He left to drop off the videos we rented the other night, and I stayed home to clean up kitchen messes and get online. When he came home, he plopped down on our bed and fell asleep pretty quickly. He was out for about 45 minutes before he finally woke up, and I disconnected from the net and put my laptop on the floor. He opened his eyes, and I began to untie his shoes and pull them off. Then his socks. I unbuttoned his pants and pulled his belt out of the loops. That made him laugh.

“Why are you laughing?”

”Because you’re funny.”

“How am I funny?”

”Mmm...” I pulled off his pants and he started to drift off again.

I lay down next to him and cuddled him for a bit. I realized he wasn’t going to move or do anything in order to get ready for bed, so I placed a hand over my mouth and gave him a muffled command: “Alan, this is your Goddess speaking. My head will float above yours no matter where you are! Watching you! Judging you.” He smiled and opened his eyes, and I kissed him.

“You’re wearing cute little briefs today,” I told him. “You don’t strike me as a brief-wearing man.” He ignored me, so I patted his brief-clad ass. “You have such a tiny, cute little butt!” He laughed again.

I lay next to him again and played with his lips. “Are you going to brush your teeth or no?” He nodded his head. “The sooner you get up to do that, the sooner you’ll be able to snuggle up in bed and go to sleep... and I’ll cuddle with you until you do fall asleep.”

“You take care of me,” he mumbled.

“You take care of me too.”

He sat up on the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands. I hugged him from behind and we rocked back and forth for a bit. He apologized for being so boring and going to sleep so early. I told him that he didn’t need to entertain me. Then he got up and I could hear bathroom noises. When he came back he started to undress, and I said, “Ooh! I want to be naked too!” So I got up and took off my clothes, and we climbed into bed like two naked married people who really like being naked together.

He looked down at me and said, “Your breasts are like two headlamps shining at me from the darkness...” and shielded his eyes from their blinding light.

After a few minutes of cuddling and occasional talking, he asked me “Do you love your boring husband?”

I replied, “I don’t love my boring one, but I sure love my fun, exciting, cute one!” and kissed him on the lips. He laughed. He turned over on his side, facing away from me, which is his signal that he really wants to be cuddled.

“Your body feels so nice and warm against my ass.” he said, and I giggled.

”Your butt feels so nice and cool against my....”


“My pelvis.” More giggling.

There was silent cuddling for a few more minutes, until I said, "Let me know as soon as you fall asleep."

"Why? What are you going to do when I fall asleep?"

"I told you before. I'm going to run away while you're sleeping, and never ever come back."

"Please don't go."

"Why would you want me to stay?"

"I need you..."

Silence for a moment.

"Okay. I won't go."

We whispered "I love you"s, but soon he was asleep and Sigur Ros was playing in the background. It was a really sad, beautiful song. As I stared at Alan's face, I noticed for the hundredth time how, when he's sleeping, his mouth always looks like it wants to smile.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHA! I just completely beat the hell out of a Linear Algebra exam. This has to be the easiest math test I've taken in a long time. I need to do something to celebrate. I don't know what. I may just put on a hawaiian shirt and dance around to Bob Seager or something.


It occurs to me that this is getting downvoted because it is short and not because the content blows, because anyone who's ever taken Lin Al would be happy for me. As a result, I will now fill this with random shit to see if I get upvotes as a test for "longer node = higher vote tally".

lasijdg;lsljhalijb;rarwu iausligh oyw0rbzs isucbjlrw oaif;bu lasijdg;lsljhalijb;rarwu iausligh oyw0rbzs isucbjlrw oaif;bu lasijdg;lsljhalijb;rarwu iausligh oyw0rbzs isucbjlrw oaif;bu lasijdg;lsljhalijb;rarwu iausligh oyw0rbzs isucbjlrw oaif;bu scb9u o4 f9c7; a-8-3 6 0fg a4ug0 kg4909v809upj fjaspfdj#(^I$ OIHHas08774ks iausligh oyw0rbzs isucbjlrw oaif;bu scb9u o4 f9c7; a-8-3 6 0fg a4ug0 kg4909v809upj fjaspfdj#(^I$ OIHHas08774ks safbpioj rw c98sip4ekjd gsa098e7t;ail34 09wuydilfj,meidq0 po3lj fiqduf 0a 9powik ;po9u. ... aslid7 v94 wsd20544wa4edf09uijeag ;powlkjdgnads8diuflkejg bgh0d7y43h2l2.r rasbrv;olajh.

