Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Blog: Escaped

PitbullA happy pitbull. (click for source)

~ I'm getting a lot done today. My barber's appointment got rescheduled. I worked on the car. I finished my spring advertisements. I aired some winter out of the house. I jammed to some tunes. (I think it's productive.) I got trampled by a pitbull. I wrote this blog. I brushed my... Yes, you read that right.

~ My windows are a pain to open and close. This time of year, when the bugs are still absent and the weather's warm, I just prop the doors open. Fresh air = joy. Having done this I was cranking up some "My Chemical Romance" in the living room. I heard a noise in the kitchen, and before I could poke my head through the door a pitbull lunged out! Shit! It's that dog from across the street who is always underfed, un-watered, unloved, and worst of all constantly getting unchained. He takes these opportunities to 1.) get the exercise he so badly needs running around like a loon, and 2.) consider getting the food he so badly needs by eating one of the neighbors or their pets. The well equipped animal control patrol is afraid to approach it. I was equipped with a laptop and a stereo.

~ Today, he was in loon mode, but I was keeping my distance in case he's bipolar. The greatest distance I could keep, however, was not far enough to avoid the objects his frantic tail batted about. I went to the door and ordered him out. He trounced out of the bathroom and actually considered my humble suggestion, but if a dog can look like he just remembered he was on a mission he did. Back to the bathroom he went. He was checking out every room with great speed, but the bathroom warranted the most inspection. Aha! Today's escape was driven by thirst and he knew about toilets. Unfortunately for him, I'm that rare man in a thousand who never leaves the seat or the lid up. Unfortunately for me, I'm also a man who takes pity on vicious thirsty dogs.

~ I cautiously approach the door. He's making sure my sink doesn't leak. I gingerly enter the room. He sniffs at the moist air seeping between the seat and the lid. I carefully lift them both. He eagerly dives in. I escape to the front door and begin calling him out again. After a long drink he emerges, but he only crosses half the living room before heading back for another long drink. Poor guy. I went to the kitchen to see if I had anything to feed him when I heard people calling out back. First of all, since when did his owners care enough to go looking for him? Secondly, why are they out back? They live out front.

~ It's not their dog. This guy belongs to the girl across the alley. She's standing out there with an empty milk jug, completely baffled by his disappearing act. There's something I have to explain about this girl. She's sexy and seventeen. She moved in with her Aunt and Uncle across the alley last summer, and I've been trying to avoid her ever since. Nothing good can come from me talking to an underage girl who's that pretty. Fate, however, seems intent to bait me into jail. There've been too many encounters already. Most of them go like this: I turn around to unwittingly meet her eyes. A smile escapes my lips before I can stop it. She smiles back. I turn away and slap myself. Today, her crazy dog is in my house.

~ I finally get him outside, but he jumps into the yard next door. As she comes around to the gate, I explain what he was after.

~ "Dumb dog!" she groaned. "I was giving him water when he took off."

~ It turns out that she lives elsewhere now. She still comes by to feed and water the dog. She had to carry him home, which was funny to see because he out-weighs her. While she was pinning him up I realized it was time for me to disappear before more conversation ensued. As I entered the house I looked back. She waived and shouted an apology. A smile escaped my lips.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Blog: Updates

~ I couldn't take it anymore. Vista forgot how to update itself properly and would freeze on every shutdown. Then it would notify me every time it started that the update module failed. I took to simply crashing it when I wanted to shutdown.

~ Sure I tried to manually repair it. The trouble began with an Internet Explorer update. This is an easy fix. You download an IE installer package, remove the corrupted program, and reinstall. Avast! IE can not be uninstalled from Vista. They're as conjoined twins now and one can't be separated from the other without making a fatal mess. I might have let them continue on, making a freak show of my desktop, but I couldn't bear the sight of it any longer and took mercy upon them, a fresh install on a blank drive.

~ This may be Vistplorer's --as it should be named-- only saving grace. Installation has never been this easy. All the proper drivers appear on their own. Then however, the updates began. This I felt was insane:


71 updates! 3 hours on broadband! Seriously! Everyone knows Microsoft will never sell a complete and stable product, but at least half of the operating system should come on the install disk. Nevermind me Vistplorer. It's not as if I bought this computer because I wanted to use it. You just have your little freak show and I'll go read a book.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Blog: Fresh Start

~ Today is the first day of the rest of my online social life. This is the new home of all my blogs, photos, videos, etc. From now on I decide how I share my stuff. I'm going to miss tagging photos but I think that's all I'll miss.

~ I've been blogging for about 1.5 years now, and I couldn't bear to start this off with a blank slate. So, everything posted before this was transferred here last night. I feel it is fitting to give updates on all those stories. If you're new to my blogs you'll know what you missed. If you're a faithful reader, and I didn't lose you in the transition, I hope this breaths new life into some older blogs for you.

The Lie: I'm 30 something now. That's how it's going to stay.

The Antonyms of Wing-Men: I haven't seen that bitch since, thanks be, but tomorrow's St. Patty's. Dun-dun-dunnnn!

Villainy: Brace yourself. She was pregnant. She hadn't taken a test yet, so she wasn't sure. By my calculations she was missing her second period thereabouts. This was the real reason for the tears. I saw pictures of the baby 7 months later and he looked healthy.

Biker Baby:

My niece

That's my niece on her daddy's lap.

Landslides: New-interest is getting married this summer, her college sweetheart I understand.

Guidelines: I've been dating a girl in her mid 20's for 5 or 6 months now, and I can't fathom enjoying the company of an eighteen-year-old these days.

Clearly Boyfriended: If her dreams panned out, "my girl" is teaching English in South Korea right now. Welsh-Tart is still single and is going by the handle Daffyd these days.

That's What Everyone Tells Me: I've put in my application to work at the liquor store that employed that cast.

I'm Pregnant: People don't post those stupid chain letters on MySpace anymore. I'd like to think my blog had something to do with it, but I believe the truth is the mass exodus to Facebook and its lack of bulletins is the real culprit. btw I only had about 20 friends back then.

