Warning! FanStory Reviewer, please note that this chapter contains discussion of both writing and writing sites, which has resulted in poorly rated and harshly worded reviews because it was felt I was talking about them or the site. At one point I was a member of five writing sites and chose FanStory because it is one of the better one's and suits my needs the most. Any feelings that I am talking about a member here should be considered a coincidence.



By the time I made it home from the poetry convention, I realized just how much the desire to write poetry had sunken in. Not as a pursuit, but more as more as a way to bide my time through the harsh circumstances I was forced to wade though. I also just wanted to see what I could do with it.

When I made it back to work, I found it interesting that everyone wanted to know what happened and got a laugh with the humorous stories and experiences I relayed. Donald caught me and asked, "How did the convention go?"

"Oh man, it was great! I think I am sticking with poetry for a while!" Then I realized the Boss Man was around and he absolutely turned red and cringed, and became angrier with every story. The irony was when the other bosses asked me, the Boss Man was always around. Of course since I knew he was sensitive about this, I stopped discussing it... Not! I saw it as a way to get in my digs and a little payback for going back on the agreement to cover the medical.

I also learned the value of possessing a digital camera, as I had my photographs at the ready. With people wanting to see them it seemed to stop the usual cynicism people had with verbal descriptions; but then something unexpected happened. I showed the pictures to Steve, as I joked, my soon to be divorced brother in law; when I got to the dinner and they saw me sitting with the Convention Woman, he yelled out, "Oh my God, Mike! Your dinner date is a movie star!"

"What?"

"You dined with a movie star!"

"Who? What's her name?"

"I don't know, but I saw her in a movie or two. You scored big!"

He pulled my leg so many times, I really didn't believe him. When I went to Pavins, Miss Benna now was also a big moral supporter of my poetry wanted to see the pictures too. Same thing, " I think you had dinner with a movie star."

Since it happened twice with the same picture, I knew it wasn't anyone's idea of a joke. "Who is she?"

"You don't know? She didn't tell you?" Miss Benna then busted out laughing.

"That's my life."

"All I know is that I saw her in a movie, but don't remember the movie or who she is." I was happy that Miss Benna was glad for me and always loved her quiet support.

I was going to prove everyone wrong, so that night I went online and discovered the Internet Movie Data Base (IMDb). I typed in her name expecting to be informed, "No Matches Found," but instead was greeted with two listings under that name, but no photographs.

I spoke to the computer screen, "Well, Mike. Take your pick; the actress or the Playboy bunny..." I checked out the movies that were listed and indeed she appeared to be in the stills, and see also got credit for writing a couple of movies with the same producer, as well an advisor for a whale of a documentary.

I wondered if indeed I also enjoyed the temporary company of a Playboy bunny who took interest in me and I busted out with laughter at the irony of it all. A Playboy bunny having dinner with me, if she only knew the loser that I was... Then I got a twinge as it dawned on me, Hey dummy ... That might be the reason that she did have dinner with you. I also didn't like to notion of having dinner with one of Hugh's sloppy seconds.


Back thinking about poetry, I only planned on two or three contributions a week, and to make most of my money in virtual form by reviewing other members works; five or ten a day so some of the funds I could sock away. But then something funny was happening, people at the site were indicating that they had something over me, or they knew me, but I won't figure out who they are.

It took all of about two days before I had my suspicions; it had something to do with the poetry convention and quite possibly, The Convention Woman as I started thinking about her and wondered about the website for her son she maintained.

I did the best I could and took the only action believed would yield results, acting dumb. I did so in many ways including denying the possibility they knew me and putting a little flourish that they will never know me, or not acknowledging them in the first place.

In the course of reviewing, there was another lady poet, I couldn't get a handle on at all because to me her poems made no sense what so ever, yet I checked out the reviews, and it seemed her other fans got her brand of poetry.

But to me, it not only had the quality of being totally intimidating for me to try to figure out, they didn't make any sense. That quality of intimidation was also personified by information, living in Canada who emigrated from Czechoslovakia and with a profile picture of her in a brazier demandingly holding her finger up in the air, next to a photograph of a pull can top that was popped.

Hell bent and determined, I was going to figure out this woman and hopefully her poetry as well, so now on my wall at work, I would post a poem and look at it throughout the day, and reflect on it. It was an abstract about table grapes with their musty patina.

My first observation was, Ok she described grapes, but that isn't a poem despite the form it's in. Maybe it means this, what she is experiencing with her mood? But it could also be this statement, or maybe it means this. Fuck that woman! I am going to tell her it means all of the above!

Late at night, I logged on and reviewed her poem with my thoughts of what it means, then sheepishly acted as a virgin would, "Does you poem mean all of the above?"

"Yes, my Mike K it does!"

Then she too put out the hint that she knows me, which blew my mind and I said to myself, "Fuck you all, I will figure out this thing too!" Exasperated, I put the photo of My Convention woman on the fridge and went to bed for the hour's sleep I deserved.

I woke up, and the photograph of the convention woman became my clarion call and poetic inspiration. I had not only learned the definition of the double entendre', but its meaning and the fact it can not only be applied to poetry, but people themselves.

