The heartbreak of herpes!

Dearest St. Rita,

When I told you I was okay with transformation and change through being pox-ridden you knew that was a joke. Right? I’m kinda getting the feeling that perhaps you didn’t realize I was joking. As the Tuesday morning following my last letter to you, my ass ended up inflamed—quite literally. But let me back up and tell this story from the beginning.

Last weekend after I drafted the letter to you, it seemed the case of shingles I managed to acquire was clearing up and I might luck out with a mild case. Little did I know, it was the calm before the storm—and what a storm it’s been.

When I got up on Monday to ready myself for work, it appeared as if everything was moving along nicely in regard to the healing of my malady. Therefore, I didn’t think anything more of it and headed into the office. Once there, an orgy of sweets ensued. We’ve decreed Monday to be muffin day and each of us in my group takes a turn making a muffin recipe and bringing them into the office. My one coworker had brought in the most delectable apple blueberry muffins and I enjoyed one with a cup of coffee shortly after arriving in the office.

Monday was the birthday of another officemate and we had a small party for her in the afternoon at which I had not only a big o’ hunk of ice cream cake, but a big o’ hunk of red velvet cake in addition. Also we took her out for dinner that evening as well, and for dinner I had a chef’s salad replete with shrimp and crab. When I awoke the next morning, my ass had exploded in a fury of shingles.

I was not pleased.

After freeking freely, I did further research about shingles and what might contribute to their getting worse rather than better. The more and more I read, the more I discovered I was doing everything entirely incorrectly in regard to my diet. There are several foods one needs to avoid to keep shingles from getting worse rather than better. The top four are sugar, coffee, chocolate and shell fish. And on Monday those are exactly all of the things I consumed in nearly mass quantities.

Is it any wonder my ass exploded on Tuesday morning?

In my research, I discovered there are two key amino acids key to shingles—one inhibits their growth, the other contributes to their proliferation. L-arginine the amino acid that is found in nuts, chocolate, seeds and shellfish is one of the building blocks that varicella  zoster needs to replicate. On the other hand L-Lysine the amino acid that is found in fish, cheese, tofu and beans helps prevent the virus from replicating.

One of the other things I read that can be helpful to speed recovery from shingles is adding brewer’s yeast to one’s diet due to the high amounts of B vitamins contained in it. Brewer’s yeast is the by product of brewing beer hence its name. It however has one very unfortunate quality. It tastes like crap!

I discovered this the hard way when I ran next door to the mall adjacent to my office and hit the GNC there to buy can of it. When I returned to my office, I stirred in the recommended two tablespoons into my soup that I’d brought into the office for lunch that day and took a big bite. I nearly spit it out onto my desk when doing so. Imagine the bitter taste of beer times 10 and that’s the taste of brewer’s yeast.

Delightful!

But rather than give up on my new found friend that has been described as a miracle food, I decided to keep at it to discover a palatable way to ingest it and I think that I’ve found the perfect recipe. I decided to create smoothies from it as suggested. So I experimented over the weekend. What seems to taste the best is the following: a mix of frozen berries (about 2 cups), a third of a cup of Greek yogurt (honey), a cup of almond milk, two tablespoons of maple syrup, and two tablespoons of the brewer’s yeast. With this mix I can manage to get the whole smoothie down without retching.

I also had the most interesting experience the first couple of times I made one of these smoothies and drank it. About 10 minutes after taking the first sip I felt the most amazing rush throughout my body. It was as if I could literally feel the nutrients from the shake traveling down the nerve pathways and out to the very tips to tingle on my skin. And with the tingling it also felt as though the shingles themselves were buzzing with an electric shock.

Once I began the regime of the L-Lysine, various herbal anti-virals and the daily shakes with brewer’s yeast I began to notice a change in the fewer shingles that were popping up here and there. Rather than pop up as a huge hive and then divide into clusters of smaller micro-hives. They began to come up much smaller and with less severity which to me was an indication that the virus was beginning to lose the battle it had undertaken with my person. And now four days later it appears they’ve slowed down considerably and the big spots that I have on my hips and thighs have begun to recede.

I have to tell you dear Rita, it’s been a rather unsettling experience watching as my body has waged a war upon itself. It’s an experience I have little desire to repeat anytime soon.

Please pass along my regards to Dr. Reed.

Let's tear the roof off the sucka!

Dearest St. Rita,

I’m not sure what’s going on, however, it appears to me you’ve conspired with someone to put me through some kind of serious changes as of late that may rival those of dear Job. I’m not complaining mind you, as you know, I’m all about the peeling back the layers and undergoing personal transformation even if it includes breaking out in hives or boils. I just wasn’t counting on feeling and looking like I’m five once again—quite literally.

It seems somehow, unbeknownst to me, I have managed to let myself get run down enough to get a case of shingles. This is rather odd, as I’m neither in any way stressed out nor have I been ill. So the answer to the cause is a bit of a mystery. However, I have a spot on my abdomen almost exactly between the pubic mound and my navel and a spot on inner portion of my left forearm.

When I called my friend M. the other night to let her know that I’d finished up the greeting cards I was making her we found our way to the subject and I told her about the situation. She expressed that her feeling was there’s an underlying energetic cause for them, I told her I was inclined to agree given I’d been having other issues as well for the past couple of weeks—one of them being my gallbladder.

After I got off the phone with M., I pulled out my copy of Heal Your Body by Louise Hay and looked up both gallbladder (gallstones) and shingles (and associated symptoms) and here is what she has to say about the energetic associations of each.

Gallstones
Cause: Bitterness, Hard thoughts. Condemning. Pride
Affirmation: There is joyous release of the past. Life is sweet, and so am I

Shingles
Cause: Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Fear and Tension. Too sensitive
Affirmation: I am relaxed and peaceful because I trust the process of life. All is well in my world.

Aches (symptom of Shingles)
Cause: Longing for love. Longing to be held.
Affirmation: I love and approve of myself. I am loving and lovable.

Itching (symptom of Shingles)
Cause: Desires that go against the grain. Unsatisfied. Remorse. Itching to get out or get away.
Affirmation: I am at peace just were I am. I accept my good. Knowing all my needs and desires will be fulfilled.

Issues with the Abdomen
Represents: Fear. Stopping the Process
Affirmation: I trust the process of life. I am safe.

Issues with the Arms
Represents: The capacity and ability to hold the experiences of life.
Affirmation: I lovingly hold and embrace my experiences with ease and with joy.

Issues on the Left Side of the Body.
Represents: Receptivity, taking in, feminine energy, women, the mother [creativity]
Affirmation: My feminine energy is beautifully balanced.

Oh wow, I thought as I set the book down on my desk after reading through each of the entries and then thought, what the f*ck is going on?

