It's the fourth day now, and I'm still suffering from labyrinthitis.

However it's not so bad this time around, Hence me sitting here writing this.


On with the log -
For a number of days, weeks even, I have had feelings of anxiety and confusion. I didn't dig deep inside myself to figure out why I've been feeling this way, perhaps because I'm scared of what I might find.

However today, even though my head is spinning and has a constant dull ache, combined with me feeling some what physically sick. My soul feels remarkably serene and I'm feeling inner peace, it's really quite strange which is why I decided to log it.

The early birds singing to the soon to be rising sun also adds to my inner ambience.

It's nice to feel nice...
in a mental sort of a way!
Having stayed up late due to a Tetris marathon amongst good friends, I was not out of bed until 10:30 this morning. I carefully scrutinized the clock and discovered that it did, in fact, say 10:30 instead of noon. If only it were possible to sleep in contacts with no risk of permanent eye damage and constant nagging from my mother, the clock would be so much easier to read.

I paged mom on her Nextel and told her to pick up some bagels on the way home from her massage appointment. Once the delicacies arrived, I ate four in the course of eight hours. Not too bad!

In between bagel consumptions, I managed to find the time to get dressed, shower, braid my hair, put in contacts and apply the minimum amount of makeup required for leaving the house. I then gathered my marching band uniform into its original garment bag and cardboard box for the hat, dug my concert dress and sparkly belt out of my neglected trunk, got together a few open house invitations and my community service project, and it was off to school for the last time ever. I stopped by Aaron’s house first and picked him up (I needed some extra hands).

I went to the band room in search of Mr. Christopher first, but he was quite absent. Aaron and I then went down to Mrs. Clement’s room, where I handed in my CS project. My mom had read the three page required paper I had typed for this particular project, and told me I was not allowed to turn it in. It went something like this:

My community service, completed on March 8, 2001, consisted of spending eight hours guiding freshman bands and their directors around our lovely West Ottawa high school. It led to nothing but frustration and anger on almost all accounts. Becky Malis and I became the sole targets of several stress-induced displays of dissatisfaction from a number of local teachers. But overall, it was a rewarding experience, allowing us to generously help the needy and very lost visiting bands during the hectic district MSBOA band festival with nothing but snide comments to congratulate us on our voluntary donation.

I arrived at school at seven thirty in the morning after dragging my brother out of bed to get him in the car at such a ridiculously early time. His car is out of commission due to some irresponsible behavior on his part, so I am responsible for getting him to school every morning. I was supposed to arrive at quarter to seven, but the coordinator and tyrant, Mr. Christopher, did not inform me of this. I waited in the entryway for my band to arrive, but was soon encountered by a mass of Black River students who had no guide. I took them to the West Balcony and got everyone situated and comfortable, and then led them to the warm up room. This is when I ran into Mr. Christopher for the first time that day. He was irate, saying the band I was supposed to be guiding was, in fact, in the performing arts center, lost and alone without my wisdom. This was news to me, considering my instructions said they were to arrive at seven thirty. It turns out that was their performance time, and they had gotten to school at six thirty only to be greeted by empty hallways. Of course I felt bad, but there was nothing I could do but apologize.

I turned the Black River children over to Mr. Christopher, since their official guide had never shown up, and went off in search of my reliable partner, Becky Malis. I soon found her running through the halls, having only just arrived at the late hour of eight. She did not receive the same lecture from Mr. Christopher as I did, thankfully. We ran off arm-in-arm to find the director of our Holland Christian Freshman band to apologize for him arriving so early, but he would not listen to out pleas. His massive toupee, the exact color of his scalp, nearly quivered with rage.

Becky and I showed the band back to their cases and coats, and then ran out in the snow to find their buses and warn the drivers of their late departure. It was snowing quite heavily, and Becky was wearing short sleeves, while I had thought ahead and donned a hoodie of questionable warmth value. I was nominated to be the one to knock on the bus’ doors and try to find the correct driver to relay of message to. It was cold, but obviously I survived.

This routine continued for the rest of the day. Becky and I ran around, frantic and used, catering to the needs of cranky directors and their silent assistants. We were once sent off in search of a clarinet reed and mouthpiece, which one band member had accidentally forgotten to bring.

