Ave Nox Aeternitatis

REV UP THOSE BUTTS
BECAUSE THEY'RE ABOUT TO BE HELD.

Share one thing you’d like to accomplish before the end of the year.

I'd like to finish filling in the air bubbles and other casting imperfections on my Dark Eldar succubus.
But considering she has more holes than resin I'm guessing that's a pipe dream and she'll be prepared for priming somewhere around the end of 2012, when the world ends.
No, I kid. She's nearly done.
I hope.
Just some final checks on the one leg plate I had to entirely reconstruct and the one half of the fur thing she's wearing that I had to refinish because the massive release tab completely destroyed the detailing--
There's something suddenly ironic about the title Games Workshop has given this new casting method.
Finecast.
"Fine" Cast, more like.
One of the major boons of this casting method (supposedly) was figures wouldn't have a sand blasted look like metal figures do. Ignoring for the moment you could easily take some fine grade sandpaper or give it a nice Milliput coat to correct that, the finish on this succubus wasn't massively improved over the metal ones.
Before I used to think people were being fussy and whiny when they returned their Finecast figures to the store because they had imperfections. This is a fidgety and fussy hobby and you should be prepared for some minor corrections you have to make, I said.
Now I completely understand why they returned them. This really goes beyond the pale, and few people have the skills to fix the myriad problems of the typical Finecast figure.
Oh right, you didn't come to read my rantings about Finecast. It's not all bad, actually. It is far, far easier to convert Finecast than metal figures and at the end of the day the detailing (even if some of it is hideously gnarled by an inferior cast) is far greater than metal models so I guess I'll take the good with the bad.
I have to, actually.

to accomplish? I'd like to be married. Bear with me on this one.

Errr, you have 5 days to achieve that.

It is, I have to admit, perfectly achievable, especially if one is prepared to sacrifice 'quality' in order to achieve it.

"Perfectly achievable" implies it isn't hard to do.
You hunting any woman down to marry, Livejournal user, would be difficult.

(by quality, I of course mean quality of relationship, not quality of individual, should anyone percieve that to be in any way misogynistic.)

Wouldn't want to seem misogynistic.
Except there are inferior women as there are inferior men. Simply stating reality doesn't make you misogynistic.
Now, when you start saying shit like "all women are inherently inferior to men" then we can talk misogyny.

The reality is that, above consideration being observed, it won't happen. But this isn't about what will be achieved (I will, for example, have grown older, eaten more food, earned money) but what is desired.

I used to read sentences like this in pussy sensitivity and I crossed them out.
You're welcome, person who bought the book after me.
That says precisely dick.
It even has an air of condescension, doesn't it?
I WILL HAVE GROWN OLDER IN THE FUTURE.
No fucking kidding, dipshit. As opposed to all of us who are growing younger.

I've been on a rather messy road towards it for many years, as, unwittingly or otherwise, most of us have been or are.

I wrote a line a lot like this in a story recently.
Only when I wrote it was a lot more concise.
And didn't sound like whining.
And the guy who said it was a professional soldier so the road he walked was literally messy with bodies.
Okay so it was nothing like this but some of the words were similar.

There's still an indefinite length of road ahead of me, and the visibility is such that it's impossible to tell whether it's a smooth, open, tarmacked highway or a rutted path full of potholes and obstructions.

"We all walk towards oblivion."

But now, in contrast to previously, it feels like something that should be achieved. I am, as it were, ready for it, and rather like preparing a meal for guests who have been unavoidably detained, there's a sense of champing at the bit.

Then there was a heroic duel on a long-forgotten road leading to a castle that had, in all likelihood, already fallen to rubble nestled on a hill that was no longer significant to anyone.

The preparation of the meal has been done (the bashing around through life, the chaotic learning processes that enable us to function reasonably well as individuals in the world, the string of ill-starred relationships that hone one's ability to identify the partner most suited to us) and now it's sitting around and waiting for the second party to turn up so we can settle down and get 'stuck in', to employ an unsubtle and frivolous phrase.

What are you even talking about?
At least my story had fighting in it.

There's much to be done when they turn up before getting to the jumping-off-the-dock stage, and that's the next exciting bit.

The dock-- What?
There are far, far too many analogies drawn in this little paragraph of bullshit. We have the road (of life), cooking, a dock (of the bay)-- what is happening?

