affectation.log

Didn't do the traditional CC quote this year.  Was too busy being drunk on the Eve itself, which is a good thing, I guess.  I visited Jon down in Maryland.  It was a good time, aside from some unnecessary drama.  Fortunately, I was not involved in this drama, and so I won't go into details about it; unfortunately, everyone else was.  I blame the aggro drunken whores.

Aside from the drama...  I bought Jon Guitar Hero for Christmas; everyone spent time rocking out.  There was a lot of card-playing, and of course, the drinking.  More on the Day than the Eve, as is custom.  No beer pong on the porch this year [aww], but also fewer strip games with people I don't want to see naked [yay].  Actually... there was partial nudity that I didn't really need.  Oh, well.

On New Year's Eve, my sister and some people from work went to some bar.  This guy named Chris [a friend of a coworker] asked Cara, in all seriousness, where her boyfriend was.  Confused, she said she didn't have a boyfriend.  It seems Chris thought Cara and I were dating.  Since then, I have apparently become a joke among the proofreaders.  Wonderful.

I made some resolutions.

• Get into shape
• Drive across the country [the and back part is in question]
• Put a serious effort into getting into grad school
• Stop drinking to get to sleep
• Don't get hung up about talking to people I don't know [especially those who are female]

Yep.  2006.  Here goes.

I am now twenty-two.

Yep.

One resolution broken, though by a technicality.  I'm drinking and I'm going to sleep.  I'm not drinking to get to sleep.

I don't know what Nature's spending its cycles on, but I woke up to a serious draw distance problem.  It's like Silent Hill [the original] out there.

Just a mile down the road from where I work is this company called Firmenich.  Their business is scents and perfumes.  Every now and then, they release giant clouds of mint- or strawberry-scented air that you can smell all around.  Coming back from lunch today, I discovered a new one: peach schnapps.  Really.  It smelled exactly like it: peaches with an alcoholic bite.

I need a drink.

And the birthday drinking mentioned previously?  Yeah, I ended up vomiting around 0500 and passing out.  It's a milestone: the first time I've thrown up while drinking alone.  Career alcoholism, here I come.  Oh, I then woke up at 1600 or so.  Got into a little trouble with the boss, but... meh.

Last night Y pressured me into playing Guitar Hero on Hard.  His second controller had come in, and he wanted to duel.  I found that I was good at the 4-4-2-2-2-1 chorus of "Cowboys from Hell", but that was pretty much it.  Half a day later, my strummin' thumb and wrist still hurt.  It seems I was, in fact, not born to rock.

Sometime last week I had to stop to get gas before work.  So I pull up; the attendant waits impatiently as I extricate my credit card from my pocket.  I say, "Tank full of regular," in case he wants to get started as I continue to dig.  He waits.  I hand him the card.  He waits.  "'Please?'  How old are you?"  "Twenty-two."  "It's about time you learned some manners."  The fuck.

What I should have said: "How long have you been working at this gas station? ... It's about time you learned your place."

What I did say: "..."

Must remember to not hold back next time.

I used to go through cases of Pepsi very quickly.  I consciously cut back over the past year, when I started working at BMS, so coffee would actually do something when I needed it.  I guess my plan worked.  Because they fucked up my order the last time, the nearby Chinese restaurant gave me a free two-liter of Pepsi when we got take-out yesterday.  I drank it all.  And I couldn't sleep until 0530 or so.

Took a trip to Belleayre Mountain up in the Catskills with coworkers this weekend.  In two and a half days, I spent at least eight hours alone with Cara.  Seven hours in the car [three and a half there, three and a half back], and one on the mountain.

My sister and I thought the green circles wouldn't be intimidating for Cara, who'd never snowboarded before.  We were wrong.  We tried to teach her what little we know; my sister decided to try teaching by example and took off.  Cara was crying; it was so heartbreaking I wanted to hug her.  I did not.  I walked her down the slope, then dropped her off at a professional lesson.

So, all that quality time.  Did I make a move?  Right.  You know me.  Complete lack of courage.  I'm shaking my head with disappointment.  At myself.

There was some drama and passive aggression [I was responsible for some of the latter—there should be no hints in Trivial Pursuit], but other than that the trip was fun.  The weather was perfect on Saturday, and the snow had a nice consistency.  Sunday it was a bit cold [and thus, icy] and rainy, so we didn't stay on the mountain long.

