As I was putting together a computer from second hand parts, I found the old hard drive hadn't been erased.
This included the previous owners emails.
I felt conflicted about reading them.
But this passed quickly.
To my delight I discovered a correspondence between two people dating back to 1999.
They were truthful, touching and a little funny.
I became addicted and felt compelled to share it. Unedited.
Currently the uploading is on holidays. But Bored Olives will return 22nd April 2012. In the meantime you can read all the emails at http://boredolivesarchives.blogspot.com and subscribe to the next chapter at boredolives.com in the new year.
From: Oftenbark Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 6th, 1999 7:20 AM
Subject: RE Stacey here…
Dear Stacey, Oftenbark the Dog here. Sorry it’s been a few days. I don’t check my email that often. Actually this whole email thing is new to me.
Not that I’m blind to email correspondence. I’ve always been a little curious about Dom’s messages; but truth be told, I feel safer to engage with strangers from a distance.
Part of this is due to shyness.
The other part is about self preservation.
See once the men in white coats get a sniff of a literate and tech savvy canine; it’d be only a matter of hours before it’s electrodes on desexed testicles, and a dreadlocked red, blue and green wired science hat that reduces my complex and poetic thought patterns into simple and qualitative wavy lines. Ingrates.
See, I am not a freak, Stacey. And will not put myself out there to public scrutiny.
I will not do interviews.
I will not be experimented on.
I will not be reduced.
I will not be a chapter in a book no one ever reads.
So with this in mind, please keep our correspondence a secret. Besides who will believe you if you confess to having a written relationship with a dog, anyway!?
Now to answer your question about Elsa – ‘do I like her?’
This is a hard question to answer as Dom likes her. I think he likes her a lot. I surmise this because I hear them kissing and talking all the time; not much laughter though – I think that’s odd as Dom is quite funny.
Anyway and besides that, for this reason, I like her too.
She’s sweet.
But--
But—-
There’s always a ‘but’ right. Well—-
But there’s a part of that doesn’t like her at all.
There I’ve said it.
Wrote it.
Said it. You know what I mean.
See, part of me thinks that Dom deserves so much better than Elsa.
And it’s not dog envy. It’s true. I mean Elsa goes out all the time. She stays out late, gets drunk, doesn’t let Dom know where she is.
I mean, I know she’s always done this. She is a self proclaimed party-girl. But I sometimes see Dom fret, worry about her, groom me.
See Dom likes to brush me when he worries. It’s his tell and this would suit me fine normally. But when it’s 3:00 in the morning all I can offer is:
“Come on! I’m sleepy!”
Brush, brush, brush—
“Dom, this is pointless!”
Brush, brush, brush—
“Who’s going to see me at this hour?”
And when Elsa does finally arrive home; it’s usually via a lift from some strange guy with a smoky car and a shit mix tape.
Those nights, she also crashes quickly, so any attempt to discuss it is quashed with a speed-of-light nod on the couch, on my rug mind you too.
So sensibly and without any other choice, Dom brings it up the next day.
But again Elsa shuts him down – accusing him of being controlling - which he is – I mean dog collar, sit, beg, paw, stand, etc - but this isn’t controlling. Elsa is wrong, here.
She is deflecting. Cleverly, for it makes Dom feel like it’s his behaviour that needs addressing. Not her stay-out-all-night get-blind-drunk flirt-with-everyone smell-like Aramis-and-tap-beer and attempt to get the world-record-for Friday-night-front-seat-stranger-shagging
And to be honest, I’m a little surprised she’s even getting any attention. See one of the things that really irks me aboiut Elsa is (and I hate to say this) but Elsa is a little plain.
Not in the looks department; as all people seem plain to me. No Elsa seems plain in her (what us dogs call) energy.
I know that sounds intangible to you. But from a dog point of view, energy is one of our most instinctive and prioritised senses.
We just get the essence of people quickly.
Okay maybe I’m being a little cruel. Elsa can be fun. She does play catch and she does scratch my neck.
But sometimes, usually when the day is coming to an end, and she is heading out, I sit in my basket and stare at her; trying to work her out.
I smell her. She smells like paper. I listen to her and she sounds like a slightly out-of-tune hum. And on the odd occasion I lick her, she tastes like unsalted butter.
You on the other hand have a special energy. And not that it’s possible, but in a perfect world, one where dogs can be Kings, I would nudge you in Dom’s direction.
Not that you were asking of course. But in case you’re having a bad day, I thought I’d mention it.
And please don’t tell Dom. I’m certain he’d give me away to the ‘farm in the country’ if he knew.