Around noon, we were starving, overexerted, and extremely downhearted after our gracious act of volunteering the help with the festival was met with such distaste by almost all those involved. We left for ten minutes and ran to Blimpies to get some lunch, only to return to school to find Mr. Christopher in a rage because he needed us to take over the job of another absent guide. We informed him that sustenance is necessary, but he refused to be sensible.

I eventually got around to leaving for home around four o’clock. Tired and somewhat irritable, I slept for four hours, woke up for dinner and homework, and then went back to bed until the next morning.

Did I retype it? No. I just printed out a new copy, said I made a few revisions, waved it around ,and ran out the door. Ha!

I ended up leaving my uniforms on the floor next to Mr. C.’s office, and slid the $12 dry cleaning bill under the door. Then I was free.

Actually, I had to go to work. It wasn’t fun, but my manager allowed me to go home early after I washed sixteen dozen undecorated Naturewood saucers that had been sitting in the rain for two weeks. How gracious.

I'm beginning to think I shall never find a job. Today I applied at Winchell's Donuts; I figure I can handle donuts. I've already worked with donuts once. I also went to JCPenny to apply for a job. They have the whole thing set up on computer. So here I am standing in this dumb little hallway answering questions like "How do you usually solve a difficult problem?" There's this list of choices you get to choose from. I had to answer 46 questions. When I got to the end, the computer told me my answers had not matched the criteria for the job I wanted. What a bunch of crap! I could've lied very easily and answered exactly how they wanted me to, but I don't want to lie to get a job. I want people to want me for who I am. I want people to love me for who I am. I'll work hard at any job I get. Plus I'm extremely available considering I have nothing else to do. I am a very spunky person. I am a lot spunkier than all the other drivers in Omaha. People really need to lighten up. I am the only driver in Omaha that dances and sings when I drive. So I brought myself home made some candy to give away at the next rave, made dinner, skulled a margarita, watched some hockey, and read my book Rendevous with Rama by the amazing Arthur C. Clarke. That margarita is really taking its toll; I think bed shall be a welcome relief.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

The further I dig myself into this, the more it stops looking like a problem and feeling like home.

Dig up, I tell myself. Dig up.


I don’t know what it supposed to happen next. It always seems like some grand story, some amazing tale that unfolds itself beneath my feet, never letting me falter, never letting me stumble. As critical as things become, it’s all cardboard sets and hollywood drama, you know, you always know exactly what’s going to happen in the end. The crisis is averted, the hero is unharmed, the good guys ride into the sunset. Fade to black.

Except perhaps in indie films.


The prospect of a forced social life, of unwanted company bothers me some. I’ve spent the last two months hardly leaving my house, and I don’t see why that’s going to change anytime soon. Money, even for bus fare to visit a friend, or perhaps a job interview, is scarce. The food supplies are dangerously low, morale is weak.

Napoleon would know what to do, I think. He didn’t make it in the end, though, did he? History does not shine on little french men with big hats, it seems.

I read somewhere that scientists had proven that he was, in fact, poisoned by his own men. No matter how brilliant, no matter how powerful his strategies were, he was doomed from the start. He never could’ve won.

I wonder if he saw it coming. If he knew, in those last hours, that nothing could do would make any difference. It would end the same.

Fade to black.


I am out of contract work, having expertly sabotaged my ability to get more, and no full-time employment is presenting itself. Nothing I consider a job, at least. I might be doing phone surveys by the end of the week, I think. It’s not quite as bad as telemarketing, and it may not pay well enough to support the lifestyle I’m used to, but it might leave me enough money for food, and perhaps a bus pass. It’d be nice, considering I didn’t have one for May, nor does it look like I’ll have one for June. I was stuck inside all month, even on my birthday. Unlimited travel is necessary. I’d like to see the sun again.

This lifestyle is killing me.


I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to.

I don’t want to go back home to Ottawa and run crying back to mommy and my little friends and my little life I’ve tried so many times to leave behind me. I don’t want to. No.

But still, I tell myself, I can get a lame tech support job for decent money, get a decent apartment in the middle of nowhere, and spend all my spare cash on coffee in familiar diners.