Thank you, that is all.

Conclusion - one week later, this wu went from -12 to being positive 5. Longer = better. Sad.

Do you see this? This is my card, it says reality technician. That's my job. I like to tinker. There's some changes to be made, and my toolbox is ready.

There're a couple different sides to this line of work. It really can go any way. Sometimes there's the dark ones, and then there are the light ones, and then there are the ones who just know, and in knowing pursue the path. We have all kinds here.

I'm not keeping my other clothes under these overalls for nothing. I know my time here is limited, and I'm going to have to redress my self Immediately, so that He will see me. So that my skin glistens, projecting a million rainbows and delivering the radiance that I know will come to me.

There's certain things even I can't change, but I'm not looking to. Well, maybe I am. I'm stuttered.

Happy Halloween. may darkness penetrate all of your lives as much as light, and let you take it all in and reconcile your doubt, forming a coherent vision of the universe that will guide your lives into true bliss forever.

Listen to some Oingo Boingo today. Listen to some godspeed you! black emperor today. Hell, listen to mee. And then turn on the television, or read the newspaper, and then get really scared.

The shits going down, and we're all sitting in it. Some of us are throwing it around, dirtying so many faces. Soiling. End metaphor,(you should have know better).

I Slept with the gods!!!

Well, not WITH them, but I am writing now from The New York City Noder Compound, and I am overwhelmed with how cool everyone here is. As I write this, my butt firmly planted in the same place thefez sits, I feel like I am somehow invading a sacred place, corrupting with my newness and inexperience. Discovering and breaking some sacred taboo, only to find out that you were welcomed the whole time.

I got the word from corporate, "Go to New York for Training on the new help desk program." I start poking around and got my boss to buy the one hundred dollar train ticket, and then starting thinking about accomidations. The basic problem with this is that my company's policy is pretty screwed up on expendatures. I have to fron t all the money, then they'll refund what I have receipts for. This is fine for everyone with a great credit rating and disposable income, but for me it sucks. I don't have the six hundred dollars it would cost to stay in a hotel.

Templeton says, "why don't you ask one of the New York noders to put you up?" Sometimes it's really great to be in love with someone who's infamous on this site... well, it's always great. A few messages later and I find my accomidations requiry's fullfilled by fez.

"Duder, s'cool with the crew. You can crash on my couch."

The ride on the subway was long and confusing for a man built for wide open spaces. I looked at the transit map and tried to decipher what looked like the Great Pyramid of Giza. Again Fez comes to rescue offering a clear path to his home in Brooklyn. He met me at the subway stop, but was leaning over the a construction railing talking on a cell phone. I had only met him once at hot damn 2 and could not recognize him from such a position. I stood there in the cold New York night franticly leaving voicemail messages on his cell phone. "Dude, it's Jake... where are you?" "Dude, it's Jake, I don't know how to get to your house.. call me back." Soon I looked up at this great smiling face and I knew all was ok.

The stay here has been fantastic so far. I went to my class in upper Manhattan and learned much about what is the help desk software that I'll be using. After leaving the office today I walked by Rockerfeller Plaza and saw the people ice skating in the rain. I talked to people on the subway and shared in laughter of my ignorance of thier home. While I'm drinking as much of this place in I can't wait to be back home in her arms. Fez has been gone alot this evening, leaving more time to spend with perdedor who rocks just as much as laura said he would.

I always said I hated New York, but now I've seen the light. In the past twenty four hours I've come to love the city that never sleeps. I've come to understand why so many people would pile up in one general location.

Tonight I purchased a dream.
It glittered of
and shiny things. A lifetime of hopes,

failures, struggles,
and everything

Tonight I pushed aside the past.
I creased the knot, threw my leg
and looked down.

