Blocking and unblocking

Today I did something kind of stupid. Not that I never do, but this was a different kind of stupid.

Nemesis posted an entry a few weeks ago that mentioned something that we are both fans of, and I replied a few times in a playful way, inside-joking and all that. A few hours ago, I heard some news about that thing and hurried excitedly to post it under her comment section on her blog, not noticing that I was still logged in Wordpress as SatanPridefulDiner. After realizing this, and after googling "removing comments from wordpress", I realized that I couldn't simply undo what I had done.

The countdown had begun: Nemesis was about to arrive home and she isn't supposed to know about all this... I mean, she knows I blog, but I have never told her where it is because it might affect my "catharsis" in a bad way. So I began doing the only logical thing I could do without actually thinking first: I started password-protecting every entry (Hogad), and I moved my blogger blog to a super secret site (I know).

When she arrived, I told her what had happened and she hurried to check it out, to find it... well, password-protected entries. What started playfully as a 'Imma find your password' game, started getting a bit more serious, and then I realized I don't need to keep this shit away from her. This is the EMOest part of me, but it's still me so, if she ever decides that she wants to give us a try, she should know about all the sides of me. So I started removing every password while she was giving me an "I don't give a fuck, I don't have the right to be pissed anyway!" attitude and typing quite loudly.

Before she even checked my blog again, she made a post about it to vent a little bit. I didn't really care anymore about her reading my blog, or about her venting about everything (lord knows she vents a lot), but I did care about the whole "I don't care" attitude because, frankly, I want her to care.

Accepting her reading my stuff is the ultimate frontier for me; I know it's absurd, but I didn't want her to read all this because it could undermine my own self-expression (and yes, I sound like a 1970s cliched feminist hippie), and I needed to say what's going on without thinking that she might be reading it. That was my mistake.

Jumping from a plane without thinking about it is easy; is knowing that you could die and jump that's valuable. If I can't say (write) these things to her face (screen), I'll be stuck in a semi-repressed state that won't allow me to fully deal with this.

So here it is: Nemesis, this is me. Blog, meet Nemesis.

Monkey business

Today has been one of those days... So now I'm tired, and emotionally distressed and in a very "fuck this shit mood". To honor the latter, I shall tell you a double-flash-backed story.


I used to be in a band. Well, I used to define ourselves as a group of friends that happen to play together, but we did gigs here and there (some pretty nice venues too), wrote our own songs, rehearsed, recorded some tracks, and that kind of thing.

It was the year 2005? Or something like that. And we went to record drums for the first time on a house in the outskirts of Madrid. I usually went to work at the recording studio and would leave to the "country house" straight from there, but this was a weekend, I think, because the whole band was there.

After recording some tracks, we ordered a few pizzas and decided to eat them, as tradition dictates. We were talking about rock and roll, friendship, and shit. And then a story combined them all.

Dvd: Dude, I remember when we were kids and used to [insert stuff that you'd do when you were a kid in the 80s]!
Me: Oh yeah, I remember [same kinda crap]

The rest of the friends (and one of the girlfriends who had come that day) nodded assertively and smiled celebrating this long lasting friendship.

Dvd: And I still remember, one time, you threw your own shit to my neighbors.

Silence took over the table, jaws dropped, eyes opened, heads turned, hands stopped, pizza portions hanged.

Me: What? Imposs...! Oh crap. I remember.


Of course, after that the silence didn't manage to persist. Thankfully, laughter was the most reasonable way out. So they laughed. I... on the other hand, had to explain.

Me: Wait, wait! It wasn't like that! I was trying to avenge Dvd from whatever the neighbors had done, so I pooped in my hand and...

...and realized I wasn't making things any better.


Moral? Don't throw excrement in the name of friendship. It will haunt you forever. The memory, not the excrement. Mmmh... I guess that's not so bad, if you look at it that way.