Regular One - The Journal of ...

Note: This raw document is now the pathetic substitute for what was once a glamorous journal. This is all that's left. This journal is not edited to the usual LoserNet standards.

Wednesday August 11, 1999

I am frantically trying to coordinate a last ditch effort for the e-Commerce projects. Bruce, Derrick and I will meet on Monday to discuss the future of the more dubious project. This project has the most immediate potential but we may end up dissolving the venture over trivial issues. I hope to resurrect the other e-Commerce project by infusing new blood into it.

I saw the handmaiden get off the bus at noon in town. I also saw her being made over at the makeup counter at Liberty House when I went in looking for some shoes, and later saw her walking around with her friend. Then, after I got out of the gym, I saw her walking up the street. I moved quickly because I didn't want to run into her. She looked so confident and proud. Not a care in the world. Big bank at her total disposal. It must be a great life to have a rich boyfriend like Mercedes Boy. She's living the life of a debutante. This must be what she meant when she said that she "wanted to be treated like a Queen." Only a King's ransom could afford that. By the way, I saw Latisha at the gym. She ignored me, so I knew that I had to go straight home and break out the fire water. What a day I'm having!

While I waited at the bus stop, some derelict hit me up for money. I was wearing my loser gym duds so I looked like a derelict myself.

"Eh, you get two-dollar so I can get da kine grinds?" he asked in Pidgin English.

I couldn't take it anymore since I was losing it. "Eh, braddah, I broke," I told him. "Eh, you get five-dollar?" I opened my hand out to him.

He scratched his head and left. I've been waiting to do that for a long time. I laughed my fool head off. When I got home, I found out that Caroll called me earlier in the day. I called her back. I told her that I had tentative reservations to fly to Cali at the end of the month. She tried to persuade me to visit. I'm still not sure what I should do. I'm spending too much money commuting to Cali. I have decide by tomorrow afternoon.

Reflections on a Cheap Brewski

What can I say? A cheap brewski is a cheap brewski no matter how you look at it. However, one is able to economically obtain a quick buzz and big headache. Have you noticed the sheer number of hurdy-gurdy sites out there? It's amazing, isn't it? Why are guys checking these out all the time? Babes find this trend to be disgusting. Well, when I was once a politically correct fool, I would have probably agreed. Let's face it, though. Guys do not have aesthetically pleasing bodies. Well, only a few guys do and I'm not one of them. Herein lies the difference and even the babes agree. Babes are gorgeous. Very aesthetically pleasing. Even I, a monk, can concur. When the Creator made babes, there was no scrimping. In this respect, I am glad that I am a guy. I get to appreciate the aesthetic quality of babes. Of course, it is a vicarious visual experience as babes have nothing to do with me.

Losers are happy and thankful for these hurdy-gurdy sites. A case of brewskis and all of those hurdy-gurdy sites make for a great weekend. And, it costs practically nothing. For broke losers like myself, this is a blessing. [Actually, for me, a case of brewskis and NetRadio make for a great weekend. I'm an eunuch.] After a few brewskis, however, I tend to forget that I'm a monk. Just like right now. I've had a few and I'm really thinking about babes. Why can't I find a babe like Barbie Doll Heather? (see photo at right of her at a local Victoria's Secret fashion show in Convalescent City) I'll tell you why. I'm a penniless loser. It's time that I ramp up to the King Cobra, that's what. Don't let the smooth taste fool ya!

I think I'm going babe crazy. This is either a result of a possible mid-life crisis, a severe synaptic malfunction, or part of my on-going struggle with the handmaiden. Or maybe it's all because of Barbie Doll Heather. Did I tell you that story? The real story. Let's save it for another day. The mind can only handle so much. And, only a cheap brewski can tame the synaptic flare-ups.

Thursday August 12

I hastily decided that I will fly to Cali at the end of this month. The airfare was originally $335 if I flew back on September 3rd. However, I don't want to spend Labor Day weekend in a drunken stupor, so I'm paying $50 more fly back on Monday. That suits me fine. I need a vacation from this crap. I might as well take advantage of the time I have. I may actually become a true wage slave one of these days and I won't be going anywhere for a long time. And, the prediction for airfare during Christmas this year is horrifying. The rates are sky high, so to speak, because this is the Millennium year. Will that stop the old fool from traveling? Hell no!

