I was at work, but it was at my old elementary school too. I know, weird.

Anyway, I walked up to this one section, and there was some kind of assembly going on for the kids. When I arrived in the area, there was a pretty woman on stage. She was completely nude except for something she was wearing on her shoulders. Like football shoulder pads but not as bulky. She was also completely hairless.

I think she was the mistress of ceremonies or something, because she introduced the next act right when I got there.

It was a Samoan guy, dressed in tribal getup, and he had a foot-long boner. At the end of his boner was tied a string, and he was jiggling the string to make his boner go up and down. All the kids were laughing hysterically.

I remember thinking at about this time that perhaps this wasn't a proper show for elementary school kids. The Samoan guy started saying something, but I could hear because there were two people in front of me who were talking too loudly. A couple of people behind me kept making shhhh noises, but the loud talkers ignored them. So then the people behind me complained to a teacher, and the teacher told the loud talkers to shut up.

Then the loud talkers went back to confront the people behind me, and the people behind me did some kung fu moves and beat the shit out of the loud talkers. That's also when I noticed that the people behind me were obviously retarded.

When I finally got home, it was 7:30. It was my old house in Lanesville, and my parents were there playing cards with my uncles Wayne and Stan and my aunts Carol and Helen.

Dad asked me where I'd been so late, and I told him school. He didn't believe me, so I said I'd call the school and they'd vouch for me. But when I looked in the phone book, there was no listing for my school.

I asked my dad what year it was, and he said it was 1969. I remembered then that my school hadn't existed yet in 1969, so that made sense.

I asked my dad how he thought my goatee looked, and he said it looked good.

I said, "Especially for a four-year-old, right?"

He said, "Just wait until you turn five."

Then I went to work. To real work, not the work/school I'd been at earlier. It was still 1969, but one of my coworkers was there anyway. He was all excited because he'd added a new disk drive unit the size of a washing machine, and so now we had a whole 120MB of storage space on the computer floor. Then I told my coworker that I could predict the future. I wrote "34 terabytes" on a piece of paper and sealed it in an envelope. Then I gave the envelope to my coworker and told him not to open it until 2007, and then he'd see that I was telling the truth.

A pretty shitty night. I might not bother to watch the guys next week.

Phil: Pretty good. Safe and boring, but good. (75 points)

Jared: Wow. The perfect song for him. This is the kind of music he should be singing all the time. (85 points)

A.J.: Quite possibly the gayest A.I. performer since Clay Aiken. Not that there's anything wrong with that. As for his performance, I fell asleep. (50 points)

Sanjaya: I didn't listen because he sucks. I bet he spends a lot of time being shoved into lockers at school. (0 points)

Chris S: He missed a few notes singing a stupid song. I gave 15 bonus points because his wife is hot. (80 points)

Nick: I like his voice, but it really clashed with this song. I didn't care for this performance at all. (40 points)

Blake: A decent performance of a stupid song. I took off 50 points for the stupid hat, another 30 for the gangster wannabe hand gesture crap, and another 800 for the beat box bullshit. (-820 points)

Brandon: Incredibly out of tune. (10 points)

Chris R: The judges all want to suck his dick for some reason. I don't like him at all. Plus, it was a stupid song. (20 points)

Sundance: Stupid song, but he did a pretty good job with it. (70 points)

My sister Neisha once said that her hobby was collecting hobbies. I know exactly what she meant, because I've always done the same thing. Except that I usually take it a step further. Or a million steps further.

My hobby is obsessions.

A month ago I wrote about an anonymous gift I got in the mail. A copy of The Game by Neil Strauss. I still don't know who sent me the damn thing, who decided for some reason to introduce me to the world of the pickup artists.

But that world, that community, it has become my newest obsession.

Learning about these people, and what they think, and how they operate. How they formulate and rehearse everything they do when it comes to meeting girls. It's a very fascinating subject for me. Like I wrote before, it's both intriguing and repulsive to me. It's a fucking auto accident with dead and mangled bodies strewn all over the road.

See a pretty girl. Walk up to her. Say some canned line. Gauge her reaction, and say another set of canned lines. Get her phone number. Meet her again in a few days. Have sex with her. Rinse and repeat.

