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(ironically) This is going quite well... Anyway, just leave your name and
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number, or address or something, and we could do something. Thanks.
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
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FROM COMPANY E-MAIL
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Subject: Reid's personal ads bears fruit immediately!
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From: Reid Fleming
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Date: 9/8/94 9:48 AM
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[I received this message in my voice-mail]
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Hi, my name is Amity, Reid. And I have to admit: between the message in the
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paper and the message on your voicemail... it's pretty interesting. Well, you
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want intellect but no septum ring. I think you're being a little cheesy.
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You're in Slackerville, USA, otherwise known as San Francisco.
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Okay, my name, like I said, is Amity. I'm 25. I'm a 5' 8", 125 pound
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model, and have my own multimedia CD-ROM erotica company. I'm into psychotropic
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research.
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I'm into (magazine-wise) _Ben Is Dead_, _Wired_, _New Media_, and, you know,
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the like... _Boing Boing_. As far as comics are concerned, I like, you know,
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_Love & Rockets_, _Tank Girl_, that king of thing.
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As far as TV shows, well, if it's on Nickelodeon, if it's on MTV, if it's on
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the Comedy Channel, if it's on... what else is there? Okay, there's Nick, MTV,
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the Comedy Channel, the Sci-Fi Channel. I think that generally covers it.
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Fox. Fox is pretty good, too, as long as we're going into TV Land.
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What else? Directors? I like whoever directed La Femme Nikita and Betty
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Blue. I'm not good with names. And, of course, the guy who directed
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Videodrome.
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Like I said, I was pretty bowled-over by both the ads. One problem: even
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though I fit everything, right down to Janeane Garofalo, I am a vegetarian. Not
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a soapboxer, but I am a vegetarian. That's it. Chill.
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This message left at 7:43am on September 8th
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
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RESPONSES FROM CO-WORKERS
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She sounds pretty cool. I strongly believe blatant honesty is the best way to
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start any relationship/acquaintance-ship. (Bovine is _the_ word!)
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-Kat
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Go Reid!
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-Lis
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Any chance of getting one of her demo CDs?
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-Chris
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I wonder if she's in those interactive erotica CD-ROMs... I suppose she would
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be. If nothing else, I plan to trade her a bunch of ours.
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-Reid
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Since when do WE do interactive erotica? Mario Early Years Fun with Uncle
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Irving? San Diego Zoo Presents the Breeding Practices of Homo Sapiens?
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-Kat
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
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Here's the real meat:
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REID'S DATE WITH AMITY
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Well, here I am at the Squat & Gobble, sitting at the same table where Dean
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& Jennifer & I ate that one day. I guess it's about 10 till 11, so I'm early.
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I'm so nervous that it bothers me. I'm sweating. Visibly. Not Albert Brooks
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style, but my forehead is slick and stays that way. My glasses will be coming
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off soon, involuntarily.
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I half expect Amity to show up and then ditch me. It would be easy to stand
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me up. Even though I have her phone number, she's moving soon and always lets
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the machine answer. Besides, she knows what t-shirt I'm wearing ("Marine
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Sniper") and I can't really identify her unless she comes and strikes up a
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conversation.
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Three minutes later, she comes up to me. She is about half as attractive as
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I'd imagined, silly me. More from my notes:
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She came up to me in the Squat & Gobble and asked if I believe in the
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paranormal. Because she had had a premonition that I would physically remind
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her of the guy in her band, which apparently I do.
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We go to a park about 3 blocks away and sat under a tree. We sit down under
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the shady tree and she pulls items out of her black rubber purse for her to
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offer me.
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"Gum?"
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"No, thank you."
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"Ricola?"
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"I'm fine."
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"Certs?"
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"OK."
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"'He took the Certs...'"
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Later:
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"Cigarette?"
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"I'm cool."
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"Acid?"
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"No, thanks."