A different road, with better scenery, as it will be witnessed by two pairs of eyes, and therefor doubly rich- but the road is no less even or easy to travel than the first solitary expedition, and nor should it be- for what is the worth of a distant goal if it's a doddle to get there?

SOOOO you might say that you don't know where you're going
but you sure know where you've been?
Hanging on the promises
in the songs of yesterday
And I've made up your mind
you ain't wastin' no more time
Here I go again?

I won't be there by this time next year, depsite what Yahoo! News might urge to the contrary with their questionable suggestion that 2012 is the year to get married. I mean, honestly. But with quiet interest I'm watching the peripheral elements fall into place, and only the core element is missing. I asked for it for Christmas, but sadly the shops had sold out.

I hope they called the cops on you.
"I'm looking to buy a wife."
So you want to deal in human trafficking, eh?
God that was douchey and pretentious
and bad.
Here's a picture of his computer.
It has no case.
It's just a pile of parts--
and he has a bunch of leads going to a typewriter that he insists functions as his keyboard.
While I'm sure this works (in theory, I don't know if this one actually works) the wisdom of leaving exposed wiring like this just to have a keyboard that is 10,000 times less efficient than one that was designed for a computer because it looks marginally cooler might be questionable.
I would say "typewriters look cool" but considering the mangling of the case this whole thing just looks like a rat nest.

Some will no doubt remember the multiplicitous swearing that accompanied my attempts to get my Mac Mini online and operating in anything like a logical and helpful manner, not assisted by the fact that I refused to buy sensible Mac hardware (for 'sensible' read 'expensive'.)

>Buying a Mac
Also can we talk about your use of the word "multiplicitous" for a second?
A word Firefox doesn't even consider a word and frankly I don't either.
It literally means "giving rise to or resulting from multiplicity". Ignoring that the definitions tells you precisely fuck all what it means (we're coming to that) I question the use of a word that doesn't know whether it's causing something or being caused by something.
"Multiplicity" itself just means a great many (or great variety) of things.
Or, to put it even clearer, "a lot".

Having recieved an iPod Shuffle for Christmas, I decided to update iTunes, which in turn meant updating the ancient OS from 10.3.9 to 10.4.whatever. I managed to *borrow* a copy of 10.4.whatever, but with some trepidation as to whether or not it would muck up the rather homemade wireless settings that took me four months to establish first time around.

"trepidation", or "trembling fear", as we simpler folk say.
You spelled "received" wrong, incidentally.
You nailed trepidation but stumbled on receive.
MMMM MMMM.

Which is exactly what it did. And it would not go back online for love nor money. Which is the point at which i did A Daring Thing, and completely deleted the hard drive whilst booting from the disk, and then did a fresh installation. By gum, did that make a difference. It leapt online as soon as I'd uploaded the driver (the dongle driver for 10.4 and later seems to be far more helpful than the old 10.3.9 one) and, after one or two teething problems, I am now using it and online and gleefully trouble-free after about two hours, which is an improvement on four months, in my book.

As much of a douchebag as this cock is whenever someone says "Macs just work" I'm linking them to this entry.

If your best friend asked you OR your partner to help you conceive a child, would you consider it? How do you think it would affect your friendship and your relationship?

Man I miss all the hard-hitting writer's blocks.

So far, no-one has asked me to help conceive a child. I will assume for the purposes of argument that this isn't a commentary on my personal levels of hygene.

No, but I'm sure it is a commentary on the use of your genetics.
Also: hygiene.
I usually forgive the occasional typo or tricky word screw up but for someone with a douchebag vocabulary like you there will be no quarter.

Also, at the moment of going to press, I have no partner, so it's unlikely that any friend of mine would approach my partner with a view to helping to conceive a child. If they did, it might in fact be a beneficial and welcome development, as they could then let me know who my partner actually was.

Do you ever come to the point quickly?
Why do you take 17 extra sentences to make your point?
Is this supposed to be charming or witty?
Because it isn't. It's dull and you seem like you have your head so far up your own ass I imagine you have a girlfriend living with you that you've somehow forgotten about.

Now that seems like a pretty fair deal. If I did have a partner, I would hope that THEY would be my best friend, and I'd be more than happy to help them conceive a child. Once I've read the instruction manual, of course.

My current best friend (i.e. the title holder of 'Best Friend' until this child-producing unknown partner of mine is discovered- maybe a sub-categorisation of 'Best Friend' is required) already has a baby, in collaboration with his best friend and partner (one and the same, not some peculiar team effort.)

