Full Disclosure - This Is a Dark Ride

I don't know if I'll feel like blogging about the usual things for a while, but I didn't want to just stop writing and have people wonder what's going on, either.

This weekend, I learned of the death of a woman I dated for a few weeks several years ago. I've mentioned women I've dated, usually for comic effect, but this is a story that shows a side of me that I'm not sure I should make public. That's been a subject that keeps coming up in social media: just where do you draw the line on privacy? I've become annoyed at people who try to make their lives sound idyllic, essentially publishing continuous versions of those dreaded Christmas letters of "shiny happy people" where the truth lies in the things they don't mention. Endless self-promotion and thoughtless regurgitation of other people's political comments are the other legs of bad social media. Most people, once those things are removed, end up just showing pictures of what they ate.

So, here goes...



The best photo I can find. I love that expression.

 Angie and I were a terrible couple. First of all, there was a 20 year age difference and a 20 inch height difference. She was born with an extremely rare genetic condition, with metabolism problems that left her at 4'4" (after a series of growth hormone injections) and under 60 lbs. as and adult. Here's what she looked like next to an "average" size person:


For the geneticists: I could diagnose her by her fingers in this photo.


Mostly though, it was the internal things where we differed. Different tastes and styles (she proudly called herself a redneck), different backgrounds, philosophies, views. When you got down to it, I had to like her mostly because of how she looked (and her attitude; she had a great personality - you'd have liked her, too - but she did have a strikingly attractive face). I've dated a number of women at or under 5 feet, which officially makes me a "tiny chaser." I said this gets dark. There are some very disturbing types who are interested in little women - pedophiles, control freaks - but you have to remember what I've said here before: I can't recognize people. I could pick Angie out of a group and that was enough... for a few weeks.


Hers was a tough life, though she wouldn't want you to think that.

She was proud to be able to drive a standard-equipped car (with a few pillows).

She was in a bad car accident. The car in the photo above flipped at least twice and she was left in a back brace and on heavy doses of painkillers. That was two years before she died. Her death at age 28, tragic enough in itself, her family would rather not have the cause of made public. I can respect that.

There's nothing happy to report here. Not just now.