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Monday, July 2nd, 1999 21:01 PM
Subject: RE RE Just for you
Dear Oftenbark
…here’s who I was thinking of in the small hours of Saturday morning when Marcus was trying to be passionate…
It was around four in the morning…lovely and quiet…usually my time actually…but for this moment I was sharing it with him…
we were in bed…and he was going through the usual warm up routine…
I know it’s only been a short romance so far…but I’m already familiar with the gently nudging of the neck as a starting line for a what is fast becoming a shagging marathon in high altitude…
As the miles passed…I found myself drifting…I thought of this guy I met when I was in high school…we only kissed…but it was so unbelievably hot…
We met as a blind date would you believe…set up by my cousin for his sixteenth birthday party…it was a Saturday… quite warm…the guests where all wearing small amounts of clothing…her pool had the proper phd, the garden was clad in outdoor Chinese lanterns…
…and the punch was spiked…
I arrived a little late…had an argument with my Mother about curfew…she’d then refused to drive me…so I caught public transport…time wasting…got to the shin dig an hour over…
Upon arriving…I bailed up my cousin… I gave her the family cuckoo gift…a funky hat she’d had her eye on…
She was happy and already merry from the punch…she kissed me…her breath was hot, sweet and rendered with Bacardi…she then, without any shame dragged me to my blind date…his name was Paul…
My cousin slurred an introduction…
Stacey – Paul
Paul – Stacey
‘Remember this moment, guys as I’m so going to talk about this at your wedding…’
My cousin then gave a well timed comic hiccup and staggered away.
And we were alone...silence...dread…what do we say…? We don’t know each other…we’re both single, sure… but…do we smell right to each other…?
Fortunately he was cute…classic looking…indeed a little retro…sun bleached hair…nice shaped eyes, red splashed cheeks with just the right amount of freckles…his teeth were not too perfect…not too cubist… just the right side of artistically off…
And I think he didn’t mind my look either…I did look kinda cute in a mid nineties way…cute clip in my hair…shorter then…and stained dark…fake glasses to make me look smart...what an idiot...
Anyway…after a few pleasant information sharing sentences…we both decided to brush of the resume and talk truly…we moved under the steps leading up to my Cousin’s high set house…we both had a glass of the spiked punch and were perched on two hewn besser blocks…after a breath, Paul confessed that this was his first blind date and that he was relieved I wasn’t blind at all…
Now I know this is a little lame…but I was younger…less defined…and prone to polite laughter…so I did just that…
…but then he truly surprised me…he admitted that his last statement was foolish…indeed he called it an ‘uncle’ statement…meaning those groaning piths that any chuckle-addicted Uncle utters at large family get togethers…
…and this time I really laughed…and before I knew it the night was fast nearing an end…we’d spoken for hours…not sure what about…it was cooler and most guests were getting picked up…and it was clear the night was over…
He lived quite close by and was walking home…I was staying…
And soon we’d say goodnight…
In those last few minutes it was awkward…are we going to kiss? I really wanted him to kiss me…I really wanted a passionate moment…I was a little punchy…but I was also flushed…and impatient…
…so I kissed him…
And we kissed for ages…until it hurt…until our people had sent out scouts to see if we were safe…and even though they called our names…we kept kissing and kissing and kissing…
Changing positions but never breaking contact…no one leading…just kissing…
It was so wonderful…
After our time…we slowly separated…we looked at each other…eyes now open and adjusting to whatever light was left under the stairway to my Cousin’s front door…
We didn’t say anything …we just looked…and he walked away…home…
I never saw him again…didn’t want too…the moment was so special, the last thing I wanted was to truly discover him and have it tarnished…it was a great moment…just that…a great moment…
It was at this point in my life, I started formulating my existential viewpoint… why have expectation…why have judgment…why have prejudice to cloud the perfect moment…
And I deeply tried to never think of it again until Marcus was on top of me …
I so needed something to keep me from crying…and when I though of Paul…that’s when I thought of the night we shared…the long kiss… the short goodbye…and it was so damn sexy…
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Sunday July 1st, 1999 11:29 PM
Subject: RE Just for you
Stacey, that is so full on. I admit after Friday night, I went home and watched Rage too. I quite like Prince. But I couldn’t get into it. I was thinking of you and hoping everything was okay.
I mean, you’re so bloody strong and you’ll survive but if it ever gets too hard you can always come over for a nice cup of tea.
Wanna have a cup of tea?
I don’t know if this helps, but men are stupid.
Now, I should frame this with a gentle reminder that I am a self hating man.