I've tried to read this three times and I can't manage it. The same safety mechanism that kept my brain from exploding during pussy sensitivity readings keeps triggering. I end up skimming and immediately forgetting what I just read.

The other threat is that, if I were to assist anyone in conceiving a baby, there would be an outside risk that said baby would end up in some measure like me, and no responsible adult would opt for that as an offspring.

See even this asshole admits he's an asshole and an evolutionary roundabout with no business reproducing.

Personally, I can't see how anyone could struggle to conceive of a baby. The concept of a baby is a commonly held and simple one, and not difficult to grasp. However, for those who do find it difficult to conceive of a baby, I can offer a few pointers.

Get it because "conceive" and "conceive of" have different meanings.
Man this shit is harsh.

"*username here* is a 98% match for you. You aren't a match for her because of this 'absolutely crucial' criterion: Drinking"

CONTACT HER

"*username here* has chosen not to recieve messages from people who don't match her 'absolutely crucial' criteria, so you can't message her."

Receive.
Buddy we've been over this. I before E except after C.

You won't talk to me because I don't drink? You stupid little girl...

You know who doesn't match my criteria for dating?
Stupid little girls.
Seriously man, think about this shit for a goddamn second before you post.

How the hell does that work? I could understand it if I had ticked 'rampant and perpetual drinker' on my profile- after all, a member might have had a bad experience with a heavy drinking partner or something. But to say 'I can't countenance anybody who chooses not to get rat-arsed' is quite simply pointless, and the attendant implication, 'you can't enjoy yourself unless you're pissed' is plainly puerile.

But it filtered you out, and you just used the words "countenance" and "puerile" in the same paragraph.
She's just some party slut. You're missing nothing by not being able to contact her. Trust me, my college campus was filled with literally hundreds of the pretentious twats who sit there filling my brain with fuck during the week and then whoring around during the weekend.

Mind you, I can't say I'm that disappointed to be unable to communicate with that particular member. "I've tried internet dating before, I wasn't ready for a relationship but I thought I was" smacks far too much of the immature emotional dysfunctionality that excuses anyone, apparently, from treating you like shit. It's a shame, but any tolerance of 'committment issues' that I may once have had has vapourised, leaving a curmudgeonly old-man like opinion that they should just grow up and accept responsibility, and stop whingeing and prancing around like spoilt pre-teenagers. Humph.

I can't believe you just told someone to stop prancing, because if ever a paragraph could be described as "prancing" it is the one above.
Also I don't think I've ever seen a blog contain this many "words that no spellcheck actually recognizes as a word" as this one, and I'm even discounting words that are spelled the British way.

First of all, when I last posted, I was about to go for lunch with a delightful young lady, who quite simply burst into my life and really shook things up. This young ladie's name is Bethanie, we are at present 'together', I'm glutinously and spoonily crazy about her, and every conversation we have seems to point even further, to me, to our being ideal for one another. She makes me, and I hope will continue to make me, extremely happy.

I'm glad she dumped you.
I feed off your misery.
In fact, your unhappiness keeps me youthful.

"If you have a disability you may apply under our guaranteed interview scheme. Contact us for details."

I beg your pardon? "Guaranteed interview scheme"?

Gamey leg. Got it in the war.
I'd lie constantly on job applications if I wasn't sure lying specifically about disabilities is a crime.

This is what's called Equal Opportunities. If you're disabled, you're guaranteed an interview, regardless of your aptitude. If you're highly skilled, but better with interviews than written promotion of yourself, you have very little chance of getting an interview.

Oh don't worry about it, mack, if they need someone with functioning limbs, Cripple McLandmine isn't getting the job. They just have to put on the lacquer of equality.
The only problem I have with the system is how the privileged, not the skilled, get an advantage.
The best should always rise to the top.

I really can't see how guaranteeing an interview on the grounds of disability is in any way representative of 'Equality'. Isn't it, in fact, underlining the difference and giving preferential treatment in order to appear to be treating everyone equally?

Unfortunately in pussy sensitivity there's a concept of "equity is equality" whereby ensuring everyone has the same chance often means some people have more of an advantage because the perception is it'll level the playing field.
It doesn't. It just makes my life more inconvenient.

Now, in fairness, none of them resemble Father Jack, Les Dawson, Barry Humphries, or anyone else representative of an Unattractive Look For Young Ladies. Most of them look quite pleasant, although one of them does look rather like someone wanted by the Allies for war crimes on the Eastern Front in 1943.