As I sat and considered the situation further, the one thing that popped out at me was the issue in regard to the gallbladder (“bitterness, hard thoughts. condemning. pride”). If there is one (or several) thing(s) that resonate(s) with me presently, it’s all of the things Louise L. Hay attributes to gallbladder dysfunction. As I find myself in a place where I continue to think hard thoughts and that’s in regard to MMRFRO. Oh how I wish I could sit here and type that I’ve come to a fundamental place of forgiveness as to what happened between the two of us. However, if I examine my feelings with rigorous honesty, I’m no where close to forgiving D. for what happened. Which I’m sure in no part leads to the manifestation of the shingles, particularly the associated aches. It doesn’t take Freud to analyze that one.

As I was talking with M. again last night, we once again began to discuss my current condition of itchiness and aches. While we were talking about it M. pulled out her copy of Heal Your Body and we began to process the situation in tandem.

I mentioned that the “waiting for the other shoe to drop” and “fear and tension” aspects kind of make sense as I have a great deal going on which would lead to such feelings. However, I told M. the strangest thing is that I don’t feel the typical physical manifestations of stress such as raised blood pressure, body tension and sweaty palms, etc.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re not feeling the effects on an energetic level.” M. countered. “And hello, you’re no doubt sitting in your apartment anticipating the arrival of spring and all of the noise from the air conditioning units above you that haven’t been fixed.”

“Uh yeah.” I chuckled, “I totally forgot about that.”

“Hello! Just because you’re not consciously thinking about it doesn’t me your body is not reacting to it.” M. laughed as well.

“I just thought of something else.” I offered M.

“And what is that?” she asked.

“Well I have had this idea for a novel gestating for about a year now and I recently decided that I want to sit down and begin to write it. So I’m working with a couple of books to get myself motivated and in gear to write it.” I said.

“Sounds exciting!” M. replied.

“It is.” I continued, “But here’s the funny part. The first night I discovered the shingles was last Sunday evening right after I got done completing the first writing exercises in the one book that I’m using.”

“Okay. That’s classic!” laughed M. “Have you ever really wanted to do something but when you were just close enough to taste it there is an event or circumstance that throws you off course?”

I laughed and said, “Uh no. That’s NEVER happened to me!”

“Good.” M. chuckled, “Nice to know it’s only me.”

“Yes. Ironic isn’t it…” I followed up with M., “I’m beginning to undertake a creative process that’s very personal and requires a great deal of proverbial nerve and what happens? My fears and insecurities manifest themselves in a nerve-related ailment.”

“Bingo!” M. chuckled, “As I said, classic!”

I got the most curious hit to the biddy biddy blog the other day. It was from near Grand Isle, Vermont and what are two towns on the island? North and South Hero. I had to laugh as one of the books that I’m using in my efforts to write my first novel—The Writer’s Journey. Which is about what? The hero’s journey.

I think the Universe it trying to tell me something.

Please give a hug to Mr. Wilde for me!

Let Er Be

Dear Mr. Thompson,

I hope this finds you well. Back in the fall, I caught the screen adaptation of your novel The Rum Dairy and as a result I have become quite fascinated with you and your work. I’ve not had a chance to pick up TRD and read it, but it’s on the list. And let me say, you were quite a hottie in your younger day—but I digress.

While I was having brunch New Year’s day with my friend R., as always seems to happen, we drifted to the subject of relationships and romance. She often shares with me her experiences with her significant other and the various challenges associated with being in a long-term relationship. And I, on the other hand, share about all of my crazy dating adventures as a single gay male which often include my exploits on Craigslist.

However, with our latest conversation, it wasn’t so much my questionable travels through the land of Craigslist hookups that we discussed, but more, the frustrations I’ve experienced with dating through the past several years. I shared with R., as I’ve written about in letters in this blog, something interesting I’ve recently discovered about the men who’ve I gotten to know who are currently (or have been) married. The fact that most, if not all, of these men don’t seem to be filled with the profound self-loathing that many gay men carry and subject themselves (and each other) to.

I went on to further explain that through my experience I’ve discovered there’s an additional circumstance which often develops with gay guys I’ve met who are filled with the typical self-loathing. The situation is that such guys tend to be filled with internalized homophobia as well and will often project their internalized homophobia onto others.

MMRFRO is a perfect example of just such a guy.

He was (and no doubt) still is filled to the brim with self-loathing. Some of it, I’m sure associated with his sexuality, but much of it related to his family of origin and the various circumstances related to his upbringing. And I can say with near certainty that D. is also riddled with internalized homophobia which colors all of his relationships—not only those of a romantic nature. It’s sad really.

But in stark contrast to MMRFRO, I have met several guys over the past couple of years in whom there is a refreshing absence of self-loathing and homophobia.  In fact, from what I can tell they live their lives in a manner that is quite the opposite. Instead of thinking themselves victims of circumstances and situations, they grab life by the proverbial balls and live it to the fullest never considering themselves to be less than or undeserving of such.

It’s truly an inspiration.

As I explained this to R she said, “That’s kind of curious isn’t it? Since most of these guys considered themselves heterosexual for most of their lives, that’s how they formed an identity as an adult.”

“Exactly!” I exclaimed, “And I tell you, not one of these guys, from what I can tell are nearly as screwed up and the number of openly gay men with whom I’ve tried to form a long-term connection.”

“I wonder why this is?” speculated R.

“The only thing I can figure…” I began to offer, “Is that gay men hear such negative messages from nearly the moment of birth with regard to being gay. I can only assume it takes its toll on us in so many ways. It’s taken me years to come to terms with being gay and I continue to have moments of feeling a lack of self-worth due to my sexuality.”

“Wow, that kinda sucks!” R chuckled.

“You’re telling me!” I laughed in return.

Recently I had a minor revelation around an ancillary topic to this and it came from none-other than the biddy biddy blog itself. I was checking the stats the other day and I got a hit from a server name “Prime Directive”. Which lead me to considering ye olde Star Trek universe and the prime directive of such which is “that there can be no interference with the internal development of alien civilizations.”

Now if one takes that concept and adapts it to interpersonal relationships, the prime directive in that context would state there is to be no interference with the internal development of another sentient being. Or in other words, the personal growth of any person cannot be coerced in any way by another. Like the fear and self-loathing I find in many of my gay brethren, this is a difficult subject for me as well.

Because dear Hunter, one of the prime motivators for me due to my personality type is not only to know myself as well as I might and grow as a result. But also I wish to assist others in knowing themselves and to assist them in whatever way possible toward their own personal growth. However, there is a catch in regard to this desire, as there always seems to be one.

And the catch is this; any individual can only grow at his or her own rate. No one, and I mean no one, including me can facilitate a faster rate of growth. This for me at times can be extremely frustrating as I’ve had moments of accelerated growth and very profound healing and would like to assist others in achieving something similar. However, I have to constantly remind myself that even though individuals will often claim they want to change/heal they really have little or no desire to do so.