It’s seductive, if only because it’s safe. I’ve done it before. It may be passionless, but it doesn’t hurt, not like this does.

I think if I didn’t have Jes here to help keep me sane, I would’ve gone back long before. I don’t think I would’ve made it back to Toronto, to be honest. I would’ve lived a quiet existence, working midnight shifts and playing video games in my spare time. Perhaps I might’ve gone out to see friends too, once in a while.

Perhaps I wouldn’t have even noticed the world swallowing me whole, taking away any light I still have left in my eyes.

I can be so melodramatic.


I need to see the sun. I need to go out with friends, smoke cigarettes and argue the nature of reality over a good breakfast, somewhere in the city.

I need to feel whole again.

I just finished my last morning server checks for my bank. Just over two years ago I started this mission and now it is over and it all worked out. In ten days I will be on my bike (not to mention how in ten hours I will be on the bus heading to HOT DAMN! An E2 gathering in Ohio?!?!!) cruising around Nova Scotia camping on the red beaches and walking into the ocean when the tide is out. Then on to Newfoundland for bikeless hiking and camping. I am bringing Ruben Fines Basic Endgames in Chess and will return (where I think I am returning to im not sure) a master of my endgame. no more guessing or trying to figure it out, it will finally be the perfect system it should be. My boss took me out for lunch a couple days ago and bought me three beers (which is weird, one beer not weird, but three?) and then started to pick my brains about my coworkers. I so tired of the scum. Of the polite nice working enviroment. They keep telling me I can comeback, everyday they say it, but I dont like these computers anymore. I want to weld giant fire sculptures and build simple little machines. I still haven't found a industrial space in toronto yet. is this a good thing?

J__ is still withdrawn. Matthew is coming back from australia soon. Craig is liking his job. The one with no soul is my buddy again. Monika and I are ticking along. What will I do when I am done biking? Where will I live? I am homeless and unemployed with money in the bank. heheheehehe yipperrreee.

Today is the last day of school. I think I'll leave this up to Alice Cooper:

School's out for summer
School's out forever
The school's been blown to pieces

Okay, well, ignore that last part.

Can't resist a grin at the way Londoners panic when the sun shines. There's a huge mad rush to get outside and burn yourself as quickly as possible, before the sun goes in - after all, this could be all the summer we get, wouldn't want to miss it. Even here on this quiet street people are packing surfboards and canoes into cars, or lounging on their steps and roofgardens. The Polish couple opposite have had a permanent party on their doorstep for the last couple of days: fearsomely white-shirted old boy and his wife enthroned in state on canvas chairs outside at all hours, calling greetings to neighbours passing by. The Greek guy next door and his Bengali wife have been eating, working and more or less living in their cool little yard. I wave at them all from the roofgarden, where I have been comfortably gazing out at the blue, watching the glittering city from under a green striped sunshade for the last couple of days, dozing in the breeze, and reading The Code Book. My legs, which were not in the shade, are a fierce boiled-lobster red.

Can't write when it's sunny: fidget too much. Today there's a thick milky layer of cloud over the city, so I'm back at the grindstone. 71045 words. Slow, slow progress. There's a burning triangle in the sky: Canary Wharf Tower's glass pyramid top, almost buried in cloud but still picking up the odd flash of sun. Maybe it will rain, and I can get some sleep, get these fidgets out of my system. A storm would be good: storms here are amazing. The view is always fairly spectacular, but in a big storm, the lightning makes a display better than any fireworks, and the rain hammers down on this little wooden roofbox so hard it seems it will flatten it. The drumming of the rain blurs into white noise, comforting, sleep-making. Time for a rain-dance, maybe - sleep has been far too elusive lately. For the last few weeks I have been woken around 3am by strange noises above my head, stompings too heavy to be a squirrel or bird. My housemate has heard them too: he says it is the Highgate Roof Yeti. We did a lot of drawings of what he might look like, and plan to sneak out and catch him one night, so we can ask him what's up.