Terribly Jealous: Ginger's sister is the bitch from "Antonyms of Wing Men". I haven't seen Ginger since then either. Makes St. Patrick's Day a bit of a double edged sword. If I never hang with Ginger again, that's sad. If the bitch puts a damper on yet another St. Patty's Day, that's sad. btw The room still isn't finished.

Potato's Pulse: I can't believe we hung out at Morton's that long ago! It closed after the first year. How I miss it.

People Lived: My friend was a no show. I watched the fireworks from the top of the fire escape with most of the bar staff. ~ Afterwards, I said to the barmaids, "Did you guys smell urine the whole time?" ~ Katie, "Yeah, I did." ~ Jay, "The people who live on that floor let their dog out to pee there." ~ Katie, "Ewe!" ~ Me, "I'm washing my hands." I had been sitting on that level braced on my hands. It felt sticky.

Rules of Non-Engagement: Burned it. ... But wait, now there's a photocopy of it on the web that will linger infinitly. Doh!

How It Works: "Lucy" is "Old-Interest" from "Landslides". She called me after about 5 months. When I told her I had a girlfriend she was very, VERY happy for me. Every sentence had 3 exclamation points at the end. I had company over so, I cut things short, told her to call me tomorrow. That was a month ago, no call, she is a little flaky. I'm hoping this means she'll stop acting so weird when I see her next, because it's been suggested to me that the weirdness stems from feelings she has for me but doesn't want and not feelings she's afraid I have for her like I suspected. Did anyone follow that?

King of the Road: Daffyd informs me that he has never taken that turn without having to drive around that "stupid mutt". He also questions "Where the hell have [I] been?" Also the dog is "black", when he drove home it was "pitch black", therefore he wins, and I should quit my whining. :)

Modern Grooming Habits for Men: My mom cut off the hair I'm sending to Locks of Love. I still haven't got a professional finish on it yet. I look pretty darn silly in the morning.

Blog: Modern Grooming Habits for Men

Originally Posted December 7, 2008 on MySpace

~ With my head held high and proud my bangs can touch my chest. My pony tail extends 10 inches. The longest strands run over 15. My hair is lush and soft and shiny and the envy of any woman lucky enough to run her fingers through it. But that's the problem with it.

Hair cuts for menThis one's a short layered cut. My hair would stand straight up at that length and the guy has gel worked in for "texture", AKA: messy. Source: Jack Victor

Hair cuts for menThis one is layered long on the top and shorter on the back and sides. It's also not arched at the ears for a "grown out" look. It's a little longer than I want especially at the nape. Source: Undergear

~ I think I look better with long hair, but I've often wondered how I would know. I'm the only man I find attractive. In fact I'm often shocked to discover who women find attractive. They swoon over George Clooney. I see a pudgy man with a receding hairline. Women lust for Brad Pitt. I see an unkempt scruff in desperate need of a shave. Women have the audacity to desire Sein Connery. Fine if it's a block-shouldered Bond, but no. They want the distended gut with a comb-over. Putting aside the fact that fame and wealth don't obscure my vision, I can't see what women see in these men or any other. That should include me. Then, why do I think I look more attractive with Fabio locks?

~ I had a disturbing thought a few weeks ago. I was brushing my mane in the bathroom mirror. I was reviewing my tastes for women. Aside from the fact that personality and love obscure my vision, I'm a good judge of physical beauty. I do have preferences, but they don't keep me from seeing the beauty in girls who fall outside them. In fact I only consciously recognize patterns in the women who take my breath away after the fact. Then it occurred to me. One of my less recognized preferences is for long hair. Do I grow my hair long because I prefer it in women? Worse, am I unknowingly making myself look feminine on purpose?

~ My friends gladly and frequently affirm this suspicion, but I never trust their jeers. The guys I think are jealous. The girls I think are blinded by preference. Hell, these same girls would tell me balding/scruffy/fat actors are sexy. Though I know adults from all walks of life often mistake me for a woman from the hair, they realize their mistakes as soon as they see the rest of me. I find it amusing when some barfly catches sight of me in his peripherals, then elevators his eyes up to mine. My eyes say, "What are you looking at?" and he quickly turns away in embarrassment. Take that mister media-injected-notions-of-modern-grooming-habits-for-men. Recently however, I've been confronted by the honesty of children.

~ Children have the singular ability to exact wholly innocent reactions. Not yet jaded, they can impart unfiltered honesty. Two children recently confirmed my fears. First, my uncle's family came up from Florida for Thanksgiving. With them came my just-turned-"this many" [Imagine three little fingers held up with almost certainty.] second cousin. She took to me quickly, pretended to read her new book to me. Later she was washing pie off her hands and face, and kept asking me if she'd gotten it all. After 4 or 5 of her own attempts. I came over and helped her wash off the last bit below her nose. ~ This is when she finally asked me, "Are you a boy or a girl?" ~ Did I hear that correctly, "What?" ~ "You have long hair, but your voice is deep like a boy's." ~ The following Sunday I had Thanksgiving with my girlfriend's family. This was the first time I'd met her children, a boy of 2 and a girl of 5, both of them stunningly beautiful children-of-the-corn minus the murder plus sweetness. The boy was casual and friendly. The girl kept a distance. Later, my girlfriend told me her daughter said she didn't like my hair because it's girl's hair.

~ *sigh*

~ Long story short, I'm cutting my hair. After much consideration, I've decided to go with a medium layered cut. If it's too short my hair will stand on end. Also, I refuse to adhere to a style that demands products or attention. I am still open to opinions, but unless you're a child don't expect me to listen.

Blog: King of the Road

Originally Posted October 12, 2008 on MySpace

~ Friday was a beautiful day, or maybe I should say Saturday was. A good friend had his going away party. In less than a week he'll leave the corn fields of Indiana for the swamps of Florida. More importantly, he'll leave his friends and family for the woman he loves. His mother gave a tearful toast, his 4 year old cousin wrote him a song, and I alone watched the sun come up with him.