Instead they would rather stay mired in dysfunction and continue to view themselves as victims.

In that vein, R. shared an amusing story with me in regard to a circumstance between she and her significant other. She tried to point out to him a few things she observed he was doing that might have been less than optimal for him to achieve a certain financial goals he’s set for himself. She mentioned that he got very defensive and the conversation escalated into a heated disagreement. They managed to work through the situation and at the end of the conversation he said, “I know it must be extremely difficult for you to see something that’s perfectly obvious to you and I’m not getting it. But I have to get it in my own time and my own way.”

After R. shared that with me I said, “I totally understand that. However, for me it’s extremely difficult for me to watch someone I care about continually undermine or hurt themselves.”

“I know.” replied R. “At times it’s so difficult to just let it be. Isn’t it?”

Okay Mr. Thompson, it’s time for me to get on with the rest of the day and let things be.

The only way is up?

Dearest Mary M.,

I found have myself in the most unusual circumstances over the past several weeks. Through each moment since and while I sit here drafting this letter to you, I’m not exactly sure what to make of my situation. I would like to believe I’m on to something good. However, given this has to do with romance, and given my recent past experience(s) in that regard, it’s difficult—if not nearly impossible—for me to remain positive in attitude. However, I will do my best.

A few weeks ago I posted ye olde hook up ad on Craigslist (CL). I was horny and looking for a little fun. However, lately as I’ve been placing these ads on CL, I’ve tried to shift my mindset to be open to the possibility I may find a gentleman with whom I might form a connection with a little more stickiness than a random encounter. There have been a couple instances that have proven to be rather interesting and intriguing in that regard.

As I mentioned in a letter to Alan Turing recently, the Sunday before Xmas I had a gentleman (P.) show up at my door for a little fun between the sheets. I could tell from the moment he walked in my apartment there was something a little different about him and that he wasn’t like most of the guys who show up just looking to get a little for themselves and be on their way.

As he walked into the apartment, P. immediately began to notice little things here and there and just a moment after being in my humble abode said with genuine warmth, “You’ve got a really nice place here.”

“Thanks.” I replied, “The place needs a little work. But I’m getting there. Along those lines, check out these paint chips.” I said as I retrieved them from the dining room table.

“This color a charcoal black aptly named Twilight Zone is what I’m going to use here under the heating conduit.” I pointed out just above our heads. “And this color a lovely burnt orange called Navajo Red, is going on that wall and this wall.” I explained further as I pointed to the wall leading into my condominium and the opposing wall that houses the sliding glass door leading out onto the balcony.

“Nice!” he replied as scoped out the apartment more.

“I was really looking for more of a charcoal grey color for the heating conduit. But I chose this color solely for the name as I wanted to be able to joke that I live in the Twilight Zone—quite literally.”

P. let out the sweetest laugh at my juvenile humor.

Shortly thereafter, we were in the bedroom and rolling around in the sheets, exploring each other’s bodies and all the while sharing our life experiences which had lead to the moment in time where our paths had thus crossed.

P. shared with me that he’s separated from his wife at the moment and trying to get his bearings. He explained that he identifies himself as bisexual and while he’s had a number of male sexual partners he’s never been in a relationship with a guy that included an emotional component. He went on to explain that his wife was aware of his attraction to men and was perfectly open to the idea of him having sex outside of the relationship, provided he was open and honest about it.

However, he wasn’t and his wife discovered this fact.

Shortly thereafter as we were getting deeper and deeper into the pleasuring portion of the program P. began to say romantic things such as “My sweet lover, I want to make you feel so good.”

Mary, I have to tell you it really began to freak me out.

And at one point, while I straddling P., I rested my head on his shoulder and said, “Ummm. You’re beginning to freak me out a little here sweet thing.”

“Why?” P. inquired.

“Well. You’re the kind of guy I’ve always hoped to find. You’re self-aware; you’re obviously working to get to know yourself better and I’m going to assume in addition you most likely have some kind of spiritual leaning as well.”

“And this is a problem?” P. offered rather inquisitively.

“No. It’s not a problem. More frustrating really, as I get the sense that you’re not looking for anything more than fun.”  I sighed.

“Not true.” P. offered in return, “I’d like to explore dating a guy and see if I might be able to develop some kind of emotional relationship with a man. And was thinking maybe I can try with you.”

“Really?” I replied raising my torso from his somewhat thrown by this revelation. “I’m open to the idea. But…”

“But you’d like a little more courtship here and less the feeling of a hook up?” P. inquired further as he looked into my eyes.

“Well yeah.” I laughed, “I’m not a complete tart! A guy does like to be romanced a little.”

“Then maybe a hike along the C&O sometime soon?” he chuckled.

“That would be fabulous!” I said as my lips met his.

Flash forward two weeks to last Friday.

When I got up that morning and checked my email, I had a message from a gentleman J. who answered the same advert as P. which included the following, “Working in south Arlington today near Columbia Pike and four mile run Dr. How close is that?” sent at approximately 7 a.m. I responded to let him know that I’d be home all day and that he was approximately three to four miles away.

Nearly moments after I left the apartment at 11:30 to run a few quick errands, he pinged me to let me know that he was almost done and if he didn’t hear from me that he’d be heading out. I returned with a reply that I’d be home at approximately 1:30 and let me know if it would work. He responded to the affirmative.

Long story short…he was at my apartment shortly after 2.

Due to a hiccup with the entraguard system I had to go down to let him in the front door of the building. As I descended the final stair and began toward the door, I was little unsure as to what I might have gotten myself into. At the door stood a gentleman in the stereotypical union blues indicative of his line of work. However, what was most curious about J. was the fact that he was sporting a rather bushy beard and tufts of his hair were standing on end giving him a look not unlike Christopher Lloyd in his younger days.

“Hey. What’s up?” I asked as I opened the door to let him in.

“Not much,” J. replied rather sheepishly as he popped in the front door.

“Com’on up.” I pointed as I started up the stairs.

As we entered the apartment, I told J. I need to finish up a banana that I’d just peeled and was having for lunch with a little Nutella.

“Not a problem.” He replied as he followed me into the kitchen.

We stood talking for a few moments. During which he confessed he was a little nervous about coming into a stranger’s house. I explained I understood his fear and knowing that I always try to be as welcoming as possible and make whomever is in my home feel comfortable.

“Thanks, really nice.” replied J. “I bet I don’t look anything like you imagined. Huh?”

“Well…” I began, “I was expecting the blue shirt and pants. But the beard…”

“It gets really cold outside so I grow it a little longer in the winter.” J. started to explain.

“It’s not a problem.” I laughed, “Actually in some kind of weird way I find it a turn on.”