This changed my writing ways of poetry to convey my experiences with meaning that other people could comprehend and appreciate, or at least stick with it long enough to ponder. To me, I found the real importance of poetry isn't getting published, but in having a line or two to become an inspiration to guide another's life.

I applied this in my everyday life and in fact started getting a local fan base, and started to glean people's commonality though very often their experiences and life were completely different. In an occult sense, human nature and desires operate on many parallel planes of commonality and even what's available in a variety of cultures is adapted to suit this need.

I was posting at least a poem a day, reviewing like crazy and also chucking some of my money in as well. That I had to be careful with doing that because I was using up the tax money since what I took home pay wise wasn't paying the bills; much less allowing me to catch up.

The conditions at work were less than happy as there was an unintended consequence of them going back on their word in covering my separated medical coverage; it convinced the other workers that when it comes to money, the owners only cared about themselves and family employees. This was bolstered with the treatment the employees were receiving.

They also resented the attitude the Boss Man had with me and felt it affront to my twenty-three years there, most notable was how I was being treated as if I started working there as either the Boss Man did for personal reasons, or Mike for matter of habit.

If I picked anything up and worked with it, I was lectured and told how to do it. Never mind you if I did it that way the next day, it would be wrong. While this frustrated many employees, it wore hard on Vic as well because both of us were used to being told what to do, and just doing it in a timely fashion without interference.

Robin's sister also expressed some dissatisfaction about The Convention Woman and the member I had become friends with, citing caution about people I really didn't know. I asked, "Well what about Robin, I did know her?"

I finally found out that she was in a relationship, but to her, she felt Robin wasn't happy with it because she treated him pretty bad and argued with him. She also told me while I held Robin in the ideal, she may end up far from that had I spent time with her.

I said, "Well the only thing I wanted from Robin was a simple, basic friendship to start with, because if that isn't there, there isn't any reason to go any further." What the poetry had added back into my life was both a sense of self-worth and once again, adventure.

So to speak, I liked my little world of poetry; it not only made me get through a day's work with more satisfaction and sense of self, but also despite my ever declining fall of my wealth and quality of life, poetry was supplying for me what only wealth is to provide. That thought actually made me feel sorry for the bosses, because while they have their materialistic needs met as well their families, they way the interacted with the employees was vastly different than it used to be, or should be for that matter.

Yet, with My Favorite Member I had someone to interact with and time to enjoy. I studied her poems and the fact that she was a painter, which showed me that paper is just as much a canvas with words as pigments. Figuring this out was much like going back to Double Rock Park and being that child explorer I loved to be.

Locally, I also had a fan base brewing and it came from the most unlikely of people, and actually made many friends from it; people at work also took an interest and I really improved my ability to relate my experiences and views to others. Some people insisted I keep them up to date with my latest poem and something unexpected were black people signing on to this, and my only guess was there was a story telling aspect to this which they enjoyed.

One black lady was a toothless elderly woman, who obviously had her health problems and despite the rumors that drugs were being sold from there, wanted to know about the convention and when shown The Convention Woman and myself, said, "There, I think that is the reason you were really supposed to be at that convention." It was a shock to me, as I didn't tell her the story about finding all of the feathers, with my thoughts about dining alone.

There was another development regarding My Convention Woman as I had our photograph on the refrigerator and Rita, now my separated wife was dropping off Jimmy to spend the weekend with me. "Who's that on the refrigerator with you, a new girlfriend?"

"No just someone I spent some time with at the convention banquet."

Rita looked more closely, and said, "I think I know her. I saw her on TV and she's a romance novelist and she lives in Canada. Maybe she spent some time with you to make you a character in one of her romance novels. Just think, you might become a lover." I loved that inference!

Well that did it! First for Rita as within another minute of her talking I told her to get out; and for My Convention Woman and My Favorite Member which now made me more suspicious than ever. Yet I thought I'd have a little fun with My Favorite Member and mentioned the Convention Woman, with the romance writing aspect and couldn't help but bring up the Romancing the Stone element of the mudslide.

I wasn't prepared for the most angry of responses from My Favorite Member, yet there was an element of playfulness in the next poem, which despite the double entendre' nature translated to, "You couldn't handle me." Then I got another angry response when I replied and let slip the fact that I had one girl who passed out kissing and two on the corner of the bed crying, wondering what they were doing wrong.

Still I was learning a lot about poetry and it was using my photography skills to convert an artist's eye into a writer's one. I was spending more money posting higher and reviewing more, so while I had My Favorite Member, I was not only becoming fans of other members, they were freely signing on to me.

It was wonderful to finally find a spot in a society, even if only a virtual one and while I couldn't accept things at face value, I did know that I had a fans from Maryland, many more from the United States as well, a well one or two from other countries.

I also credited My Favorite Member, who not only earned my respect, but also my admiration and appreciation. To pay tribute, I wrote a love poem and dedicated it to her and she said she was so touched, she cried as it was the first time anyone wrote a poem for her. The next day, I found one dedicated to me.

I wrote another in response and she poetically, absolutely panicked with another poem in response basically stating that she wasn't the person I was thinking of. I felt I was a bit too intense so I backed off and then found a poem basically saying that she was. I now had inklings I was back in elementary school chasing after my first love. I couldn't determine which was worse, totally frustrated with a girl so shy, she was panicked and could only put me off, or one who's only form of communication was poetry.

