All my data from the last two years is gone.

All my phone numbers. All my usernames and passwords. All my programmes.

Not all my conversations - I backed them up a couple of months ago... but everything else is just...

gone.

And why?

because I thought I would do the "sensible" thing, and get my local computer sales and repair shop to make my new HDD work.

My mother spent more than she could easily afford on getting me a 20G HDD for my birthday. When my lover installed it for me, it decided to report itself as being just over 7G.

He would have got it right, eventually. And it would have caused him a lot of stress and unhappiness. We don't call my machine Hellbeast for nothing.

So we thought - why go through all that unpleasantness when we can pay someone to do it for us?

So on Thursday I took my little Hellbeast down to our local shop, mentioning that they had lost the data on my HDD last time they had my machine, and asking them to be especially careful this time. Robert told me he would have it back to me probably that night, but certainly by Friday morning.

I phoned him on Friday at midday, and he told me he was "just starting on that one," and it would be ready on Saturday, and asked me would I mind his making the new, big HDD the primary, and the old, smaller one, the secondary. I told him I wouldn't mind, if he felt it was necessary, but please to be careful with my data on what was still, then, the C drive.

My lover and I arrived at the shop on Saturday right on noon.

"Yes, that one's ready - I'll just put the case on for you"

He was away for quite a long time.

When he came back he said "The other HDD is making funny sounds..." and wandered off again.

We looked at each other worriedly until the chap came back.

"Windows can't see that secondary drive, actually."

"Well, that's OK, I suppose. I can always get my data through XTREE or something, I suppose..."

The chap looked uncomfortable and my lover asked him "Can DOS see the drive? How about Fdisk?"

The man told me that no, nothing could see my drive. It had, to all intents and purposes, ceased to exist.

I didn't burst into tears, but I wanted to.

So yes, I have a lovely machine, with 20G of HD space... but I don't have my desktop any more. Or my mail. Or anything.

And I do have a big big angriness.

I got hit by a car today.

I was on my way home from the grocery store, walking, and decided I wanted to stop at Dairy Queen for an ice cream, which I got, then ate, then left. Holding my glass bottle of Jones Soda, I started crossing the intersection on the way home.

Then this guy in a blue egg-car started turning, didn't notice me, I fell, the glass shattered, I got five cuts on my right, dominant hand, which still hurt like a bitch. My left knee was a bit hurt, too, but not so much.

So this guy wraps his handkerchief around my hand, then drives me the short distance home. I go inside, raving like a madman, call my girlfriend and ask her if it's warm water or cold water to clean wounds. Manically. She replies "cold, what happened?", I told her I got hit by a car, hang up, clean the wound, put a bandage on it. The guy comes back around five minutes later and gives me his number, saying he'll pay for any medical expenses I may encounter.

I call my dad's work number. As it happens, he's out at the moment, cycling. He calls back around ten minutes later, I explain what happened, he comes over, we go to the hospital, they decide I don't need a tetnus shot or anything, don't have any glass in the cuts, etc., and so they bandage it up and I go home.

Yeah, I'm kind of worried about my relationship, too. Here's hoping she doesn't bore of me.

The funny thing is, I'm slated to attend a student council car wash tomorrow... I guess I will, but I probably won't do much past drying cars. And I'll try to stay to the side of them, at that.