Approximately 90 minutes later after having the most incredible orgasm I’ve had with someone other than myself in quite a long time J. started to get dressed.

“Ummm.” I began, “Not sure where you are or what’s going on with you, but I want you to know I really enjoyed meeting you and would like to do it again, and maybe even hang out a little before or after if you’d be up for it.”

“I’m really busy but that sounds nice.” J. looked at me rather quizzically.

“Oh, no pressure or expectations here,” I explained, “It’s just you’re a really cool guy and I don’t often meet guys like you. So it would be nice to keep in touch and do it again if we can.”

“You’re a really cool guy too.” J. offered relaxing a little. “Let’s see what we can do.”

As we were standing in the living room engaged in more small talk before he left, we got to joking about how clueless people can be in this area these days. And one of the things I mentioned is the fact people will walk right out into oncoming traffic and joking I said, “I like to think of it as Darwinism in action. If someone is dumb enough to walk out into traffic, well all the more for me. Right?”

J. shot me the oddest look.

“Oh my,” I began to offer in explanation, “That probably sounds a little mean-spirited doesn’t it?”

J. chuckled and said, “No actually it’s kind of funny. Do you ever read the Darwin awards?”

“It’s been years since I’ve seen them. But I know what you’re talking about.” I replied.

“There’s a guy you have to look up. He rigged a bunch of weather balloons to a lawn chair and went for an extended launch over Los Angeles with sandwiches, a six pack of beer and a B.B. gun.” J. laughed.

“Ummm. Sounds like I definitely have to look this character up.” I chuckled in return.

“Yeah, as they were arresting him he told the press, ‘a man can’t just sit around’.” J. chuckled as he opened the front door sporting a goodbye grin.

Finally on Monday with little else to do while enjoying the day off for New Year’s, I decided to look the story up and discovered the tale of one Larry Walters, or Lawnchair Larry as he became known in the land of urban legend.

As I read through the Wikipage for dear Lawnchair Larry, something popped out when I got to the portion of the entry that mentions cultural references to Larry. In the section about film it mentions that Pixar’s film Up features a house being lifted by hundreds of helium filled balloons. Okay, that’s f*cking weird, I thought as read this and let out a good long chuckle making the missed connection from days earlier.

J. has mentioned he’d like to come over again and possibly have a sleep over if schedules perhaps sync.

Can you help me out a little here good Mary?

-e

I don't even know who I am anymore...

Dearest Mr. Dickens,

As promised by my dear friend Weatherbug, it indeed was a far more beautiful day today than yester proved to be. Not that I got a chance to get out into it. You see, I’ve been working all day on the New Year’s card I send to all friends, family and select new acquaintances to arrive the day after li’l baby New Year pops his load—so to speak. But I’m not complaining mind you, I truly love getting into the creative head space and can sit in front of the computer for hours manipulating bits and bytes into something meaningful and pleasing to the eye.

However, I decided to take a break from twiddling in Photoshop to rip off the promised letter to you to wrap up the cosmically (and comically) twisted tale of Xmas present of one Ero Ghoti.

On Boxing Day as I was preparing to write my initial letter to you, I decided to review the events of the past several days and pieced together the disparate clues to see if there might be any quantum connections. As I once again opened the email string between G. and I from two days prior, I was struck by context clues missed in both photos that immediately elicited a serious case of chicken skin upon my person.

As I looked at the photograph of the erect member he sent, I noticed something curious; the filename of the photo was “Up”. Up? I thought, that’s a queer name for a photo of an erect penis. As I looked closer at the other photo G. had sent me (the exterior of a house with the file name “new roof”) I noticed something rather curious about that photo as well. The photo revealed a stack of shingles placed beside a garage with two vehicles in view—a Saab coupe (silver) and a Toyota Tundra pickup (black). The Tundra was the identical twin of a truck that was purchased by my brother-in-law and picked up in Old Towne by one and the same the very day G. sent me the email with Xmas wishes. It was a surprise to all when he and my sis pulled up in it on Xmas day.

Okay, that’s f*ckin’ weird I thought while scrutinizing the photo a little closer. Who the f*ck is this guy and what’s the deeper connection here? I thought as I probed the image further for clues. As I looked at the stack of shingles, a chill arrived up my spine to accompany my chicken skin on this particular adventure through the looking glass. A name repeated like a quilt pattern on the stack of shingles, “Landmark”. Why did this particular name cause my subcon to put the pedal to the metal and work ever harder to unravel the quantum threads of this apparent cosmic Gordian knot?

Landmark is an area of Alexandria, VA where I grew up as a wee thing. This is a fact that I shared with the gentleman who I spent the evening with last Sunday. The very same gentleman I mentioned in a letter to Alan Turing recently that I wrote concerning the unusual hits to the biddy-biddy-blog and their quantum connections to a letter I recently sent MMRFRO. Ummm, okay it looks like we’re getting warmer I thought as I made this connection. But there’s got to be more to this. What’s the connection between the exterior of the house and the photo with the file name “Up” I considered at greater length. Suddenly a thought bubbled up from my subcon, there is a movie entitled “Up!” and you wrote a letter to D. about it in this blog. As I pulled up the letter and began to re-read my own binary-based ramblings, the Red Queen suddenly appeared next to me at my computer table, bent ever so close to my ear and purred softly like a kitten, “Penny for your thoughts…”

As I read through the aforementioned letter, what I found at the end make me jump with a start rivaling that of the appearance of the Red Queen at my side. I wrote the letter to D. shortly after I had seen the movie and relayed to him my impressions of the film. I shared thoughts of the technical aspects as well as the story and the various themes that resonated with me as I watched it. But it was in the last paragraph (which follows) that a ghost of summer past met headlong with a ghost of Xmas present and my head began to spin.

Then why do I cling? How I wish I could answer that question with something other than I fell in love with you. And as you said once about how your attempts to keep up with my non-stop madness should count for something. Shouldn’t the fact that I fell in love with you count for something?

In the letter I recently drafted and sent to MMRFRO, one of the things I mentioned to him is that although I failed to mention it to him during the time he was speaking with me, he did indeed get extra points for attempting to keep up. I also let him know that he did better than most—for a while anyway. And while I didn’t say it as directly as I did in the cyber-letter I wrote him in 2009, I also told him that I grew to love him. But as I’ve thought of the letter in retrospect one of the things that I wished I’d have said is doesn’t the fact that I fell in love with you count for something? Anything?

Apparently not.

Okay now, if all of that’s not woo-woo-worthy enough I got a rather odd hit to the b-b-blog on Monday when I was writing you the initial letter you received. As I was composing the letter which included the story of a hooking up experience I had in Maine shortly after meeting D. I got a hit from where? New Hampshire. And from where in N.H. did the hit originate? Smack dab in the middle of Route 1 very near a campground named “Tidewater Campground” near the city of Hampton. Why was I amused? There’s a Route 1 in Alexandria, VA near where I grew up, and there is a city in VA name Hampton in an area of the state known as “tidewater”.  And what did I reference in my recently letter to D. but the Old Man of the Mountain. Which is where? You guessed it, northern New Hampshire.

