It has been a long while. Last visited on June 29, 20001. Some cleaning up to old nodes had to be done: Star Alliance and Is there a way to view a list of all the users registered on E2?. Pity, Everything User Directory is now temporarily closed.

I notice some nice new E2 features appearing. The E2 Scratch Pad leads to dissapearance of my old nodes like sabre23t: Notes. That Klaproth guy, was really busy. The multi C! and the full reputation not just net reputation are also nice.

Okay, what else did I miss while I'm gone? ;-}

sabre23t =^.^=

I spent the day in Melbourne, a bizzare town on the east coast of Florida which is near a vertex of the bermuda triangle. I went to this point, on the shore of the Indian River, to eat my lunch. Water which had been emerald green on Friday has given way to rust red today. The shore is covered with every type of dead fish imaginable, which is surprising for a river I had pronounced dead a decade ago. The rains these past few days had washed a lot of fertilizer into the water, and yadda yadda. Bloated puffer fish bobbed up and down, staring skyward with clouded eyes. Stingray and catfish defended their corpses with menacing spines. Legions of ants stormed the beaches to claim their prize. Everything was beginning to smell ripe. I didn't eat very much of my sandwich.
To make everything else seem peachy, I visited my parents. My little cousin Amanda has lost her calf muscle to a flesh eating virus! She is now in a drug-induced catatonia because the doctors don't think her eight-year-old mind could handle the situation just yet. I expect that at her age she will someday have a bionic leg. That provides some solace, but not much.
I'm starting to feel some regret for the way I handled the hitchhiker-kicking-out-my-windshield situation, but at the same time I'm almost proud of my assertiveness. Anger = bad, I know, but this person can't go on thinking that such behavior is acceptable!

It was one of those roller coaster (multi-)days from hell. I usually try to avoid adding daylogs about snippets from my so-called life, but this is cheap therapy.

I'm in the midst of buying a new house, one we can barely afford but the one we'll "keep". Tuesday the 28th was our closing date... until last Sunday, when the financing just blew up in our faces. It was a bait-and-switch tactic, where we would normally have to take whatever they offered if we really wanted the house. We told them to screw off, then moped about losing the house. I was supposed to pack this last weekend, and I ended up selling some of my favorite stuff, including my MIDI drum kit (a Yamaha DS-10). It looked like it was all for naught.

Monday, the roller coaster goes uphill. New financing is found, but there are a few hundred hoops to jump through. I faxed more things on Monday than I've ever faxed before in my whole life. Downhill:They turn us down (damn banks!)

Level track: A private lender is found, but we cannot close on Tuesday. Wednesday at 2pm is the current time. Uphill: Got another job offer to teach, $30/hr. Uphill into Mount Olympus: I was just promoted to E2 God. Yet more uphill: It was Riverrun's birthday, happy anniversary of your 29th birthday! Giant uphill: Simonc sent me a huge CASE of Tim Tams, which my wife complains about (while eating them; Tim Tams are exempt from dieting rules).

Oh, no that's many uphills in a row. If there's an accompanying downhill, I may be in an institution.

Well, thank you for allowing me to vent. One of the projects I'm going to work on concerns the help system/FAQs on E2. If you have any suggestions, drop me a /msg.

It's been a while since the last daynode but still, I am the same, almost routine, yet somewhat different. Somewhat of a paradox, yet almost as straightforward as anything else. I'm one of those people who talk to themselves when alone. Why? I don't really know why maybe except to let myself realize what I know to be the truth and what I repress inside myself.

I made a bet with MrFurious, Dawadeving, and Mike to see who can get a girlfriend first. Don't misunderstand. It's not a race but a reason to celebrate. What else would a bunch of bored 20 year old men who have the emotional conviction of 12 year olds do? There isn't really much else to it except the winner gets access to a free bottle of Vodka. Whee. It's almost school time as well. Yippee. Believe it or not, I actually am excited to go back to school, trying to me new people and learning more about myself. What I'm not anticipating is seeing all the couples necking all around me, making me jealous and wanting to just break them up.