And double-checking my harness,

I smiled.

and jumped

Surreality log, October 30, 2002, 11:20 p.m.

A few days ago I re-dyed my hair, which required bleaching it out since it had grown a quarter inch or so. I use the highest power bleach available (not for sale to minors!) because I am impatient, and it tends to leave my scalp blotched here and there with surface chemical burns. Hurts like a motherfucker too, I tell you what. Anyway, when the burns are healing, they itch, so I scratch at my scalp. And since I have a bunch of fresh blue dye there, my hands and fingernails get stained mightily.

What do we do when our hands are dirty, kids? We wash 'em! Because I'm at work guarding computer labs and herding nerds tonight, this requires walking to one of the big tile bathrooms of the vintage 1950's bomb-proof building.

When I get there, even outside the room there is a scent of ammonia -- the janitors, I figure, have recently cleaned here. Opening the door presents me with a burst of the odor powerful enough to bring tears, made extra-special bad by the Wet Naps type baby powder perfume that must have been included with whatever cleaning product is making the stench. Ok, I think, I'll wash up fast while taking no more than two breaths, and get the hell out. So I go past the doorway and into the room, and over by the sinks, standing still and gazing into the mirror stands ...

... wait for it ...

... a very, very naked man. Like, seriously for real full frontal naked. Fifty years old and bald and naked. On Wednesday night in the engineering building, naked.

I exit before the door even shuts, and more importantly before the dude registers that somebody has entered the room, and go on to the other bathroom. As of the past thirty minutes, I haven't seen the guy at all, walking past my window, or flashing people, etc. Best case, he was some professor pulling a second all-nighter who decided to clean off with Windex or something. Worst case, I don't really want to think about. Hooray for all the random shit that always seems to happen on my shift ...

for lauren (lou) on halloween.

Don't expect a lot of love poems.
After years desperately writing them,
I've realized- I'm terrible at love poems.
Any good work I've done
Has sprung
From pain.
What a miserable way to be.
But wanting to write
Produces forced work.
When I need to write
Is when I'm worth
My words.
So don't expect too many love poems.
But wait around, coz I promise that
I'm worth my wait in pain.
It’s Thursday, and it’s still raining here in D.C. If it were a few degrees colder, I have no doubt it would be snowing or sleeting, instead. The security guard at work believes it will be a harsh winter this year, and I have no reason to doubt him. The man is a walking almanac.

Yesterday after work, my student employee and I headed out to brave the the deluge. He is an Italian (and I mean this literally -- he’s from a village near Naples), and he’s very confused by the weather. "I do not understand how it can be so cold and still be raining," he said (you’ll have to imagine his accent). "I thought that when it was cold, it snowed."

I tried to explain to him that even though it’s cold, the air temperature is still above freezing. I think he understood what I was saying, but his grasp of English is limited.

He recently came into my office and inexplicably asked me how to spell "busting my balls." When I told him, he was delighted: "Ah -- 'busting' is spelled just like 'dusting' but with a 'b'!" Sometimes I have a hard time remembering that he’s eight years older than me, and an attorney by profession. I feel strange explaining the English language to an attorney.

There was a "Drag Race" scheduled last night a block away from our house. This is an annual Halloween event in Dupont Circle, when the city’s greatest drag queens race down 17th Street as if to defy the fact that winter is just around the corner. Pantaliamon and I made plans to go this year because we slept through last year’s installment, so we were disappointed that it was probably rained out. Apparently, a little cold rain never stopped the city’s greatest queens -- we learned afterwards that they indeed held it in the downpour. I can just imagine five hundred-odd soaking wet queens racing down the street in stiletto heals and sequined dresses -- I hope they don’t get the flu. I guess the "Drag Race" is like the United States Postal Service, unhindered by snow or rain or gloom of night.

Halloween is my favorite holiday, yet this year it’s just too wet to properly experience it. I ate some candy corn, but it just didn’t get me into the spirit of things. I think the drag race might have helped. Perhaps I’ll dress up the dog and take him trick or treating. He’d probably like that.