Hotel was terrible.  If you go up to the Catskills, I recommend you not stay at the Pine Hill Arms.  The manager was completely rude and unhelpful, and I was electrocuted by the light switch in our room.  That was not so fun.

So, ups, downs.  Time with Cara, electric shock.  Overall, I'd say it was a more than worthwhile use of my weekend, and I hadn't been out socially [aside from the Sunday poker with Y] since New Years.

I told that last bit to Cara during the drive up.  Why?  Because I am a terrible conversationalist.  "Hmm...  She may not be sure I'm a loser and a hermit-in-training.  I should really drive that point home."  In response, she invited me to her birthday celebration later this week.  No idea what the plan is, but she loves to drink [an endearing quality].

My sister said that I should go, that it will be another opportunity to make a move, but in the same dialogue she [my sister] mentioned that Cara's interested in some other guy, who is also slated to come.  I... don't see this working out well.

I'm still at the office, wrestling with Illustrator and a horrifyingly large PDF.  It's due Friday, but major edits are needed.  Major edits, on a slow computer.  It's not like I had plans or anything [unless watching How I Met Your Mother and playing video games counts], but this sucks.

I asked my sister if I should get Cara something for her birthday and what I should get her.  She said it wasn't necessary, but if I did, just something small and inexpensive.  Don't want to go crazy, true.

Seeking inspiration, I just re-read The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry.  Depressing, but no help.

I wish I could think of something we talked about in the car, something that would lend itself to an appropriate present.  Damn it.

My sister came in with a suggestion: Once upon a time, Cara's father gave her a necklace: the letters of her sorority [Phi Sigma Sigma].  Cara was in a rush one day, thought the necklace was clasped when it wasn't, and lost it.  It'd be a bit showy for a gift in these circumstances, though, and while thoughtful, Cara told my sister about it, not me.  Hm.

More thinking is required.

Seems that BMS InfoSec finally got around to blocking AIM.  No longer will I be able to pass time checking people's away messages.  Drat.  Time to look for a workaround.

The quest for an energy drink that does not taste like crap continues.  The company store recently started carrying Amp and Full Throttle.

I used Amp to stay awake on the drive back from the Catskills.  It tasted like ground orange Flintstones vitamins mixed with seltzer.  Verdict?  Thumbs-down.

Today I bought a can of Full Throttle.  It... smells fruity.  It tastes bitter, and I think I detect some kind of flower extract in there.  I'm looking at the ingredients, trying to figure out what it is.  No idea.  I did find "glycerol ester of wood rosin", which is unsettling.  Another thumbs-down.

The reigning champion is Monster, the only contestant which retained its "bearable" rating after multiple consumptions.  Oh, and I'm judging their taste without the addition of alcohol, which renders all energy drinks equally palatable [with the exception of Liquid Bang].

Happy birthday, Cara.

Today is such a typical Friday.  One or two things that are urgent, a few things that can be and are blown off 'til Monday...  Yep.

* EGo kicks back.
* EGo plays with some Star Wars action figures.

Despite resolving myself multiple times to do so, I have not said anything to Cara yet [in the way of telling her I like her, anyway].  Yes.  I am sure you are all shocked.

I gave her my gift Friday afternoon, during a moment when no one else was around to see me fumble.  She hugged me.  What was my gift?  A pale blue Coach keychain, a grey t-shirt featuring poker chips and the phrase "all in", and three York peppermint patties.  Cara likes Coach things, and my sister said Cara needed a keychain.  The shirt is a throwback to her and me winning poker so long ago; I found it in some random store in Princeton.  Regarding the York patties: a few days previous, I had been standing outside my cube, talking to my boss and eating a York pattie [that's the singular, according to the wrapper].  Cara walked by and was tempted by the candy.  I broke off half, handed it to her, and went back to talking to my boss.

Went out with her and her friends Saturday night.  Definitely not the time to bring anything up.  Rejecting me would ruin her night... probably.  That was my thinking, anyway.  Gave me an excuse to do nothing but drink.  It's hard to get drunk at bars.  Too damned expensive.  Well, for me.  My sister, on the other hand, drank enough to make herself throw up.  Twice.