I still go outside my balcony every night, looking up at the sky, wondering if its really the answer to all my problems. Sort of funny actually. A friend that I met through Hyacinth Gurl and I have been talking for a while since she's returned from her trip from England. For once, I didn't have any intentions but to simply have some company other than male company. But today, I called her to see if she wanted to do something. I didn't get a hold of her but it was okay. Then she called me back later after my afternoon nap to tell me that she wouldn't talk to me anymore because her mom thinks that I have motives for talking to her. Frustration abounded me and what else can I do but to just vent by calming myself through meditation. I blink, and the day passes.

The rest of the day simply breezes by and questions surround my mind. I've always wondered why people have seen me the way they have. I never understood and probably won't. If I do have an alterior motive, they will find out. If I don't have one, they think I have one. Annoys the heck out of me but what else can I do. I'm 20 years old now. No longer a teenager. Hard to accept but true enough. Let the ones who need me come to me. I try not to care anymore.

Dance like you've never danced before. Fight like you've never fought before. Love like you've never been hurt before.

P.S. Kim Ji Hye is so hot (my new obsession).

It was on my tenth birthday when I opened the large manila envelope. Inside that envelope was was the first of many seeds.

My fourth grade teacher had a tradition for celebrating the birthdays of her students by having everyone in class draw them a birthday card. Just magic markers on stiff paper, we all enjoyed the break we would get making a card whenever someone would have a birthday. On the last day of school she had everyone draw cards for the people that were to have birthdays over the summer (this included me). Over the summer she would dutifully mail out each and every one of us "summer children" an envelope full of hand drawn birthdy cards (timing the delivery just right). I was so excited to get mine, it had come the day before my 10th birthday. My mother made me wait to open it (looking back now, I wonder how different I would be today, if I had never opened that envelope at all).

The next day came. I opened my envelope to look at all of my wonderful cards. I smiled at the first one. The second one wiped the smile from my face. By the third one I was in tears. There were 25 cards in that envelope, 17 of them had your standard grade school art on them. The other 8 did not. There was a little clique of 8 pretty girls that were in my class. They also drew cards for me. But the cards from them were a little bit different than the rest.

I can still remember exactly what some of them said.

"No one at this school likes you, I hope you aren't in my class next year."

"This is a picture of outer space. Space is messy just like you. You should live there".

"If you see me at school next year. Please don't talk to me. I don't like you"

One of the cards just had "I hate you" scribbled on it about 50 times. The others I can no longer remember (not that i would want to anyway). I am just glad that my mother was not in the room when I opened the cards. Her attempts at comforting me would have only made things worse.

The first seeds had been sown.

The bad experience of my 10th birthday just made me try that much harder to gain the favor of the pretty girls in school. Junior high came and went, without any major traumatic experiences (plenty of minor ones though). Then came high school (oh yes, angst filled high school).

In my sophomore year I took several of the more advanced classes. There was no shortage of pretty girls in the rows of desks around me (most of them were a year older then me). I began to talk to one group of girls regularly, most of them were cheerleaders. They all had that sort of beauty that only sixteen year old girls could possess. They were nice to me. By the second semester I was eating lunch with them everyday. I finally began to think that I was normal. I had a crush on one of the girls in particular, Marissa. She was a pretty, slightly short, sixteen year old cheerleader. The kind of girl that all the guys were after. After much internal debate, I decided to write her a love letter. The results, were not what I had hoped.

Why in the world would you ever think that I would go out with you? The only reason we even let you eat lunch with us is because we feel sorry for you. Marissa said rather loudly in front of everyone.

She looked over toward her friend, Tell him Jacqueline, tell him!

Jacqueline paused for a moment before quietly saying, I'm sorry.

The second seed was sown.

