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cyber Jenny

2004-11-01 - ***

People are right when they say the earth is way too populated, I realized tonight, as I was driving and got stuck between two cars, and I could see my reflection in their rearview mirrors.

Jenny, the most untainted girl on earth that I work with, was talking computers with me the other day. She is one among many other troubleshooting sharpshooters there who may need more target practice, because they've all worked on my computer last week and it's still a very malfunctioning unit.

Jenny got this job through a church friend, and took to me right away, mainly because I'm nice and I like everyone. Jenny is like a two day old baby bird. When our dept. sees her, we try to smile more and say motherfucker less. You can't curse when the eyes of a child of the Lord are upon you. She likes Dungeons and Dragons, and is studying to be a computer programmer. If I had to give her a D& D character name, it would be something like Birkinstocks Wooly Socks Longbrownlocks Flowered Frocks.

Jenny invited me to her house a few times, but I just can't do that to her. Eventually, bits of my sullied past would come out like they do when you talk to girls that know you. So instead, she comes to me at work and tells me about programming life and the game she designed online that anyone can play. This game may contain the last semblance of normalcy in terms of home entertainment, as there are no guns, no knives, no crashed cars, no blood, not even one scraped knee. The game is called Winds Of Change, and the intro goes exactly like this.

�Jenny's immortal Conference Hall

This room is very large. There are crates and boxes piled in one corner, and barrels in another. Baskets and pottery hang from hooks in the ceiling and there is a stack of rolled up tapestries on a sturdy table in the middle of the floor. A window sits high on the west wall through which one can see the trees in Jenny's garden. This room looks more like a storage turned workplace than a conference hall. A gray tabby cat lies curled on the highest crate she can find.�

So how the hell do you play the game? I don�t have the heart to ask her. I feel that Jenny would be better suited helping people acquaint themselves with Christ online, at least they�d know what they were getting into.

JENNYLUVSCATS: Howdy. Welcome to Winds of Change, based on the novel by Robert Jordan.

WHATCHUWEARIN: What are you wearing?

JENNYLUVSCATS: Gosh, I guess I�m wearing my husband�s flannel and a pair of ripped jeans I always wear when I�m programming.

WHATCHUWEARIN: That sounds hot.

JENNYLUVSCATS: Oops, and wool socks. Gosh. Yes, it sure is hot.

WHATCHUWEARIN: So you like the cyber chat.

JENNYLUVSCATS: Well, yes and no. I like it, provided it doesn�t cut into my programming time. My husband can�t stand that.

WHATCHUWEARIN: Don�t worry, this will only take two minutes. Is your husband there with you?

JENNYLUVSCATS: We like to muse that we�re always with each other in spirit.

WHATCHUWEARIN: You sound like a church girl. Nice.

JENNYLUVSCATS: Well then I guess you�ve come to the right place. You see, for years I had a hole that only God could fill, only I didn�t know it.

WHATCHUWEARIN: What a lucky sonofa bitch he is.

JENNYLUVSCATS: Once God was in me for good, I couldn�t have it any other way. My husband eventually joined us, and it was good.

WHATCHUWEARIN: A dirty girl. Liking it. Tell me more.

JENNYLUVSCATS: Actually if you want to know more, you�ll have to come with us Sunday morning and see for yourself.

WHATCHUWEARIN: Like a threesome?

JENNYLUVSCATS: Sort of an early morning triple winner get together, yes!

 note* I can�t take this thing any further, it will definitely hurt my stomach. However, Jenny is a nice girl, and the world could use a few more like her. Sometimes, (once) the girls and I imagined what it might be like to ______ Jenny, and then we quickly returned to whatever it was we were doing, as if it were our Moms. It�s like the time I thought New York was having it�s first earthquake and ran to my parents bedroom door and banged on it, crying. When I saw my mother come out, clearly out of breath, dressed in something I�d never seen her in, and the earthquake had simultaneously stopped, I quickly (& sickly) returned to whatever I was doing then too.

On a less stomach turning note, because none of this is good to think about, I started a contest at work to see who could be at work on time most consistently. The winner will receive an undetermined sum of money; mainly because one of the participants appears to have backed out because no one gave him a written invitation to join. Some of us need written invites, some of us are more apt to get our feelings hurt, which the rest of us understand. For that reason, and mainly to get the winning pot back up to the amount it should be, we have to be extra nice to him tomorrow and hug/coerce him into rejoining. He's very sensitive.

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