I Was An MSN Bride: May 2005 Archives

Republished due to spam without comments May 17, 2005 I Was An MSN Bride - Introduction Disclaimer The work contained herein is reality based from the skewed point of view of the author. The author has taken creative liberties and all content may or may not have actually taken place. You can rest assured that events similar to those posed here inspired the events chronicled. Chat nics have been changed to allievate the need of other parties to resort to extortion and claim copyright infringment to the Nic usage. In the course of changing Nics to protect the author and a Nic used by the reader is found in this content, rest assured the author is not speaking of you. If the author were speaking of you your Nic would have been changed and you would not have seen your Nic in any conversation documented herein. Names, places and dates have been blurred to protect the innocent. MSN is the registered trademark of the Microsoft Network. No one in this work is affiliated with Bill Gates. Most of us do not even like Microsoft or Bill Gates but MSN Chat at one time was several steps above Yahoo Chat. It might even still be. However you will not ever catch this author in Yahoo chat as long as the ability to breath is present. The Spousal Unit of the author is unaware of what the author may or may not write and has no editorial control of the clicking of the publish button in any entry catagorized as "I Was An MSN Bride". The reader has the right to remain silent. Anything the reader says can and will be used to create colorful characters and further story lines. About The Author Angie is 38 years old living on a tiny farm in a small village in central Virginia with her husband, children and a dog. Marriage, children, divorce and remarriage has taken its toll and little of the young woman she once was still exists. She has grown and expanded her horizon beyond typical educational methods and is now a self made woman of many talents and diverse interests. She spends her days puttering around on her little farm where she grows tomatoes in the best southern tradition and a few other vegetables, herbs and flowers. She cooks, she cleans, she does the laundry and scrubs toilets in an attempt to be an almost trophy wife. She can be found on occassion standing at an ironing board for upwards of two hours ironing her husbands shirts so he doesn't go to work looking as if no one cares about him or that he might have pulled his clothing out of the rag bag. She has also been known to pass up fashionable new clothing for herself instead donning prior years fashions so that her children can prance about in their version of haute couture. She has shunned modern transportation with its fancy power steering, a/c and GPS onboard systems in order to indulge in the best gift ever -a 1953 Buick Special Eight. She is confident the struggle with the over-sized steering wheel will give her arms of steel and one day, if she is lucky, just might become the female arm wrestling champion of the world. She loves shoes, White Diamond perfumes and Italian foods. Introduction In the beginning there was dal net, irc clients and command lines. Then Bill said let there be chat. And there was chat. And it was good. From lands near and afar people traveled to this mystical land to meet and talk and laugh through the written word. They became intimate in those private message boxes known as whispers developing relationships that people outside the kingdom did not understand. They made friends and met lovers and some found their soulmates. Mothers began to fear their sons would be taken in and led down a road of debauchery by viperous women; feared their daughters would be violated by dirty old men and come away from the glowing terminals no longer chaste and virginal. Those outside the kingdom felt sure the Internet was the evil work of Satan. In some cases this may have been true. For those who stepped into the box they found themselves surrounded by others just like themselves. They shared ideas and customs and adult conversation. They found a shoulder to cry on, a friend to lean on, an ear to hear their voice. Men and women who otherwise would never have had an opportunity began to meet and pair off. They became intimate. They learned each other inside first, the deep inner workings of mind and soul uninhibited by the physical world. Some took the giant step to crawl out of the little binary boxes and met in the physical world. This is the story of two of those people.

I have decided all the hoopla in the blogging world on who will and who won't, who did and who didn't get a book deal has become my inspiration today, my muse. I did not care about book deals. I have already published a lovely work and can look at my name on the spine of a beautifully covered hardback book of nonfiction relating to the South, The War Between The States, and 1500 men who became so dear to my heart it felt as if they were my children. So today I am beginning my second book without a book deal anywhere in the horizon and could care less if one ever comes. My readers can decide if it is classified as fiction or nonfiction and to which genre it falls in: romance, sci-fi, tech, horror, literature, erotica or dime store novella trash. Let's get the really hard stuff out of the way first. The front cover of the book will feature the title, my by line and an artfully taken photograph pointing into the sun where it is just able to be seen in the glare at the very bottom of the cover a pair of manicured bare feet on my red couch crossed at the ankles, the power cord to this old laptop, a sweating glass of iced tea or diet coke with lime, our snoring farting black dog sleeping nearby and a pack of Marlboro Menthol 100's tossed carelessly among the frey. For visual impact I may include my floral wedding bouquet with a psuedo MSN butterfly gracing one of the yellowing petals of white rose or stephanotis. The back cover will feature me and Red. We will be posers akin to Steven King. However I will be wearing black cateye framed sunglasses, a boldly printed scarf tossed over my hair and across my shoulder, my lips will be painted a vibrant red to match Red's paint job and I will hold a smoldering cigarette between my fingers with highly manicured nails the same shade as my lips and the cigarette will be stained from my lipstick in that tell-tale sign that someone actually puffed on it. The dedication will be to my husband of course: "The man who made it all possible." Because you know he DID marry me after he found me online and he provides me with cable internet! The man deserves it! Inside the posh and shiney dust jacket will read how I became a bride through MSN chat and all the things I learned before and after about men. It will be inciteful quips and blurbs about all things me: my car, my house, my husband, my children, the dog and the state of affairs of internet relationships and the impossible happily-ever-after of online dating and quickie marriages with a few examples of how cheaply frugal I can be. I will also toss in a few wildly made up, yet hotly erotic cyber sex senerios along with messenger conversations that may or may not have actually taken place followed up with digitally enhanced phone sex encouters. You know, to add spice and excitement. It may even have a little map with all the places I stopped for gas between Georgia and Virginia. My book tours will only take me to the places where I can meet my favorite online journalists so that I won't have to spend my own money for the transportation across this great nation and to places over seas. Those same journalists and I will sit together in some bookstore and those same journalists will autograph my book as the crowds line up adding spiffy little phrases telling my readers they should have read the free version online. We will then go have a drink or coffee and eat fattening foods, laughing loudly and making catty remarks about bloggers who do not appeal to us. If we are lucky we will be asked to leave and this will only feed our laughter as we saunter out into the night and into the bar or restaurant next door. How does that sound? Are you hooked? Now, my favorite online journalists, which of you is willing to be the stand in foot model? I have a thing about feet and do not want mine splashed on the front of a best selling runaway novel. Come on, ladies, I'll spring for the pedicure! Hoss, if the ladies won't do it, will you? I am sure a man of your stature would appreciate a foot massage and I won't let them paint your toenails pink or red, maybe bright orange or lime green, something electrifying. My next entry will be the Introduction. Stay tuned.