Sounds like the kind of woman I'd like to know. In fact, if I'm on an online dating site (for some reason) and my first thoughts about a woman are "she looks like she might be wanted for a war crime" my thought isn't finished before I'm responding to her email.

She's an architect, apparently, and sounds quite entertaining in truth of fact, but I can't get rid of the vague feeling that she might be Albert Speer in disguise.

Albert Speer, really?
Of all the Nazis you could think of, why does Albert Speer immediately leap to your mind?
Albert Speer didn't even commit a crime outside of "being a Nazi" such that the French, the Americans and the British were prepared to let him off but it was only by the Russians that he got a conviction when they (intelligently and rightly) said there is no such thing as an innocent Nazi.
He was chief architect and he was convicted of war crimes by some gas chamber plans that he designed.
Except he didn't remember designing any gas chambers and none of the plans bore his signature.
ALLEGEDLY. HE KNEW ALL ABOUT IT I'M SURE.
Also if she looks like Albert Speer I'm not responding. I was under the impression she just looked kind of crazy.

The biggest problem with Gnardiun Poleslates is that I appear to be cornering the market in women of approximately 34-39 years of age.

34-39. Desperation creeps in.
You could have it made, my friend.

Ok Ok, I'm not all that far off thirty myself- but I don't really want to be reminded of that, and hooking up with someone six years older than me lacks, broadly speaking, a certain appeal.

But hooking up with someone six years younger is perfectly okay.
In fact, it is perfectly okay. Just don't act like she's sick and horrible for doing exactly what you're doing.

Once again I'm thoroughly bewildered as to how these people find me, as I've put my preferred age range in me preferences, and matches are apparently calculated on this basis. A lot of the people peering at me throught he ether are, strangely, people whose profiles appeared in the immediate vicinity of someone I actually liked the look and sound of- these latter, naturally, have taken a quick peek and disappeared, I presume for some form of therapy.

You know what kills me about guys like this?
He probably had a thing for MILFs when he was in his teenage years, but now that he's getting up there ("getting up there" in quotes because if I read about another fucker freaking out about hitting 30 when you have 60 years in your miserable life yet to bother me with your inane ramblings on the internet I'm officially joining a monastery) suddenly anyone older than 30 is too old and he only goes for nubile, underage vagina.
Maybe I'm just a simple man with simple wisdom but this is clearly a case of the grass being greener.

Macs, contrary to popularly received wisdom, are NOT the way forward, unless of course, you happen to be in possession of an income roughly equivalent to the GDP of Sweden.

Considering all people moving society forward are using Windows systems (or Linux systems, I guess) I don't think anyone ever claimed Macs are the way forward considering the typical user is a self-entitled manchild sipping lattes at Starbucks whining about how the economy is keeping him from his career in gay porn.

What in God's name are they playing at? the thing isn't even that old. Say what you like about PCs, this old Dell is older than the Mini, and not once, NOT ONCE have I had any trouble fitting upgrades. Wireless, you name it, it comes on a board, I plug it in and it works. Not the Mac, that smug, greed-ridden, inoperative and apparently overblown and underspecified lump.

You just had a post about how you pried off a graphics processing chip and re-soldered it. Why are you buying off the shelf computers?
Ohhh man, I don't know anymore.
Anyway I'm going to go do stuff.

No vengeance can compare to the vengeance of the dead

Ready to read about some boozy broad's quest to get laid?
Me neither, but alas, that is the objective today.
The blog's title is "Mo's Journey to Empowerment & Finding Mr.Right" and "Mo" is short for Morgan. I do love being on a first name basis with these bloggers but my hatred for the name Morgan might be compared to the baleful energy of a dying sun, so I think I will rename you something not douchey.
Let's see--
As unworthy as you are, I will rename you Martha.
Be judged.

Where is one new place you’d like to visit?

Japan or Greece are my 1 and 2 options as I believe I said in a previous entry.
Now I managed an entire sentence response to this question, half of which was entirely unnecessary-- you didn't really need to know I already answered this, though I do believe this writer's block has about run its course now.
So if I find one sentence more than sufficient to answer this question, I'm sure you can imagine my surprise at her answer being two sizable (and I do mean sizable) paragraphs.

