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Eliza

Chat at the Mining Co. was hopping tonight. It started off nice and laid-back, with enough visitors for good conversation, but not so many that there's too much noise to concentrate. It got a bit noisier, but that was fine. It's a far cry from those stupid AOL chat rooms, with teenage boys asking everyone how old they are, who's male or female. Like it matters when we're stripped down to our bare essences, when we're just words on a screen. In cyberspace, I'm well-spoken because I can type well.

The lady who runs this site keeps it under control when she's in there. She even expelled obnoxious people last week. Too bad she's only policing it on Monday nights. But sometimes it's nice to just go in and do whatever. Someone's almost always in there.

The most amazing thing happened, too. Deuteronomy, this bigoted Christian who's been harassing everyone all week, showed up to apologize for his unchristian behavior. Apparently, his pastor reamed him out over the weekend. Score one point for understanding. Or tolerance. Of course, I wouldn't hold my breath on the world peace question just yet.

My roommate just came in with a big grin on her face. "I need something," she said, with her German accent. "What?" I asked. She mouthed, "A condom." So I pulled out my box of tricks from under the bed. I'm still well stocked from when I was with Miss Thing, although that ended a good four months ago. Not like I'm going to need them anytime soon.

"Need some lube?" I asked. "Need a glove?" She looked blankly at the latex I was holding. "Never mind," I said. "If you don't know by now..."

She giggled. It's a sound I only hear when her boyfriend is in the vicinity. Then I had to explain what the little package of lube was for. Has she really never been introduced to the wonders of silicon-based lubricant? Ach, the things I take for granted.

It's time for bed, though. My forearms are beginning to ache.