But men are still stupid.
I mean to give you a present from an ex girlfriend?
What was he thinking!!?
Is he nuts?
It seems he wants to punish you for getting attention, I reckon.
Don’t let him peck at you, Stace’. (And allusion to Maya Angelou – don’t let them peck you to death with their small comments and actions etc)
And embrace this new day. Let him snore and have some toast.
And it’s raining today.
You love the rain, don’t you?
I love the rain.
I love the rain because it allows me to stay inside without having to exhaust all with excuses.
I love the rain because when it hits my windows it makes the glass look like its sweating.
I love the rain because it washes away my guilt about watching morning televsion and afternoon movies.
I love the rain because it brings a grey sheen of gauze over the world making people look like Lowrey stickmen.
I love the rain because I think my hair looks better when it’s wet.
I love the rain because you do too.
So with the snoring, toast and rain how can it this day not be better?
But in case none of the above rambling works; I ask again: Wanna have a cup of tea?
Okay - hey - how’s this to entice you further:
Elsa has bought these lovely Danishes (named Hans and Lars) from the Bakery. They have none of that Hamlet madness and simply just want to be eaten.
I should warn you though, they are a little sad and I don’t quite get their humour but to compensate, they have nice apple and custard fillings. That’s a plus.
Okay what I just written was stupid. But as you can tell I’m trying very hard to make you smile. Failing, I’m sure.
Anyway, I’ll give you a ring and see if you’re home.
Dom.
PS Oftenbark read your email and wisely said; “What a dick.”
PPS I’d never say that of course.
PPPS I hope you don’t mind my dog reading your email. I know you said it was for my eyes only, but Oftenbark takes any opportunity to jump online and read my emails. He tells me he only does it to keep me honest. Personally I think he’s preparing a file to use against me when the Rapture comes.
PPPPS And I know I shouldn’t ask this question but who were you thinking about when you were with Marcus last night. I know it’s personal – but Oftenbark made me ask.
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Saturday, June 30th, 1999 14:26 PM
Subject: Just for you
Dom…okay you’ve read the diplomatic global email sent to everyone now here’s the truth…
For your eyes only…
…it was a fucking nightmare…Marcus pulled this guilt trip on me as soon as I got home…
...he said, I should have left with him...
...he said he felt embarrassed that I stayed on
...he said he hated knowing I was having fun…
...he said that I probably had more fun without him being there…
I think he just has an issue with birthdays…
he hates his own…he says he feels individual attention is selfish…
it’s his so-called faux socialism coming out…
personally, I think he gets embarrassed that everyone is looking at him…giving gifts when the world is so fucked up…it’s a priorities thing…he places his priorities on aid over personal celebration…
he says he feels hypocritical eating fine food, laughing at regifted presents and drinking mid range wine when there’s such inequity of wealth in the world…
And then he gets all self defeated…he admits that it’s hard to have fun when you have a world perspective…he tries to turn it off but he can’t…it’s who he is…and at time he hates himself for it…he hates that he can never have fun…
And in these moments I get it...with both barrels…
I get the Karl Marx barrel…
And I get the Susan B Anthony barrel…
Anyway, back to last night…I came home at about three AM…
I thought he’d be asleep…but he wasn’t…he was watching...what’s it called...the late night music clip show... this is driving me crazy...I’m going to have to look it up... (man, having senior moments already)
Rage…
It’s called Rage...how could I forget... anyway they were playing a whole bunch of Prince clips on Rage…and I think he was torn between feeling angry, assaulted and sexy…
…he then turned on me…
he accused me of not caring about his beliefs…
I…as you know…was a little in my cups...so I fought back…
I said he didn’t care about my beliefs…he was dominating the tenets...it was all about him…I had a strong belief system too…and all that we talked about was his opinion…
I said it was ironic that for a man who believed in the shared wealth…there was no sharing within his own personal interactions…that he wasn’t a socialist at all…he was a middle class soft intellectual trying to find meaning in other people’s misery…and this is unforgivable…this is using a true doctrine as a deficit of true character…
AND I DON’T SUBSCRIBE TO DOCTRINES!!!
