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It's funny, being socially drunk.

I've had significantly less than he has, and yet we are both staggering drunk, but he's gotten sick and has gone to bed, and I am wide awake.

I cannot be drunk alone. Only when someone else is drunk too. Once they're gone, I'm stone cold sober all over again.

So here I am.

Another one of my Fiction As Daylog exercises. As before, I wrote a story based on a word (actually, in this case, a phrase) chosen randomly from the dictionary. For some reason I tend to be leaning toward telling stories through dialogue. Is this a sign of weakness? As always, comments would be greatly appreciated.

Enjoy. If you're interested, my most recent exercise, "Inspection," can be found here.

interior decoration

"Wow, I really like what you've done in here."

"Jesus this place is incredible! How did you do this? It must have taken forever!"

"Yeah. You know, it's not like it's really complicated in here or anything, but somehow I do get the impression that it took an amazing amount of effort."

Why, thank you. It did take me a while.

"It seems so roomy. It didn't look this big at all from outside."

"Holy shit, man. Look, I don't usually put a lot of effort into this kind of stuff, but you gotta teach me how you got your house to look like this. I have to try some of this shit on my own place, because compared to this it's a dump."

Sure, give me a call sometime.

"It's an odd collection of books and movies you've got here. Look at this. House of Leaves... So Long, and Thanks For All The Fish... I don't think I've heard of any of these."

"You've never heard of So Long, and Thanks For All The Fish? It's the Hitchhiker series! What the hell is wrong with you? Wait, you've only got this one? What, you couldn't find the others?"

Well, that one's just my favorite, you know?

"Yeah, all right, fair enough. Whoa, whoa, check this out, it's signed. Where did you get this shit?"

Well, you know. Authors have signings sometimes. All of those are signed, actually.

"Wow, really? Man, that's incredible."

"Hey, it's The Others. You like that kind of ghost story movie stuff?"

Well, sometimes. There's just something about some of those haunted house movies.

"Personally, I'm still looking at this bookcase. Look how it sort of just blends into the wall. That can't have been easy to do."

"You're right. Look at that."

You guys want some dinner now?

"No offense to your cooking or anything, but I don't even remember what we ate. I was looking at your dining room the whole time."

Ha, that's all right. I don't really pride myself on my cooking.

"But I bet you do pride yourself on your, you know, housekeeping, or whatever you call it. Anyway, I'm definitely gonna give you a call about that, because I could use some lessons on this kind of thing and... whew, that was just an incredible house, man."

"You know, if you're not too busy, I'll probably give you a call too, about the dining room. I can't get ours to look right."

"I suppose I'd better get on the bandwagon too. I really want to know how you did that with the bookcase."

No problem. Thank you all so much for coming.

"Oh, thanks for having us!"

Many thought he was surely beneath anyone's notice, and they all had it tough in this secular age. As it turned out, though, just entertaining dinner guests was usually enough to kindle a few sparks of belief and maybe even something like worship when you were the God of Interior Decoration.

Here's a GTKY day log. Down vote it to hell. Again you prove me right about life.

The depth of human caring I will never understand. Nor do I want to.

I just ask for time alone, for the sermons on how to address my life, and how I want to live my life to be gone.

What do I get in return? JDooty1234 writing a day log in my honor about how "wrong" I am in what I want. When did it become his, or anyone else's, priority on what I want to do with my life and what I do in it? I don't raise a finger, except one and it isn't the index, in effort in telling him, or anyone for that matter, what they should do. I let them do what they want. That is how you learn.

I'm sick of people in my life. Telling me who I should be. What I should become. How I will one day find happiness. I don't like seeing people. I prefer sitting at home, watching a good movie, working on a story, or going out driving, endless roads that I can move along, etc. That way I don't have to deal with people. Am I a crime against humanity? Am I so wrong in wanting these? When did this become a crime?

Do I care?

Nope, not at all. Yes, that is my "mantra". I could really care less what you think about me, or what you believe about me. I don't care about my life or what goes on in it. I don't ask others to look out for me or give me sermons on how I should live. I don't ask for anything. I don't want understanding, I don't want caring.

I think I'm doing much better since my February 19, 2003 Day Log. I've changed a lot. I'm not that poor, defenseless "child" crying out in the night for forgiveness anymore, I don't look for your understanding. I don't care what you think. You don't know me! Move along, care about people you do know and don't waste it on me!

I'm stronger now, mentally and physically. Anger is the ultimate healer, comforter, builder, destroyer. It gives you power and strength. It fuels the fire that I need. It cauterizes my wounds on my soul and being. It forges armor for me so I no longer fear the day, the long night, or anything that comes in my life. It keeps me whole, a constant reminder of what I've payed. So what if I've become a monster in the process? So what if I had to give up everything for the anger, the fire, to heal me? Is this your life?.

No, it's not. So why do you try to rule it? Why do you try to change it?

Do I care. No. Should I? No. You, the reader on e2, don't know me. You don't know what I do in my life. How I live my life. You don't care. And I don't want you to. I don't ask you to. You shouldn't. You don't know me.