Another interesting story from Saturday.  My sister and I are walking from the upper floor of the place to the lower.  These two large guys tap me on the shoulder and stop me.


I walked off.  A simultaneously amusing and disturbing experience.

Cara just walked by and waved goodnight.

Over in a mathematics community at Livejournal there's a thread with people throwing around "I like my women/men the way I like..." statements.  [Non-math example: I like my women the way I like my coffee: hot and sweet.]  I'm bored, so these are the ones I liked.

I like my women like π: completely irrational, unbelievably infinite, yet ultimately fascinating.

I like my women like RSA: easy to decipher, impossible to crack.

i like my women the way I like my proofs: simple, beautiful and true.

I like my women the way I like my proofs: direct.

I had a dream last night from which I awoke questioning reality.  Well, not so much questioning.  Cursing.  Yes.  That is more like it.  More on that dream in a later entry, perhaps.  If it hasn't faded by then.

For now, a recent email exchange, and then a meme:





So I'm not sure what this Johari window stuff is all about; I'll read the Wikipedia entry later.  But I've got one.  You may judge and evaluate me here.  And for all you critics and cynics [and my heroes in the methadone clinic], yes: I also have a Nohari window.

The dream.  The memory's been ... condensed.  The parts I don't care to remember have been boiled off, leaving only the essence.  ...  Okay, so my metaphor skills leave something to be desired.  The dream: I was in the lobby of a college dorm.  The lobby was shared by two dorms, really, one for men and one for women.  I ran into Cara.  No conversation.  It was a moment my subconscious surely stole from some movie: we just stood close, staring at each other.  By dream and movie logic, the length of the mutual stare conveyed my interest in her and her reciprocation.  The distance shrank almost imperceptibly, and then we kissed.

That was just a short part in the middle of the dream.  Afterwards there was some kind of scavenger hunt which ended in a "leap of faith" off a bridge.  But ... who cares about that?


Yesterday was another wasted opportunity.  It snowed hard this weekend, so a few people didn't come in on Monday.  Then Cara stayed late.  A nigh-empty office.  I paced.  I thought about what to say; I wrote drafts.  I tore them apart; I tore them up.  The few times I actually made it to her cube, I made some excuse and left.  Gah.

My sister has crowned me King of Missed Opportunity.  With this annex the land of Buttermilk grows.



This day is called the feast of Valentine...

It's just another day.  At least, that's how I felt this morning.  Before the flower deliveries and the talk of Valentine's Day plans.  New plan: get slowly and methodically drunk.

Soon.

In discussing our lack of love lives at the bar, Mark suggested the following wrt Cara: keep a quarter or other flippable coin at my desk.  At the end of every day, flip it.  Tails, do nothing.  Heads, go up to her and flat-out ask her to dinner or for a drink.

It has merit.  Of course, if I could bring myself to do the heads part, I wouldn't have a problem.

I may have hit someone with my car.  I don't know.

I was driving on Route 1 this morning.  I zoned out for a bit near Ridge Road.  A large thump pulled me back into things.  I thought I'd slammed into the highway divider at first, but nothing seemed to be wrong, so I kept going.

Only later did I think of what that thump could have been.  My bumper tapping the barrier.  A deer lying by the side of the road.  My tire going up the divider and falling again.  A person.  I didn't even check my car for damage, as I was so damned late from some extreme blockage on the Parkway.

While it is extremely unlikely it was a person...  I have no idea what it could have been.

Happy birthday, Abbie.

There's no damage to Sue's front.  Not even a scratch.  I can only conclude I ran over something very short, or I bumped the divider with my tire.  Either way, not a person.

Wednesday night I stole away from work and went to the Perplex City Academy Games at Stitch in New York City.  Open bar, free food.  Puzzles.  No admission charge.  Excellent.  I placed third [or fourth—I was one of two semifinalists who failed to make the finals].

The best thing about ARGs is that the girls who play them are both hot and brilliant.  My.  God.  The other quarterfinalist I knocked out, Cassandra...  just... damn.  Day-amn.  And she needed a place to crash for the night, as she had come up from Virginia.  However, the living with the parents... in Jersey... yeah, couldn't really help her out.  Dang.