No luck so far. But last night, there were weird cries around 5am. I got up and went to the window, and saw the strangest thing: a big white bird with a long pouched beak on the roof, surrounded by a gang of smaller, ordinary birds, attacking him. He fought bravely for a while and then flapped noisily off, yarking. Next door says it may have been a pelican from the zoo, which is a mile or so away from here, and often loses birds, apparently. I remembered how, when I was small, I wanted to let out all the zoo animals and let them take over the city. Maybe it's happening. Maybe the pelican and the yeti are the vanguard of a mass breakout. I keep looking hopefully out of the window, waiting for giraffes. Set 'em all free, burn down the offices, blow up the flood barriers and let the sea in.
Et sous les pavés, la plage..

Raining now. Must remember the steps of that rain dance.

This has been the best day all week. Although I can not begin ot describe how frustrated I've been ever since Tuesday, I am fine now. This is my story:

I am the copy editor for my school paper. We spent five nights last week laying out our June issue. It was honestly the most proffessionally done issue we had produced all year. We arrived on Tuesday morning to add the final touches, and ship ot to the printer, when we discovered that someone had deleted our entire layout. At first we thought that it may have been an accident, but someone had to drag each page of layout to the trash, and then empty the trash. We knew that someone had discovered our password, and they wee out to ruin us.

We still had the final copies of all the articles, they just weren't laid out. We immediately changed our password, and notified the staff. Roughly twenty minutes after we made this announcement, the entire folder was deleted along with the articles, all of our templates, and the layouts for every issue we have done for the past five years. Our paper was essentially destroyed, but worst of all, we knew that it was an inside job. Someone who we thought that we could trust enough to work with us had destroyed all our hard work.

We could have given up, but we took the back-up copies of all the articles, and started over, with another password. Only the two co-editors-in-chief know this password; no one trusts anyone else. I feel violated that someone would do this to us, yet what hurts the most is knowing that the culprit has not been found, and that the trust that existed on our staff has been ruined for some time to come. Yet, in many ways, this incident reassures me. I know that this is "the issue that will not die." I have complete faith in the 2001-2002 editorial staff of which I am a part; and I know that after we completed the layout process again, that we have what it takes to make the paper great again.

I have been waking up at 4:30 every morning this week since I found out. The thought of another week of layout was not at all appealing. On top of that, finals are next week, and I take the SAT IIs tomorrow. But I woke up this morning (at 4:30 again) and listened to The Who and Led Zeppelin, and I just sat there in the dark with my headphones on, knowing that this was the end of a long week, but that I had survived, and that summer is on its way.

Go ahead--laugh at me.

As soon as I uninstalled that creepy Earthlink software, my hard drive stopped grinding every minute like a cheap alarm clock.

There's something seriously wrong with a person who earns a decent wage at a regular job spending several hours creatively hard-linking a node, for free, that no one will ever see because it has a boring title.

OK, so I whine. I'm sorry, I can't change my nature.

It's the last day of school. Well, there's the graduation ceremony left tomorrow, though not for us, yet. I wonder why I went to school today - I knew there'd be nothing to do there. I had no classes, and the schedule read 'cleaning up the classes'. Hmmhmm. Well, I had promised a friend I'd fix up his linux. Not much of a day, anyways; woke up practically in the middle of the night (7 am), by 8 I had reached school, and then I spent next few hours in computer class, scouring what remained of teufel. It was a program I wrote to gain a feeling of power in a world where I'm powerless - basically, a background daemon for win9x that would run asm("foo: cli; jmp foo"); (in other words, crash). Stole the code from bo2k sources.

Yeah, it was pretty lame, totally script kiddie'ish thing to do. Anyhow, I used it with discretion, only harming those my feverish, suspicious mind thought had wronged me, and never those doing any schoolwork; but I made a mistake to reveal its existence to some people. They had endless fun dropping each other offline, but when they revealed these to yet other people, this got nasty. Apparently these third parties had a kind of nasty streak - before I knew it, they were crashing everything on the fricken class faster than I could say boo, and insisting that I add features and install it to all computers, too. What could I do? Despite their protests, I proceeded to erase teufel from all computers. They didn't like it.

