A key aspect of globalisation, glocalisation and transnationalisation is the development of information and communication technologies (ICTs).
Such technologies have major implications for sexualities and sexualised violences, and raise profound implications, contradictions and challenges for sexual citizenship.
All of you, these characters are going to grow as the story goes forward, so please keep an eye out for that. Truth be told, though, my marriage was dead five years before the paperwork was signed, sealed, and filed with the Clerk of the Court. "West Palm," she said, her pale blue eyes sparkling. Palm trees, beaches, warm sun." "No snow." She smiled, one of those thousand-watt smiles showing her perfectly straight, sparking white teeth and the cute little dimples on her cheeks. "A great job, baby," she said, leaning in for a tight hug before attacking me with her lips and tongue. " "You could help is what you could do," I yelled, surprised at my sudden frustration. I'll be back when I'm back." That first stay had lasted nearly a month. When I offered to take some time and fly up to see her and our families, she just ignored me, so I didn't.
And Daniel QSteele, get your ass moving on When We Were Married! So, based on her initial reaction, I suppose you'll just have to excuse me for being surprised that her dream wasn't all she'd thought it would be. Seeing her pout, I'd try–every damned time, clueless that I was–to point out reality to her. "Why don't you just get a– " "I'm not getting a goddamned job," she yelled. "You could use your fucking degree and get a goddamned job and maybe contribute instead of spending every goddamned dime I bust my ass for." Her initial shock turned to fury. I tried calling her every day, but I was back home from my ten-day trip before I caught her at home. I was treated to the same cold shoulder the next time she flew home about five months later, too.
So Kristin had to fly down and attend one session of court. Barring her explanation, which she didn't seem to want to share with me, I was left to simple conjecture. Let's face it: Experience wasn't exactly my forte where I'd only been with one woman my entire life. Second, I could bury myself in my work, in which case I'd probably make even more money that I didn't really need and guarantee absolutely no free time to try finding a life outside of work. Hell, who doesn't just want to shed everything that's wrong and start anew in some strange place with total strangers who don't serve as a constant reminder that you're a marital failure?
The only thing the judge needed to decide was alimony. To do that, of course, meant that I'd have to spend every waking hour trying to bang every chick in sight. Obviously, I'd be expanding my horizons sexually, which had its appeal.
She looked a little puffier than I remembered, maybe fifteen pounds heavier. Nevertheless, my old man always seemed to say it best. " Now that my salary was topping three hundred grand a year, I decided to work to live. I'd be working my ass off on my college major, though. (You'd be amazed how many salesmen are English majors; I mean, other than teach, what the hell else do you do with an English degree? I'd loved it in high school and college, but never had the time for it with marriage and work taking all of my energies.
Just that Kristin was back home and living with them." "What're you gonna do about it, boy? She definitely had the I-fucking-hate-you glare, though. Kristin sought four grand a month for three years and then it would be reviewed; I sought no alimony at all. Well, there was no time better than the present, and it seemed the perfect way to get my mind off my life. Most people spend the day of their divorce getting drunk or trying to get laid, but I spent the rest of the afternoon in my apartment trying to come up with story ideas. The lawyers hashed out nearly everything without the judge's involvement. His voice was soft, like he could read my absolute emptiness. Just give it time." I could only nod, not trusting myself to speak lest I cry like a babe. It was all so simple, apparently, because we had only my one income, a house, no kids, minimal debt, and only a few (healthy) accounts. So there I stood, weary to the bone, watching that courtroom door close behind my ex-wife. The only woman I'd ever been with and ever wanted to be with. "Sorry, son," the judge said, now standing beside me. More like I tried to do it, but the story just kept going nowhere. I came back from a work trip and she was gone." "She's back home," Mom said. And it also got me to thinking about the endless criticism I get for not fleshing out my female characters enough–a criticism, granted, that was more muted with The Bar and Grill, bit is valid nonetheless. Come to think of it, she did want pretty much the same things. My shark was bigger, though, and she ended up getting a sound thrashing in the blindingly fast divorce action.