The third and final seed happened right after high school. I had began to date a pretty, artsy type girl named Jamie. We went out exactly three times before I received a phone call from her best friend.

Jamie doesn't want to go out with you anymore. She didn't know that you were a dork when you first asked her out.

Now 8 years later, I find myself making my own standards of beauty (having lost the desire to be hurt another time). I now seek out quiet, plain looking women with glasses, exactly the opposite of the loud and beautiful women I once pursued.

From time to time, one attractive woman or another will show an interest in me. I usually cannot even see it myself (I have put up walls to them). But my friends will point out their attentions toward me (which then become clear as day). But I simply cannot bring myself to become interested an any of them (it was difficult even with Katie, and she was only a little bit pretty). I just can't shake the ghosts of my past off of my back for long enough to see the possiblity that maybe, just maybe, this time, things would be different.


There are all kinds of women in the world, I am sure there are plenty of women who are as attractive on the inside as they are on the outside. It is just difficult for me to let myself see that. This is a problem that I have to deal with. This problem belongs solely to me and me alone. You (the reader), did not cause me to feel this way. Perhaps some day I will work through this, perhaps not. But either way, this is my problem to deal with.

I went to see Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (for the third time) tonight, along with Tabor, Lillis, and Carlson. And we had an interesting encounter outside the theatre.

I had parked my car and we were walking to the theatre when Carlson and I spotted a riced-up Acura Vigor driving by in the parking lot filled to the brim with young punks and thumping with overly loud rap music. We both, of course, immediately doubled over with laughter. We just couldn't help it.

A few minutes later, we're standing outside the front of the theatre waiting for some friends to arrive. I'm talking to Carlson out on the sidewalk, and Lillis and Tabor have wandered off closer to the building. The riced-up, bass-thumping Acura pulls up at the curb about twenty feet away, and one of the four passengers yells, "Hey you, with the hair!"

He's referring to Carlson, who has long hair. We both look at them. Carlson says, "Yeah?"

"Come over here," says the punk.
"No."
"Come here."
"No."

Carlson and I glance at each other. Neither of us feels like walking over to a car full of punks who we are apparently pissed off about us laughing at their car earlier.

"You got a problem, man?"
"No," responds Carlson, with a completely serious look on his face.

The exchange continues, with the punk asking questions and Carlson smartly avoiding any kind of confrontation. Seeing that his attempts at provocation are going nowhere, the punk shifts his attention to me. During the entire exchange between the punk and Carlson, I've been watching and laughing -- I honestly found it quite amusing.

"What are you laughing at, man?" He says.
"I'm amused,"
"You think something's funny?"

At this point, the punk opens his door and starts to step out. It occurs to me that he's probably got a gun or a knife. If it's a knife, he'll have to get across the twenty feet of space between us before he can attack me. No worries there. If it's a pistol, he'll have to hit a moving target twenty feet away, in the dark, which most people can't do. So I'm not particularly worried.

"Yeah, I think this whole thing's funny," I respond.
"Come over here and tell me what's funny," he says.
"Why?"
"Come here," he persists.
"No."
"You won't be laughing if you come over here."
"Do you see me coming over there?"
"What do you think is so funny?" he asks, apparently at a loss for another topic.
"You guys and your loud music."
"You don't like our music?"
"I think it's hilarious."

At this point, still with no more than one foot out of the car, the punk apparently decides it's pointless to try and provoke either of us, because we obviously aren't looking for a fight. He gets back in the car and closes the door. Then they turn up the music and drive off.

A minute or so later, they circle around again, turn the music up some more, we laugh at them, and the passenger leans out his window and raps along with a line from the music. The line was this:

"All you niggas gonna' die."

Carlson and I are both very white. So of course this, combined with the fact that the goofball is hanging out of his window rapping at us, gets us laughing even harder.

The punks give us dirty looks and drive off for good.