Today? When the cleanup began and tasks were being assigned, I grew uneasy. Not because of work ahead, but because they were done in groups and despite two years of high school of ivalo and some acquaintances, I really had no group to be part of. Once it became evident I would be a leftover, I made a little disappearing trick and sneaked out. Of course, I couldn't leave the building, as all the exits were already guarded. After a bit of wandering, I ended up in classes where the aforementioned third parties were piling desks and chairs on the wall with loud "walking in the sunshine" on background. How does this all matter? I don't know. I just like to talk.

There was more but I'm bored now, so I'll {cut to the chase[: I really need to work on my temper. I get pissed off way too easily. Luckily I'm so weak that if I get violent (funny how that word looks like the violet of bruises. coincidence?), the only thing I could possibly hurt is my hand. This, combined with my compulsive dislike of bad logic is unhealthy combination; for, I've found, there are always people who just decide to defy all laws of logic. No matter how coherent argument I give them, they'll respond with something so inane and senseless that it's bound to make blood rush into my veins, muscles tighten and face contort. Then I'll say something stupid and piss them off (and embarrass myself). Jolly thing the people I'd call friends if I had any, are forgiving sort. Though what they were doing giving stupid arguments in the first place, ...

Hello is anybody thinking

You know you work for a bad company when you see the following things.

  • You nickname the head of HR Catbert and secretly hope they replace her with the real Catbert.
  • You director gives you a back rub and does 'getting to know you' sessions.
  • When the person given the responsiblity of leading a leadership meeting delegates all the work to other people
  • You nickname someone the Hamburgler because of a bad diagram(see it looks like a hamburger) they keep using as a description of the business model. Plus he wants to steal your soul.
  • You walk in one day an wonder what does my company do? And you can't get a straight answer because nobody really knows.
  • You help others in their job search.
  • You build a proposal and it keeps getting rejected because of the price being high. And after several cuts they finally tell you the number they wanted it to be in the first place.
  • You hear upper managment talk about the company and you ask the person sitting next to you "Hey do you want to submit your resume to that company they sound cool?"
  • You must use sarcasm as your psychological defense against going into convulsions.
  • You ask your manager for help in building a resume.
  • If you start to really think about what's happening you get flustered and have to say to yourself, "Remember you work for Company X thinking will just piss you off".
  • You move your monitor around not so you can play games or surf for porn but to look a jobsites.
  • You end conversations about the company with, "At least I get paid, until the money runs out."
Ok back to surfing job sites...

Okay, here's the thing, don't do this: don't buy milk from the Chevron Kwik-E-Mart. I bought a 1/2 gallon whole milk yesterday, dated June 5. Milk should be good for 1 week past carton date. The higher the fat content, the longer the shelf life. This morning the milk was curdled. Chunky. Lumpy. Solidified globules. It's just not worth the trouble to me to haul it back & demand a refund on less than US$2. But I'll never buy my coffee milk there again.

I'm happy now. Finally got around to installing Live365 player on work 'puter, so I can listen to that '80s shite that I like so much. I can listen to streaming music as long as my developer/boss isn't programming. My computer is the production server in our development environment, so when she's programming, she's accessing my black Dell box. I'm just the information architect/web developer, so it's all magic to me. I only care about the end-user. I take all this development on faith.

Had a good long talk with Sifu Patty last night. I've been training Mo Duk Pai kung fu for five years now. I've stuck with it through constant bruising, black eyes, a broken nose and a shoulder separation. I started with absolutely no goals, no aim, no ambition. I just did whatever I was told and advanced through the ranks without much thought about it.

Now I'm going up for brown belt and I still don't know why I put myself through this. It's hard. I am no fan of physical exertion. I'm not worried about the test itself - I did the brown test a few months ago without any additional preparation (it was a surprise test - thanks Sifu!). But I have to do a week of intensive training with Sifu Chris. I'm anxious because I don't know what will happen. I'm afraid he'll yell at me and make me do Pak Si Lum 6 for four hours.

Talking with Sifu Patty is good. She's like the hip school counseler all the kids can talk to. Sifu Chris is like the high school prinicpal all the kids are afraid of. I don't know if they play good cop bad cop deliberately, or if it's just their personalities & postions in the school (Sifu Chris is the chief instructor). I'm just uncomfortable unburdening myself to Sifu Chris - I think he's tired of our bullshit. But Sifu Patty listens and offers suggestions and insight.