OMG! I nearly forgot I got the funniest push from Urban Dictionary today as their word of the day: ghost paranoia. What makes it even funnier is earlier I walked back into the bedroom shortly after having left it to make dinner only to discover a ring laying on the floor that I swear wasn’t laying on the floor when I walked out of the room after meditating and before starting to make dinner. Either it jumped by itself or…

How much longer is the universe going to toy with me?

Is that a broom b/w your legs or RU just happy 2C me?

Dear Mr. Dickens,

I hope this finds you well. ‘Twas a rather dreary day here in the nation’s capital today but my weather bug shares with me that there is the promise of sun tomorrow (well at least a few peeks here and there through clouds scheduled to pass over through most of the day). It was the kind of day that would have been perfect to lounge in bed and taste the sweet lips of a lover (or two <g>) as it was far too beastly to do anything other.

Let’s see, to continue my twisted tale of quantum connections I suppose is what’s in order with this letter. So let me proceed with such.

Shortly after I received the keyword hit “brokeback mountain bondage”, I received an email from the gentleman G. with whom I’ve been doing the Lido Shuffle for a year plus now. I had just shut down the slate and was about to ready myself for bed after working on a few writing exercises. The message was to wish me a merry Xmas and it included two photos (one of an erect member [I assume his] and one of an exterior of a house [again, I assume his]). Due to my annoyance of having received yet another pic of a penis from G., I missed a couple of context clues hidden in the photos (more on this later), and merely responded with the curt response of “One word. Speechless.” and wished him a merry Xmas as well put the Xoom and Droid X on silent and rolled over hoping to find myself quickly embraced in the arms of Morpheus.

I was kicked out of R.E.M. at approximately 2 a.m for whatever reason and noticed the Xoom was blinking to let me know that I’d received a message. I removed it from its charging cradle, pressed the on button to bring it to life and noticed there was a message from G. that had been dispatched shortly after midnight. In this message, he pondered as to how a gentleman as my self, with such above average skills in the use of language, might be left speechless. He included a photo which was of a vintage advertisement for Coca-Cola that included Santa holding said beverage along with an address book, his list of those presumably having been nice on his desk, and on the floor next to him a globe of the world. While this image piqued my interest, I rolled over and attempted to go back to sleep after padding to the bathroom to relieve the call of nature since I was awake.

At approximately 5 a.m. I was once again awakened, this time to the obvious need to heed the call of nature. As I jumped back into the bed and pulled the covers about my head thoughts of the image of Santa returned to my consciousness once again. I was curiously drawn to this image because of the soda in his hand. This odd fascination with Santa’s beverage was due to the fact that in the late spring I’d come upon a personal ad posted by MMRFRO while cruising ads on OkayCupid. In his ad, D. extrapolates that he’s a simple man due to his love of mac & cheese and Pepsi. But what I found evermore curious about the photo was the file name “5V”. Okay, that makes absolutely no sense, I thought as I considered the photo. However, my subcon kicked in and made a quick connection to the tarot and the number five. “I wonder if 5(V) is the Hierophant?” I wondered aloud following the lead of my subcon. I quickly pulled a book from a shelf of the barrister bookcase next to the bed and confirmed that yes, indeed the Hierophant is number V in the major arcana.

According to The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Tarot, the book I referenced, the Hierophant is all about the lure of conformity. The card also represents education and connection with one’s community. He is the one who teaches the tribes how to connect and communicate through a common understanding, whether it is language, spirituality, or commerce. The underlying idea is the social evolution precipitated by both individuals and groups in combined efforts.

With this in mind, I sat down the morning of  Xmas eve before heading down my mother’s to draft a quick response to G. While I was hoping to find a tarot card with Santa as the Hierophant, I was unable to do so. However, as I did the google search hoping to find such an image, I came upon a card from a deck I own, The Alchemical Tarot Renewed.  I quickly scanned both the front and back of the card and drafted a response to G. that included the following, “And the heat is rising with the last message as we’re a little closer to the requested re-mix via Kaskade and dear Haley. We may get there yet.” I attached the photos that I’d scanned of the cards (The front with the file name “santa_is_that_U” and the back with the file name of “on_the_way_2_six”).

Shortly thereafter the remix was revealed.

At 14:58 on Xmas Eve I received a hit to the biddy-biddy-blog with the keyword “ghosts near ghoti”. When I initially checked my stats that afternoon, saw the keyword combination and quickly checked the location of the hit, I laughed from obviousness of the context in regard to recent posts concerning spooks, etc. However, it wasn’t until I later did a deeper geolocate on the hit that I nearly shat a Xmas twinkie (or two) out my arse. The hit originated in Mumbai, on a thoroughfare named “Red Cross Street” and across from the “Israel Building.” I began to hear Rod Serlings voice in my head as I viewed the screen. The reason? Earlier in the week when I met with the gentleman who is my virtual doppelganger by way of having the same first initials and last name, he mentioned Clara Barton (the founder of the Red Cross) in a conversation, and my friend J. is currently residing in Israel. But it was with the next discovery I nearly fell off my chair laughing.

The keyword search hit the following letter that I’d written to St. Rita concerning a conversation I’d had with a grocery clerk at the Safeway nearby regarding a near death experience he’d had many years ago. The reason I laughed at this hit? The letter was entitled “Don’t shoot the messenger” and the graphic that I created to go with the message included the text “Bang! Bang! I Got Mine”. The very same phrase that I’d used as a file name for a photo that I sent G. during an email exchange several weeks ago regarding our mutual interest in target shooting.

Believe it or not the quantum threads wind even tighter around the axis mundi with this one. But once again, I need to redirect and concentrate efforts on other tasks. However, I promise I will complete this tale tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I ran into a clerk at the very same Safeway mentioned earlier who totally trips my gaydar. He’s a gentleman from Uruguay that has the cutest face, sweetest accent, the most divine alabaster skin, and darkest ebony eyes I’ve ever seen. Yesterday as we were finishing up the transaction he inquired as to whether I needed assistance with my bags. I jokingly replied, “I’m hoofing it. I doubt you’d want to carry these all the way back to my apartment.”

He shot me the sweetest smile and said, “If it were after five, perhaps I’d be able to do so?”

Somewhat thrown I replied, “There you go!” as I grabbed my cart and thanked him. Of course the thought, F*ck yeah! I’ll be back at 5 screamed loudly in my head the entire time.

 Maybe it’ll happen yet…

Nice hat!