The Tale of The Mouse
Part the Fourth

TheMouse goes 1 and 1!!

The scintillating BaByliss Rapide 2000 is posted and survives! It's reputation soars to a massive 6!! Bells are rung! Claxons are sounded! (It must have sneaked through whilst the editors were asleep!)

Any abusive messages in the inbox??
Anything at all?
Well, better luck next time I suppose.

Of course I am entirely unsure as to whether anyone quite got the point. Probably not. But then I'm currently of the opinion that the audience at E2 is composed almost entirely of American teenage adolescents, and whilst I'm many things I'm not one of those, so I suspect it's just a question of speaking an entirely different language.

Coming soon the dishwasher metanode, Dyson v Hoover: the playoffs, electrical light fittings I have known and loved!

Now i'm off to look up what postmodern means.

Halloween has always held a special place in my disturbed, scarred heart. I can remember what I dressed up as for Halloween all the way back to Kindergarten, which is remarkable, considering the problems I have remembering what I did last year, let alone last week.

In Kindergarten I was a simple ghost; the classic bedsheet over my head, a few holes cut for eyes, and a little white face makeup so my pasty-yet-not--totally-white skin wouldn't ruin the effect.

In 1st grade, I was a mummy. I was wrapped head to toe in toilet paper, and I looked scary, damnit.

Come 2nd grade, I'd gotten a bit more into Halloween, since my ever-strengthening brain demanded more from a costume. That year, I would be a vampire. Fake teeth, white face makeup, eye makeup, eyebrows penciled in, plus a nice, black cape and a button-up white shirt and clip-on bowtie. It was great.

By 3rd grade, I'd become a full-fledged Halloween nut. It helped that my birthday was on October 18th, and since I'd begun asking for money for my birthday instead of gifts, I had some spare cash to spend on necessary Halloween related items. This year, a typical costume would not do, no no. It had to be awesome. I had to be the one and only Link. My grandmother on my Dad's side sewed me green shorts, a green shirt, a green elfish hat with yellow band, a quiver, and I found a nice brown belt. My Grandpa on my Mom's side, who I've always referred to as Ol Ba, helped me make a shield with the Triforce symbol on it. I went shopping in Halloween stores, looking for the perfect sword, and finally finding one that had a bronze-colored blade and a blue hilt. My costume was complete, and I could go to school and trick-or-treat contented.

There's a slight gap in my memory, though, and I can't recall what I was in 4th grade. I don't recall it being a particularily traumatic time or anything; I can still remember who my teacher was and a few details about the year. But I can't recall what I was that year. I had to have a costume; it was mandatory for me. Regardless, I forgot.

Moving along to 5th grade, I decided to put together a Knight costume. Using large amounts of cardboard and black duct tape, Ol Ba and I fashioned a suit of armor, replete with gauntlets, leggings, shin-guards, and helmet. The helmet was a work of art. If you've ever read the X-men comic book, you've no doubt seen Magneto's red helmet. It was one of those. Despite being made out of cardboard, we were able to dome the top perfectly. My grandpa sure knew how to bend cardboard to his will, I'll tell ya. We also took a yardstick, cut it down, and made a sword out of it, using silver automotive tape to cover the blade, and, of course, black duct tape for the handle. My Grandmother also made me a black, velvety cape, which attached to my cardboard chestplate via some snap buttons. I was a certifiable badass that Halloween, no two ways about it.

The next year ended up being sort of a let down. I wasn't on my game when Halloween came around, and had to cobble together a costume in mere hours. I ended up being an army grunt, although the quality of the costume wasn't up to snuff. In fact, it was awful. I wish I would've forgotten about that year instead of 4th grade, because I doubt 4th grade could've possibly been a worse costume.

In 7th grade, I had to redeem myself. I had to be at my finest. Spare no expense, if you catch my drift. So first I had to determine what I was going to dress as. The decision was easy, as I was knee-deep in my X-men obsession at the time: I would be Gambit. I found a white bathrobe, and dyed it dark brown. It was easy enough finding some black spandex pants, and sewing some red echelons on them. Same went for the red shirt. The last step was the doozy - The headpiece. I took a ski mask, chopped it up properly, and then used it as a template to sew together a single-piece black headpiece like he wore. The costume ended up looking spot-on, and I'd even managed to get quite good at throwing playing cards. Channeling their kinetic energy towards explosive ends proved difficult though.