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I didn't tell her that I haven't done drugs for four years. I didn't want
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to scare her off, necessarily. Although I spent a lot of time looking at the
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veins in her arms and what looked like bruises on her forearm. Maybe they're
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three-week-old needle divots. Maybe they're just some weird physiological
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thing. Lord knows my body has its weird spots.
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"What's that?" I ask, pointing to what looks like a partly washed-off hand
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stamp that's on her wrist.
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"It's a tattoo. Me and my EX-boyfriend made it. I made the green cloudy
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part and he made the defined blue dot in the center."
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"Did you guys use a needle?"
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"Yeah, a needle, thread, and India ink. He has these all over his arms. I
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just have this one. I'm thinking about making it into a atom symbol; kind of
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fitting. But the thought of getting a real tattoo sort of scares me."
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"And they're expensive."
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"Well... yeah."
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She grew up in New York State, about 50 miles north of NYC. She was raised
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vegetarian and still practices it.
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She has worked as a pastry chef, receptionist, answering service operator,
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assembler at The Perfect Cookie, model, and stripper for 2 months at a club in
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SF called The Market Street Theater. She is currently unemployed.
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Both of us, coincidentally, have worked for photo developers. Both of us
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were fired from our respective photo developer jobs. Both of us were fired for
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having a bad attitude.
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The conversation somehow turns to body piercings. "I'm really pierced," she
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says. None of them are exposed to sunlight, apparently. "I got my belly
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button pierced, my nipple pierced, my hood and my one on each of my inner lips.
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I want three on each lip."
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"Did they hurt?"
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"Not the lips. Not really. But the hood -- OH MY GOD did that hurt."
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"Why did you do that?"
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"I went to get my clitoris pierced and the guy said, 'I have never seen a
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clitoris too small to pierce.' And then: 'Oh my god -- yours is so _TINY_!'
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So, I said fuck it -- do the hood... The pain was so intense I jumped. My body
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tried to jump away. I have never felt that kind of pain before."
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While working as a pastry chef, she got to design a big wedding cake for an
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important couple. She made a four-tier cake with champagne glasses for pillars
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and black and pink ribbons. It had freshly-cut live roses for decoration. It
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sounds neat to me.
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She hasn't had sex for one year, two months, and two weeks. Not for a lack
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of offers, she says. I don't have trouble believing that. It's San Francisco,
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after all.
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She tells me that the other night she and a girlfriend went to a tiny park
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in SF and a raccoon was there. She went up to the animal and gave it a Ricola
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cough drop. She likens this to communing with nature. In retrospect, it
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reminds me of the line "Feed Doritos to the bears" in that Dead Kennedys song.
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As is often my wont, I finish her anecdote for her by saying "...and then I
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noticed its foaming mouth -- it had rabies!" Her response: "No, it _didn't_
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have rabies."
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We went back to her apartment because she had to pee really bad. She lives
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half a block north of Page & Fillmore. On the way there, she tells me that she
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had responded to a few ads in the paper, but mine was the one that intrigued
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her the most.
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"I gave everyone else my stage name and a bogus number. You're the only one
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I gave my real name & number to."
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"What's your stage name?"
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"Molly."
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"Why 'Molly'?"
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"From Molly Millions, in _Neuromancer_."
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"Ahhh, yes."
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We get to the door of her house.
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"Breaking blind date rule number one," she says. Then she opens the door.
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It's narrow and mazelike. Anyone relying on a wheelchair or crutches would have
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a hard time getting in. She explains that 3 of her roommates are male and one
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is female. She mentions that the female one is from Australia and only dates
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black men.
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We go to her bedroom. I sit in a chair and she sits on the mattress, making
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and receiving phone calls for most of the remaining 30 minutes.