But for me, it was a wonderful way to explore myself and my convictions through poetry and penned this strange relationship in the form of a poem about paper dolls, where as I felt were two people dressing the other to their image. So she wrote one about herself being crumbled up, ripped and in the trash can, and I responded with, "While that may be the case, I snuck in and ripped out your crumpled heart and pasted in a new one."

That exchange was brought about because I suggested that we get together and coauthor a book of love poetry, which I felt would be a progression of a good relationship, and that was her way of telling me to forget it, yet on other fronts our mutual admiration and respect worked well; as long as I could figure out what the wall of limits were. Something not easy as her mood seemed to figure heavily into this.

Then I got a somewhat bizarre call, seeking to do a survey. I thought I recognized the voice so I tried to play on, but after a bit of a distressed tone I told this survey is only for my wife. When I stated that she is not there, the lady on the phone wanted to schedule the survey for a specific time when she would be home.

I said, "She won't be home because we are separated pending a divorce, but I would gladly answer the survey questions for you."

"I'm sorry those questions are only for the woman of the house."

I hope she heard me comment; "Hey, that's discrimination!" before she hung up and ended the call. It wasn't a normal type of number for a survey call so I checked the area code and found out it was placed from a Canadian number, but I wasn't able to get an address though I thought it was rerouted from another number to begin with.

Not long after that, I received a review from My Favorite Member that suddenly stated, "By the way my name is [ ]." At 3:00am I typed it into the search engine of the web and within ten seconds had personal information and a note it was a private number, so I signed on to a sleuth site and for a free taste of snooping, revealed everything I wanted to know, and she actually had a Houston, Texas address... Go figure?

-
I learned of sleuthing sites from Dave as he somewhat scared me when he asked me the question on time, "Who's this Kathy you dated?"

"I never dated any Kathy?"

"You had to; she filed domestic abuse charges against you."

"I'm telling you I never dated a Kathy, though I wanted to go out with a couple of them in high school, but I didn't even ask them out."

He pulled out a slip and showed me her full name and it was Rita's sister, who I remembered telling me this. So I could explain it to him. It bothered me that my name was entered into a court record along with charges, I never knew existed or disputed with due process. I could fail to get a job because of that.

But snooping is the modern day reality, and with a click of a button or two, people know all about you. Something I understood as the ex-naval intelligence officer explained reality to me in 1979. If people want to get something on you, don't worry about it, they can if they want the information bad enough.
-

I expressed to my favorite member how honored I was and headed off to work. Either Vic or I was running late and I was walking to work, I also had the worst thought in the world, Oh boy, My Favorite Member is going to be angry that she gave me her real name and there's going to be hell to pay!

Sure enough I got home, went on line and posted my latest poem and the reviews started coming in immediate and scathing; though done by five separate members it was akin to receiving a broadside from a ships of the line. I immediately started defending my work to all five and I just got more bombarded.

I didn't go for My Favorite Member who was very active as well, but put my shot in another member's ship, a male on that I also suspected of being her, "You know this is bull shit, you're only made at me because you gave me your real name. Well that's your fault so don't punish me!"

All of the sudden, both the site and reviews instantly turned into hugs and kisses, poking fun at me because I was acting like a fool, which I also used to have a lot of fun with. It also indicated to me that some of my suspicions after the convention, and why I might have received a free pass for a guest to attend the convention were well founded.

Now up on my refrigerator were My Convention Woman and My Favorite Member, and I had taken to doing a photographic analysis using measurements and proportions. Because of the age difference I came to the conclusion if they weren't the same woman, then they certainly were related which explained why it seemed I was working one woman with two distinct personalities.

Writing to her was interesting as I often wrote to her as if she was one person, but on the other hand I also wrote as if she were either two people or employees in a company. Late one night, I hinted that I knew who she was and why she said she was a puzzle there.

Over a period of about thirty minutes the writing back and forth translated to.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"Maybe, I don't have it figured out."

"Oh, come on!"

"I am on the verge!"

"Yes, yes, yes!" I did wonder if I was giving her a wet spot.

I finally stated, "You life is a [puzzle] here because you are [the site]."

In less than five seconds, a poem was posted by her thanking all of her fans! I knew I cracked the code and chances are that My Favorite Member could also be My Convention Woman. When I pried at this, I received an angry response, via review or poem. Dave warned me that I may have it figured out, as his father was a Baltimore city cop who transferred that sense to him. "But if she finds out, she may become turned off or bored and end the whole affair on me."

I would say the bonds that I had with My Favorite Member was affectionate, but very limited. We did exchange Email addresses and she sent me some wonderful attachments such as videos of paragliding, the gypsies of the old country, and numerous others, as well a photograph of her showing her to be older and with a cane. Two things earned my suspicions; her email address was not with a major Email company but they type that anyone can sign on as anyanybody, and the fact that I was duped by My Convention Woman.

What frustrated me was the fact personal attached Emails didn't appear to be a two- way street, as I passed on the ones that other people sent me, but she seemed to rebuff them. It seemed she could send me risqu© one's, but took offense with any of mine that had the same type of nature.