Ah, a picture of Cassandra and I during our quarterfinal match.  I, of course, look like a big dork.  Er... small dork.  This picture of her's a bit better, save the dude in the foreground.

I only found two photosets: yobfountain's and Pennance368's.  From these, you can see that there were other cute, intelligent girls present, though the majority of the attendees were, like me, socially inept young men.

Through speed, lying, and outright thievery, I scored seven packs of PXC cards, bringing my total collection to... seven packs.

Summary: Open bar.  Free food.  Attractive, intelligent girls.  Third place.  Cost to me: bus fare... and time off from work.  Worth it?  I definitely think so.

I know I'm only twenty-two, so it's far too early to be worried about this, but I feel like I'm going to be single forever.  Lack of confidence feeds itself in a vicious cycle.  Depression levels rising.


Carrie's away message is about some crush of hers...  I'm trying not to obsess about it, but I am obviously failing.  She and I don't really talk anymore, and I don't blame her.  I made...  I make everything awkward.  What can I say?  It's a well—though not intentionally—practiced art for me.  I'm not even privy to her friends-only entries on Livejournal anymore.  If I ever was to begin with.


This isn't the worst I've felt.  No new personal record for depression.  I know because I'm about to shut out the light, lie very still, get up, and go to work.  As long as I can still put one foot in front of other, I'm not at the bottom of the sine wave's trough.

Haiku inspired by this morning's commute:

Exit one-four-four
What's that by the divider?
Big faded plush bee

Taking up two lanes
Safe?  Decompression chamber?
Oversized load ho!

So it's Mardi Gras.  Lent begins tomorrow.  For the first time, I think I'll actually do something.  For Lent, I will give up alcohol.  Seriously.

Tonight, though...  Smashed.  Definitely.

I just got home from work.  Yes.  Seven hours late.  Erbitux.  Yep...

I've done this meme before, but C just did it, so I'm doing it again.  Hey, that was almost a year ago... and I probably stayed late that day, too.  Coumadin.

<!-- random book line meme -->



<!-- /random book line meme -->

I have no idea why that book [two copies of it, no less] is on the dining room table.

My week, with extreme brevity.

Went to Atlantic City last weekend with Cara, my sister, Bill, Erik, and Dave.  I lost eighty bucks at poker, but I spent a lot of time alone with Cara.  Worth it.

Sometime in there, Bill and Cara had a discussion alone where Bill tried to determine how Cara feels about me.  She didn't dismiss the idea outright, nor was she enthusiastic.  She listed off some of my faults.  Details later, perhaps.

I worked somewhere between fifty-five and sixty hours this week.  Before taxes, that's an extra five hundred and seventeen to six hundred and ninety dollars.  Just from the overtime.

I think I had alcohol withdrawal today.  Felt so nauseated I threw up during the poker game.  Lots of dry heaving afterwards.  Feel like crap, but still drink-free.  It's been three days.

I won the aforementioned poker game.  Standard twenty-dollar buy-in.  Took down a hundred and fifty.  I went all-in near the beginning of the final table, with KQd against one caller, who had KK.  x-x-9 on the flop, J on the turn, and ten on the river took Risa out.  Just rode that stack until heads-up, for the most part.

Knocked out the third place guy, Erik, by accident.  I was BB at 10000 [initial chip stacks were 5000, for the record] with a dead SB.  The dealer/UTG [the chipleader, Demetrius] folded.  Erik had AQc, so he pushed all-in, which wasn't enough to call, so I pulled back most of my blind.  I had Kc6h; after I flipped, Demetrius showed what he folded: Kh6c.  So two of my outs were dead.  Flop came x-2-K.  Turn: K.  River: 7.  Yay for not having to split.

The hand I won the tournament with?  T4c versus 88.  Flop came T54, I went all-in.  Demetrius said he smelled a bluff and called.  Turn came 2, river 5.  We figured out afterwards that I covered him.  A surprise, as we hadn't been heads-up long, and he'd had a massive chip lead before.  But yay.

Happy Pi Day, and belated birthday wishes to my sister [7], Bill [9], Berry [10], and Dee [13].

I remain dry.

That week of massive overtime?  Yeah, I worked sixty and a half hours.  That was a nice paycheck.  I'm still in the office right now, finishing something for Baraclude, but I'm about to blow out of here.