In May 2010 I had my first experience of discovering the world on San Salvador Island, Bahamas. This is what Columbus and I have in common, because I stepped on the same land as he had in 1492. My first plane ride,my first time snorkeling, swimming in ocean where I could see my toes... my first time being a foreigner in another country. At that moment, I knew what it was like to feel lonely, to feel like an alien, to not be able to relate to people, the food being different, to really appreciate the differences that the world has to offer me.

So already we're like eighteen sentences in and a relevant thought to this question is not in sight.
The question, I do believe, asked for somewhere NEW. As in, somewhere you haven't been. You've evidently been to San Salvador Island, so do you care to, I don't know, answer the fucking question?

I realized I did not know much at all about the world or its people...and that I was hungry to know hershey, which means everything in Turkish.

Martha, are you serious? Am I really getting Turkish lessons in a writer's block?

This became my dream, to meet and learn from all of the people that I could, and to always show them all the kindness that I could possess in return.

Oh, really? My dream is the death of all Livejournal users from a horrific wasting illness.
It's a humble dream.

In January 2011, I was in a troubled part of my life. I was feeling disconnected from everyone around me. I had found out my bf had been cheating on me, and I had just started at a new, bigger college campus.

Martha, come on. Help me out here.

I was putting the final payment down for my trip to China when I met this boy. He was eavesdropping on my conversation to the Study Abroad office clerk over hearing me speak about going to China. He got my attention and mentioned how awesome it was that I was going to China. He was an attractive guy, and his accent caught me a little off guard. I asked him where he was from, and was very surprised when he stated he was from Venezuela.

Following my plan in reverse.
Instead of traveling to the third world to get a brown girl to bring back, he decided to plop down in the first world to find a white girl.
Well the Buddha did say there were as many paths to enlightenment as there men that walketh on the earth but I can't help but feel your path leads straight to eternal damnation.
One might wonder how I can reconcile a belief in Buddhism with eternal damnation and rest assured, the answer is I don't believe in either thing.

I went along my way, and bought myself some lunch. I was surprised to see Juan sitting by himself at a table. I invited him over to sit with me, and within 10 minutes found myself surrounded by a dozen other foreign exchange students from all around the world. I had an amazing time.

I found myself hanging with the Arab exchange students from time to time when I was in college.
I think because I have a manly beard they felt some sort of misplaced kinship with me.

All of the students were so friendly, I felt like I had known them all for years after only 30 minutes!

Then I found out there were no brown girls in their midst.

I left that day with an impression that changed my life, I no longer saw them as a possible awkward situation or possibly angry people, I saw them as people who just needed a friendly smile to invite them to be your friend. I made sure to always be patient when talking to them, and no longer saw them as different. I saw them as just like me & treated them accordingly.

You might be amazed to learn (I was) that this is all the same entry and it ends here and I have left nothing out.
So-- good job talking about something totally fucking irrelevant, I guess.
Here's a post entitled "Boyfriend" and I am already feeling the guttering spark of hatred begin to grow and succor at the wax of douchiness.
... I'm trying to liven up my speech a little in this entry. How am I doing?

Alan: Hey! I'm Alan. How are you doing? :)
Aug 4, 2011 – 9:00am
Me: I am just waking up (been doing so slowly for an hour), and everyday can be a good day if you make it that way right?

No, everyday can't be a good day. Some days are just complete and utter shit. Your worth is determined by how you weather them.

My name is Morgan btw, even though you most likely already knew that one :)
Alan: Good morning sweetie! I hope you have a nice day. Are you on vacation?
Nice to meet you Morgan. Yes, I guessed, you have a nice name :)

You likely knew that one because who doesn't know Martha?

Me:I just got back from vacation in Wildwood, NJ. I am leaving again on the 11th and returning on the 22nd from California. I will be visiting my Father. Thank you! I wrote in my profile how I like to talk to people from different places, and get a good grasp of different cultures. I would love to learn about where you are from, and you as a person. I find that I connect better with people from different countries than my own strangely. Well, I have a busy day ahead of me, I hope you have a good day. If you have facebook, you can contact me through there, my name is Morgan Shults.

Martha Shults.
I checked Facetube but unfortunately there are many Morgan "Martha" Shultses(esseses) and most of those were friend locked so I don't believe there's a picture to be had.

Alan: Why not? You're genuine and kind. We'll have to meet in person! It might also contribute to shorten my adaptation period. Its my first time coming to the USA on the 8th. Can't wait! :) I found and added you on facebook Momo lol Keep in touch ;)
This was our first conversation. It is hard to believe it has been two months since that day.