Still she had her fun with me as she wrote a poem that she was sitting at the table, drinking her coffee and admiring her new sketch she had just done. I wrote commentary and critiqued her poem, then added, "You make me wish I was there having coffee with you so I could admire the sketch beside you."

He reply was, "Ha, ha, my Mike K! You don't have to it's you!"

"Ha, ha, you're very funny today!"

I went to review another suspected member's poem, clicked on a new one that arrived in the messaging system and was looking at a sketch of myself, in a squatting type of pose completely naked... In perfect detail including my toes, hair line, goatee, and even with the customary ink stains from printing on my fingers in perfect detail.

How in the hell could she be so accurate, I don't even have a camera on my computer and if it is My Convention Woman, I was never that naked! Then I remembered being at the pool in a very similar position, struggling to put the socks on my feet after my workout. That was the exact moment my sniper vision went off, and though I looked around and didn't see anything, it had to have been her. The poem was passionately hot as well.

I commented about the poem to My Favorite Member, and her reply was, "That son of a bitch stole it and used it for his own work!" She threatened war with him, and between the two, or maybe the same person, they both tried to sucker me in and I responded poetically with a photograph of a cut hangman's noose with the statement that I won't participate in the fun those two brewed up. "Nope, I won't do it!"

However I decided to have a little fun of my own, I wrote everything that happened to me with My Convention Woman and at the site, as if it was happening to me on my way to work every morning. That poem received absolutely no response until the last day it was posted, then the statement, "That's funny, I know a woman like who has twenty-four distinct personalities."

I had a feeling that wasn't the case, as I felt that both My Convention Woman and My Favorite Member were crazy as hell, but like foxes. It crossed my mind this was site speak telling me how many members there she actually was. Things suddenly made sense, as the site operator she never had to be a bad ass, since the members seemed more than willing to be self policing.

Next thing you know, a word seemed to be added to the reviews, "Sir." If one of my poems was a bit saucy, then I would get a, "Sir," as a rebuke; or as a gentle chide, or a sign of respect if I wrote a touching poem. I also took this as a sign to become their fan and made several more relationships though this.



My money through taxes was being used up to cover the bills at an alarming rate because I had to pay for both the profit sharing loan and the medical coverage. But with the profit sharing loan soon to end, relief was in sight and it wasn't anything I couldn't catch up with.

Finally that day arrived the profit sharing lone was removed as a payroll deduction, but I found out that I was now paying the entire medical insurance plan for me and my separated family. It had more taken out of my salary then every before, even less now to pay the bills with.

I immediately went upstairs and The Boss Man and Donald were once again together and explained to me, they warned me this was coming and did me a big favor by not charging me the full price of the insurance along with the profit sharing loan. Personally I felt they enjoyed this meeting way too much.

A couple days later, I approached Donald separately and he repeated I had to have be pay it because I was bankrupting the company; something I couldn't accept as I had a sense over the years of the money that came in, what the bills were, as well as the salaries people received.

I accepted my fate as not being a family member, but with being lied to about financial matters repeatedly, told Donald point blank, I couldn't accept what he said and quite honestly considered it bull shit. He stated, "Bull shit? What makes you think that?"

"Donald, when I agreed to cover Rita's and the kids medical coverage, I had The Bossman's promise that Advance would continue to cover it until the divorce. No doubt there was a problem with me, but it wasn't a financial one. It was about Robin's Poem, and the fact that The Boss Man was pissed off about it and wanted to get me back for reading it in Las Vegas.

"What makes you say that?"

"As soon as he found out about it, he was shaking the health insurance in my face, and I told him I would fight that as it was discrimination compared to what has happened to other employees in the company. He made my life hell and was bullying me, and I guess he found the excuse he needed to go back on his word."

"Look, when I signed that agreement I knew it would be a sacrifice in a half for me, but I couldn't have anticipated the cost of everything going up to the extent it has. With the company going back on its word, it is financially destroying me."

While I detected some facial acknowledgement with my statements in reference to The Boss Man and his motives, I was utterly shocked to hear, "Well... I don't care this is the way it is going to be."

I don't care, was like being hit with grape shot and while it seemed to be the case that things at the shop had changed and it sure felt that way, to hear it said led me to believe they really don't care about us anymore and for them, it was all about the money. No longer the way it once was in the old days as it didn't matter if it was an unspoken subtlety or in my face, "I don't care," had to be the new truth. The only other person who told me, "I don't care," to my face was Rita.



With my mother's death, I should have figured the bureaucratic nightmare wouldn't be over. Once I reported her death to the court, I received a document for me to fill out of over 60 eye popping pages in order to close out her case and end the guardianship. Just the thought of filling all that out made me sick.

Before I could finalize the paper work, I needed proof the funeral home had closed out her pre-need funeral account, but that was anything but timely. The preneed funeral account was held as a Certificate of Deposit at Rosedale Federal Savings and Loan, which was also who my mortgage was through.

Rosedale Federal was a small bank and indispensible with both Mom's CD and my mortgage as partway through the marriage I was in arrears. It was wonderful to go to the bank on a yearly basis and get the year's final amount on Mom's pre-need funeral account, something the funeral home wouldn't help me with, as all they wanted was my signature to renew the CD.