I will have a lot of work to do before I leave. Maybe it's all for the better. I'll be busy and, therefore, I'll have less time to think about stupid things like the handmaiden. Caroll made a point yesterday that may also be right. Both moms and I need a break from each other. It's too bad I won't find a babe like Barbie Doll Heather when I'm in Cali. Imagine if I met up with her and we ended doing the wild thing all week. Then, I'd forget about returning to Hawai'i. Oh man, it can only happen in my wildest dreams! I was really losin' it yesterday and, as I look at that photo of Barbie Doll Heather, I am ready to lose it again. To top if off, I saw Latisha at the gym today. Was my lot in life merely to be tortured?

Now I'm wondering. Is the journal getting out of hand with the babe issue? I don't think so. You have read what I've been through in the [UJ] archives. How could any guy make it through that unscathed? One of these days I'll return to my normal unassuming self. I'll be the good eunuch I once was. I'll be totally invisible to babes. And, I'll live happily ever after.

Friday the 13th

Sinister kahuna day. It doesn't matter, does it? I am plagued everyday by the sinister one or its chief agent, the handmaiden. I am still enraged by the whole situation. The handmaiden made a chimp out of me. Then, she stomped me into the ground by showing me that she could find a rich guy who was willing to pamper her in every way possible. She has psychologically castrated me. Paul (in Seattle) is right. I need to get laid. Even Clara, one of my students, said the same thing. I can't believe that my biology has me stuck on stupid. The worst part is that even the handmaiden knows that I can't find another babe. She is giggling her ass off because she has reduced me to the true eunuch that I really am. Man, am I pissed off! Some of you may be sick of hearing all of this, but this is the way I really feel. After all, what is a guy? A dick and a wallet. That's it. I just didn't have a fat wallet.

Gwenda, another of my students, wanted to see a picture of the handmaiden. So I showed her the pictures off of the Web in the [UJ] archives. "She's pretty," Gwenda said. "Don't let that smooth look fool ya," I cautioned. Gwenda wanted to know some of the details of my situation so I told her. I think she was a little amazed. I would like to interject here that I am not still grieving over the handmaiden. I am in the "pissed off" stage. I've been had and I've been abused. I'm not happy about it. I wanted to show her a thing or two. But, what can I do? I have no dough. I don't have another babe whom I can parade in front of her. All I have is grief.

Moms mentioned that she saw the handmaiden on the bus last week. The handmaiden must have been going home from the gym. She was talking to the bus driver when moms got on. All she said to moms was, "I hope you can find a seat." She didn't even sit with moms and talk to her. Moms put her up for six months and treated her as part of the family. Is moms not due more respect than that?

Well, since I cannot get laid unless I have a vivid imagination while using my hand, I must develop some kind of contingency. I have enough work to keep me busy until I leave for Cali. Actually, the whole situation is laughable. It's totally out of control because I'm not in control. Either I have no concept about how to gain control or I refuse to gain control. Even as I sit here at Barnes & Noble, I'm ready to lose it. When I hear these idiots shaking those sugar packets, I just want to come out swingin'. I have no idea why.

I saw a babe at the gym who almost brought me to my knees. I actually had to pray for help. Mind you, she wasn't drop-dead gorgeous like Barbie Doll Heather but she was captivating. She also had a Playmate's body. Actually, I take that back. She was drop-dead gorgeous. That brings me to today's topic ...

Monastery Solaces

I am ready to shut down. Remember when I had to do that in the old days at the Roach Motel? You know, babes have been the underlying theme of LoserNet all along even though I tried to fool myself. I once thought that I was going to produce a top-notch site for losers. But, what is the definition of a "loser"? A guy without a babe. What do we mean when we say we have "no life"? We have no babes. As I look back, I see now that all of my stories had to deal with babes in one way or another. Even the anecdotes about The Bull, the Bishop, and the Cardinal all had to do with babes. And, I was not exaggerating. That's all we ever talked about. The babes eventually became the focal point in the lives of The Bull and the Bishop such that their destinies were determined by their babes. In a sense, that happened to me as well. No matter how much I wanted to remain a monk, I was transparent as glass. I was waging a war with myself to remain a celibate monk. No doubt, The Master was also going through the same crap. After all, what did The Master and I always talk about?

The journal was my monk catharsis. It was my vehicle to remain celibate. That changed once I made the journey to Oregon. The whole theme of the journal changed. Prior to all of this, I spent a number of years in misery, much in the same manner as now. I was depressed because I didn't have a babe and babes were definitely not throwing themselves at me. To cope, I sedated myself with fire water. I finally developed the concept of the monastery which eventually saved me from the gutter. My life changed. I was happier. As I look back, I realize that despair was still mulling within me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fight the biology. On the outside, I resisted the temptation when it came up. Later, I regretted the decision because I knew I really wanted to fall from grace. I've never admitted to anyone, for example, how much I really kicked myself in the ass for not going after Clare. I also kick myself in the ass for not going after Barbie Doll Heather. I fought my desires to the bitter end. I suppose that I was so fatigued in fighting myself that the handmaiden had no trouble persuading me to end the monk existence.