Christ, Alan. Trying to get into her pants, are you?
I don't think you have to work this hard.

I remember when I first met Alan. I was not the outgoing, fearless, lovable girl I was a year prior. I was damaged. I was shy. and afraid. I could not even look him in the eyes. It took myself a lot of forcing to climb out of my shell. I was so afraid to fall inlove with him.
I am getting less afraid day by day. I am letting myself trust him. He even changed his relationship status on Facebook for me. It showed a lot that he really cares and is serious about me.

Changed his Facebook status!?
I take back everything I said. Clearly he is the one.

Can Laughter Heal Love's Battle Scars?

Oh, fuck. This is triggering such a bizarre series of associations my brain is filling to the brim with fuck.
So there was a Gundam episode titled something cuttingly close to that line and I think it was Gundam 0083.
The theme song to Gundam 0083 was sung by Miki Matsubara who sang a song called Martha.
Miki Matsubara died a few years ago of cancer and yet "Martha" Schulz lives on. Truly, no justice left in the world.

I am at a point where I am confused. I got to know lots of new people this summer, went on a few dates, and still have no idea what I want in a boyfriend.

Yes, sorry. Waxing nostalgic about a pop singer I believe all of ten people have heard of.
A Japanese pop singer popular in (as near as I can tell) the late 70s to mid 80s who hasn't had a relevant hit since then.

Even the word boyfriend seems so foreign to me. I wonder if I can even see myself having a boyfriend. A committed relationship where you must trust the person.

Uh-huh.
Oh, so let me mention something slightly cheerier (and not cancer related). Remember a few entries ago when I said something like "Edie is only one ability named something like 'pentagram soul suck horror' short of being a super villain"?
Well, it's not something as colorful as "pentagram soul suck horror" but I think it'll have to work:


She has to work on her evil laugh. She sounds like someone said something genuinely funny.
MURDEROUS INTENT.
Although the rank 42 lancer ability sounds promising: Twisting Vice.
Did I mention how completely fucked leveling is in this game? So fucked I've gained more levels in the past 3 days than I have in the past 3 months.

I wonder if I will ever feel loved agian. I go out with a guy and I feel shy, and worry. I have known the badside of guys. The anger, the lust, the cntrol, the manipulation... the heart breaks. I want to be adored.

You are unlovable.
Now here's a post entitled "The Coward Who Couldn't Fight His Fears For Love" and I know not everyone thinks this way but to me that's a very serious accusation levied against this guy.
Cowardice, I mean damn.
In fact, it's hard to bring a worse claim against someone.

I met Will on Okcupid. He sent me this message in reply to my profile: “Hey! how are you? I have no idea where Jonestown is lol, but I saw some things we have in common and wanted to message you. My name is William by the way. I also love traveling. I have been to Germany, Mexico, Spain, Hungary and all over the US. My favorite trip ever was when I drove across country. I saw that you wanted to learn Spanish and French? My Spanish is pretty good, but I am really trying to learn German.

I am doomed to die alone because this talk is seriously throwing me right the fuck off. Is this really how people attract each other?

My French is terrible. Oh, and I am terrified of Spiders. I work up in a hostel in Mexico with a tarantula on my bed and have been scared of them ever since.

... So? You're like fifty times larger than it and you easily weigh 200 times what it does. It's probably more afraid of you than you are of it.
Hit the fucking thing with a shoe, Christ.

Message me back if you would like! I hope to hear from you,
Will”

If I ever were so pathetic as to join a dating site I would never message someone else.
If you want to talk to me, start talking.

He seemed friendly enough right? Wrong.

Can't wait for this great story.

We agreed to meet up a week later. I invited him out with my outgoing, spunky, single friends Buttercup & Rocketeer.

Oh boy, Cuntette and her twat friends.
How can one man be so blessed?

We all went out to Bourbon St. & Anthony’s on 2^nd street in Harrisburg. I was about 10 minutes late, because Rocketeer was a little late arriving at my house, and then both girls had to pee immediately upon arriving so we stopped at Anthony’s. I left the girls at Anthony’s & went to meet up with Will for the first time. Immediately I found him a little attractive, because he is 6’3”, and I love tall guys.

Why didn't you pee before you left?
Forget it.

I could tell he was uncomfortable with the scene. I asked if we could go to Anthony’s to where my friends are, and he jumped on the idea.

Is this story going anywhere or is it going to peter out like the other three?
... Why did I ask such a stupid and obvious question?