I did have thoughts before Mom died, about moving Mom's preneed funeral account from Miller-Dipple transfered to another funeral home, but didn't because I was afraid it would simply create another time consuming nightmare. My father made my mother's pre-funeral arrangements, when it was originally the Dipple Funeral Home. They merged with the Miller Funeral Home and moved to their location just up Belair Road.

I sort of laughed as they became part of the Dignity Memorial Network, yet it seemed that there wasn't dignity for the survivor of my mom. I expected the funeral home to wait until the quarter was up in order to pay themselves for Mom's funeral bill, to get the last bit of interest. But I received no notice or confirmation from the funeral home, except they will send me the final notice when they do so. Luckily Rosedale Federal periodically checked for me to confirm the CD was still in their bank.

Throughout this time, I received periodic reminders from the court to file the paperwork and a call to the judge's chambers usually sufficed let them know I was waiting on things. Finally just after the third quarter interest was paid, I received notice that the funeral home had closed out Mom's pre-need CD, and their final bill.

Just one problem, the bill was over $4,000.00 less than the value of the CD, which meant that since I wasn't in possession of the money, I had a hell of a problem on my hands with the courts. It took an additional two months to track the money down, as the funeral home decided not to talk to me, except to say they did things right, but refused to discuss what happened to the $4,000.00.

I was in a state of desperation, when I went to Rosedale Federal to account for that lost money, and was very thankful that they pulled Mom's records and assured me the funeral home had it and most likely should have sent it to me.

Now it was a third of a mile war path up Belair Road to the Miller-Dipple funeral home with all the documents I needed in hand and finally a red haired woman agreed to talk with me. I wanted to know point blank, "What happened to the 4,000 plus dollars? I need to know because I am being held accountable to the courts for this."

"Sir that was the interest on the CD and the agreement you signed...You're father (once corrected) signed, states we have the right to keep all the interest the account generates. You should feel lucky because we gave you $120.00 out of it."

"Lucky? You know damn well that is a reimbursement for the direct out of pocket expenses you insisted that we immediately pay." At least I got my answer, and the harsh education in relation to the pre-need funeral accounts that are set up by the funeral homes themselves and if Dad only knew.

This account was created 17 years prior and I didn't have or could find a copy of the funeral arrangement, but while such wording might be in the contract, Dad was under a different impression. "Mike, I know there will be enough money in Mom's funeral account to cover the cost of things, but I kept an eye on the prices and hopefully you and your sister should get any extra if this is any."

Dad handled things differently for himself, his fear was he was afraid Cindy and myself would go gaga for a funeral, so he purchased a $7,000.00 life insurance policy and told us, "That should cover the cost of the funeral as it is similarly priced to your mom's. I did it that way because if you go over that amount, you are fools and deserve to pay the rest."

With dad, we decided to honor his request and use Evans Funeral Chapel and simply plunked the insurance policy down and we planned the funeral arrangements for that amount of money. The funeral home did insist we sign the policy over to them which we did.

My sister Cindy, and I were surprised to receive the final bill and a check for $800.00 from Evans Funeral Chapel for what they didn't use. In my opinion, dignity had nothing to do with Miller-Dipple and whether they were right or wrong in keeping the money above the funeral expenses, they were greedy thieves in doing so and not even dignified with their handling of my enquiry.

Next was that mind boggling report to fill out for the courts, which I felt was ridiculous but had no idea on how to communicate to the courts my sentiments. I procrastinated, but that only lasted three days when the phone rang with phone call from the courts.

It was the judge's assistant, "Mr. Kohlman, the judge is interested in why you haven't filed your mother's final report and wants to know if she has resurrected herself?"

I could only laugh, "That is a good question, but no, my mother hasn't been resurrected; but I figured he would want to know what happened with a $4,000.00 discrepancy in her pre-need funeral account."

"Oh you bet he would, did you figure that one out?"

"I just figured that one out about three days ago and have an explanation. Hey, while I got the judge's ear, could I ask a question about the paper work?"

"Go ahead."

"I really feel the Final Fiduciary Report and disposition on the guardianship to be very long and excessive for my liking, and if it is possible, could I write my own report provided it contains all the information requested the court document demands?"

"Sure, send it in. If we don't like it, we will ask that you fill out the one we sent you. That buys you a little more time as well." I could have kissed that woman!

I stayed up the night between the shifts and worked in earnest on my report, which was only one page long. A couple of weeks later, I received the court order terminating the guardianship and a condemnation of the funeral home for keeping the excess account money as a custodian's fee. In fact, after using the little Social Security Supplemental money Mom had left, my sister and I split the cost of the dinner so mom went out with a financial deficit.




Yet there were two comforts that stepped into the fray to add some enjoyment to life; writing the poetry as it challenged me to work my best and then corresponding to the members that signed on as fans at the website and reviewing their poems. In terms of a society, it was a good one for me.

I not only developed a love for My Favorite Member, but also loved other member's poetry and became a fan of theirs. Many members I signed on to was also at the suggestion of My Favorite Member and for whatever reason, in their initial response to me decided to call me, "Sir." There also seemed to be an immediate intimacy with me which was something endearing to me because it was about nonexistent in my locale.