He looked at me…muted Raspberry Beret on the television…and asked if I subscribed to him…
I lost it…it was my birthday and for one moment…just in that moment…couldn’t he subscribe to me…? Other’s did…they all did…
I threw the regifted presents at him:
LOOK! I said…
I got this ugly porcelain dog…
I got this jigsaw puzzle of the twelve apostles…
I got this out-of-date bottle of Mustard Pickle from someone’s road trip…
I got this moth eaten toy gorilla that dances to the Macarena when you press its chest…
I got this little book of pithy one liners that isn’t funny…
I got this ‘Sea monkey’s on Mars’ globe from the National Geographic shop
...and I got this ‘days of the week’ set of underpants…
but what did I get from you? I got nothing…you didn’t get me anything…
He sat back in his chair at this point and grumbled that he told me he wasn’t getting me anything on my birthday…birthday’s are awkward and imposed…he told me I knew he was going to get me something the following day…I knew that, he stressed…
…he then stood and walked into his bedroom…
I thought for a second…here he goes…into bed…avoid it all…avoid me…read his book and trick himself into not feeling by feeling about the world instead…
But he didn’t…he came back out with this wrapped box…he told me it was late now…tomorrow even…and he was going to give me my present…as promised…
Okay…I didn’t see that one coming…I have to admit…I wasn’t out of my rage yet…he had muted rage on the television and he was trying to mute the rage in me…
I took a breath and opened the box…inside was a book called Pencil Letter by a Russian poet named Irina Ratushinskaya…she wrote them while in prison in 1982 for anti soviet agitation and propaganda…
Marcus had been given the book by an ex girlfriend and now he was giving it to me…
She was dead… he said
The Poet? I asked
The Girlfriend he said
Dead-dead!? I asked, stressing the second word
No, just dead in my heart, he said.
He then said…it was me, now…only me… he then opened the book and read me his favourite poem…
“The day died like a dog and won’t come back,
So let’s arrange a funeral feast
There will be many more days just as black
I know. The further east
You go, the worse it gets
(That’s the usual fate of pioneers)
Then we went to the bedroom and fucked…but I had revenge…I wasn’t in the moment with him…I was absent…I was breaking my rules again and thinking of someone else…someone from another time…and he never knew because he presumed I was faithful…but he was wrong…he was so wrong…
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Crisps, Fryman, Wilma Petranoff, Lou, Sus’, David M, David A, Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Saturday, June 30th, 1999 14:04 PM
Subject: What a night
Hi All…
...thanks so much for last night…it was a hoot…
Marcus feels a little guilty for getting a little aggressive at the waiter…and thank you Dom for stepping in and making sure that he didn’t spit in our food…
Indeed Marcus wanted to say to all of you that he was off his game last night…works been tough and he admits he brought this baggage to the night…so he’s sorry he left early but knows that he’ll see you all soon…
Love
Stacey (now 20 and already planning what retirement home she’ll book into –should I trust one that has the word ‘Pasture’ in the name?)
PS Cath, I think my tits are nicer than yours.
PPS Dom, okay I believe you that your ‘days of the week’ underpants gift is second hand and fresh…I will endeavour to keep them…wear them even…indeed I might wear Monday’s undies on Sunday just to keep Sunday’s clean at all times...
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Wilma Petranoff, Fryman, Lou, Sus’, David M, David A, Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Friday, June 29th, 1999 13: 42PM
Subject: RE RE RE Friday night dinner
Hey Stacey and everyone, Elsa and I will be there.
I’m really looking forward to meeting you. (Except you, Crisps. I never look forward to seeing you. I see too much of you already :))
Please be nice to us. We are the new people.
We are kind. We like food. We’ve been bred in captivity. We don’t bite. You can take flash photos of us if you like. If you’re wearing protective gear, you can pat us. We come with our own wine and sheets of newspaper for private business.
We are allergic to peanuts, omnivores, easy to care for, can be amusing; don’t smell too much, endangered and quite fond of Stacey.
Though a word of warning; we will probably be quiet for the first course.
This is not a sign of aggression. It is a sign of shyness.
As an ice breaker; can I suggest you ask Elsa (who is a dancer) how flexible she is? She might even show you. You’ll be impressed.
By the main course, things will have changed, I promise. With the incentive of food and an eager audience of strangers we will both be performing like Sea-Park professionals.
Watch as we dance on our tails, fly through hoops and swim in formation to gain your attention. We will also gladly eat out of your hand for affection at this stage.
Though as the main course and second bottle of wine finishes, I should warn you that I’ll probably be making too much noise.
You might think it’s a mating call. But it’s just nervous chatter. I promise. I apologise in advance.
By desert all will be fine.
I’m sure Elsa will be happy to pose for photos and I hope I haven’t flashed my tits as an attempt to mirror the alphas in the group.
By the end of the night, I am certain we will be free of our cage and dancing with the public.
At this point I am certain it will be safe to hold us. You might even want to take us home.
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