"like a fog and a mountain, together, forever" Concrete Blonde

I sit here at 8 am Saturday morning, noding and thinking. This weekend should be interesting. Lilah is coming down for the weekend from Connecticut, taking the ferry from Groton to Port Jefferson, which is about 20 minutes away. I have to meet her in a few hours. My first vistor to the posh palace. I don't know what to expect, but I'm sequestering any emotions until after she leaves. We kinda jumped in bed the first time we were alone, and she seems like the type that keeps things buried deep. I wonder. It's been nice being alone here in Long Island, since I came to the realisation that I detest Long Islander's accents and demeanor. Well, detest is a strong word, but it's a far cry from my southern honeys and classy CT girls I'm used to. The old addage, "When in Rome" is bullshit..when you're in Rome you eat till you puke, then eat some some more. Adapting is giving in, as far as I'm concerned.
For any following my travails at work, new news. Yesterday I just couldn't take it anymore. I was doing a winding at a slower speed, concentrating on getting the color blend perfect and the threads nice and smoothe for this big piece I was working on (which would ultimatley sell for about two grand), and my boss came over, and in a very cancerian way, hinted that I wasn't ready to work the lathe on high speed, which he wanted (to make the process go faster). Okay, smart guy, you figured out how to get what you want from me, piss me off by insinuating I can't do something. So I cranked up the lathe speed, bitched and swore as the thread cut my hand to ribbons, and tripled my output. Of course he was right, I got the job done in a flash, but my mood and moral suffered exponentially. How did I deal? Popped a xanax and a half hour later, la la land. I left at 5 pm and came home and slept until 2 am. His last words: "good job today, 100% better then before, I'm proud." Good for you man. I really like my work, the people, but this return to the insane northern desperation is driving ME insane...especially with absolutely no outlet. I'd surround myself with my little faery girls again if I could, but that always brings more pain than pleasure. Hmm..maybe prescription drugs are the saviour of mankind. Whatever. I hope my node this morning (see The Perfect Pooping Method) brings some sunshine into the lives of my fellow noders, as I bet most of them are addicted to cigaretttes and strong coffee as I am. Let me know. More later kiddies, and if you're good, maybe a poem.

Yes, I guess it’s my turn now.

Driving at home last night was scary, exact time, from exact place I drove home last week, only last week I had that car accident. So last night I took a different route, and last night I drove in a different car, and last night was ok.

I am getting the Fiat back tomorrow I hope, And on Monday I get to drive a motorcycle for the first time.

Life goes on, and I wanna puke cause I keep eating to many cookies.

My fridge smells and my food always rots so I don’t buy much stuff for the house anymore, I eat out and eat junkfood…. I am a wonderful 23-year-old bachelor come to think of it. Yesire, I am doing the job perfectly….

So why do I hate it so much?

Anyways, She hasn’t written in a couple days, I hope she still loves me…. If she even ever did..



Have you ever wanted to scream real loud for no reason? Or shock some one out of their mind, just for their reaction, Do you see yourself doing things you won't do and can't do.

GO FOR IT

Today is my birthday. The day I was birthed. But there has always been
something I don't understand about birthdays...
When you come out of the womb, aren't you 9 months old? So, technically, I'm 17 and nine months?

My new computer is built.
"Alice" is a 1.2Ghz Athlon powered PC, with 256Mb of DDR, Gforce MX2 video card, sound blaster live value, 40Gb Hard drive... and now I'm dealing with the perils of Windows 2K. I built it last night, and installed 2000, everything went fine until I started playing Unreal Tournament, and it started to crash over and over (about 4 or 5 times), now the registry is all fucked up so I'm reformatting and reinstalling Windows... Jesus Christ.


I've been denying my E2 responsibilities lately... I've been working alot, and getting ready to move on campus for college at UNC Asheville. My 5 month old Schwinn was stolen off of my friends porch on Tuesday, that was rather disappointing, considering I really need a bike, since I despise cars and I need to get to work.

Ok, so I've been doing volunteer work at the Brandywine Zoo for the past couple weeks, and never really got a chance to wind down before my family and I rushed off to Poughkeepsie to look at Vassar. Yep, I'm sure most of you all remember the great college search during your teenage years. Well Vassar was amazing, but we were only there for a few hours before we peeled off down the New Jersey Turnpike.

Since the trip to Vassar from northern Delaware is a little under two hours, I had a decent amount of time to think about all kinds of stuff. I am still chuckling from the last day of camp, when one of my ten year-old students came up and told me that he was going to buy an island in the South Pacific when he grew up, and that I could come chill at his place. That wasn't the funny part. The funny part was when this ten year-old kid told me that I just needed to bring my girl and he would "supply all the Trojans and Champagne" that I needed. That was a riot. Those kids just cracked me up. Well, most of them did. There was this one little puke who thought it was funny to punch me in the balls. But he got kicked out of camp, and told never to return, so it's all good.