~ Driving home that autumn morning between the corn fields I had a strange encounter. I was understandably tired. I was understandably preoccupied. The long night had given me plenty to muse about. It was a crossroads, a time to consider what the past held and what the future may hold. At the first actual crossroad I noticed I needed to focus on the present. It had me trying to peer past harvest-gold walls of corn to know what the next gravel road held.

~ When my car was new a gallon of unleaded gas cost 68 cents. This allowed auto makers to build me a vehicle of glorious proportions. The distance from the top of the steering wheel to the tip of my chrome bumper is 7ft 1in. When I nose up to a cross street and push my cheek against the vinyl grip a blind corner is still blind. As a result of this and other factors, I'm a slow and cautious driver. That first intersection was a good warning, but in my fatigue I quickly began wandering through thoughts again.

~ Soon, I came to the only notable landmark in the area. On a sharp corner you'll find what local children call Dr. Death's house. The front yard is littered with derelict cars. The resemblance to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre's auto graveyard is easily made. I'm told Dr. Death himself is an uneasy sight. The sharp, blind corner demanded I slow down. I took the opportunity to look at the compound. "How does this particular house manage to be so creepy?" My answer was laying 3ft ahead in the middle of the turn.

~ He lay there, head-up, looking right back at me completely unconcerned about my 4028 pounds of steel sliding to a sudden stop. Amazing! This dog was amazing not only in size and blackness but in his complete lack of fear. I was a dead leaf blowing in the wind for all he cared. I quickly dismissed the idea of honking at him. He probably wouldn't move and Dr. Death would surely pitch fork me for raising an early morning ruckus. So, I slowly drove around him. He fell from view as I passed. I worried I wasn't far enough over. Being inches from where I'd seen him I assured myself he must have moved, but I was wrong. When I was far enough down the road to see where he had been, there he was, laying in the same spot, looking at me, not caring in the least, not moving for anything.

~ I envy that dog a little, not for his stupidity and definitely not for his roommate. I envy him for his unyielding composure. I'm thinking maybe that's why I drive such a big car. I'm king of the road too. I'm thinking maybe that's why I'll stick with my friends until the darkness breaks. I want to be there for them, unmovable.

Blog: How It Works

Originally Posted August 29, 2008 on MySpace

~ Lucy got me again. I've been 900 miles away visiting my best friend, his wife, and his sister-in-law, Lucy. I spent the 5 hour flight home selecting the happiest songs on my iPod to drown the seriously bummed feelings swimming inside me. You'd think after 2 years and 4 or 5 visits I'd have learned my lesson, but I'm too damn trusting.

~ This is how it works. After months of silence Lucy will call. Sometimes she wants to vent. Sometimes she wants advice. Sometimes she just misses me. If we talk for long she'll start asking those questions again:

"When are you coming to visit?"

"Why don't you move out here?"

Worse, if I am planning a visit Lucy starts making plans:

"I'm taking you to the beach."

"You have to see my dorm room/apartment/new apartment."

It's all very warm. I couldn't ask for a better rapport with an old flame, but when I get there she gets distant. She suddenly can't find the time to see me. If I do see her she freezes over. She won't talk to me or look at me. She certainly won't smile and laugh for me. When she gives me a chance I can slowly ease her defenses, but those chances are rare.

~ This last trip, Lucy came by my friend's house to pick up her sister. We were in the living room when Lucy arrived. Not only didn't she say hello, she didn't even come into the room. She peeked around the corner briefly then disappeared. Hardly the welcome I expected from someone who promised she'd bake me cookies. Later that week we were wrestling. It started out with Lucy poking her sister. I came between them and deflected pokes, but found it easier to restrain Lucy. Now restrained, Lucy's boyfriend began poking her. I released her only to have it escalate into a water fight. I thought after that it was safe to attempt a goodbye hug. She snubbed my out-stretched arm, but at her boyfriend's behest yielded a half-hearted motion that could have been mistaken for a hug from 30,000 feet.

~ The flight home offered plenty of time to think --an offer I turned down as I turned up my music. However, my sunken mood surfaced before the plane did. Upon picking me up, my father asked how the trip was. I told him.

He said, "That's not just immaturity. There's something wrong with her."

I said, "I know, but it doesn't stop me from taking a fall every time she sets me up. It doesn't stop me from trying to kick the football every time she swears she'll hold it. That's just how it works."

Blog: Rules of Non-Engagement

Originally Posted August 9, 2008 on MySpace

~ Cleaning your closet can be emotionally treacherous. You're liable to find buried memories. Years ago, I grew infatuated with a girl. She didn't want me. We were supposed to be friends, but that was quickly becoming a charade. I tried to avoid her until the feelings died, but it wasn't working. To strengthen my resolve I made a list, rules of engagement or rather rules of non-engagement. I found it in a shoe box beneath a milk crate behind the Christmas decorations in the far back corner of my bedroom closet.

rules of engagement

I can't have her. I push myself away from her. I don't make eye contact with her. I don't touch her. I don't breath near her. I don't live near her.

~ It's a hard thing for me to read --worse to remember. This time I'm going to hide it where I know it can't sneak up on me again. I'm putting it in the kindling box in the garage.

Blog: People Lived

Originally Posted July 5, 2008 on MySpace

~ Last night was the downtown Muncie fireworks show. I had a friend who was going to meet me there, so I decided to wait for her call at my favorite downtown watering hole. It was merely an excuse to go there --as if I needed one. I live right on the edge of the festivities' center. My bar is on the opposite edge. To walk there I pass a park, cross the river, and traverse the high school grounds. Bam! I'm there and If anything a little farther from the fireworks than where I started. I take this trip often, but today I saw something new.

~ Every front porch and side yard was occupied. I've lived in my home for 5 years. Most of these houses I've never seen a soul around. Yesterday they were a buzz of commotion. The porch swings were swinging. Bottles clanged as adults chatted. Kids shouted as they played in driveways. I saw a cornhole tournament. I smelled countless cookouts. Even the vacant lots had occupants. Clearly these people lived and worked here, but where did they come from? Better yet, where have they hid themselves until now?