Also, as I look back, I see that I have always had tense relationships with babes. I don't have many babes as friends because they eventually come to dislike me. There is something about my personality that perturbs babes. They eventually treat me like scorned lovers. I was always dumbfounded by this phenomenon. I've attempted to analyze this in the past and have come to the conclusion that babes want guys to treat them almost like lovers even though the relationship is obviously platonic. When this doesn't happen, there is strife. That is why I avoid even the most casual relationships with babes. I am not able to deal with the emotional treason once I fail to treat them "special." In other words, a guy must engage in flirtatious behavior even with babes who are "just friends." Remember when I observed that Clare (see photo at left, before our night on the town) was really irritable when she had to call me on the phone? She was very friendly when I called her. So, I deliberately stopped calling her. She became very upset and wanted to know why she always had to be the one to call. This is only one example. I have examples of other babes doing the same thing. Mind you, this was before I knew that the phone was a sacred instrument to babes. I'm not trying to be cruel. I just don't want to be controlled. However, if I want a babe, do I have a choice? I've already seen the Pavlovian response to my defiance of the so-called "rules of the game." For that is what it is, isn't it? It's the damned "game" again, even in alleged platonic friendships. It shouldn't happen between friends. It shouldn't happen between lovers but it does.

Maybe I don't truly understand the "game." Friends could easily become lovers. Or, friends could easily become recreational boinkers. Or, friends could remain friends. None of this is completely static, however. There is no time limit. There are no constraints. Placing constraints may preclude any friendship because it discounts the possibilities. Both guys and babes are always looking for possibilities. No matter what. Babes don't necessary want to hang around and be friends with a monk. As I've said a long time ago, babes don't want an eunuch around. Otherwise, they'll just get a dog. Even in platonic friendships, guys and babes expect their sexuality to be enhanced and appreciated. This cannot be avoided. I have seen what happens when one attempts to circumvent this augmentation. The friendship is over. It could never have been platonic because it would only have been an "acquaintanceship." Thus, there never really is a friendship between guys and babes. It is clearly always a relationship, whether it is consummated or not.

To understand this sheds new light on an old subject. It also makes me understand why there is so much infidelity. No constraints. I personally appreciate constraints. I like to know the boundaries, particularly between right and wrong. The "game of love" has muddled reality. Sexual attraction further obfuscates the issue. Sometimes, I just don't know. I was better off remaining a monk. I may never fall from grace again.

Saturday August 14

Big headache. After another eight-hour drinking binge, I felt like crap. When is this going to end? Why do I keep punishing myself for the wrongs of the handmaiden? I keep asking myself these questions every day. Paul (from Chaminade) came by in the afternoon to join me in the festivities. I asked him how his ex-babe was. "I don't care about her," he retorted. I could sense an inner hostility, one I knew well. The babeless life is a dismal one. Apparently, Paul's ex-babe has found a new stud, too. Wheee! Welcome to the life of a chimp, Paul! Oo! Oo! Ah! Ah! Ah!

The life of a chimp. That's the life I lead. Drunk and pathetic, I just climb around in my cage all day. Yes, I have no bananas. Sometimes I want to drive my six-four right over a cliff (with me still in it). Some babes actually like my six-four but they are usually young babes in their twenties. Man, I wouldn't mind a twenty-year-old babe. If there's anything that can infuse life in these old bones ... what am I thinking? I can see why so many guys have decided to just skin up all the babes they can, any way they can. I don't want to get to that point. Fortunately, babes are not attracted to me. Otherwise, I may be tempted to skin 'em all up. What would bring me to stoop to this level of debauchery?

I have resurrected the novel that the handmaiden and I were supposedly collaborating on. It needs a lot of work but it is complete and is a full length novel. The real problem is that the handmaiden owns half of the intellectual property. That's what I promised her and I am a man of my word. The handmaiden, of course, faulted me for never completing the revisions. Why couldn't she have taken the initiative herself? I'm not going to worry about it. If it gets done, so be it. I have also thought about turning the [UJ] archives into a psychological thriller. Oh man, it gives me the willies just thinking about it. Who could believe that a psycho like her really exists?

