Glass House

My world is weirder than your world.

Saturday, December 11, 2004


Dinner was good. The steaks were marinated in port wine and garlic, which was a new thing for me. A sort of sweet/dark taste, but I avoided the compulsion to reach for the A-1, and by the end I was liking it. (A very minor advantage: nobody gets to watch me for reactions while I'm eating.)

Callie ate with us too, I should have mentioned that. Then we listened to some music, sat on my couch for a while, chatted and made out... She just left a half hour ago. I was this close to asking her to stay. Should I have? No idea. We've been seeing each other for two weeks. Is that a short or a long time? No idea on that either. Sex is well within my experience -- women get curious, you know -- but a relationship, the kind where you take it slow and try to understand each other, is totally new to me. And it's scarier than sex.

I'll talk more about Callie later on. I'm still trying to get my head around it all. She's hard to understand for all sorts of reasons.

I was talking about last night. Onward:

So Other John was hosting. The absolute rule on Friday nights is this: no talking shop or weirdness until after dinner and some totally brain wasting entertainment. O.J.'s plan was going be burgers on the grill, but the evening was cold and rainy. We ordered pizza from Mellow Mushroom. They don't deliver, so we sat around for forty minutes while Nick went out and picked it up. Everyone had beer except Jenna, and we watched some random episode of Deadwood on his TiVo. I'm sure it's a great show, but as none of us had been following it, it fell rather flat. (To be fair, some people can't stand the House of J tradition of anime, and make a point of showing up late.)

The business part of the meeting was short. They've been short lately. We closed out an action issue Lara had raised a couple weeks ago: she'd read in the news about Atlanta firefighters having their pay raises vetoed, and wanted to see if we could do anything about it. Apparently not. Dana went poking for dirt we could get out to the press somehow, but it turns out political minds are boring. Go figure. She never got a fix on the mayor, and none of the rest of us ever figured out any way we could address this, so nothing happened, and the pay raise is dead in city council now. Yay team.

The usual question: "Any encounters?" Dana had gotten hassled by the cops for hanging out near city hall looking suspicious, but no harm done. Callie, who's still rather new to the group, didn't quite grok the question and started telling us about the couple dozen times she'd used her power for anything this week. It was pretty interesting, but eventually Jenna stopped her and explained. The question wasn't whether you had done anything unusual, the question was whether you'd been caught doing anything in a way that might get anyone in trouble.

Nick was sitting back with a smug sort of grin on his face, until eventually all eyes were on him. "Oh, nothing to report," he said.

"Nick," Jenna said in a rebuking tone. "Tell us you haven't been trolling again."

"Nein, mein führer!"

I decided I'd have to talk to him. Nick's started to pick up a distressing habit of hanging out around Little Five and Piedmont -- not to pick up guys, but to look for 'phobes and hecklers. Then he finds creative ways to mess with their heads. The first time he told the circle about this, he was bragging about it. Jenna and Dana told him he had to stop it, and he laughed. Then Jon told him he could get himself killed, and that shut him up for a while. When Jon tells you what's going to happen to you -- well, it's not certain, but it's hard to shrug off. (Nick, if you're reading this: answer that e-mail, dumbass.)

Callie just called. I will finish this story.


At December 12, 2004 at 9:05 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

E-mail answered, dumbass.
-The N

At December 13, 2004 at 12:06 AM, Blogger iJames said...

Well, good. You dumbass.


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