No real resolution or answers from our talk last night, but after this test is over, I will reassess what I am doing in kung fu and what I hope to get out of it. That will help determine my future course.

Rose Festival opened last night. Right on cue, it begins raining in Portland

June the first, first day of the month. It is therefore incumbent upon us all to say (repeat after me) "rabbit, rabbit".

"Rabbit, rabbit". Yes. There's a story here, though it's not very good.

I was first made aware of this "tradition" when I was in the fifth grade. My clock radio alarm (which must always be set to "music" 'cause that shriekshriek will give me aneurysms) goes off on some first day of some month and I hear the DJ say:
"...rybody, it's the first of the month again. So say 'rabbit, rabbit"! That'll bring you good luck all month!"

Or some shit like that. So, being ten years old and in a whimsical mood, I said it.

"Rabbit, rabbit!" Yes, I felt kinda stupid, but it was fun.

I've been saying it for thirteen years. Every first day of every month.

Now I am not a superstitious person. I do not knock on wood, I do not throw salt over my left shoulder after spilling it, I walk under ladders. But for some reason that appears to be beyond my conscious control, I say "rabbit, rabbit" on the first of every month.

In eighth grade, my Latin teacher brought this up. Apropos of what, I couldn't tell you. But it was the first of some month and we enter class and after the obligatory "salvete, discipuli," "salve, magister" he continues on to "lapis, lapis". And then explains (in English) the custom of saying "rabbit, rabbit" on the first of the month to ensure good luck.

I'm not saying this works. I'm not promising good luck. All I'm saying is...

Rabbit, rabbit.

All together now:

Where's your boundary?

The boundary is the last fence you have to jump or demolish to be completely free to achieve your goal. It's a mindset, a cultural identity, even a physical hurdle itself.

My boundary was religion.

My goal was suicide.

Most obstacles to the finish line were the size of ant hills. No, my peers were indifferent. No, I had few or no friends, so no trauma there. My belongings? I wasn't into computing at that time. I probably would have missed my books the most. My teachers, with whom I could relate better than the kids, weren't even a consideration.

Then there was my family.

I was the difficult and moody one, the overweight one, the bookworm. My siblings were either popular, sweet, or very athletic (stereotyped can you get?). Oh well. Our parents loved all us and held different expectations for each of us. Mine were always slightly out of reach. I don't think that I really cared. The depression blacked them out.

Birthdays were miserable. I had become obsessed with my weight and was running daily. My 16th birthday was ruined three minutes after I got up when I weighed myself and discovered that I had gained weight and was now 5 lbs. away from my goal instead of 2 lbs. I was sure that no one at school liked me, even the kids who were nice to me. I was trapped.

Soon they were behind me and my depression and I were standing in front of the the fence on the edge of the cliff: Judaism. Judaism considers suicide as a great transgression due to the belief that we are made b'tzelem elokim, of in the image of G-d. Suicide would, in effect, harm a holy vessel that you do not entirely own. The consequence is that a suicide victim will not be buried in the Jewish section of the cemetery. Similar concepts were used in Europe during outbursts of copycat suicides in mainstream society.

Depression vaulted that hurdle and suddenly suicide was more of a comfort object to me. I thought of it freely as people receded into the background like white noise. It was everywhere and seemed to be a solution to just about anything.

I didn't want drama. I wanted results.

So I leaped. And I cut. I imbibed. And I swallowed. And I hurt. And I cried.

I've never really left the cliff. As Death spoke of Mad Hettie, it's hard to not like somebody you've known for a long time. But suicide keeps to itself nowadays and I go about my business of learning about the darkness' many avenues and lighting candles in them to find my way.

