In Her Own Words

I found an old, old AIM conversation with Amanda. It went on for an hour and a half and wasn't at all happy (we were discussing if we should stop talking - one of several times) but I figured this excerpt from her was the most telling.

(6/24/10 12:13:35 PM): well you are great though. the little weirdnesses about people are what makes them lovable, you know that. plus the connection between us feels a little overwhelming

(6/24/10 12:14:52 PM): here is how things go: i go away, feel OK for a while. one night i will randomly dream about you, not even anything scandalous just like when you know someone is in your dream? and then the next day you contact me out of the blue like you knew about it. and THEN i am like maybe we can get together when i am in CT and then i am like no we can’t because obviously i would cheat on (him) and even thinking those thoughts is already cheating so i am totally screwed. in the meantime i love my him and my dog and my life.

(6/24/10 12:15:12 PM): for god sake’s it’s been like 5 years. i will never know how we managed to have coffee last week without having like 80 kinds of sex that time.

I hate to say that I still get a rush thinking about this girl. She was the last one who held my heart in her hands and the only whom I ever shared a mutual, unspoken connection with. And I just found this old AIM conversation and, yeah, man, its been over three years and we don’t talk because she’s married now but … she still sent me an email or two this spring saying “I still love you”. Yeah. Its one of those unfinished works in life; everyone has them, I think.

Yes, this is such a destructive relationship to make another post about but good God was she cute - picture Emmy Rossum in thick framed glasses, having worked in a law library her whole life and dresses like a cross between Daria and Veronica Mars. And she treated me really well, emotionally, which is so very rare. Oh, and she could screw my brains out.

I use to see her around Christmas - spend the day in New Haven just loitering over coffee and talking quietly - so this time of year is awkward & wonderful for me. And without her, I feel like a ghost without a grave. I just wish she'd email me once in a while. Just because just because.

This Revolution Will Not Be Televised - Gillian Anderson Photo Op, 2013

As with all people now in their 30s and full of themselves, I loved loved loved The X-Files. Usual nerd reasons, I won't bore you with them. So when Ally offered me a day pass to New York ComiCon this year, I *had* to go after finding out Gillian Anderson was going to attend that day. Photo ops were a touch expensive but I figured it was worth the cash for a determinedly awkward photo proving, well, absolutely nothing. Lets face it: these are cattle calls. I'd heard iffy things about the company that was doing them but I sent them a Paypal payment anyway. You only live once.

I got in line very early because the queue system wasn't handled well. The staff running the floor were generally very nice but totally out of their element past "don't cross this line" schtick. I had three giggling German girls ahead of me, all of which were super nice, and somewhere to my right and back (the queue went up and down and up and down several aisles) a very nice guy from Australia dressed as Mulder who was charming to talk to and gave really great insight on his experiences in America (all of them positive).

But what was suppose to be a thirty minute wait turned into ninety as Gillian Anderon's plane was late or stuck in customs or something. We got different stories. I didn't care. I was fourth in line and the first guy - my heterosexuality was proven that day, I'll tell you what. The MC working the line eventually said "She's here folks, get your tickets out, stand at the black curtain entrance until staff calls you in to take your ticket" blah blah blah. He was generally a very nice person but anyone who works at NYCC had to be burned out by four in the afternoon. His face was etched with the wrinkles you get from smelling neck sweat and acne topical medicine all day.

The first two girls go in, swallowed up by the velvet entrance. I give my bookbag to the staff to hold. The next girl is called in. Then me. The next few details happened within the span of 2 to 5 seconds.

After walking through the black velvet fabric, the room was a lot to take in. The size of a classroom, something like ten people running around, the light guy adjusting for height, the photographer, two people on computers, the printing guy, the ticket person. Aside from the girl who was just leaving and the girl whos having her picture taking next, I'm alone in the room, in the corner like a truant.

Gillian is 45 pushing 22. Shes wearing a black dress that, when she picks up her water or to turn to talk to someone, proves its actually a matching two-piece. Shes extremely polite and smiles broadly. She's trying to make small talk the people shes taking photos with and its upsetting the cameraman. He continually screams NEXT with the nuance of a drunk cattle baron.

My turn is next. She half-follows the last of the german girls out of the room and then turns to me. We held eye contact as I walked to the mark on the floor for the picture - all of FIFTEEN FEET, which is a lot longer than it seems. She smiled broadly as I approached. I tried to turn on some of the old Sean Connery style charm I use to get phone numbers while at bars. I'd like to think I was successful but ... well, the outcome isn't proof of that.

Me: "Good morning"

Her: "Hey! Good morning! How are you?"

Me: "Pretty good, yourself?"

Her: "I'm good, thanks."

Click. "NEXT!" The end.

(Note to reader: It was 3 in the afternoon and I said "Good morning". Yes, I am dumb sometimes.)

So why aren't I posting the photo here? Right as I replied to "how are you", I had just walked up to her expecting to take a picture like the girl before me - side to side, crooked smile like you're saying "Hi Mom!" on the nightly news - when she stops the cameraman. She holds up her hand and says "Wait, let's do this..." then grabs my wrist and puts my arm around her waist and my hand on her hip, with all the subtlety of a dancing instructor with a new student. As if to say "No, honey - that goes HERE." Much to my credit, I gave the gentlest of squeezes as she put her hand on the small of my back. Between the surreal aspect of the situation, the unexpected physical contact and the fact that we were basically talking as it was taken, well, my face comes off as a half-hearted attempt at Jared Lee Loughner's mug shot - a bit too intense, though I've gotten use to the picture a bit since then.

I'm not disappointed by the photo per se but I am sort of deflated. I've rarely photographed well - I sort of have a brow that makes my eyes seem strained so I end up looking extremely serious when all I'm doing is thinking about what I want for dinner - and this was no exception. A badly timed no exception, actually.

But she did put my hand on her and you better believe I gently got a palm of that. It ain't Abelard and Eloise by any means but, well, fuck you, I'm sticking to the totally grand delusion she thought I was cute if she got that close on her own. Until then, I'm hiding that photo behind something else and taking it out as a great (visual) anecdote for when I'm (drunk) with friends.