People amaze me with their immaturity sometimes. What did those guys hope to start? Were they trying to pick a fight with two skinny white guys? If we'd been more confrontational, they would have been pretty surprised when Carlson pulled the extremely sharp metal rod out of the special holster behind his back and stabbed it through the throat of whoever was closest.

The three remaining guys, if they hadn't been scared off by the sight of their buddy gurgling and choking on his own blood, would have been even more surprised when Carlson punched one of them in the throat, collapsing his esophagus, and kicked another in the balls, rupturing one or more testicles. The remaining punk could have been dealt with any of a number of ways. And all of this before I could ever even think about reacting, seeing as how I don't have the training Carlson has.

In any case, they would have been four very unhappy and possibly dead punks. I have to wonder if it ever even crossed their minds that one or both of us might have known how to fight.

Why do people seek out confrontation?

She was beautiful beyond words. I'll leave it at that.

Of course I didn't expect it, I mean, we met by accident through email, and somehow we hit it off. She'd sent a picture, but of course pictures can be doctored, or even fakes. She looked great in the photo, of course. But in real life it was like looking at a 5' 5" goddess.

I'm sitting on the hood of my car waiting for her to get off work. We're supposed to go out for drinks, and what not. First time meeting. She walks out the door, long snaky golden locks drifting out behind her like Portia from The Merchant of Venice.

"Handshake or hug?" she asks.

I realize that I'm not remotely in this lady's class. She's a health nut, drives a brand new pickup, freshly washed and waxed. She could be a fashion model if not for her height. I, on the other hand, have bloodshot eyes from allergies, deep circles under my eyes for lack of sleep, and my car is an ancient Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme...

"Ummm..." I say, oh so intelligently.

"Handshake then." She shakes my hand, somewhere in the back of my head I'm picturing it turn into an embrace, and happy cavorting. Instead she points to the Bennigan's and says "It's over there. Let's go."

Bennigan's... I can't say anything but "Okay." over and over till we sit down. I can't stop staring at her. I really had no idea she looked this good. It's like suddenly catching yourself hanging out with a celebrity. I feel like an idiot... stumbling through conversation. No, I ummm... sorry? Yes... err... Well...

My wit has charmed her to the point she is now playing, bored, with her ring on the table, making it spin. My lame attempts at conversation keep trailing off because I can't stop looking at the way the light reflects in her too perfect eyes. Eventually I join in playing with the ring. We begin spinning it, making it roll, and generally I just begin to enjoy playing a game rather than trying to be someone she'd rather be with. We have a pretty good time, and even lay wagers on drinks as to where we can make it spin.

Suddenly the ring flies from the table.

I may be shy as hell around beautiful women, but reflexes are always on. My hand shoots out to catch the ring more than a foot from the table... unfortunately my other hand is steadying my weight on the table and it begins to tip.

The ring bounces from my hand into the air back across the table, while simultaneously my whiskey sour and her MGD slide towards her lap.

Like a snake my hand slaps out and snags the bottle just in time, the whiskey sour caught on the lips of the bottle, perfectly balanced. My other hand releases the table and plucks the ring from the air. The ring goes on the table, the drinks are replaced in their spots.

'Damn I'm smooth', I think as she gives me an astounded look. I pick up my whiskey sour, lift it to my lips and toast her. Alas, the sloshing had moistened the edges, and it drops from my fingers into my lap.

"I've got to be somewhere in fifteen minutes." she says.

Resigned I nod and she picks up the tab despite my protests. I apparently earned a second handshake, but narry a word from her elsewise. I mumbled out something about maybe next time and she said something to the effect of "good"... and with that, she and her shiny newly waxed pickup were gone...