~ Television. I'm sure they're watching TV or something similar. I'm sure they hold up in their hovels shunning the sun and its shine. I'm sure they're missing out on all this fun all the rest of the year. I'm not one to point fingers. I was heading to my home away from home, leaving the safety of one cave for that of another. For crying out loud, I'm blogging at this very moment. It's just kind of horrifying how unusual it felt to see my neighbors.

PS: The bar is actually a couple blocks from the School and it's really a pub. The kids could eat there if they wanted to.

Blog: Potato’s Pulse

Originally Posted January 27, 2008 on MySpace

~ I had another nightmare. I'm working in my parents' back yard and keeping an eye on my niece. She's quiet and content laying in her baby basket. So, I turn back to my task whatever it is.

~ A minute passes before I turn to check on her again. She's still happy laying in her basket of fries. I tend to my work for a moment. I look back to her and she's lying very still. I go to her quickly and discover she's become French fries with ketchup and she's not moving. I poke a fry to see if she responds, nothing. I jostle the basket, nothing. I listen for breathing and think about taking a pulse, but I hear only the breeze and how do you check a potato's pulse? They don't have hearts.

~ I'm getting upset at this point. I run to the house yelling for my sister to help. I get to the kitchen phone to call 911, but I hesitate. I look at the basket of fries, my niece, and I know it's too late. French fries can't live. My heart was heavy. I'd already feared the pain my sister and brother-in-law would suffer as I crossed the yard. I wondered how my parents would take the loss of their only grand-child as I entered the house. Why wasn't I more upset than I was as I looked at her getting cold on the table? I woke up quite relieved to find it was a dream.

~ That evening I was out at my favorite public house, Morton's. One of my friends ordered some pub chips which he couldn't finish. He offered the rest to me and I gobbled them up without considering that I had just dreamed of my niece becoming a lifeless basket of essentially the same thing. Again, as in the dream, I had to question my insensitivity. Sometimes I wonder if I have a heart.

Blog: Assault-rifle Andrea

Originally Posted December 22, 2007 on MySpace

~ I've been having some weird dreams lately. Just yesterday I woke up from a dream to hear someone over a walkie talkie. Then, I heard movement in the room behind me. I laid there motionless, straining to hear, just barely opening my eyes. A figure ran past the foot of my hospital bed. I sat up and tried to yell at them, but my movements were slow and my speech slurred. It was as if I was drugged, but I woke up for real and figured the slowness was due to my being asleep the first time. Was it really though? Maybe the truth is I am at a hospital. I'm kept out with drugs and the life I think I lead is really the dream. Now I'm not egotistical enough to think that none of you exist. Rather, my body could be robotic while my brain is in some poor guy who controls it remotely from a secret laboratory. I know this sounds crazy, but it explains how the brain of a nerd got in the body of a model. :) Seriously, all the oddness of my slumbering thoughts has inspired me to tell you about my favorite weird dream of all time.

Frightening. She actually turned out to be very sweet if you were on her good side.

~ Have you ever played Goldeneye for the N64? Do you remember how you die? At the moment of death you hear 3 shots and a red veil comes down the screen as your first-person-perspective stumbles about leaving you with a view of the ceiling. Then, you can restart your mission and try again. Well, I was playing Perfect Dark, sequel to Goldeneye, one evening and I died in the same spot over and over. I probably died there thirty times before I gave up and went to bed.

~ That night I dreamed I was in the mission. I made all the normal steps to the corridor of my doom. The clock was ticking so I bolted down it prepared for the henchman who pops out from the corner. This time though it wasn't a henchman. It was Andrea! It was Andrea with a fuzzy baby-blue sweater, A grin of maniacal glee, and a shoulder strap leading down to the assault rifle she so happily swept the hallway with. I fell to the floor disoriented. Blood ran through my eyes. Andrea shot me 3 more times for good measure. I started over.

~ I don't know how many times she killed me that night before I finally gave up on sleeping. Yes, I died in my dreams, but it was video game death which always comes with another incarnation. Before you try to analyze it further let me tell you a little about Andrea. She was a five foot nothing terror I met in my third year of college. With her big blue eyes, her curly blond hair, and all of her 80 pounds she was a thorn in my side. Whenever I saw her she greeted me with a bony little fist. She made cruel little jokes at my expense. I flirted with her little friend and she yanked her away. And, she always bared her teeth in that big grin as soon as she caught sight of me. As I'm sure you've realized she had a crush on me. I certainly hadn't realized it until long after the dream, long after I began referring to her as Assault-rifle Andrea.

Blog: It’s 3am lady

Snuggly SoftI'll raze you in a nice home.

Faux FurSilence of the Lambs only with plush toys

Originally Posted November 9, 2007 on MySpace

~ My costume was originally a teddy bear. It was about 20 inches tall. I used the feet as front paws. The eyes were made from sunglasses. I eventually popped out the lenses because they kept fogging up. The frames kept the eye holes in shape though.

~ When I bought it I encountered one of those situations where I let strangers believe what they assume. The cashier lady saw the bear and her eyes lit up. "Oh! Somebody's going to be excited to get this!" ~ She thinks I'm giving this adorable toy to my non-existent child. Little does she know I'm about to disembowel it. I answer, "Yeah", with a that's-what-I'm-hoping-for air. ~ She sets it on the top of the bagging carousel as if I'm supposed to put it in my cart naked. I ask her to put it in a bag if she has one big enough. ~ She says, "So you can hide it?" ~ This time I give her the truth, "No, I don't want it to get dirty in the car." It's 3am lady. My kid better be sleeping.

Blog: A Small Part of a Survey

Originally Posted September 7, 2007 on MySpace

~Do you believe in love at first sight?