Dearest Mr. Dickens,

I hope this finds you well and enjoying Boxing Day where ever it is that you find yourself these days. I have to tell you Charles—and I hope you don’t mind if I call you such—I feel a wee bit as though I may be the long lost funny uncle of your dearest misanthrope reformed, Ebenezer Scrooge. Why do I share this rather odd statement with you? It appears I’ve been visited by few cyber-ghosts over the Xmas holiday. However, I’ve yet to discern the nature of these spirits and whether they be clarions calling from the past, a key to the present, or portents of the future.

Given your expertise with such spectral anomalies perhaps you can shed a little light on the subject?

There have been a few rather odd and haunting hits via keyword searches to the biddy-biddy-blog over the past several days which have me wondering WTF? and if I might have a ghost protocol of my own brewing. Just hope I’m able to duck and cover before any semtex lurking under my ass is detonated.  But I digress.

It started on Friday evening at 18:46 with a cybernaut surfing onto the blog with the search term “brokeback mountain bondage”. A combination in itself that is rather unusual, however, it’s the associated quantum connections and context of deeper meaning to moi which makes the hit ever more curious. Let me see if I might engage my virtual protractor and slide rule to make the connections into a cohesive and meaningful narrative to you or anyone else possibly reading these ramblings.

On Friday I had lunch with a friend D., during lunch I shared with him the any number strange and perplexing circumstance that have plagued yours truly as of late. These circumstances ranging from being outted as Satan at work by a dead actress to the adventures resulting from one my latest adverts on Craigslist in my ongoing attempt to be a man-whore par excellence. Through this conversation I explained to D. about this blog and how I often engage in a hobby similar to trainspotting in that I track the hits to the blog their associated IP addresses and corresponding physical location in an attempt to make whatever connections may or may not have relevance to my life in the so called real world.  I like to think of it as sort of a global game of marco polo with the universe. It gives me endless hours of amusement and don’t have to worry about treading water in the deep end.

Okay, so back to the “brokeback mountain bondage” keyword search. That search term returned this letter written to J. in regard to my desire to explore bondage in the duel contexts of kink and an art project. In that letter, I mention the fact that MMRFRO made a set of mix-CDs for me to keep myself entertained on a drive to Maine for a vacation that I took shortly after he and I made our acquaintance. From where did this particular hit originate? Portland, ME. But the knot of quantum threads here gets even better as it appears the keyword search may have been done by the spirit of hookups past on the new MacBook Pro he got for Xmas.

Tho’ I was staying in Wells during that particular vacation with my parents, I decided to fish the waters in a smaller pond of strange and posted an advert on Craiglist in the hopes of finding a hook up (or two).  And a hookup I did find and it was stranger than most. Our meeting was initially dampened by the fact that I felt zero physical attraction to the gentleman upon meeting him. But rather than say, “Thanks but no thanks” and be on my way. I decided to make the best of the situation and see it through (as it were) as I was out of my mind horny by the time we met at our agreed rendezvous point.

The second troubling fact of the encounter is that the gentleman was obviously a wee bit tipsy as a result of the several cocktails he’d had with friends before we met up. Again, while I was not amused by this fact, I rolled with it. While he didn’t make me aware of his intention, he guided me (in my rental car) to a park nearby to where he was staying with friends. After winding our way down to parking lot and choosing a space that looked out onto a small bay, we sat a few minutes talking.

Suddenly he grabbed the lever for the passenger seat and plopped the seat into the horizontal recline position, looked at me and said, “Let’s make out.”

Somewhat startled, I looked back at him in slight horror and said, “Um no. There will be no making out in the car.”

He smiled somewhat glassy eyed and leered, “Com’on kiss me!”

“Ugh. No.” I again responded. “I am so not risking getting arrested in a park and having to call my parents to come bail me out of jail. Doesn’t the straight friend you’re staying with live nearby here?”

“Yes” he pouted. “Given that I met you on Craigslist I didn’t realize you’d be so piss proper.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” I responded. “I can drop you by there and be on my way.”

“No.” he said after considering this for a moment. “Let’s head over there. I think we can make it work.”

After snaking our way through the backstreets of the east end, finding a parking space, and winding our way up the back stairs of the condo of his friend, we were in the bedroom where he was staying in the short term.

“Wait here.” he cautioned, “I’ll be back in a moment.” A few moments later he popped his head back into the room to relay the fact that his friend would like for the two of us to hang out with him for a little while.

“Um. Okay.” I affirmed as I got up from the bed where I’d parked my ass in the short-term.

As we entered the living area of the apartment, I could see a young woman passed out face down on the dining room table. And sitting on the couch was a young man that can best be described as f*cking, smoking hot and stoned off his ass. As I slipped my behind on the couch next to the smoking hot, smoked up beauty that was already perched there he looked at me through narrow slits for eyes and said, “Man sorry about the girlfriend, she’s had a little too much to drink.”

“No worries here.” I smiled wide-eyed at the slice of beefcake sitting next to me.

We sat for an hour watching episodes of The Simpsons on DVD while discussing the history and current affairs of the state of Maine while my hookup continued to drink more and get toked up as well. The endless loop of Jesus how’d I love to f*ck the shit of the straight friend (and the associated visual imagery) that was playing in the back of my head was cut far too short when my hookup said that he was ready for bed. We bid the hot young child who I so dearly wanted to f*ck a good night and headed to my hookup’s temporary lair.

Long story short, I spent a hour giving him an extended back rub, worked my best to get him there which was followed with him promptly rolling over and beginning to snore without making so much as the smallest effort to attempt to get me there. After lying next to him for nearly 20 minutes thinking he might revive at any moment and at the very least attempt an offer of returning the favor, he didn’t.

As I slipped out of the bed and began to put on my clothes he awakened just enough to inquire as to where I was going. “I’m going back to Wells,” I sighed.

“You aren’t going to stay the night?” he asked.

“Uh no.” I grunted. “See ya!” quickly followed as I threw my bag over my shoulder and opened the door to the back porch. Fifteen minutes later I was on the Maine Turnpike heading south in the thickest pea soup of fog I’ve ever experienced in my life.

Okay dear Chaz, while there’s far more to tell with this tale, I’ve got other writing I need to tend to so I shall follow with another letter to you tomorrow.

‘Til then, I wish you well.

The Joker's Wild!

Dearest Ms. Gilmore,

As you are most likely aware you’ve been the subject of a couple of letters by yours truly as of late. The first being a letter I wrote to Frigyes Karinthy in regard to an email that was sent by you (or someone impersonating you) to the V.P. in charge of client services at my place of employ. The second was a letter to Charles Babbage in which I speculated as to whether I am an accidental avatar. And quite honestly, given that on any given day my life continues to become ever more surreal, I wonder (often aloud to anyone who will listen without judging) if such speculation may be true—be I the Devil as you’ve suggested or otherwise.