She did leave me something to remember her by. I now have the flu.
oh, hello, from the middle of nowhere, here i am again. nothing going on. i thought it would be calming but it's actually unsettling and just like that it is the same old feelings and how the hell am i going to get out of here, as soon as humanly possible because it's awful awful awful.

sure i missed everyone, but i can't stand it here, there is so nothing and i just want to leave so badly.. i miss him. he is home to me.. not this place.

i talked to her last night about random things and i didn't tell her but kept thinking of how we used to be all hugs and close, best friends. i think it's mostly still there, beneath hurt feelings and confusion.

i'm tired and hungry. also whiny. :)

Recently I've decided that I'm big enough.

I've been pumping iron for as long as I can remember, but lately I've had less and less time for it, and for that matter less inclination to do it. I'm not old by any means, but I'm past the point where any further development would be rather futile and more trouble than it's worth.

So instead, lately I've focused on staying in shape, while reducing mass. This means more cardiovascular activity and less bench-pressing and squatting. I use less weights, but do more of them, to keep everything nice and toned.

In the past 4 weeks I've lost eleven pounds.

This brings to mind a problem that I foresee in the near to mid term. I've recently gotten a tattoo on my arm. It's a tribal piece up by my left shoulder, around the thin bit between the deltoid and the bicep. I'm worried about it. Have you ever written something on an inflated balloon then let the air out of it? It gets darker and kinda squiggly looking. I don't want my arm to look like that. Nor do I want to spend $3,000 on laser surgery to get rid of it.

Maybe I'm being silly.

By the way, it's my sister's birthday. Happy Birthday, Lisa. She's not a noder, but maybe someday I can talk her into it.

I’m [meticulous about self-improvement.
I’ve given up all hopes of becoming a millionaire.

A muse is a single divine instance.
A moment before satori.

This man made existence so poorly imitates reality, I’m getting withdrawal from that which I’ve been born into. Our Earth is no longer blue, brown, and green but black pavement, grey sidewalks and dark blue cigarette smoke, ashes on my hand replace the dirt from digging in the garden. Trees once towered, but now office buildings, banks, prisons and churches loom like monuments to the human habit of unnatural construction.

time is wrong
24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, it’s just a lie. time isn’t mechanical, time doesn’t stop and start like gears, time never began and will never end. time (like all things) is natural, a natural progression, like a tree growing. human technology has distorted time to fit the whims of an industrial based society the same way that a tree is milled from its natural form into a slab of timber, a 2 by 4, a table, a chair. technology is the sickened root from which our misshapen system of time grows. our false time ticks by so sure, so precise, so inevitable.
don’t be fooled by the clockwork.
our system of time is unchanging, giving no room for growth or decay. we even ignore the fact that we must actually fix time every four years. Time grows, expands, contracts, it sheds leaves and grows them back, looses limbs and has new growth each season.

Sometimes I feel as righteous as an ape of god, others I’m a robot writing poetry, Sometimes I’m numb enough to brush the scars off my back. Sometimes I’m strong enough to stand up, others I’m just smart enough to stay down, and avoid the conflict that creeps around corners and around my closed door. I’m immaculate grace, I’m watching the crucifixion in time square. I’m looking into the future, and I’m not there.
Automated dream-life sets in, and I see that I’m not sleeping alone.

Wrist to finger tip twitches like high voltage, we are singed and knocked over and over, just for the memory.
I don’t want her to turn into smoke and ashes, soul and skin are much more enticing.
Just keep me from the creeping emptiness that slips beneath the door, no matter how well I stuff it.
Hmmm..

..and so the universe balances itself.

After having a great presentation at work and being able to flex my designer's muscles, I am confronted with the difficult task of calming down my love. She was having a near-nervous-breakdown after having experienced stress in its highest form. Mostly work-related, I offered her some comfort by taking over certain duties she could not place her efforts upon.

I considered the day quite glamourous with my superman-like abilities in communication. Negotiators could not do a better job.

But I return to my humble self quite quickly. A few words here, and more over there, put my being into retreat. I was no longer glamourous nor a superman.

...and so the universe had balanced itself.

Got a postcard from my sister in Japan.