~ The answer I see here 10 out of 10 times is, "Lust, not love." I say poo! If the answer's so obvious then why does the question keep appearing in all these stupid surveys? I'll tell you. Someone wants to believe in love at first sight (LAFS). A lot of someones want to believe. Are they naive or un-jaded?

~ The ultimate question laying beneath it all is, "How do you know when you're in love?" The best answer I've heard is, "If you think you're in love, you are." (I wish I knew where I heard that.) Here's no attempt to quantify love. Here's no attempt to compare. It even neglects to care about love's type. It shoots straight to the heart of the matter. Love is about feelings. Spreadsheets and time tables be damned. Love's not rational that way. LAFS potentially can be every bit as real as love itself.

~ I, myself, will probably never experience LAFS, because I'm skeptical. More accurately, If I do experience it, I probably won't believe it. That said I'm slow to judge what other people believe they experience. In conclusion, poo!

Blog: Terribly Jealous

Originally Posted August 28, 2007 on MySpace

~ Sunday was soon to be over. The Heorot crowd had dwindled to Ginger, Professor, Gilligan, and myself. A friend of Ginger's phoned her about getting a drink that night, but she didn't drink beer. Ginger asked us if we wouldn't mind heading over to B-Dub's. To be honest, for Ginger's company we wouldn't mind heading over to Ohio.

~ We all drove downtown separately, so we carpooled to B-Dub's. Gilligan rode with Professor. I rode with Ginger. Upon arrival I saw someone I knew. I talked to them for a bit before heading to the table my friends had filled. Now there were two more of us, Ginger's friend who wanted the drink and Ginger's the-jealous-type boyfriend, Skipper. There were no more stools. Ginger jumped up, found a stool for me, and made people scoot over so she could place it next to her stool.

~ As I'm sure you know I'm a terrible flirt. Thanks to Ginger's actions I was already blipping on Skipper's radar screen. For the rest of the night I knew I had to be on my best behavior. Last-call was called the moment we walked in. I could last until close. Twenty minutes past closing time everyone decided they were hungry. Everyone decided to head for Breakfast.

~ Without thinking I get back into Ginger's car. Skipper looks amazed that I could be so brash. I'm thinking, "Shit! All that self-control for nothing." I hatched a little plan. When we got to the restaurant I went directly to the restroom so I couldn't pick my seat. Thereby, nothing could be implied by where I sat or who sat by me. The last seat was directly across from Ginger. See figure 1.

fig.1 (1) (2) (3) (4) [ T A B L E S ] (5) (6) (7) (8) 1. Mrs. Howell 2. Thurston Howell III 3. Ginger 4. Skipper 5. Gilligan 6. Professor 7. Me 8. Empty

~ There was a coloring contest for children, but we participated anyhow. We all chatted and laughed. We colored and ate. Things were going pretty smooth. I think Skipper eased back to DEF CON 3, but he tried his best to out color me. (No chance in hell someone's beating me at the art of crayon coloring.) Everything has an end. The turbulence began when we started talking about Ginger's sister. Ginger lived with her sister and she hated it, but she couldn't afford rent. Professor asked, "Well, you're from this town. Why don't you live with your folks?" Now, I knew from what her sister had told me that moving back home was not an option. So, not having to hear the answer gave me the moment I needed to realize our flight plan was heading straight into Skipper-defended airspace.

~ I lowered my head and colored my picture as if it were the only thing in the world. But, I listened, I schemed, and I pretended I wasn't listening. Everything happened as predicted. After Ginger side stepped Professor's first question Gilligan asked, "Hey! Why don't you move in with Tim? He's still got that extra bedroom." ~ Ginger said, "Should I?" ~ Professor and Gilligan, "You should. It'll be great. He'll cut you a good deal on rent." ~ Ginger, "Sounds good to me." ~ Professor, "What do you think Tim?" ~ "About what?" I said, still looking down, still pretending to be oblivious. ~ Professor, "Can Ginger move in with you?" ~ The plan was to say, "OK." as coolly as possible. The plan was to sound like it was perfectly fine with me either way. The plan was to avoid getting shot at by Skipper while not shooting down Ginger's hopes for refuge. I looked up at her beaming smile and said, "OK!" like it was the best damn idea I'd heard all year.

~ Doh! I did not even look at Skipper with my peripheral vision. I knew he was scrambling fighters, but I thought I could save myself. I talked business. "Don't go getting yourself evicted just yet. I haven't finished remodeling that room." ~ "Well, what's the holdup?" she prodded. "It's been a month since I saw it." ~ "I don't have time. I work 60 hours a week and go to school half-time. What little free time I have I prefer to spend out with you." ~ As soon as I said that Skipper Jumped off his seat and went outside for a smoke. I saw him because that time I was watching in my peripherals for an anti-aircraft cold cock. Professor and Ginger said, "Why did he leave?"

~ Today, I still don't have that bedroom finished. Ginger's got a new man. Ginger's sister decided she doesn't like us anymore, so we never see Ginger. As for being my tenant, I guess it'd be incredibly fun or I'd want to strangle her. Either way any girlfriends I have would be terribly jealous.

Blog: I'm Pregnant

Originally Posted August 22, 2007 on MySpace

~ Your friend posts a bulletin. You read it. Sometimes it has personal info. Sometimes it has something they wanted to pass along. Both of these may or may not come with a curse/hex/threat attached. Sometimes your friend will post a bulletin, you'll read it, and it contains nothing but a curse/hex/threat. Now, in 100% of these cases the ill fate can be avoided if you only take 2 min. out of your pampered life to repost. But, by reposting you subject your friends to the same proclamations of doom and despair. How can this CHAIN ever be broken?

~ For you, my friends, I have been breaking these chains and taking the punishments that follow. And, for the last six months I have been compiling a list of all the atrocities that you, my friends, have sent my way. I'm providing that list here for your perusal. warning! mature content. parental discretion is advised.