The whole thing makes me kinda sick to my stomach. It likens women to mindless robots, and it reduces relationships to formulaic interactions with sex as the only goal being pursued.

Seriously, there are guys out there who are actually proud of the fact that they date several women at the same time. That they have can have sex with a half-dozen women in a week.

I may be generalizing a bit. The stated goal of at least some of these people is the same goal that a lot of men have: To have an awesome relationship with a wonderful girl. I know that's been my goal for as long as I can remember.

But for others, for others the goal is to make up for the lost time they spent as shy and unpopular virgins. And to do it as callously and impersonally as possible.

Disgusting.

Speaking for myself, I've never had a real problem meeting girls. Talking to girls. Setting up and going on dates. Those things have never been a problem for me, but that's not to say that I don't have any problems when it comes to girls. I have a couple that, sometimes, annoy the shit out of me.

My first problem is that, over these 1.3 billions seconds or so of my life, I've found very few girls who seemed to be worth any effort whatsoever. Not the effort required to get to know them, and not even the effort required to simply bed them. Whores and sluts. Stuck-up prima donnas. Fucking basket cases.

So, most often, I don't even bother. I go by my first impression, and I give up before I ever get started.

This really annoys me. I know that I'm missing out on some wonderful opportunities.

But that's not my biggest problem. Not even close.

My biggest problem is, I seem to always be on the fast track to the dreaded friend zone. I make friends all over the fucking place, and I daresay that most of them are girls. I try to tell myself that this isn't a bad thing at all. That a good friend is much better than a one-night stand could ever be. I tell myself that, and at least a part of me knows that I'm right, but it can still be frustrating as fuck. I'm still a man after all. Biology and instinct does play a big part in my life and my moods and my desires.

I think about some of the most wonderful and fascinating and beautiful girls I know, and almost every one of them is or was a friend of mine. So close but still so far. Like I said, frustrating as fuck.

That's why I've become fascinated with this pickup artist stuff. To try to learn how to avoid this pitfall. To try to learn how to avoid the friend zone until/unless I decide that it's where I want to be. I want to finally be able to make that choice instead of having it forced down my throat.

Because, once I'm trapped, there's no escape from the friend zone.

And, once feelings develop as they inevitably will, it's fucking torture.

I've had enough torture in my life. I have enough friends. I want something else. Something more.

Now this is exactly the kind of thing for which I wanted a camera in my phone!

Sunday I was sitting at a red light, minding my own business, and there was suddenly a loud crash to my left.

The sign says "No left turn" and it seems a lot bigger when it's lying on the ground than it does when it's 20 feet in the air.

I bet it's a heavy fucker too.

I wish I'd been thinking more clearly. I could have jumped out of my truck and grabbed the sign. Then I could have mounted it in my basement or something.

There are way too many people making left turns in my basement.

I sat down here a few minutes ago, thinking that I should probably do a weekend recap or some shit like that.

So here goes.

Saturday night I had a 1950s date with a nice girl I met Friday at lunch. After lunch actually. We did the 1950s dinner (Red Lobster) and a movie (Children of Men) thing. It was quite nice, and I think we actually like each other, but it's a bit too soon for me, and we both realized it at about the same time. I mean, I met her about two minutes after MixedSignalGirl ended our lunch date so abruptly.

Sunday I worked all damn day, then I took a five-hour nap.

Okay, that's my weekend recap. I never said it would be interesting.

Plus, I want to write about something else. Something that I started thinking and wondering about right after my nap.

Emotionally, I am about halfway shut down, I think. But realistically I should be much much worse. I want to be much worse.

I don't know if the events of the past couple of years have numbed me, or if maybe I just don't care about these new things as much as I'd have thought, or if maybe I'm still in denial.

I kinda hope it's only the denial thing.

Because I don't want to be numb. I paid too high a price to get my emotions back to have them come back neutered.

I don't want to be apathetic either.

I hope it's just denial, and I hope that someday soon reality will trample its way into my head and my heart and destroy me.

I don't want to be sort of sad. I want to be devastated and obliterated.

Weird, I know.