No matter how hard things were for me at work, or how bad the financial situation was this interaction seemed to touch me very deeply and for once in my life, felt I was part of a group that accepted me. While I speak of loving members I hadn't met before, it was sort of a spiritual love for me.

My favorite member started referring to me as her, "Knight," and it struck me so as I was willing to put myself into the dragon's breathy fire of her creation and mood. Psychologically I thought of her the opposite of a week, because during it she was like the weekend to me as with the site and her, I could relax and be myself.

There were still those times in dealing with her which meant being subjected to panic attacks, apprehension, cut downs, put downs and avoidance. This was frustrating enough, to cause me to halt things and avoid her, but then her and even try to take a vacation from the site; but then everything seemed to once again go on line with hugs and kisses. I did notice from time to time it did seem like the site was messing with me.

In one case, her usually crafty European language love poems that struck me suddenly shifted into something I downgraded and mentioned in the review, "This poem seems like one night stand poetry." Hell suddenly appeared on the entire site and again seemed like a passing ship offering up a good broadside with their cannon, and her anger was so venomously verbose, I point blank responded, "You're drunk!"

It was like the site turned the switch off, and the next time I went online, I received a message that expressed hurt over my statement and she had an attack of Parkinson's. She also asked how could I think to say something like that? Yet on the review, there was a, "Yes, I screwed up and slept with a fat bastard." That one didn't fit the build of a married woman who has Parkinson's.

But then she went off line for quite a while, and I grew gravely concerned. In fact there was chatter amongst her other fans and I enquired and it was mentioned that she was in the hospital. After a while she did manage to sneak a poem on line stating that fact and I happened to catch her and she said the Parkinson's got worse and she had to be admitted. I wondered about the Parkinson's element, but it did strike me she was in the hospital and it was serious.

After that, it seemed like other members of the site perked up, almost as if to take my mind off My Favorite Member and I signed on to a few more members, but in a month My Favorite Member was online once again and we took to chatting.

My routine was to work like hell at my employment, then to go home and immediately go online and either review other member's poetry for the bucks, or write and post my own. I was in an experimental phase to determine just how far one can go with various poetic elements incorporated into my own thoughts and works. Needless to say the plethora of members, their themes or poetic structures were lending of themselves for my use.

What I liked best about the site was in regards to political poetry, where most members there were liberals and while I was about opposite in agreement, the site though it's reviewing platform lent itself to a wonderful discourse, where you can descent about what was written, but not punish them with a rating they didn't deserve.

I then started to consider using poetry to cut through the realm of politics to be able to make my points without the political taint affecting the reader's conception of what you stated. This was groundbreaking to me as with straight writing, it would tend to garner more resentment then thought. It was worth a try and I started planning on how to best accomplish this, and I decided to wait until I had real ideas and ideals to convey. Poetry, to me became a recapturing of the adventures that I had as a kid, which I figured such experiences were lost. I loved the sensation of capturing my exploratory nature and at least altitude sickness wasn't a part.



It was Christmas time and it was my turn to experience, "A Christmas Carol." Unfortunately I was Bob Cratchit, and one of my haunts was The Boss Man putting a piece of paper in my hands with a name and a financial figure; the cost of his divorce, which was higher than the value of my house and his insistence that I fight her during the divorce tooth and nail.

It still didn't make any sense for me as she took what I was willing to give her and not fighting me for more, and I didn't have his assets to protect. I really felt that needlessly fighting over everything would just prolong the agony and financial drain and while I wasn't unfriendly to Rita, I generally kept conversations to three minutes and quick to tell her that I am not interested and to leave.

She only showed up from time to time, to pick up something she left at the house or to drop Jimmy off. Katie stopped by a couple of times to pick a thing or two up, but stopped when I told her, "Don't say, 'I love you Dad.', then ask for something, I no longer have anything to give."

I was very happy to have Jimmy in my life, and also unlike my fears I had for him about failing at Parkville Middle School, for Parkville High School he had buckled down and was doing quite well. I did feel with our fighting and distractions stopped, it made it easier on him, but he still reminded me that he lives with Mom.

About once a month we would get together and either go to the park, then to the movies behind it, or simply stay and watch movies at home or run around down the street at the elementary school.

My usual routine was to work like hell, come home and post a poem, and to review and check up on my friends at the site as I really cared for them. I was happy to find my nitch with them and also to finally be accepted by friends, especially My Favorite Member. It added substantially to my life and was a huge inspiration to me.

Though I was still getting very little rest, it was quality sleep and without constant distraction I was restive. Even the dog, Oliver and the cats, Morris and Musket provided me with a certain amount of love, but they also liked their routines. I was also happy the funky things were no longer going on at the house.

Except for one time Jimmy was over. He was on the couch with Oliver and I was in an easy chair beside it and we were watching a movie when all of a sudden, we heard choking noises coming from Oliver. He was hanging from his collar, suspended in mid air and just about off his hinds.