Will expressed that he had a distaste for how loud the bar was, and wanted to talk in a quieter place. He said he liked Anthony’s. The rest of the night, Will made an effort to try and stay away from the action inside Bourbon. At first he seemed sweet, saying it was nice to meet me, bought us both a beer that I suggested…then things went down hill

Yes, here we go. Don't be mad at the massive blocks of text I have to copy-- I'm sure this will all be worthwhile.
Okay I'm lying.

and He expressed how unopen he was to the idea of meeting my pet arachnids. At the mention of my tarantula tattoo, he almost seemed to turn white lol.

That asshole.
I can't believe that cunt with an admitted phobia of spiders wasn't immediately open to the idea of handling your pet spiders.

Even after giving the speech about how these creatures could cure cancer and how they are going to be endangered, he was not interested in learning anything about them.

Cure cancer?
My dog can smell cancer.
SHE KEEPS SMELLING MY CANCER SPOT OH NO.
Seriously are you full of shit or what? Spiders can cure cancer? How?
Is the medical community aware of this amazing breakthrough?

I was very disappointed that he was not interested in at least trying to get over his fears and meet or at least respect my hobby.

Sounds like he was fine with it. He just didn't take to it with the same zeal you do.
Listen to me Will, okay, you're better off without her. Have I told you about my plan?
You don't need this bitch.

By the end of the night, I think he had enough and I was pretty sure I would never hear from again (which did not bother me too much). Will had a lot of interests. He loved to travel, was going to school, was going to be an officer in the airforce, was a manager at a popular Mexican bar and grill..he had a lot going for him.

Officer in the air force. You clearly have something going on and it's best that you don't waste it with this trash.
Gotta get over your fear of spiders. I mean you can operate multimillion dollar machinery that can move faster than the speed of sound but you let a bug get you down.

The final blow was when I talked about how a kiss can tell you things about a person that nothing else can. He took the hint that I was interested in kissing him, and he immediately said that a kiss would not be happening that night. I took this as a sign that he must not be attracted to me or maybe even interested and I was a little relieved when we went our separate ways.

Watch out, man. That's how you catch the HIV.

Where do I begin? I would have to say that tonight was one of the best nights with a guy in the longest time. How I met him was pretty unexpected. Buttercup and I met up at the Bourbon Street bar, because they had $2 draft Blue Moon which is her fav. I was drunk and asked Buttercup to dare me to do something.

I've spoken to misguided souls who have wondered why they can't attract women like this. My first question is why would you want to?
My second is what do you really expect to have in common with a woman whose driving passion in life seems to be to look good in a bar?
Like take Will, for example. He's going to be an officer in the air force, he has-- I dunno, something going on, or at the very least he's "compassionate" and has career prospects-- what does this woman have?
She might (and I say "might") look like someone you want to fuck. And she likes to hang out in bars.
That's really all I'm getting from her. Oh, and she likes spiders.
I mean is this fucking rocket science? You like books, you try to pick up chicks in Barnes and Noble. Or you join a book club. Holy shit, book clubs are for women so you'd be the only man there for sure.
Or, fuck, you're career-oriented? Go to one of those business seminars and talk the women up there. You're going to have way more in common with her than some floozy barfly.
I mean Will's solution is so obvious I can't believe he needs a guy on the internet to spell it out for him. He can fly a plane-- just do your tour of duty in the air force, become a commercial pilot and fuck the stewardesses.
Or, you know, you probably are going to fly to exotic locales. Locales with brown girls.
That plan is so genius I don't really see a need to deviate strongly from it. It's pretty much the template for romantic success.

She dared me to talk to a cute, extremely tall guy who was playing darts with some friends. I took a deep breath, and made my way over to him in my 5 inch heels which took my forehead to his nose.

See what I mean?

I pulled on the sleeve of his gray dress shirt, and pulled him toward me, and whispered in his ear that I thought he was sexy. He turned to me in a bit of surprise, and said in my ear that he thought I was not bad looking myself. I smiled a cheesy smile, and I felt the immediate butterflies as I looked into his eyes.

Cool it, lady, or I'm going to get a hose.
This story goes on about shit I don't care about.
Oh man, that song I referenced earlier, Martha, just came on.
This entry has officially gone full circle and by sheer coincidence I'm also up to her first entry.
Well, with nothing left to say I think it's time to call it quits. Wednesday it is, then.