You know what? This subject is worthy of more creative ability than I can muster right now.

Maybe some other time.

I got ready to leave at 6:00 last night. I didn't know where I might be going, but I wanted to be ready. For when she called. Just in case she'd changed her mind.

Well, at about 9:30 I got tired of doing nothing but glare at my phone, so I went to Rich O's.

It wasn't too packed there. A bunch of regulars were sitting in the living room area. Strangers were everywhere else. I sat at the kiddie table and had a Dark Horse Tres Blueberry Stout (100). This was supposed to have been a Saturnalia beer, but it had arrived quite late. It arrived quite late last year too.

Oh yeah, SpoonsGirl and SirTalksALot were sitting in the red room. I talked to them briefly when I first arrived.

Anyway.

Once a spot opened up on the sofa I moved over there.

It was boring, and when my phone finally vibrated at me I welcomed the diversion.

I went outside to talk to MixedSignalGirl. It was not a fun conversation, but it needed to happen. After all, moving on is what I've been trying to do for months. It's only reasonable for her to want to do the same thing. So, no more lunch dates. No more semi-planned meetings. Only happy accidents will be allowed from now on.

Speaking of moving on, I left Rich O's at 10:30 or so and went over to Hard Rock. I'd met a girl there yesterday, and she'd said that she might be there with her friends later. Well she wasn't there, but that's okay. I'm taking her to the 1950s tonight. At least that's the plan. I'm kinda being a pessimist.

I overslept this morning. I was supposed to be in Louisville at 10:00 to watch EllaGirl and 1000 other weirdoes jump into the Ohio River for some Special Olympics thing. But it's 9:54 as I type this sentence, so I don't think I'm going to make it. I'll go see EllaGirl at work in a couple of hours and see if she's still alive and, if so, what shade of blue she is.

This used to be a standalone page, but I'm making it a blog entry now because (a) I'm bored and (b) It'll be easier for people to make trip suggestions.

This is just a map showing the states I've been to. States in blue are places I've lived, states shown in red are places I've been to, and states in gray are places I've yet to visit. Of course the goal is to eliminate all of the gray states. Indiana is in white both because I was born there and because it's where I currently live.

The rules I use here are pretty simple. To count as a visit I have to not be at the airport. Driving through a state without stopping doesn't count either. To count as a residence I have to have moved out of my previous residence.

• The furthest West I've ever been: Anchorage, Alaska (149.9 W)


• The furthest North I've ever been: Palmer, Alaska (61.6 N)


• The furthest East in the United States: Portland, Maine (70.26 W)


• The furthest South in the United States: Orlando, Florida (28.5 N)

Look at the map above. The gray states are those that I'd be most interested in visiting, but I'll consider just about anyplace.

Just keep in mind that I'm talking about three or four days at the most here, so someplace like Honolulu probably wouldn't be a good choice. Most of the West coast will also have to wait for a longer vacation. I don't want to waste two days flying there and back. Long drives are a better option though because I enjoy the driving.

My priorities in selecting a destination, in no particular order:

• Places I haven't been before (either cities or states)


• People I know are there (no unattractive stalkers please)


• Availability of good beer (such as brewpubs or bars with good regional selections)


• Beautiful scenery (mountains and oceans and shit)


• Other tourist attractions (historical and museums and the like)


• Professional baseball games (this affects WHEN I could visit)

RIght after I got my new Blackberry I took this picture of the stuff adorning my desk. Many of these are things that I've posted here before.

From top to bottom, then left to right:

My cat Buddy after he got shaved.

An image I made of three of me on my couch.

BadPickleGirl and me and BadPickleGirl's cousin at Rich O's.

My sister Dina's kids.

MisunderstoodGirl wearing a shirt that says I agree with Dave.

A picture of HatGirl that I really like.

A whirlpool that RockGirl drew. I think of it as my department's unofficial logo.

A little saying I got from somewhere. People who stay calm all the time just don't have all the facts.

A picture I took at the Grand Canyon in August 2006.

Another Grand Canyon picture.

Me and SassyGirl at DaveFest last Summer. This picture also hangs on the wall at Rich O's.

A picture of HatGirl's ear. This picture doesn't taste very good.