Jimmy's eyes got huge and he told me, "No we are not going to be having any of that going on." He undid the collar and Oliver flopped down and took off running. It struck me that the collar was still suspended in the air for a second or two before it too dropped. A bit shocked, I embarrassing stated, "Well I don't know what that was all about."

"Yes you do Dad. You know that your house is haunted." We chatted and he told me a couple of stories that I hadn't heard before, as well the reasons why he didn't like staying in his bed room. In the end we laughed about it and continued watching our shows and movies.

I know writing, "Robin's Poem," was very foolish, yet it seemed the right thing for me to do. As soon as I got the books, I sent one to Robin's mother, along with a letter explaining things. First as Robin's mother, and not really knowing the real story, I wanted make it clear to her. I think a mother would also appreciate having the poem as it painted a wonderful picture of her daughter.

It took some months later, before The Boss Man stuck another note in my hand, "Do not send anything to my house without my permission first." I felt it best not to comment on his house or its ownership and with no further business, hadn't any problems agreeing to that demand, though I saw the humor of it all.

I did have a weird dream about Robin, which a guy had found a whole bunch of my poems she had printed out and had in her dresser, which meant that she was following my writing; but after a discussion with him, she threw them all out. While I thought it was more wishful thinking on my part, with technology being what it is these days, the person it looks like she partnered up with is similar to the image of him in the dream.

My biggest problem and ghost was in forcing me to pay the complete bill on the health care that I was still covering for Rita and the kids, it was totally bankrupting me and I was now behind then every before. Not only with catching things up from the failed marriage, I was having so much money taken out of my salary, there was no way I could cover the bills and was going through the money that I saved up to pay the taxes.

I feared if I filed the tax return and couldn't pay the bill, in the end I would lose my house, so I decided not to file tax returns until I could cover the amount by catching up and refinancing my house. I knew that only bought me some time and it could be a hammer that may catch up with me and I could still lose the house.

Now I would be paying off the divorce for twenty more years, and there was no way to get around that. Of course hindsight is 50/50 and had I an inkling they would have made me pay for health care, I wouldn't have bought a damn thing, but that still wouldn't be enough to allow me to cover my obligations.

The best part of my life was writing on the website and staying in touch with my new friends, but I was so dynamic in doing so, I seemed to be hit with one rule after another. I wanted to send a message to every member that entered my life and found out because of spam concerns, I was limited on the number of messages that I could send out.

I ended up writing a poem expressing my sentiments and blessing and posting it the number one position. It was a busy day as I had a hundred or so reviews to respond to, but it seemed that all over the site, everyone had the true holiday spirit.

Even in the neighborhood, I had a collection of fans that expressed interest in my latest creations and it seemed naturally that people wanted to talk with me. One such person was a lady that lived across the street with her two girls, who seemed to be fascinated and were very vocal in the comments exclaiming love; an embarrassment as their voices traveled down the block.

We always talked and I captured the girl's imagination as I was grilling a five pound cheeseburger on the front porch because of the rain. That thing was huge, and it tore when I turned it, but I squished it back together before I turned it. Needless to say, when completed the girls had to have a piece so feeding my family, it was no problems to cut them off a bit.

The neighbor had family problems of her own, and needless to say, my talking with her didn't escape notice or an occasional comment from Rita when she was there. Still what I liked best about the lady was she was decent and it was nice to have someone to talk to when things were sad in my household. I also shared Katie's latest adventure, and the neighbor kept me apprised of other things going on in the neighborhood, yet she wasn't a nosey person or busybody.

That New Years I decided to usher it in by lighting a hand held signal flare, which glowed a bright red. The girls came over and for the last little bit, I allowed each to hold it and it was sort of a symbolic pleasure to get a hug from the mom. I had tried to do things in the past, but the neighbor was dismissive about anything more the talking, yet I was just happy not to have the relationship with her self-destruct because my interest crossed some line.

Marilyn was also another neighbor down the road on the corner of Alden and Harford, who I could strike up conversations. She lived above her sister who was married, and they all had been there ever since I remembered. The sister's husband was a biker and we always noted they had a little bon fire pit, and this was long before that was popular.

Still, most of my time was either with writing or with the members of the site and I had a couple more sign up to me and I signed up to them as well. One lady was somewhat aloof and new age in her approach, but I loved the language of her poetry. She welcomed me on board and of course had to refer to me as, "Sir."

My Favorite Member wrote me and said it was a good thing that I dedicate a poem to another member, but then again, she added, "Sir." Then a male member signed up as my fan and I was happy as he was from Las Vega, till he too added, "Sir." I was again happy when a woman who wrote cowboy poetry signed on and at least didn't add, "Sir."

There were a lot of fun and games as well, but not all of them were pleasant. It seemed some members were getting into a tiff with each other and wanted me to get involved, but I am not going to choose sides between two friends or start causing trouble myself.

From time to time the site had it temper tantrums as well. With one of my other favorite members, there seemed a poem that was particularly geared towards me and in the notes, it read, "I long suspected that you were a witch, but now I know you are one." I responded that I found the note interesting, but I only would accept information supplied by God and the Holy Spirit.

I apparently got a little affectionate towards My Favorite Member and she suggested we meet, so I was flirty and said, "Sure!"