I couldn't rest on my laurels the next year though. I needed to show I could consistently make up kick-ass costumes. I don't know who I had to show it to, but I did, damnit. This year, Doom II was all the rage, so I was the Doom guy. The space marine that had been through hell, killed John Romero, and came back for more. It was actually a piece of cake, I just needed a short-sleeved semi-tight T-shirt, the black tights from the previous year, some boots, and a lot of makeup. I made myself look like I'd, well, been through hell; blood and scars and bruises everywhere. The coup de grâce was my double-barreled shotgun - More cardboard, more black duct tape, and more silver automotive tape. Now, picture this - A videogame playing nutjob running around a school with a gun. In retrospect, I appreciate the twisted irony.

My last year of Junior High, 9th Grade, saw the final year of my Halloween creativity. I went as a vampire again, a little more elaborate than 2nd grade, but nonetheless, not a very original costume. The major differences were ornamental; aside from a much nicer cape, I sewed some red velvet gauntlets to set off the whole outfit. Regardless, it was the beginning of the end.

That year marked the last time that I trick or treated. On October 31st, 1996, I sat in the computer room of our house, intently playing Ultima Online. Halloween was passing by my very eyes, and I didn't even give a shit.

I really do miss the fun of this holiday. I miss having a reason to spend weeks preparing elaborate costumes. Every year around this time, I think to myself, "Man, I could make some really wicked costumes." But there's no point in getting all dressed up when you have no place to go.

I also miss the candy.

Halloween was interesting for me. At work, we had a costume contest, which I did not participate in last year. I wanted to this time around, but procrastinated as always and had nothing to wear. I wanted to be a ninja, perhaps, with an authentic gi. Or a Buddhist or Yogi monk, complete with a truly shaved head and robes. Or even a total "nerd," clad in clashing red pants and a multicolored T-shirt with paisley tie and taped glasses. But none of that happened.

When I woke up, I knew I had to do something. So I put on some black slacks, which I could've sworn were dirty and already in the hamper (yet weren't), and a black long-sleeved mock turtleneck. I put on a black belt and black shoes. What could I be in this attire? Of course! A beatnik style, spoiled-brat coffee-shop poet. Rock on! And on my bus ride to work, the poem came to mind on its own, which was cool because I've felt rather creatively devoid lately. Here's what eventually arose, with little effort whatsoever:

The sorrow of being spoiled, recited with cappucino in hand

Woe, unto me!
Woe, unto me!
My mind is a prison!
My soul has set sea!
My heart, consumed with bitter irony!
Why must I drive a Jetta when I deserve an AUDI?
And pay nine bucks, just to see a movie?
It just isn't right, the world isn't fair!
Life stabs me to death, like the spikes in my hair!
This cursed concoction's made me jittery!
And not only that, I've really got to pee!

Of course writing the poem wasn't the hard part. I actually had to bring myself to recite it, and I am deathly afraid of speaking in front of crowds. So I practiced my breathing and speaking and hand gestures and when it came to crunch time, I was shaking like a live fish on a frying pan...but fortunately, that could be written off as part of the act, since I was "jittery" from caffeine. I had a cigarette, an empty cappucino cup, and an all black outfit. Many people had gone completely "all out" and expected to win simply by virtue of spending a ton of money on a costume. I've been reading a lot lately about how the best way to solve difficult problems within a system is to think beyond the system, or to "think outside of the box" as the gruesomely obnoxious cliché goes, and fortunately that's exactly what happened. It seemed to happen on its own, really.

I ended up winning "best overall" and got $50, the grand prize. This is, I believe, the first contest I've ever won. I have since submitted the poem to www.poetry.com and hope to make some more bucks. It never occurred to me how easy it is to transform words into cash...but we'll see where this takes me. I'm rather excited.

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