-- quote from Neil Gaiman's Death: The High Cost of Living

Rhapsody in Screwed :: Part VI


there are just some days that i wonder when the hell i got out of bed. yesterday was one of them. i remember the dentist's receptionist rang me at about 09:30, and the next thing i remember, i wake up from another dream about the Tynker boys, this one including an irritating buzz that won't stop, to discover that my mother is on the phone, and the buzz is actually my alarm clock. i have no clue what time it is, but i manage to throw on clothes and leave the house. i remember nothing before the door of the student services center.

at this point it gets clearer. i sign a promissory note for the $380 i owe the school, make the first payment, joke around with the bursar's clerk about access databases, and decide to eat breakfast. i manage to acquire a teriyaki bowl, and learn on the news at the chinese restaurant that the president's daughter has been caught underage drinking. i can't help but snicker. following this, i decide that as poor as i am, i really need some comics to cheer me up. so, no shit, i walk down to the local comic shop, and run into a geekGirl i know. i won't mention her name, because this gets interesting, and i don't want to start any blasphemous rumours, or anything. anyway, we go in and start bullshitting about comics and roommates, and i grab an issue of Blue Monday, and the lead in to volume one of Girl Genius.

then she hits me with it. she wants to *dress up* and go to the club. now, this particular female has not been seen in anything but black bdu's in years. possibly ever. so i start egging her on. many hours later, i got pictures of the phoenomenon.

but back to the hour at hand, we went out so she could eat, and i could drink lemonade. it was almost not funny when a waiter wandered over to our table on some bizarre pretense, and commented that he knew me. it took me a minute, but i realised he was right. i knew him, alright. in the biblical sense, many years ago. this was my cue to exit left, so geekGirl and i went to look at music we can't afford, and then back to her place so i could put myself $14 in debt to her roommate, the fixer.

i go home and call up mollie, because it's her birthday, and she's still trying to get a ride down to the club. i tell her i'll meet her there. i then proceed to totally ignore my kitchen, and go upstairs to get dressed to go out. i come back down in a pink bridesmaid's dress, with a leather corset-vest, and lots of jingly bits. truly a sight to behold.

then i head out to the fixer's so i can get a ride to the club. i get there, and am immediately confronted with macintosh tech support queries...i hate sys9. then i see her, and's wearing a skirt and *fishnets*! eek! so we get out the digital camera and start shooting. then there's some conversation about whether geek girls will ever blow the filmmaking roommate, and where the network hub should be put. i step into geekGirl's room to comment on the music, and when i step back into the hall, there's ogre, the imposingly large roommate, holding an imposingly large saw. "holy mother of god!" i say, "this is just too good! this is going in the daylog..." so, here it is.

so i get to the club, and spend the evening dancing happily, and smoking too much. i run into two other people i haven't seen since i was 15, one of whom i dated, one i only wanted to. not much to say, as not much was said. but i spent an interesting smattering of moments with someone else's slave boy. this kid is just out of high school, and he breaks my heart. he's beautiful, smart, and funny as hell, and utterly convinced that he's worthless. i can't help myself. i want to kill people every time i see him look sad...which is every time i see him, at least until i start talking. i love it when i can make him smile. it puts a whole new meaning to my life. but seriously, as often as i make ribald and downright filthy commentary to him, i could never imagine taking him to bed. he's just too delicate and dear for that sort of thing. think about how a loving older brother feels about his charming little sister, and you might have what i'm feeling here. i'll kill the first person i see deliberately making him unhappy.

but i digress. spent the remainder of the evening in a coffeeshop, bemoaning my fate (just because i can) to storyteller james and niall the priest of scorn. niall's really short...i like that. gives us something in common :) then, after letting james tell me i was concerning myself with things that requited no concern, he and i walked home, and talked about pheromones, genetics and the sca.

all in all, a good evening.

Wow. A penultimate change. First time ever. Wow.

For the first time, I think I actually "Hate" an E2 user.

I never thought I'd get to the point where I would write responses to personal attacks, but I did. I'm confused. I used to think I was very easy going and willing to deal with any shit from anyone... but now.. I've been personally attacked without, I feel, any reason.

If I may quote Demy, speaking on Dman, "don't like to hear the word "vampire" around here...". For the first time, I begin to understand what Dman and all the other more outspoken people felt. I'm not saying they were right, and I'm not saying I'm right in feeling this way, but, well, that's how it is folx.

Now I have to decide on my next move. Two steps forward or one step back?

Pawn to King Bishop Three.