  • 90 years 41 days of bad luck.
  • 116 years 199 days of relationship problems with 2 additional life sentences
  • No one will ask me out for 5 years.
  • I'll regret it.
  • I'm boring.
  • I'm lazy.
  • I'm cold hearted times 2.
  • I'm heartless.
  • I'm afraid of what people think of me.
  • I'll have guilt.
  • I'm twice a bitch.
  • I'll lose 12 loved ones.
  • I'll never find love 2 times.
  • I'll simply die 12 times.
  • I'll be raped by by a man with a blue, maggot-filled penis and skinned alive twice. (very uncouth)
  • I'll wake up in a sewer 6 times.
  • A baby's ghost will slit my throat 2 times. (my favorite)
  • I obviously don't care if my mom dies.
  • I have no soul.
  • I have no feelings thrice.
  • I'm ashamed of Jesus.
  • I'll have the worst life.
  • I'll lead the loneliest life 2 times.
  • Something bad will happen.
  • I'll never have good sex.
  • My genitals will rot.
  • I'll become celibate.
  • Tom will delete my account 6 times.
~ As you can see I'm not dead and my account is still active... for now. If you do no repost this as "OMFG! i'm pregnant" in the next 123 sec. your feet will smell like carrots for 5 months.

Blog: That’s What Everyone Tells Me

Originally Posted August 8, 2007 on MySpace

~ Bernie was having a pool party and we were invited. Richard and I worked with Bernie. We saw him as somewhat-pathetic middle-aged bachelor. I say somewhat because though he lived with his mother it was a duplex, and though he got nowhere with girls half his age they would give him the time of day. For his pool party Bernie promised us the bartenders of Motini's, A.K.A.: Weapons of Mass Desirability. Richard and I were skeptical, but we would go and confirm our disbelief.

~ The day of the party arrived. How wonderfully wrong we were. In the far corner of Bernie's lounge sat two of the femme fatels with a male counterpart between them. Was he with one of them? I didn't know. The question could wait for in another corner a lone girl ate potato salad, not a Motini's girl but equally attractive. I grabbed a plate of food and introduced myself to Bernie's mom. Momma Bernie happened to be sitting next to the unknown girl and in less than a minute I shamelessly asked her to introduce us. They hadn't met, but it didn't matter. I was in with Gwen.

~ Soon, Gwen and I were sharing a bowl of homemade ice cream and getting along rather fabulously. She was from Seattle. She was here for a month to visit her father, a friend of Bernie's. She had a week left in town with little noting to do. This was getting promising until I asked, "So, what do you do in Seattle?" ~ "What do you mean?" She puzzled. ~ "What kind of work do you do or are you in school?" ~ "Oh, I'm in school." ~ "What do you study?" ~ "Umm... The usual things I guess. I do take the honors classes. I can't imagine it's any different from what they teach in Indiana." ~ Gwen had me seriously worried now. I dreaded the next question, but I had to ask, "Are you still in high school?" ~ "Yes." ~ Playing it cool, "So, what are you going to study in college?" ~ "I don't know?" ~ "Well you must have some idea. How did you decide which schools to apply for?" ~ "I haven't applied to any yet." ~ "You should have done that as a junior." ~ "But, this coming year I'll be a sophomore." ~ Aaack! "You must be joking. You look 21!" ~ Smiling, "That's what everyone tells me."

~ Somehow I got myself on a tour of the house with Momma Bernie. It took longer than I expected. I was in a pinch and she made an excellent ejector seat, but it worked too well. By the time I landed people were leaving. Gwen gave me a smile and walked out. Her father followed --eyeing me. Next, the two women, who by occupation had to be at least 21, strolled out and flew away. It was just as well that they did. Then Richard walked in. He came in time to see what was leaving. That made me feel a little better about pursuing the wrong girl all afternoon. At least I hadn't missed all the excitement. Then again, he didn't go on that tour.

Blog: Clearly Boyfriended

Originally Posted June 16, 2007 on MySpace

~ I promised a spin-off of "The Antonyms of Wingmen" back in March. Let me get on that right now.

~ St. Patrick's Day '007 has arrived. The Heorot's packed and so is my friend's table. Welsh Tart had to sit at the next table and I joined him. This was a fortuitous arrangement. Women could freely assume we were not coupled with any of the girls at our friends' table. We were free to plot conquests of such women.

~ Pretty girls abounded on this night. There was one in particular who really stood out for me. She belonged to a patch of flower-children types which grew on the other side of our table. Tart swore that one of them kept looking at him. There were more ladies than gents in this group so we tried to discern who were the single ones. Mine was clearly boyfriended. The rest we couldn't tell. Everyone kept changing seats. We determined that some of the guys were single, so a lot of these women were available. Tart reluctantly surmised that his interest was taken as well.

~ We set the conquest aside for a moment because as we discussed the flower patch the conversation got off track. I don't know what we were talking about, but it must have been interesting. I said something funny and got a laugh from across the table. Tart's girl was listening to our banter. As we engaged her, my girl turned to join us. Soon we were getting to know one another. I did some friendly flirting which was met with wary looks by the boyfriend trying to hear what we said from further out.

~ At a lull, I leaned close to my girl and asked which of her friends were single. She was a little surprised, but turned and carefully inspected them all. Tart was shocked too and informed me that I may have suddenly lost my mind. I was thinking that we had an in. Maybe we could be happy with a couple of the wall-flower-children. How else were we to get the girls over there over here. BUT, She leaned into us and said that they were all single except for herself and Tart's girl was engaged. With hardly a thought I declared, "Well that's perfect because I like you and he likes her." She blushed. Tart blushed. I think I saw Tart's girl stifle a grin. And, my girl's boy was at a complete loss. For a moment we looked at each other in silence. I asked Tart if he was ready to go and he was. The tense moment melted away almost as quickly as it came, but we made our goodbyes and headed for The Fickle Peach to find our friends who'd long since left.

~ I couldn't help myself. The situation was too perfectly the opposite of our desires. It struck me hilarious. I had to share. We couldn't have had the girls we wanted anyway, so no harm done. And besides, it was the same neurotic sense of humor that ended things which had started them.

