Transplanted Life
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
 
I said "more later" on Sunday, and then didn't post anything later, because I stink.
I don't stink like A Sound of Thunder, which Chet and I saw at a preview tonight. It is a deeply stupid movie. It is the kind of stupid where a person holds a spherical object in his hand and calls it a "disc". It is the kind of cheap-looking where you swear the model for the dinosaur is Rex from Toy Story. It is the kind of predictable where the monsters have a knack of picking off the people whose usefulness is most at an end. It is an insult to one of the twentieth century's greatest writers and everyone who pays money for it.

But anyway, Sunday...

So, remember a couple weeks ago, when I was dragged off on a super-secret shopping mission? It was Kurt, who wanted my opinion while he picked out an engagement ring. The thought was that my having ovaries in this life would somehow form a natural balance to the disdain for the specific rituals of the wedding ceremony I carry forth from my last one (I believe the words I tend to use are, "it's a great big scam") and thus allow me to guide him to something that Denise would like without crippling him financially, since he is apparently blind to what would be a good choice due to having the same disdain for the whole process.

It was a very silly thing for him to do. Though I have, admittedly, warmed to the marriage ceremony, I still know sod-all about jewelry. Michelle's box with the little legs and the big ol' hinge is one of the few items of hers that I haven't appropriated for myself. I just never feel comfortable wearing the stuff; even the smallest ring or thinnest gold chain feels like an uncomfortable weight, and I tend to scratch at it, or take it off and put it down on a table or whatever. I've tried wearing them on dates, but stopped because I was afraid I would lose them, and this is stuff that I feel I should give back to Michelle should I ever meet her again.

(Heck, the little holes in my ears have completely closed up. Every once in a while, Kate tries to convince me to come get my ears re-pierced, but I have yet to be drunk enough for the voluntary infliction of puncture wounds to seem like a good idea)

And, besides, it's a little weird; just asking your ex-girlfriend for help with this sort of thing would be weird enough, but Kurt started seeing the two of us at the same time, and didn't break it off with me until she forced the issue. And, of course, I feel reasonably certain that if our roles were reversed and I was the one who showed a genuine interest in him and she was the best friend whose mind had been placed in a woman's body who went out with Kurt because he/she thought it was something necessary to get his/her own body back and never let him know the score, well, I'm pretty sure I'd want to rip her tits off. That she puts up with my presence is nothing less than astonishing and, quite frankly, bizarre.

Still, I can appreciate a pretty ring as well as any guy. It was weird to try them on, say, hm, that's kind of pretty, and have Kurt take my opinion seriously. In fact, while we were doing this, I actually said "that looks nice on Michelle's hand, but I don't know if it would be right for Denise". I mean, I never refer to my body parts as "Michelle's" any more, but in this case, the idea of having that kind of ring, in particular, seemed so alien that I couldn't reconcile it.

-Marti
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Note: This blog is a work of fantasy; all characters are either ficticious or used ficticiously. The author may be contacted at JaySeaver@comcast.net