Okay, I don't know what the hell's going on with my domain name. On the Blogger side, I've deleted the Settings > Publishing stipulation that it should expect "swevenvolant.org" to indicate this blog. I've received confirmation from my registrar that everything on that side is set up correctly. And yet "swevenvolant.org" points to the Google main page.
Why? No freakin' clue. My registrar tried to tell me that "sxoidmal.blogspot.com" points to Google, but now it doesn't. It points to my blog, because of the aforementioned action. "swevenvolant.org" is what points directly to Google, and there is no reason why this should be.
I'm getting irritated!
Anyway, today was a good day. It was a bad day to drive to the outlet mall because of the Memorial Day Sale, which neither of us remembered until we got out there, but at least I got some nice knives and an incredible BBQ sauce. At home we grilled some chicken breasts, zucchini, and mushroom and had a very nice little dinner, before running out to a birthday party. I got to socialize with Martin, Jason, and Jarrin, which is pretty much what I look forward to when I go to these things. The long, lean periods of no-banter make me appreciate these encounters more than ever, and I always learn something by the end of the night, even if it's just the take of another perspective.
Yesterday wasn't great in that Rebecca and I hit a rough patch and our conflict manifested in a unique incident. I made a disparaging remark and she ran off to fulfill a chore which she was going to do anyway, but this time with a slammed door. I thought, Two can play at this game, and for some reason my vast database of relationship-oriented sitcoms failed to indicate to me what a poor idea this is. So I shut off all the lights in the apartment and went out to Urban Bean, where I had a tea and read some Gene Wolfe stories until it closed. I then walked up to Moto-I for drinks and, book in hand, I was quite out of place, but being that I'm nearly 40 and untrendy, I could not have cared less. For me the experience was not about the beautiful, vapid young adults in expensive clothing: it was about enjoying a flight of saké on the roof of the only saké/restaurant in the nation. Granted, the light was too dim to really enjoy my book, but having the book served as a conversational point with the woman working as security for the bar. And I felt pretty good about myself, being experienced and confident enough to have an engaging conversation with an unfamiliar woman, until she had a similar conversation with a nearby group of frat boys and I realized she was only doing her job, only fulfilling her part of the service industry machine. I drank alone in the dark, waiting for my server to find the time to wander over and give me the bill, and walked home in the dark with unpleasant thoughts for unpleasant company.
Rebecca had made me a card. On the outside was a family of hippos superimposed on an arctic landscape; on the inside was a detail from an antique map of Manhattan and a red rectangle of paper on which was printed a plaintive request for me to come home.
I will turn all of the above into a short story and submit it for publication. I want the reader to come along with me on the journey of frustration to deluded self-confidence, to crushing reality, to the enlightenment of priorities. It will be tricky to faithfully replicate each stage in this learning experience without the reader winding up deciding I'm merely an asshole.