Blog: Guidelines

Originally Posted June 8, 2007 on MySpace

~ Question everything. I live by that. I make my own mind up about what's right, what's moral, what's ethical. Sometimes I may be wrong, sometimes I certainly take things too far. Dating age is a trouble spot for me.

~ Age does not equal maturity. So, I feel it's fine to date anyone who's mature enough. One problem is there are many ways to be mature. A girl could have all the confidence, responsibility, and physicality of an adult, but act like a middle-schooler around hott boiz. Problem two is her physicality can put my better judgment to bed. So, since I've disregarded the legal limit where do I draw the line?

~ The following is that line, my guidelines:

  • Out of high school. Dropping out early doesn't count. I think grade is a more accurate measure of maturity than age, but this is essentially an age limit.
  • Has not lived with mother for a period of time. I don't think girls can become women under their mothers' aprons. If I was Freud I'd say it's a conflict of mothering instincts. Until a girl is independent from Mom she wont lose that teenage girl sensibility. A semester in the dorms counts (barely).
  • Emotionally stable (for a girl). Now don't castrate me just yet for saying, "for a girl." Compared to many men the sanest of women are a roller coaster of emotions at times. Normal behavior can appear crazy to the male observer. The "for a girl" is a clarification for men which gets left out when I explain these rules to women.
~ So yeah, I bend these guidelines all too often. That's exactly why they aren't rules. breaking your own rules is hypocritical. I'd rather be a pervert than a hypocrite. They're also just guidelines because they don't account for every situation. Individuals need to be judged individually. I hope this clears up some questions about my honor ability. Maybe it shouldn't.

Blog: Landslides

Originally Posted June 8, 2007 on MySpace

~ I'm sure it's all unintentional, but it's there. I just got back from a week's vacation. I visited a place where I saw one ex-love-interest and developed a possible new interest. "Ex-interest" is over and done with, but we're playing the impossible friendship game. We almost make it work, but we're not there yet. Maybe I'm to blame, but she certainly doesn't make it easy.

~ I blame myself because I can't lose my feelings for her. I've never been able to stop feelings. They linger for eons. She's not the only one I miss. There's the ten girls before her who still have pieces of my heart. Time, lots of time, and new relations are the only things that make them fade away. So when I'm ready to give out another piece what do I do about the freshly severed chunk the last girl's holding? I bury it. I forget about it. Ex-interest unearths it easily. In her mind it should have pushed daisies long ago, dust to dust, so it's fine if she drives a trench digger.

~ Coolness was me. I'd see Ex-interest during my vay-kay and we'd be perfect friends. Then she calls asking if I wouldn't mind her moving into my house. It would never happen and I knew it. None the less it stirred my ignored feelings and skewered my thin cool.

~ Jump forward a week, I'm sitting on one end of the couch. Ex-interest's boyfriend is sitting on the other. Ex-interest lays down across us both. He gets the head. I get the feet. The sub-surface message is I'm still hers to lay on, but I don't get the head. I doubt she intended to do anything but lay on the couch, but I received a clear message. If only "New-interest" had come on that night and not the next. My half of the couch would have been full, and we'd have been sending our own message, park that trench digger because New-interest's causing landslides.

~ So, I've returned to start in the impossible friendship game. Next week or the week after (or at the very worst one to two weeks after that) I'll roll the dice and give the trencher a call. As for New-Interest, we have the same problem that doomed Ex-Interest and I, we live 900 miles apart. I'm eternally hopeful.

Blog: Biker Baby

Originally Posted May 25, 2007 on MySpace

~ The following is an excerpt from an e-mail I wrote to my older sister. As usual it's been altered to protect those more innocent than I.

~ Our niece's 1st birthday party was pretty nice. She's moving around like crazy. The funniest thing was when she fell into this big present. It ripped open and surprised her. At first she moved back closer to mommy, but then, eyes filled with wonder, she stood up and peered into the hole she'd made. She slowly managed to unwrap a toy ATV. (Mommy managed to keep her from eating any paper.) When she discovered that it made sounds she wouldn't pay attention to any of the other presents mommy unwrapped for her. That was until mommy unwrapped a baby doll. She took to mothering immediately. She kissed it a couple times. Then she carried it over to show the dog. As she's still crawling, carrying the doll consisted of pushing it face first across the floor. She left it in the dog's care and ran back to her ATV and actually managed to mount it. I see guys with motorcycles in her future. Her father can thank his parents for that one.

Blog: Villainy

Originally Posted May 12, 2007 on MySpace

~ I was a villain last weekend. I attended a graduation party for my friend Doe. First thing through the door I recognized Doe's younger sister, Fawn, from photos. Doe greeted me with a hug and I whispered to her, "Your sister is hot!"
~ "You stay away from her!" she scolded.
~ "Why?"
~ "She has a boyfriend."
~ "Which one is he?" as I turned to look at the three young men already bucking for her attention.
~ "He's not here."
~ "Then whats the problem?"
~ Doe returned to the beer-pong table pointing and scolding the whole way.

~ My highly controversial position on boyfriends is: They don't matter. A lot of girls will think they're in love in a matter of days. A lot of girls hop from one guy to the next never being entirely single. A lot of girls date guys who don't deserve them. So, until I see some evidence that the relationship should be respected I don't respect it. Show me a pretty girl with an absent boyfriend, and I'll show you how to jump headlong into trouble.

~ Several hours latter we were alone. Fawn was wasted and I was good and drunk. I took her around the side of the building because she had suspicious hiccups. There was grass here making it a good place for puking. The hiccups subsided. As we talked she rested her head against my chest. I made my final move. She told me she really liked her boyfriend. There was my evidence. No, it wasn't much to go on, but considering our inebriation and intimacy I respected her plea to resist. I was shelving my desires when suddenly she tilted her head in the way that says, "I'm ready."

~ We kissed a few times before she broke off and made another lament about her boyfriend. I thought we were finished. Then she came back for more. After every volley of kisses she'd hang her head then look up, hair in her face, dissecting her relationship. I'd smooth the hair away and discuss it, but she'd interrupt me with kisses. Soon she was crying, and shortly after that she was crying too hard to do anything but cry. I was attempting to comfort her when Doe found us.