So, yeah, Bill and Cara had a little talk in AC, after they'd busted out at the poker tables but before the rest of us had given up.  Essentially, she repeated what she put on my Nohari thing.  Except for unhelpful, as that was a joke.  The essence of the conversation [and this is Bill quoting Cara]: "I get the feeling he doesn't even like himself."  True enough.

A bunch of people went out last Saturday to celebrate Bill's birthday.  Plan was to go to dinner and then some eighties club.  The club ended up being packed to maximum occupancy, so we all went bowling instead.  Cara saw me hugging my sister, but didn't recognize her at first.  My sister thinks Cara was jealous, but I don't know about that.

Hm.  Thought I'd more to say.  Guess I'll go home.

So I was driving home from the office.  Got a little thirsty.  So at the first red light on Route 1, I cracked a bottle of Dr. Pepper.  It exploded while I was holding it over my lap.  Soda everywhere.  Pants soaked.  Even found its way up my jacket sleeve.  For his betrayal, the good doctor was defenestrated at sixty miles an hour and exiled from the land of Buttermilk.

This liquor-free, meat-free St. Patrick's Day is the worst ever.

I'm going to try and drown my sorrows in meme.

<!-- song meme -->


<!-- /song meme -->

That just wasn't the same.

So, what can change in a month?  A lot, it seems.

The day before my last entry, there was a studio-wide meeting.  They announced that our contractor positions were to become employee positions.  Is this a good thing?  Perhaps.  I wouldn't be an Aquent employee on indefinite contract to BMS; I'd be a full employee of BMS.  Health plan, benefits, access to the on-campus gym.  I'd have a real title [Senior Web Programmer], instead of merely being one of many "Consultants".  On the downside, the pay rates don't seem so hot, and I wouldn't be eligible for overtime.

Additionally, I'm not guaranteed my own job.  I have to submit my resumé and apply for the job I've held for the past year and a half.  That just ain't right.

The job listings have been up since last Monday.  Last week I racked up more than sixty hours.  I actually slept in the office one night.  That was not comfortable.  As you may understand, I just didn't feel like submitting my application.  I still haven't; I'm not sure if I'm going to.

Boss Ron resigned shortly after the announcement.  His last day was March 31.  He's kicking around Arizona now.  Patrick, formerly the mid-boss, stepped up.  Things are not quite as relaxed anymore.  Patrick gave the group a talk the other day about our casual dress and the impression we give other employees here.  Ron dressed up for big meetings, but normally he'd come in in jeans and a leather jacket.

Ah, well.

It's still Lent.  I still have not had a drink.  Life is pretty boring without it.  I stopped hanging out with Mark and his friends, as activities with them revolve around alcohol.  And when I'm not drinking and they are...  They're just uninteresting.  Thinking about it, they're not even interesting when I'm drinking.  It's just that I'm able to ignore it.

That's right: I need to drink to tolerate people.  What of it?

So for the most part, impossible to see the future is.  Just one thing is clear: this Sunday, I'm getting hammered like Christ.

Before I have to toss in a "belated": Happy birthday, Carrie.


I'm still in the office.  Ask me why and I'd try to tell you, but I'm fairly certain all that'd come out would be a string of profanities.

I keep meaning to do this meme for which I was "tagged", but I haven't found the time.  Perhaps soon.  I'm sure to post within twenty-four hours, and if you've paid attention and have an uncanny memory, you know why.

Happy birthday, Katie.  For you, something a little more familiar:


And that meme I mentioned.

<!-- habit meme -->


<!-- /habit meme -->

The reason I don't write much is not usually lack of time, but lack of inspiration.  This is why I love the interview meme; it gives me something to write about.

<!-- interview meme -->


And, just 'cause, previous occurences of the interview meme: kgola, Alice Arendt, Noah Abrahams, Carrie, and Abigail Kaboth.

<!-- /interview meme -->

Almost two months, and what's happened?  Not a whole lot.  I still have my job; I still haven't applied to keep it.  I continue to pine away; I'm still too much of a coward to make any actual moves.  I lost a coin that meant a lot to me.  I blew up my own spot.  I hit on a fourteen-year-old.  I went down to Maryland.  I saw Counting Crows, Dashboard Confessional, the Strokes, Coheed and Cambria, Joan Jett, and the Fixx [all at HFStival].  I won at poker; I lost at poker.  I drank a lot.