Also, there have been a few hits to the biddy biddy blog as of late which have me wondering if you’re up to your old tricks and are about to convince your dear sister of the silver screen Peg E. to stray from her comfortable haunting ground below the “H” of the Hollywood sign for a cybercafé or the libraries public to tap out yet another email message to God knows whom concerning your speculation about my person, its origins, and placement upon this planet.

Last evening when I arrived home from the day gig, I did as I often do, and checked the web stats for ye olde b-b-blog before placing my posterior upon the meditation cushion for a moment of communing with the cosmos. When doing this I discovered there was a rather curious hit. It being for the keyword search of “evil squirrel” which is not that unusual since writing the letter to St. Francis back in May in regard to a long standing feud I’ve had with a squirrel in the ‘hood I often get several hits in a week with this particular combination, sometimes daily. So seeing this keyword search didn’t arouse my curiosity—at first.

However, once I did the IP search and viewed the geo-located coordinates returned for the hit. My curiosity was more than aroused and I let out a good hearty chuckle. And why is this dear Virginia? Because the location of the hit was from none other than a Clayton, CA an area exactly due north of Mt. Diablo State Park.

And why did this induce a chuckle from yours truly?

Shortly after you outted me at work as an apparent Devil, I attended the holiday party for my company. As part of a little inside joke with my co-workers about the awkwardness of the situation and the associated outing, I placed the following initials on my name tag, “e. d.” Each time someone would look at my name tag rather quizzically I would say, “It stands for El Diablo, because after all, I am the Devil.” For the rest of the evening and for several days thereafter I was El Diablo to all who know me well.

There is also another minor cosmic co-incidence with the hit. I had a good friend that I met via a personal ad shortly after I got into Al-Anon who lived in a town that borders on the northwest quadrant of MDSP, Walnut Creek. Something interesting that I discovered about the area as well is that the indigenous tribes that lived in the area (the Miwoks) believed the mountains to be the cradle of civilization. Also the site is known to be an area of any number of Fortean phenomena.  I appears I need to plan a trip to Mt. Diablo sometime soon.

A second hit that I found to be rather odd occurred to the b-b-blog shortly after I finished my meditation at 20:33:09. I believe at that moment I was listening to a track on my iPerd that includes binaural tones that are supposed to put the brain into delta wave state. Or in other words a state that includes, “The rhythms [that] allow us to tap into ‘universal knowledge,’ or the mind beyond our own. This ‘universal knowledge’ has been referred to as the ‘collective unconscious”’– which is comparable to one large pool of the collective knowledge and understanding all of humanity.”¹ as stated on 4Mind4Life.com.  I was doing what? I was checking the stats of the blog at the same time. What was the keyword search that was done? It was “ghoti letters”.

So while I was connected to the collective unconscious and at the same time perusing the ghoti letters, I apparently synched up with someone doing a keyword search of the term of “ghoti letters”. And from where did this search originate? Houston, TX. As I zoomed closer into the geo-location data in Google Maps for this associated hit the synchronicities of it made me chuckle once again. The street where the pin on the Gmap that showed the origin of the hit? Inker Street. The street that is a block and a half west of its location? TC Jester Boulevard. Why did the combination of these two streets incite me to laughter?

The laughter is due to the letter that I sent MMRFRO earlier this week. Okay. So the one synchronicity is pretty apparent—a letter sent, a street named “Inker”. Ba-da-bing! However, the cosmic joke goes a slight bit deeper. In the design of the fold over mailer I created, I included this poem (written by yours truly) entitled Joke on the back of the outside portion of the mailer. In the text of the letter to D., I expounded on the fact that he never really understood my sense of humor and how he pretty much misinterpreted everything that happened between he and I—hence the chuckle with TC Jester Boulevard. After all I do have a stronger than average connection with the fool archetype.

The interesting thing about the eponym of the aforementioned thoroughfare is that he was an influential pastor of a Baptist church in that area of Houston. I found the funniest posting in a forum in which someone asked about the name of the street. Someone answered that “TC” stood for “The Court”. The adolescent nerdy humor caused me to let out a good snort.

So Virginia, got any big plans for Xmas?

Knock, knock, knocking on Ghoti's door?

Dear Mr. Turing,

Why it’s taken me so long to write you, I’m not sure. After all, if there’s anyone in the history of mathematics and computer science that is a kindred spirit to I, it would be you. I feel it necessary to let you know that your treatment by Her Majesty’s Courts of Justice while you were living is nothing short of a crime against humanity. It is little wonder that you were lured, as was dear Snow White, to take a bite from that apple to induce a lengthy slumber. It is heartening to see that within a week from today your life, and achievements, will be celebrated world-wide for an entire year. I hope to make it to one of the celebrations here in the United States.

As you have no doubt heard from Mr. Babbage, my life at times can be a tad bit surreal and this week has been no exception. Earlier in the week, despite the advice of my Magic 8 Ball, I made the decision to send yet another letter to MMRFRO. Tho’ the one I sent in its final form was a slightly edited version, to be less accusatory, than the version for which I queried my prognosticating friend. At least I would like to think. It was sent in hopes of being a final purge of the anger I continue to feel in regard to our premature parting of ways. Because in a strange turn of events, I’ve met someone within whom I hope I’m able to form a long-term bond and potential intimate relationship—but more on this later.

When I dropped the letter to D. in the post box on Tuesday, there followed thereafter the strangest series of cascading synchronistic events on the biddy biddy blog that have me once again proverbially scratching my head and wondering if I possibly have spooks on my tail. And why?

Literally an hour to the minute after I dropped the letter in the collection box, there was a hit to the b-b-blog via a dial-up network in Kansas to this letter that I wrote D. two years ago in December entitled “Ambivalence—the Supreme Aphrodisiac?” Then not seconds later there was a hit to the feed for a letter to J. entitled my “My Honeypot is on Fire” from a server somewhere in Alexandria, VA that belongs to none other than the Department of Homeland Security (DHS). I must confess that one gave me a good chuckle. Concurrent with the hit to the feed there was a hit from a Google search from the same IP address for the keyword phrase, “what is the meaning of ambivalence is the greatest aphrodisiac”.

And here my friend is where I began to cue up the theme to “The Twilight Zone.”

Roughly 20 minutes later, once again there was a Google search done via a DHS server housed somewhere on Long Island—at least according to its IP address—for the same search term. After I plugged in the GPS coordinates for the IPS address into Google Maps and viewed the return for the associated location, that my friend is when I hit the play button for the aforementioned musical theme. Because, the location that showed up could not have more quantum connections with me than those between the keyword search that was done by the DHS and the letter I sent D. on Tuesday.