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On the walls is an odd assortment of stuff: a poster of a naked woman
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pouring water out of a jug, headlined "LIBRA -- blah blah blah"; aluminum foil-
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wrapped cardboard stars and a cardboard rocket ship; a calendar depicting a
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naked woman reclining on a crescent moon; a Skinny Puppy poster; a mirror; her
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tape collection; her CD collection; her phone; a wide black-and-white poster I
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can't figure out (probably a band poster); a leather mask; a leather dog collar
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(human-sized); some other stuff.
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We loan each other periodicals: I lend her the 1st issue of "Bob's" Favorite
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Comics, and she loans me an issue of _High Society_ magazine with pictures of
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Xuxa. By coincidence, Amity's in there, too.
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At some point she tells me that in October of 1991, she and a couple of
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other people were riding back from a Pigface show in San Diego. Her roommate
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fell asleep at the wheel. Everyone but her was killed in the car wreck. She
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moved back east for a while, and then returned to SF. [Ed: incidentally, our
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own Lady Carolin knew someone who died in that car crash. How's that for
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spooky?]
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She tells me that she spent last night doing crystal meth and is now just
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too tired to think straight. We were supposed to go to the Exploratorium and
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then, if things were working out between us, to a block party happening in the
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vicinity of the grand opening of a silkscreening shop of a friend of hers. But
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she looks too tired to do anything right now. Fair enough.
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She ends up taking a Valerian root pill. She asks if I know what it is, and
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I confess my ignorance. She says it's good for putting you to sleep. She hands
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me a paperback called _The Herb Book_ by John Lust. I look up Valerian in the
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index -- no dice. Nor is it in the alphabetical list of herbs in the front.
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Then I check the malady list for Sleeplessness -- it says look up Insomnia. I
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do this. Valerian root remains unmentioned.
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I point this out and she grabs the other herb book and fans through it.
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It's not there, either. I tell her that she's been had -- Valerian root pills
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are just sugar pills. She says, "I _wish_." Whatever that means. I think she
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knows I was only kidding. They could work great, for all I know. There are
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plenty of natural narcotics.
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After a little while longer, she says, "I'm kicking you out. I have to take
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a nap."
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Me: "OK."
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We get to the front door.
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Her: "Well, I have your number. So, I think we should, uh... get together
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again sometime."
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Me: "And exchange hostages."
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Her: "Right on. Bye."
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commonalities differences
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------------- -----------
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both borderline alcoholics she does drugs
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both fired from photo developer job I'm employed
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both know all the SubGenius stuff she still belongs
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both like Janeane Garofalo she believes in ESP
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both like MC 900 Ft. Jesus she likes the rave scene
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both like pornography she's in it
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both like Steve Albini she likes Skinny Puppy
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both like the Exploratorium she's a veggie
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both like the Pixies she's pierced
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both need dental work I have dental insurance
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Later, I wonder what would fellow Cult of the Dead Cow member Tequila Willy
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have done? Willy is quite the stud. I ask 0mega and he tells me that from the
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first minute, Willy's reaction would have been: "Oh my God -- I'm getting the
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hell out of here!!"
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.-. _ _ .-.
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/ \ .-. ((___)) .-. / \
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/.ooM \ / \ .-. [ x x ] .-. / \ /.ooM \
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-/-------\-------/-----\-----/---\--\ /--/---\-----/-----\-------/-------\-
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/lucky 13\ / \ / `-(' ')-' \ / \ /lucky 13\
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\ / `-' (U) `-' \ /
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`-' the original e-zine `-' _
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Oooo eastside westside / ) __
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/)(\ ( \ WORLDWIDE / ( / \
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\__/ ) / Copyright (c) 1997 cDc communications and the author. \ ) \)(/
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(_/ CULT OF THE DEAD COW is a registered trademark of oooO
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cDc communications, PO Box 53011, Lubbock, TX, 79453, USA. _
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oooO All rights reserved. Edited by Grandmaster Ratte'. __ ( \
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/ ) /)(\ / \ ) \
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\ ( \__/ Save yourself! Go outside! Do something! \)(/ ( /
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\_) xXx BOW to the COW xXx Oooo
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