But really, the reason there's an update at all is the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker.

Their code seems to not play well with my site's, but I fear editing it, as I'm not sure how they're parsing it.

ETA 2006.06.19 01:32:08: Tournament's over, so I deleted it.  I did terribly, something like 1650th out of 2200.  Oh, well.

I don't know why it's so difficult for me to tell a girl I like her.

Another blown opportunity tonight: Cara and I were the only two people left in the office before I took off.  She was working on some big project for Orencia, and she told me she wouldn't be able to make it to trivia tomorrow night.  I kind of knew already that she wasn't going to make it, and in mental scenarios I segued from the topic of how she'd be missed at trivia into asking her out.

What came out was something like, "Oh.  That sucks.  Good luck with the project."

At least I didn't tell her she makes me nervous.

This morning I was stuck in GSP traffic for one and a half hours.  One and a half hours it took to go eighteen miles.  Fortunately, I won't have to do this commute much longer.

You see, I have a new job.  Soon I'll be working for Metafoundry.  The environment at BMS is getting worse by the day.  Plus, MF offered me a lot more money.  You know how it is.

Happy birthday, Dad.  [July thirty-first.]

Went up to the Finger Lakes this weekend with my parents, some sort of wine-tasting tour.  The outing was organized by my mother's employer, so it was a bunch of Roche employees.  There was only one girl within a decade of me, and she was twenty-nine.

I'm no alcohol snob.  Most of the wine seemed pretty good to me.  And naturally, everything seemed better the later in the day I drank it.  At some point on Saturday I bought four bottles of some sweet red because they were seven-fifty each and twenty-five proof.  Also, I needed the box that they gave me to hold more wine.

I passed out on the tour bus and missed the last couple of stops on Saturday.  Oops.

The weather was great up there.  Cool, dry.  It'd be a nice place to live, if it weren't... so... goddamned... slow.  I couldn't take the pace of a city life, but farm living isn't the life for me.

Sunday I was one of the few who chose to explore Watkins Glen, a place I'd only heard of on Sports Night [in reference to the nearby NASCAR track].  The other option was a tour of some garden.  The glen itself is, shockingly enough, a canyon gradually being dug by a creek.  It was nice there.  Not quiet, but the sounds of people were overpowered by the water.  Peaceful.

Last stop before home was a combination winery and brewery.  The brewery was out of both the stout and porter.  You could sample the stout, but not buy it.  A shame.  It was good.

Returned home tired, with something like a hundred dollars' worth of wine.

I don't know what happened.  For some reason, it feels like I can't write entries anymore.  Thoughts just aren't coming together.

<!-- random book line meme -->


Hm.  The rules seem to have changed since the last time I did this.  I blame Thunderclap.  At work, the closest books are in my bag, and there are two in there:



Interesting that both excerpts are entirely one character speaking.

<!-- /random book line meme -->

Past instances of this meme: 665, 785.

Yep.  Lost heads-up to Cara in the tournament on Friday.  I didn't throw it to her, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't distracted there at the end.

What's unfortunate is that people like this guy aren't arrested for destruction of property.  Jackass.  I think my knife will start "accidentally" finding its way into the tires of Priuses.

God, this article's making me angry.  Fucking environmentalists.

I've a few entries in my notebook I've been meaning to transcribe.  Here's one from this morning's commute.

---

A lot has happened in the last few months.  I have no idea where to begin.  Let's start with what I'm thinking about right now, here on the bus.

I just [i.e., a few minutes ago] finished Alan Lightman's Reunion, after repeatedly putting it down in disgust—not with the book, but with myself and what the book reminded me of.

I've been doing some soul-searching [a term so clichéd I cringe as I write it—  Hm.  Is the term cliché itself clichéd?  Note to self: stop being a pretentious twit.  And stop stalling.  And remember that you're still in the middle of a sentence, so put a period after the closing bracket.].

I am a manipulative shit.

My claims of honesty are merely that: claims.  The truth is but a feint.  Misdirection.  Knife's in the other hand.

I'd say I was sorry, but I can't even be sure it'd be sincere and not another feint.  So what's the point?