Anyway, so I came home, and I tried to relax from these hectic weeks and roadtrips by playing some Grand Turismo 3. There is nothing relaxing about that game. It acually made me more stressed and frustrated. Every time that Lupo Cup car beat me by a second or two, it added insult to injury. After twenty minutes, I had more or less decided that the driver of that car and I were mortal enemies. When he beat me for about the fifteenth time, I honestly think I was speaking in tongues. I don't recall exactly what I said, although between the sporadic bursts of profanity, I believe I mentioned something about burning his village. Maybe I should stop reading my AP European History book about Alaric and his tribes of Huns, Visigoths, Ostrogoths, and freed Roman slaves sacking Rome in August of 410. The point is, I can't figure out why I am enjoying that game so much despite all the grief and restlessness it causes me.

Also, I noticed something odd on the way back from Vassar. After returning from my trip to Haverford (which I also adore), there was a car on the shoulder of the road, with four-foot flames billowing out from under the hood. When I returned from Vassar, there was another car with an even bigger fire coming from under its hood. Those are the only two colleges that I have completely fallen for at this juncture. The colleges that I did not like didn't like didn;t have flaming cars on the way home. I'm not saying that there is a connection bewtween these events, I know that there is not one. However, it is something interesting to think about, especially when you consider that I had never once seen a car on fire before, and now I've seen two inside of three weeks.

And now for something completely different: Some of the hallways in Vassar are abnormally wide. The tour guides explained that this was because back when Vassar was founded as an all-girls' school, it was widely believed that studying too much retained large amounts of blood in the brain, which in turn made young women infertile. So the headmaster made the girls run laps through the hallways to increase circulation in their bodies and keep them healthy and fertile. The hallways had to be wide enough for two girls wearing hoop-skirts to pass each other.

Carolina Road Trip (deux)


When we last left our protagonists the good rev was allowing himself to flirt with the captain of the cheerleaders (she not only leads the cheers but also leads the leaders of the cheers) while speeding along a dirt road behind UNC. The tar-heeled gumshoes in hot pursuit.

Well, we were actually traveling 25mph. When the security turned off a side road I heard Eric yell, "HAHAHA we win you fucking pigs!" Which I considered amusing that of all of us in the car the late (LATE) 30-yr old, decided to yell at a cop car.

Julie talked about her cool roommates (also cheerleaders or students I think) mentioned something that sounded like it could be taken the wrong way, and pulled up to her house. Now at this point, it was possible that our hearts were racing as much as they had been with the cops. No one really could say anything, but I'll be damned if we all didn't have our own plans on how to continue the evening. She got out, we thanked her and said we would see each other again at the team party.

With that she was inside and we were, most definitely, not.

We took a moment to clear the air about what had just happened. (or rather what had not happened) I wont say from who... but the phrase, "There are three of us and you..." was mentioned in her absence.

We all came to the conclusion that the hot little number was only going to get us into more trouble (the car). So Eric took us 1/2 mile to a place called the "Port Land Grille" (I didn't mention the obvious misspellings).

It was a nice place, the kind you might consider sneaking in an expensive bottle of scotch. We ordered drinks fitting of the establishment:

"GreyGoose vodka twist"

"Yea that sounds good"

"The same"

"Can of Hamms, I mean Rum and Coke, I mean Bombay Saphire Gimlet." It has been hard shaking my cheap upbringing.

Getting a cab to pick you up in the suburbs is a challenge, but Eric was on a mission and manned his cell phone with great vigilance. Precious min passed, and it was then revealed to us why Eric was so overcome with anti police rhetoric.

"My licence is suspended. I got a DUII a few months ago. They couldn't prove that I drove the vehicle to the game..." he went on. I hid my dropping jaw and bulging eyes.

"Gotta hand it to campus security, they really do good work."

"you'd think that since they carry sidearms they would be a little more though." Jude said.

I was convinced I was going to be arrested that night.

The smells from inside the minivan cab that finally came to pick us up gave me the impression it was better I not see where I was sitting. We went downtown.

I don't want to try and count drinks, or money. One is just as painful a memory as the other. And sense I only picked up a couple of rounds, it must have been even more so those around me.