And now, that picture I took of NotHideousGirl yesterday is up there too, just below the HatGirl picture.

I had fun today.

First, I overslept. So that was cool.

Then at lunch - Newcastle (3334) - I ran into NotHideousGirl. First time I've seen her since HatGirl's birthday party in December. So that was way cool.

Then we went to Borders so she could buy some CDs. This was about as useful as taking a blind man to the paint store, but I went anyway.

Oh yeah, I got a new Blackberry yesterday, and guess what.

It's got a camera!

Yay!

First time I've had a camera phone in months.

NotHideousGirl was kind enough to let me test the camera on her, and post the results here.

So that was fun. It was a little strange to leave a bookstore without any books though.

Then, after work, I went to the local hardware store to buy a bunch of PVC shit for my sink. I figured that I'd go ahead and give it a try, and then if I screwed it up Kenny could always come and laugh at me as he corrected my mistakes.

Well, I managed to twist the PVC stuff around enough so that now I have actual drains running from my sink. I also managed to install and wire up the new garbage disposal without killing myself.

Anyway, here's the old ugly sink.

And here's the new sink. Ta da!

Just so none of you people start to think I'm infallible, here's what's under the new sink.

Those bowls are because the new drain lines leak. Not very much, but enough to be annoying. So I called Kenny and apparently I need some Plumber's Putty to put between the sink and the traps. Either Kenny or I will get some of that, we'll tear everything apart and reinstall using the putty where appropriate, and then this project will be done!

Except that I think I need Kenny to use one of those snake thingies on the drain line that goes into the wall. Everything still drains pretty slowly.

And the garbage disposal works too! Nugget is scared of it.

We used to talk about stuff like this, back when we used to talk.

But that period, that honest and open period, it didn't last very long. I think it was too much for her. Too close to the intimacy that she was missing from the rest of her life.

I've been trying to remember the last time I spent more than two minutes alone with her. I bet it's been at least a year.

So we don't talk about anything important anymore. Shit, we don't hardly talk at all.

If we did talk, I wonder how she'd react if I told her she was stupid. I mean, would she take it in the nicest possible way, as it would certainly be intended?

I doubt it. I think she'd get all defensive. And she'd try to justify herself to me.

That old saying just jumped into my head. There but for the grace of God go I.

Well first of all God can fucking suck my dick.

Second of all, I would be doing exactly what she's doing, if only I'd had the chance.

I'd have been stupid, just like she's being stupid. I'd have given all of myself and there'd have been nothing left that I could call my own.

I'm so fucking grateful that I never had that chance.

I wrote once before, that the fucking Beatles may have been right all along. I fucking hate the fucking Beatles. I hate that they were right.

All you need is love.

Technically accurate, yet still so fucking lacking.

(Switching to metaphor-mode now. Try to keep up please.)

I remember when I was 7 or 8 years old, and we got our first color television. My sister Dina and I were so excited, because we were going to be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons in color. It was going to be The Coolest Thing In The World as my cousin Chris liked to say.

Well, it was. It was so much better than black and white that there was really no sense in comparing the two.

But the Beatles? The fucking Beatles would have said that black and white was all we needed to watch our cartoons.

Like I said, technically accurate.

But also woefully safe. Timid. Spineless. Half-hearted.

(Switching out of metaphor-mode.)

I see her. Even when I don't see her in person, I see her in my head. I see her in love with him. I can almost hear the gears in her head turn and grind as they churn out unending platitudes and reassurances. Love is all you need, her brain tells her heart. Don't you dare wish for anything more, because you've already got more than most people ever get.

Like I said, fucking stupid.

She could do so much better. But she thinks that she's got all she needs. And that may be true, but needs are only the beginning.

There should be a place in our lives, in her life, for desires.

I would be exactly where she is. I would tell myself that I was happy. I would tell myself that I had everything that I needed.

Technically accurate, but still so fucking sad.

I watch, as her heart's desires die. Corralled and quarantined and imprisoned by the illusion that all you need is all there is. They die from neglect.

There is so much more than needs. So fucking much more.

I wish I could still talk to her about stuff like this.

But I can't, so she'll have to read it here.