This prompted a panic attack from her and I responded that she was being flirty, so I decided to be flirty as well and considering we don't know each other, I would probably end up with an elderly woman for a dinner date. I expressed an interest in her poetry and mentioned no matter the real situation, if she is married or not, I would still like to meet my favorite member.


I expressed some of my images I had of the site, including one done as a college project; not handled from the English department, but the psychology department. That thought didn't go over well at all.

I also painted the site, just like the scene in, "The Enforcer," a Dirty Harry film where he is trying to track down this terrorist gang and ends up dressing up like a Joe looking for a screw. He is chased out, but not before you saw a lot of elderly women kissing love letters and mailing the dupe nude pictures of models. Yes, I did wonder if the site had a lot of elderly women sitting in a room, getting their rocks off by making men act like loving idiots.

My more serious of thoughts was the site was actually a family run business and they did talk to each other about various members. Despite it all, I felt it best to treat the site as such and try not to become a problem, which further kept me out of the fray. In fact one member exclaimed to me, that every member is transitory and no one stays writing like I do for any length of time and now I was fairly high in the ratings.

It worked for me, but in reality I was penning my thoughts about what love and romance was all about, not to mention conveying my beliefs about such. This prompted an Email with photographs of her during Christmas and she was much older and sitting down in a robe with a cane.

I did wonder as I was fooled at the convention so easily where a 43 year old woman could make herself out to appear as a freaky girl in her twenties, or the Adrian version of her. I also wondered since there was somewhat of a commonality to the convention woman if it wasn't a photograph of her older sister or mother.

I also received a message from another member that was her friend, who seemed put off with my enthusiasm for her and mentioned My Favorite Member even had an 85 year old man trying to find where she lived, so he could move in. It didn't strike me as so much a back off message, but one that the image I may have of her isn't the truth and only made me further suspicious.

The site was still putting up its surprises, such as My Favorite Member growing tired of women writing the poems of carnal passion and suggested that I write a few. I also spied on her interaction with other members and noticed she was enticing more male members to do the same.

I had no problem accommodating her and penned a few myself, with some capable feats but near impossible for most people to do. Next thing I know, she penned a poem about it and berating, "All of this male organ grinding going on," and ridiculed and besmirched me joining in. I busted out laughing and realized I was entrapped; in my opinion as a practical joke by someone using her member name.

In response, I penned a poem titled, "I, As The Organ Grinder." My mocking attitude did not go over well at the site. My friend Dave again warned me if I figure things out too much, The Convention Woman or My Favorite member may become bored with me or angry, and either response will add up to no further activity between me or them, or her?

I did sense a downward change in her disposition, and her poems became more mournful and lamenting. The colors turned grayer and her coffee pot gurgled more, and her table grapes darker and pruning up. I said the gurgling coffer pot sounded pretty good to me and she said it wasn't gurgling nicely, but scares her as it sounds like it could catch fire or electrocute her.

Then My Favorite Member sent me a private message and said that her parents are weird, and let loose a dark family secret involving her father and mother. I responded that perhaps her mother had it figured out what is best for her and then said I wished I was that lucky.

I sensed even a greater agitation towards me and she asked if I could come to her to cheer her up. I did have an inkling I was possibly being set up and when I responded that I would, soon she told me that I didn't have to because she has Roger.

Then with both the poetry and the reviewing platform, Rodger (and I added, The Rabbit) and he seemed to strike up a relationship and I was on the outs. I kept thinking, This is the internet, this is crazy. In fact, I attempted to woo her back with a poem, but before I posted it worked up what her response would be, and then what I believed would be the poem Rodger the Rabbit would write.

The only thing that I surprised me was actually how accurate I was. Virtually heartbroken, I relented and told her that I decided to end things, and still had the bad feeling that this was going to be happening again, but with another member to see if I learned my lesson. I also checked up on My Favorite Member and it seemed that Rodger the Rabbit also gave up, which didn't make me any more suspicious, but somewhat confirmed my thoughts.

I figured it would be a month, but it took less than a week and my New Age woman asked me if I would come to her for a visit and possibly form a relationship. Wanting to indicate I did learn my lesson, I explained that I would love to meet her, but for any other feelings, I would have to personally get to know her first. This would also indicate to me just how serious she was.

Suddenly there was a new relationship formed with another mountain of a man, and it struck me as totally ridiculous as they too started writing love poems to each other. Like before, I wrote what I would see as a response and it was almost word for word with what I had created. I just couldn't believe it, and wondered if I had created something in my poetry that she learned to love.

Now she was running off to another country to get her man and the site talk was she was planning to bring him over. Hell, that could have been the truth, and there was something in there similar to My Favorite Member's past and wondered what the motivation for bringing a man from another country was. With the two events with separate members happening so close to each other, with opposite results; I wondered if this just wasn't nothing more the a cruel game. One thing for sure was, this must be what CIA life is like and I actually dug it.

I still enjoyed the site and was happy to be a willing participant, and despite the negative inklings learned a lot and felt I had found my place. With the uncomfortable situation of bleeding green while waiting for the divorce to occur; being on the site proved to be a wonderful way to bide my time as well learn about and explore what poetry truly is and how to best utilize it.