I leave you with this. Look up lyrics on a song called "The Way I Am" by Eminem. I don't care if you love him or want to crucify him. That is my "mantra". This song is exactly what I am.

It's The Way I Am...

Last night, when I took a break from ripping CDs to synch them with my iPod, synchronization stopped due to an unknown error. Trying it again, is whirred a lot on on particular song before crapping out, so i was guessing a read error.

I rebooted, just in case, and tried one more time; this time with a pencil to write down the offending song name. It still stopped with the same error, but this time gave me no indication as to what song was the troublemaker.

I wrote myself a script which copied each song in turn to /dev/null, and after fifteen minutes or so it gave me a read error and told me which file it was. I renamed that file "BAD SPOT" and hid it away where no one will ever look. I also deleted the corresponding entry from iTunes, and the next synch went smoothly.

A really savvy guy would now backup, reformat, and restore; tragically, I'm not that guy.

This morning, Amelia decided really early that it was time to wake up. The short night was somewhat ameliorated by the fact that I got to have Scotcharoos for breakfast. Amelia got to have an extra nap from 8 to 9, but the rest of us didn't.

This morning there was a small pond in the basement, but I just hit the switch on the sump pump and a minute later all was well again. I'm hearing horror stories of really really flooded basements, so I'm not feeling so bad about my own.

Then church, choir singing, and an Appalachian Festival.

iTunes update : 4116 songs, 9.1 days, 12.85 GB. The current section of the case logic folder has mostly been ripped once, so now the total space is decreasing while the other numbers stay mostly constant.

Dear MAC Cosmetics,

Until now, I have always been happy with your products. In fact, when I was a poor student, a big way to treat myself was to ‘splurge’ on one of your lovely matte, long-lasting llipsticks.

Since graduating and getting a corporate job, I have not only splurged on a wide array of colorful lipsticks but on powder, eye shadow, blush and lip liner. I was a completely satisfied customer with everything until I bought concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes.

Being of a Scandinavian background, I have rather deep-set eyes; the dark circles only made me look more severe. When one of your consultants put on some of your concealer, it made my eyes brighten right up and I looked much less serious and tired and much more optimistic. For the first few days I looked better than ever as I happily passed by mirrors.

Sadly, the optimistic, happy look soon ended. I started to get red, crusty areas on my eyelids. Finding it impossible to believe that it could have been because of the MAC makeup, I blamed potential harsh chemicals in make-up removers. I went through three different make-up removers, including the most gentle one offered by The Body Shop. Nothing stopped the spread of the hideous red rash! I don’t really have sensitive skin and nothing like this has ever happened. I doubled up the use of the concealer, not only hiding the darkness under the eye but the red crusty eczema on top!

Covering up the problem during the week was okay at first. My co-workers told me that I should do something about my dry skin (my skin is normal) but I was fine with that. On the weekend when I typically go without makeup, I looked like a drug addict with these red, crusty eyes but nobody ostracized me. It is a ‘style’ to look like that for certain people. It was fine.

I reached the end of my rope this week when one morning I looked in the mirror and I had a flap of dry eczema-skin hanging over my eye! As I filled in Excel spreadsheets for my job I had to keep brushing the skin flap away from my eye so I could see! It is Friday tonight and I can’t go out and bat my eyelashes at a cute guy! I will be batting my skin flap instead! Nobody will like that! It is disgusting!

The problem is starting to subside now and I can’t wait to look normal again. All I can say here is that I am disappointed. Very disappointed. Enclosed in this letter is the rest of my concealer - the concealer that left me with uglier things to conceal than ever. I have no use for it.


On the table this morning, left by mi esposa when she got home from work late last night, was her store's promotional in-store copy of Ry Cooder and Manuel Galban's CD Mambo Sinuendo (1957 Cuban low rider growl, baby), now taken out of rotation for the requisite amount of time and unclaimed by anyone else and therefore mine. Er, ours.

We went grocery shopping in the morning. For lunch I made tuna sandwiches and sliced up an apple, and we took our lunch outside and ate by the pool in our apartment complex. After enjoying the sun for a while we walked to the corner 7-11 and got ice cream bars, eating them on the walk home. While Angela stayed home and read, I went out to see the new X-Men movie, stopping along the way at Old Navy to look at shirts (I want a new one for the upcoming bachelor party in Vegas.) In my opinion the movie ranged from pretty good to decent, with a few really cool fanboy moments. (I totally marked out over the appearance of Kitty Pride and the strangely non-Russian Colossus, the brief glimpse of Hank McCoy in a television interview, and Remy LeBeau's name on a computer screen.) I felt the bits with Iceman, Pyro, and Rogue were among the best, and Hugh Jackman is always great as Wolverine even if his name sounds like it should be some kind of dirty pun.

I returned to finish making my Mother's Day calls, do laundry, and wash dishes. Angela made yaki soba for dinner and we watched our Sunday night lineup of shows--minus Everwood, which was NOT repeated the way it normally is, presumably because Monday night's story was about abortion. I wish they'd given us some notice so we could have taped it on Monday. Anyway, the night's highlight was as always American Dreams. I read that it still hasn't really caught on with the public, and there's a chance it could be cancelled. I really hope not.

All in all, it was a good day.

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