The bars themselves provided much of the nights entertainment. "What is that Thing?" was a game we took up playing. Followed by "Get Closer" and "You Touch It".

At some point shots were ordered. Shortly thereafter we were presented with cloudy plastic thimbles filled with an unknown substance. Dont chalk that up to North Carolina, even the locals were confused by what passes for a shot at that place.

At some point I was talking with a beautiful girl from Eastern Europe (I assume). I had seen her by herself, excused myself from the group I was with turned and watched a man so fat (enter fat joke) sit next to her.

What an overwhelming dilemma. Normally I would have no problem talking to a girl, or even with a girl who was talking to a guy (if I had been properly lubricated) with the intention of pulling her away. But this was a really, really fat guy. How many times has this guy struck out? Hell, how many times has my own appearance been my downfall? This guy was actually talking to a girl... Could I be so bold as to steal from the poor? I decided that I would go dance on the floor below (did I mention we were on the roof of a building that was just one big bar?)

Dancing was good, and drinks were plentiful, "Bud Light? Are we in the Port Land Grille? Ok then."

After a few songs, a few more rounds and no outstanding prospects, I decided demand was now sufficient and supply was not forthcoming so I went back up to confront the evil hoard that beat me to the punch earlier.

"He's still there, but there is no conversation. This might work." I thought...

When a pretty girl is just sitting next to a smoking, fat guy at a bar with a bored look on her face, you gotta figure one's odds of laying the Mac down improve on the order of magnitudes.

"Hi, how would you like to go down stairs and dance." --given blood alcohol content, time remaining before last call and my tendency to stumble over polysyllabic words I went right for the jugular.

"umm... no. I dont think so..." --She was very kind in her method of denial.

Now at this point there really is no way to turn this around. I have convinced girls who originally said no to dance... and in that dream I am one hell of a dancer.

I can either take it on the chin and make a quick exit stage right, or make a scene.

"Too bad... dancing is a lot more fun than just sitting around." -- Words to exit by, and I had begun to turn to do just that... but then

"You know he's right," a thin guy to the right says. Suddenly I realize this girl is not flying solo. She has her friend and some outspoken guy with her. couples night? maybe, these guys looked way out of their league.

Conversation is sparked and I am not getting anywhere. It's nearing 3am and I've got miles to dance before I sleep.

I imagine they went a long time without talking before I showed up because they all jumped into debate so vigorous even I felt out of place.

I break in; try to say something smooth and get out. In this situation I am actually rooting for fatty. I have such sympathy...

What I said I cant remember. I tried to booster him up, but I think I said something about being really bold and corpulent.

More dancing... more beer...

Now they are closing down; we make our exit.

At a pizza place I flirt with the girl behind the counter. She complains about not getting a tip from Eric. I reach for my wallet, she says that its fine, asks me to put my money away.

We eat outside. The pizza is good, and Dex goes in for another; I shake hands with the unemployed. Coming out of the can, she spots me and yells, "I thought I told you to leave!"

I pause, look at Dexter, he averts my eyes so as to avoid guilt by association. I am sure this is some joke they pull on the drunks as they roll in after 3.

"Get out of here!"

I am a little frazzled. I point at Dexter for help, "But I'm with him."

"I'm calling the police."

(Dexter told me later that as I was being exiled a coworker picked up the phone and started talking to "the police" with out even dialing)

I have been confused while drunk before, but usually I can figure it out later. I still haven't put this all together.

Back home...

I sprained my thumb on a coffee table while throwing a volleyball at Chris. Some water spilt, and before I knew it a pair of Birkenstocks hit me in the face. I told Jude that this was "unacceptable behavior". He responded by using my prized 1977 Star Wars pillow case as a mop for the spilt water.

That was it. Rarely do I find it necessary to resort to brute physical strength... but seeing Princess Leigh being stepped on was more than I could take.

Jude was placed not gently on the sofa while I tended to my childhood friend.

This concludes the drinking day.

On Sunday we boated and drank and tried to piece together what had happened 12 hrs before.

All and all a good road trip.

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