and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

My computer has a virus. I know because sometimes my mouse moves by itself, and funny things happen. Icons appear out of nowhere. I got the virus from a download that claimed to be a picture of a naked angelina jolie. That's right. I've been downloading porn. For the first time in mee adult life, actually. Pretty interesting. I masturbated four times this afternoon. I feel pretty good about that. That's right. I have no shame about masturbating. If this blog gets hijacked by the virus and sent to all my friends and relatives, I'll say, 'no shame, friends.' Four times is a lot. It was the porn. And the fact that I am not getting any action, nor have for a long time. I went to a bar tonight with my kiteboarding friend brian. He said, as he dropped off some equipment at my house today, 'do you want to come out tonight?' And I said yes. No hesitation. I was feeling lonely, and thought that would be an excellent opportunity. And I went, and we were two hours early for the band he wanted to see. So we walked with beer (that I purchased, as he is underage!) to the new recruit in my dept. that I have been seeing a lot of lately, Annie and her boyfriend Ben. Ben lived in Doug in '98. G house. He knew kareem from his theater days, and met mike woz during that time too. Fucking interesting. The two of us reminisce like there was no tomorrow. I like him a lot. I like Annie a lot. I will not let myself think about annie in any other way than a friend, as that would be wrong, and immoral, as I like Ben so much. Even though annie is fucking cute as hell. Anyway, we had some beaz with ben&annie, walked back to the bar (which was allowing 18 and up in). and the punk music began. that's right punk music. which I was kind of excited about, until I saw nobody dancing. this one girl was bobbing to the music, but they were all underage and self conscious. And so I bought myself a beer. And the bobbing girl showed up, and without even thinking about it, I asked her if I could buy her a beer. It must have been all the advice I've given in my day coming back to haunt me*. So she informed me that she was drinking margaritas, which turned out to be 8 dollars, as opposed to my 2.50 beaz, but, whatever. I had already offered. And so I bought her a drink. I got her name wrong, and we went back to the music. and I kind of ignored her. went to talk to brian. And then I got frustrated, because my eardrums were being raped, but there was no dancing reward for it all. so I went up to her (she happened to be the sister of the lead singer) and asked her what was up with nobody dancing. And she informed me that she was in charge of making sure people danced. but she herself was only bobbing. so I started to rock out. and she upped her dancing a little, and finally kind of did the mike meyer's style rocking out through the just-post-pubescent crowd. And she looked at me beseechingly, and said, 'your turn?' She's pretty cute. Cute in the hat backward kind of way. Cute in the, 'alex schwartz is a little cute' kind of way. That's right. I'm not that good looking, notwithstanding the fact that when I look in the mirror, I see a hot motherfucker. Anyway, I rocked out much harder through the people. It turned out to be their last song, and I noticed the kids looking at me as if I was the least cool individual in the universe. Less cool than their parents. And you know what? I didn't care then, and I don't care now. Erin and I went back to the bar. I ordered another beer, and she nursed he overpriced marguerites. She kept touching me. She told me about her job; she's a manager of a naturopathic healing company called quantum life. Something to do with energy, and the double helix, she informed me. Energy passing (from a computer program that they sell, through 'elements' and) into head, wrist and ankle-bands that her company provides. For a modest fee, no doubt. Dude, this is cult heaven, and I plan to be part of it. Ask me about it some time. So, I talked to her roommates, and as she was leaving commented that we should go out for a drink sometime. I told her, with my best blaze voice that if she gave me her number I would call her. Not too interested, because I really wasn't. Do you think it was the four masturbations that did it? Anyway . . . I still haven't looked at her number, but am confident that it is in my pocket, and that she will sleep with me if I call her. Because I am desirable. And not terribly interested in her. And that's all I need. Alas. Dillemas posed by single life.

* advice I've given to you, motherfucker.

Alright. This was not so much chronicling success, so much as my evening. I am being proactive about my loneliness. That's the message I'm communicating. "I'm not being a hypocrite," says I. Fuck the po-9. Let's go for number five.