I was assured by my general manager today that I will be getting my promotion/raise. That really does not involve any extra work, except maybe a bit more responsibility (i.e., the manager's at the bank, then I'm in charge), but extra money equals good. And I am quite poor at the moment, so methinks that will ease the lifestyle a bit. Aaaahh.

I am on four hours' sleep and I am honestly not tired. We'll see how I feel when it comes 10 tonight and I have to work for two hours at my online chat host job. Maybe I will take a nap, but that remains to be seen. I'll probably just go until I'm tired and then drop like a rock.

Today I will be going out with Joe again, since it is Wednesday. That is a fun thing for me, but an unfortunate thing for my diet. Such big portions are given in restaurants that almost any one item exceeds "serving" standards by like three hundred percent; in other words, most helpings in restaurants are at least three or four times the size of the "recommended serving" on the box. Which means I either go off my diet for this meal or I take home lots of leftovers. And leftovers are not very appealing.

In order to make allowances for this, I have purposely eaten very low-calorie foods for breakfast and lunch, so that I'd have more to play with. Here's my menu for today:

Breakfast:
1 apple: 80 calories

Lunch:
1 cup blueberries: 80 calories 1 loaf pita bread: 140 calories 10 baby carrots: 17.5 calories 8 Wheat Thins crackers: 65 calories

Snack:
2 slices of bread-and-butter pickle: 20 calories

Dinner:
I don't know where we'll be eating, so I have to improvise obviously, but I was thinking either eggs or a potato dish of some kind. Or if I can find a good soup or something. In any case the total of my breakfast, lunch, and snack equals 402.5 calories, which leaves me 597.5 to have during dinner and afterwards. I think I can stay in that and still add up to less than a thousand, eh?

I've had a pretty interesting day. It's my first real day of college classes, which is a big deal for a Freshman. I got up at 6:45 (which was shear agony - I haven't gotten up before 7:30 for a month), got ready, and went to my first class, a literature class. It went fine for the first 30 seconds, until we get our reading assignment. We have to read a ton in that class - I knew I'd have a lot of reading, but this is more then can be imagined (and is probably what I should be doing instead of this :)).

Next class, Calculus. I like math, and the teacher is great, so this was almost perfect. If it could just be sometime after 9 am - I'm not a morning person by any means. However, it was still good - I learned a lot, even if it was about something I knew a lot about already.

Next up: Computer 151. This is the 3rd level computer class, but it's the intro class for Comp Sci majors like me. I'm glad I didn't go to one of the earlier ones - I could have taught this class, I could probably teach the others in my sleep (a good thing, come to think of it - I like sleep). Over half the people hadn't programmed a thing in their life, whereas I have been programming professionally for 3 years. I ended up falling asleep a couple times due to missing my daily caffeine dosage. If you noticed earlier, I didn't say breakfast, then first class - I just said first class. I normally like eating breakfast. Especially since I can get Mountain Dew from the soda machine - I have trouble waking up at normal times without it, let alone early. But I was moving too slow from being tired to get to the dining hall in time, and had to go straight to class instead (barely getting there on time).

The next class was the very cool Honors Foundations of Thought class. Unfortunately, we didn't get much past intoductions (which we didn't bother with in other classes - this one was the smallest by a factor of 3). But from the looks of things, it'll be a really enjoyable class.

The next part of the day was great though - It was 1:20, and I haden't had anything to eat. I though the Dining Commons were closed by then... but since my dorm is right next to them, I checked anyway, and they still had food! There was much rejoicing over this. The food wasn't too good (probably the worst meal I've had here these past few days), but I was hungry enough that I didn't care.

Then... um, I got on my computer. First I played ARC, a great free online game. After hitting 30 kills in the MADWARSE3 map (my best in a month, though I've hit over 50 when I have time to practice). After that, I needed something to do to wind down (it has simple graphics, but ARC can get the adrenaline pumping), so I came and typed this, my first Day Log.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.