~ The older sister rescued the younger and they headed off to a bedroom where the younger fell asleep. As I was coming back in the building Doe's boyfriend thanked me for looking after Fawn. I told him not to thank me because, "I made out with her. She's upset because she cheated on her boyfriend with me." Most everybody was pissed at first. Later most of the guys decided they couldn't hold it against me. Some of the girls are still mad at me now. However, I somehow was welcome to come back the very next day.

~ Fawn remembered nothing of the night before. She'd been told she had a breakdown and that I had to deal with it, but they left out why. First thing, she apologized for it. I told her not to worry about it. I didn't know what to do. I felt I was lucky to be there again. Last thing I wanted to do was second guess Doe's decision to keep things hidden. I found myself sticking by Fawn all night. She got to know me again, and I got to know a sober Fawn. At the end of the night she apologized again. This time I told her, "I brought it upon myself."
~ "How?" she said.
~ "Um... Ask your sister."
~ "Ask Doe? What happened?"
~ "Ask your sister." and I did what villains do. I ran away.

Blog: Lasting Effect

Originally Posted April 30, 2007 on MySpace

~ When I'm tired and I write I say some strange things. This one sounded interesting enough to share.

Excerpt From a Message: ~ I never draw my name in the sand. Even though it's only temporary I feel like it has a lasting effect like a butterfly flapping its wings leading to a tornado. I feel if I write my name in the sand then the world can know my name and I'll never know anonymity again. But then I have a MySpace. Go figure. ~~ Tim

Blog: The Antonyms of Wing-men

Originally Posted March 18, 2007 on MySpace

~ Happy St. Patrick's day everybody. I've been doing lazy blogs lately --rehashing old e-mail, Posting links to programs I've written. Well, I think it's high time for something current. However, this story starts a year ago.

~ It's St. Pat's day 2006. I stop in at the The Fickle Peach, a bar, to check out the crowd and The New Buckcreek Ramblers, a band. I run into a girl I'd met recently. I get her attention and she begins assailing me with hugs and kisses. This is the last thing I expected.

~ If we go back a few weeks earlier, the two of us were at a party. I talked to her for about twenty minutes and that was it. As she was leaving she suddenly turns to me and says, "Maybe I'll see you at the bars..." ~ I say, "That never happens. Give me your number..." ~ "...or, you could stop by where I work?"

~ I went to see her at work. I didn't like the idea, but it was hers. So, I decided before hand to buy something I had been wanting while I was there. When I came in she looked directly at me, and had no idea that she knew me. Another person helped me. I left.

~ Back to St. Pat's 2006. She's drunk again. She knows me again! I think there's a connection. I'm confused, but The next day I go back to her store and invite her to a get-together at my house that night. She's sober but seems to remember me. She comes. She invites my friends and I to a party at her house. I finally get her number.

~ At her party she showed no interest in me, but I enjoyed myself because her friends/family were pretty fun/cool people. In the following weeks I ran into her several times. She was always cold. I knew nothing was happening, but I wanted to see her friends again. Unfortunately I had her number, and that was it. There was no other route to her friends. She never answered.

~ Ok, it's St. Pat's 2007. My friends and I go to the Fickle Peach. Guess who's there. The reason why I'm upset now is because of my friends. She talked to all of my guy friends and told them how creepy she thought I was --coming to her work place, calling her. My friends all think she's a bitch. They all know the facts. None of them set her straight. I had half a mind to tell her off, but she was drunk and wouldn't remember.

~ Honestly, you guys are the antonyms of wing-men. You're more like cabin stewards or in-flight meals. Michael, you need to stop saying I like underage women. Welsh Tart, you need to stop making up rumors like, "Tim tried to kiss his sister!" Joshy, there's a time and a place to talk about comic books. You need to learn when that is. Tim, don't call cold bitches. In Welsh Tart's defense we were doing pretty good tonight until we found out the girls had boyfriends and I promptly set the plane on fire. Maybe I'll tell that story next time.

Blog: The Lie

Originally Posted December 26, 2006 on MySpace

~ Before I begin, I want to tell all you bitches leaving comments on my site that if you had read my bio you would've seen an admission of untruthfulness about my age. (Since then I have made it more obvious, but that doesn't excuse your actions.) I put that lie there intentionally because I enjoy that lie. It is the only lie I ever tell. But, you have taken it upon yourselves to expose the truth and ruin my fun. Who are you to point fingers anyhow? Wonder Killer, you have never killed a wonder. Sugar + Spice, you are made of guts and bones. Melissa, you have no lies on your site that I am aware of, but you still have no right. In one week's time I am going to delete your comments along with this blog. I will continue being 24 years old. I will continue admitting it's false in my bio. And, most of all, I will continue enjoying my little lie.

~ Well, now that I have that off my chest, I think I'm going to rescind a lot of what I just said. I don't mean to say the three angels (more like two angels and a vixen,) who are my only commenters yet, are bitches. They were, however, intentionally ruining my fun. The most fun I get out of lying about my age is that it pokes fun at Wonder Killer. I only lie about it to strangers usually. I didn't know that this stranger was going to be a good friend. She believed the lie for three months despite the fact that I intentionally made many contradictory statements infront of her. Finally, I told a story about something I did when I was 25. She suddenly interrupted, "Wait! I thought you were..."

"23?" I said.


"I'm 27. I lied to you."

She was shocked to say the least. She tried to tell everyone else the truth only to discover that she was the only one who hadn't figured it out. This, of course, added to her distress. So, Wonder Killer, at least, has every right to expose my age because I knew she belived my lie for much longer than I should have let her.

~ I plan to put my actual age in eventually. It throws people who know me off. People I already know/knew are the ones I'm mainly on here for. I'd rather have people looking for me find me than discount me for the stupid lie. Also, I don't think I'll delete anything after all.