But let me see if I might connect the dots properly so this makes sense to you or anyone else who may happen upon this letter. Within the radius of a few miles where the server that hit the b-b-blog is supposedly located the name of two areas have a distinct resonance with circumstance over the past several days/weeks and my personal history. Nearby, there is an area called “Rockville Centre” and adjacent to that is the hamlet of “Roosevelt”. When I saw the names of these two locations I could not stifle a laugh.

On Sunday night, I had a gentleman come over who pinged me through an ad I placed on Craigslist. It was an ad I placed more for the hookup variety of meeting as opposed to the date kind of meeting. The strangest thing happened that evening tho’. A gentleman showed up at my door (and in my bed) who could not be more stereotypically the kind of guy that I’m looking for. He is in his own words, as Dan Savage would say, “Good, Giving and Game.” I was truly floored by this chance encounter. Where did this gentleman grow up? But in Montgomery County, MD where there is a Rockville as well.

Way back in the summer where did I suggest that G. (another gentleman I’ve connect with via CL) initially meet in real time? Roosevelt Island here in Arlington. Back in October, I sent MMRFRO an invitation to meet for a hike. Where did I suggest that we meet for said activity? Yes, once again, Roosevelt Island!

Oh but dear Mr. Turing, that’s only the beginning of the knots in the quantum threads here. Back in August when I sent D. the postcard that I made him for his birthday, one of the things that I mentioned was his ambivalent attitude and how much it frustrated me which lead my being unkind to him. Also the particular area on Long Island from where the hit originated is very near where R. (my last serious boyfriend) grew up along with his ex-wife (with whom I still talk on occasion).

I swear I think the Thought Police are going to be battering in my door any day now to hogtie me, throw me in a sack, and carry me off into the night to be seen no more by co-workers, friends/neighbors and family.

And now back to my new acquaintance P. as promised. Alan I’m scared. More so than I’ve been in a long, long time. I really connected with this guy. He truly is just the kind of guy that I’m looking for. He’s very much into personal awareness and growth. He seems to be working quite diligently at the moment to get a better understanding of him self and how to relate better with others. I really want to trust him and the universe at large here, but there is this tiny little voice in the back of my head that’s screaming, BUT…! I really need to figure out a way to get it to butt out!

Please say hello the St. Hubert for me!

My T-Bird!

Dearest St. Hubert,

As I mentioned in a letter to Mr. Babbage, last week, life has been rather surreal for me as of late. Not that I find it troublesome mind you, it’s quite to the contrary actually in that I derive some kind of strange joy from the various circumstances and situations in which I find myself.

The one area of my life that forever befuddles me with such contradictions and circumstances is dating. I don’t know why it’s so difficult for me to find a guy to date. It wouldn’t seem that difficult. Right? But for some reason, for me anyway, it seems that finding a partner for the long haul is tantamount to finding the enchanting chalice more commonly known as the holy grain. And again, there is any number of crazy situations in which I find myself on this misguided journey—many of which lead back to the web service created by a cyber acquaintance of mine one Craig Newmark.

And while dear Mr. Nietzsche so wonderfully defined insanity as the doing the same thing over and over yet expecting a different result, I find myself doing just that. Returning to this cyber-watering hole and expecting somehow things might be different; that I might find someone to connect with for more than just 45 to 120 minutes. That I might find a guy who will treat me with respect and won’t steal away in the night with my heart.

But alas, it’s always the same.

However, in between the heartache, heartbreak and hook ups for surreptitious sex there are moments in which I find myself that are so cosmically confounding (and amusing) that truly I have to throw back my head and let go of a good hearty belly laugh. Recently, I had just once of those types of experiences.

Last weekend during a mediation session, I received an email from a gentleman, G, with whom I’ve been corresponding for about a year now. He answered a posting I placed in the Miscellaneous Romance Section on Craigslist many moons ago. And over the past year we’ve had several exchanges via email and he’s expressed on a couple of occasions the desire to meet. However, such a situation has yet to materialize. But through our latest exchange there were a couple of cosmic coincidences which lead to LOL-worthy moments.

As part of our most recent exchange, I emailed him the link to the letter I’d drafted to Mr. Babbage in which I’d written about him pinging me during my meditation session. For whatever reason, G felt compelled during our exchange to ask if I had an interest in guns and/or target shooting. I do and responded to let him know of my interest in such. G made a joke about shooting at targets and me hitting his brown eye with certain ammo and also sent me several photos of various guns that he owns.

There were two things that came to mind as I considered the final message I received from G as part of our interplay. One was that many years ago as a joke, I’d recorded a parody of Crystal Gayle’s Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue as Itchy Brown Eye for You for the producers of a podcast I used to listen to regularly. And that the photos G had sent me were very much like being allowed to peek into little narrow windows of his life and home. The next day while at work, I was listening to one of my current  podcast favs and in it I heard another song that seemed to express this idea perfectly Kaskade’s Llove.

When I got home from work the evening following our exchange, I drafted a quick message to G with the subject heading “Tokyo Rose was an amateur” and included links to the two songs I’d thought of the day before and uploaded to Soundcloud. In the message, I also mentioned that I was listening to the song by Kaskade on my iPod Nano cum wristwatch and attached a photo of the watch on my wrist showing my dear friend Mickey patiently and diligently keeping time at the same time.

While I never heard back from G., I became evermore intrigued by our exchange and decided to do a search of the IP address that showed up for him in the email string of his messages and as the location of the hit to the blog. When I did so, I discovered a couple of things that made me both laugh out loud and wonder at the same time if the Universe is once again f*cking with me.

When I plugged in the search coordinates of the IP address for G the theme for The Twilight Zone began to play in my head as it returned an address on Shady Acres Lane. As I looked at the name of the street I thought what are the chances? I thought this because my father lived in housing that was provided by the Veteran’s Administration for many years and its name? Shady Acres! And while I’m not exactly sure, I strongly suspect that G. works at Ft. Meade. As I poked around in Google Maps exploring that area, I discovered there is a street with a name none-other-than “Disney Road” that runs from Ft. Meade through Laurel, MD. When I discovered this I nearly fell off the chair laughing.

I have little doubt G. must think I’ve been to his house and peeking in the windows by now and that’s why I’ve not heard from him. Or I’ve proven to be a tad bit too much for him as I’ve proven to be for many others.

Then Monday I had another LOL moment when I did a reverse search on the phone number provided to me by a gentleman whose personal ad I responded. His last name is the same as mine as well as the initials for his first and middle name. So as I stared at the screen that showed me his name and phone number, I saw my own literally being reflected back at me. Oh my god, that’s too funny! I thought as it was happening. What makes it evermore hilarious is that he requested all responses include the subject heading “ENTANGLE” to evade ever ubiquitous internet bots. So of course being the smart ass that I am, I responded with “ENTANGLE (quantum or otherwise). Looks like it is!

Please give Rita a hug for me!