I woke up today and laid around in bed till about 1:20pm when I called my friend to see if she was awake. No one answered the phone so I went back to watching the Soap Operas, specifically One Life to Live and doing write ups on E2. I could've called Rex Mundi since we were gonna go out for coffee too with the girl I called earlier. Rex Mundi would be sleeping though so I decided to wait till I got a call from either one of them. Of course the first person to call me is the one that I called, it's about 2:10pm now and General Hospital is on. She tells me that I should call Rex Mundi to see if she's awake and during that time she'll be getting ready since she takes long anyway. I said we probably won't go until like 4 or something when I get the car. I do call Rex Mundi and the person just woke up, she says she'll call me when she get's ready.

Well it's 4:45pm when I finally get a call from both of them and Days of Our Lives was on, I was kind of bitter that I missed the ending to go to Starbucks. Our usual trip of the day. So we get there and everyone arrives at a different time. I see some people that I recognize from highschool that I graduated with. Only one says hi to me, but I was like oh okay be snobs! Haha, it's not like I liked them much when I was in highschool. Hahaha, I barely even knew them so I guess I had no obligations to say hi.

Our whole conversation that went on till like 6:45pm at Starbucks was about ghosts in the Phillippines and demons and other spirits. Family myths, stories and legends. We can just never remember the exact name of the spirits so that's what I think pissed us off the most. But one of my friends decided that they will never set foot in Phillippines or Ireland. Haha! Now I know where to bring her if she's ever mean to me. Well eventually we had to leave because one girl had to go home for dinner and she was already late. So we disperse from our caffeine addiction location and head home.

Nothing to watch on tv, I feed my dog and play the piano as she goes insane. And I continue to do some research on spirits and run across some Ghouls in the Arabian Desert. I am highly amused at the solutions to rid yourself of these Ghouls and I decide to do a w/u on it. La now I'm trying to find someone to call and bug for a couple of hours while another friend of mine is watching Rent right now. Note to self, kill that boy! And my strange addiction to Soap Operas right now.

Ohio Day One

Wake up, still unsure of this whole idea of going to Ohio. As of yet I still might wimp out, after all The Reverend Horton Heat is playing the next day. While at work I bitch in the catbox about work being dumped on me. Which it had and was making me late, but I found my resolve. I was going, do or die. Why drive 7 hours to hang out with people I barely know? By myself?

Am I a loser? Probably, but e2 has meant something to me over the years, thought I'd finally make my appearance somewhere. After missing the Atlanta get-together, and wimping out on a chance to meet Templeton. I was determined to do something and meet someone from e2 in person, in the real world.

Eventually I get in my car, much later than I originally planned, and get on my way. I'm promptly greeted with heavy traffic not far from my place. I light my first cigarette of the weekend and hope this isn't an omen. Luckily it isn't too bad and I get to out of town. The rest of the drive is pretty uneventful.

Midnight, chillin' on am/pm, I get to Columbus. Nervous, anxious. Thinking, "What have I gotten myself into?" After getting a little lost I make it to zot-fot-piq's place. I don't even make it in the door and a large group is going off to the Outland. I tag along and chat with several noders on the way to the club including sane guy, Gamaliel, zot-fot-piq, ccunning. I've never been to a club with live S&M, but I thought the place was alright. Got a drink. Did some dancing. Watched some beatings and electrocutions. Kinda just hung around the outskirts of "the group." What do I say to complete strangers? Some people's handles I recognized, but for the most part I've never really talked to many of these people even on e2. I'm nervous as fuck, so I smoke nearly constantly. Meet a few more people while in the club. Meet and/or chat with brainwave, Becca, Jurph, WonkoDSane, Void_Ptr, tandex, and the others I'd meet earlier. (Did I forget anybody?)

Eventually we head back to zot's and I finally see the inside of the place. I meet Girlface, Indra363, aphexious, BAR, and find neil asleep on the couch. Girlface, Indra363, sane guy, Gamaliel, aphexious, BAR, zot, and I sit up, talking about random things for a while. Gamaliel, BAR, and aphexious all fall asleep on the floor and zot goes to bed while we chat. During this is probably when I felt most comfortable for the entire weekend. I claim some floor space and cash out around 6:00am.

Ohio Day One | Ohio Day Two | Ohio Day Three

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