Although I am sloppy-ass drunk all the time, I'm beginning to realize that I need to get my life in order. I need to get as many irons in the fire as possible. Part of my trip to Cali will be to find out what I need to do to finish an incomplete graduate degree. I may also drive to LA to discuss the e-Commerce project with the LA connection. In the meantime, I've got to get things done here. One way or the other, I have to succeed at something. I have to retire. Then, I'll live happily ever after.

Sunday August 15

I felt crappy all day but I realized that it had nothing to do with the fire water. I have contracted some kind of illness, probably from being around a lot of people in poorly ventilated areas all the time. That didn't stop the fire water consumption but I am really paying the price. Pops is supposed to start chemotherapy treatments next week. Since he had a choice, maybe everything will work out for him. More later.

I spent most of the day sitting in the detestable resin chair for ambiance. It brought back old memories. One year ago, I was just coming out of my time of reckoning. The handmaiden also decided that it was over. The resin chair is detestable and I may one day destroy it my bare hands. I fumed about the handmaiden for a while. Then, I thought about Clare. I cannot believe what a babe she was. My hands were starting to shake. It's hard to believe that it was I who was playing games with her. Did I mention that she used to tell me about how she ran around her apartment nude all the time? She was an engineering babe. Can you believe that an engineer would look like that? After Clare lost interest, I told Skip, "Whew! That was close." He told me that I needed to get some counseling. Those were the days.

Getting Laid - The Answer?

A number of people suggested that I go out and "get laid." It's a lot more complicated than that, I'm afraid. It's not like babes are throwing themselves at me. However, when Paul (in Seattle) made the suggestion, he clarified that the whole purpose is "to get that issue out of the way as soon as possible." Kevin (in LA) made the same suggestion for the same reason. Perhaps I really do not understand the concept of masculinity or my own manhood, just in the same manner that babes don't seem to understand it either. When I broke up with Susan, I may not have effected closure because I decided to become a monk. I sedated my desires with fire water. I felt that it was crude and lascivious to "get laid" for no particular reason except for gratification. For me, sex has always been a serious issue. Perhaps I am prudish but I don't want to just "score."

As Kevin further elaborated, the therapeutic value of sex is really strange when one considers that sex may be a very minor component of a relationship (unless it's with the handmaiden). Still, getting laid provides proof that a guy is attractive to other women in the world. That notion, Kevin goes on to say, is what we mourn about lost relationships - that even though it may have been a very dysfunctional and abusive one - we at least find someone who thinks we are attractive enough not only to sleep with us, but to eventually become involved with us.

Sex and the Vienna Sausage are very important to guys. It is our whole essence of being. If we took all of the artificial elements away including money, we have nothing left except all of the life forms on this planets. We only have each other. And, we have one purpose that cannot be circumvented. We must procreate through sex. Babes may find men's behavior detestable and crude but that is the nature of guys. I'm not saying that we have a propensity to be perverts. That's a matter of perception anyway. We cannot stop thinking about babes no matter how hard we try. The sheer number of hurdy-gurdy sites should tell you something. Guys love to look at babes. We have to look at babes. We cannot help ourselves. No amount of fire water will change that. I have gone through years as a monk in trying to determine methods to suppress those desires.

The question remains. Should I go out and get laid? As I said before, it easier said than done. I am detestable to babes so I have only one other choice. My hand. I'll have to "pull an Anonder," as one reader put it. So, I guess I'll be doing some chokin' here real soon. Should I detail all of that in the journal? Does that sound like interesting material? Let me know.

Monday August 16

I felt even worse today. I have something more than a common cold. I didn't even have a brewski but I felt as though I had a massive hangover. I met with Derrick today. Bruce couldn't make it, which probably was for the better. Derrick gave me a copy of his business plan that he actually tried to submit for a loan. It needs a lot of work but I believe that he is dedicated to the project. He just doesn't have any dough. Does that sound familiar? My job now is to coordinate the whole project and line up some investors. I have to "massage" his business plan so it is more persuasive. This is going to require more work than I thought. I'm sure Bruce is going to tear it apart once he reads it. In talking to Derrick, I find that he appears knowledgeable about the nature of the business and he is enthusiastic. Well, hey! Who wouldn't want to work with the most exotic babes in Hawai'i? Of course, Derrick is a mainlander. Figures, doesn't it? Locals just don't have any drive or ambition. That's why so many of them are on the streets panhandling. I got hit up by a bunch of them today, so I had to pull my reverse panhandling routine on them.

I believe that this business will work. We just have to get it up and running and produce the best possible service. The "product" is already beyond excellent. Derrick will provide some photos of the babes and I may scan a few in for our perusal right here. Sheesh! What is driving me to this level of debauchery? Even I could tell that Derrick wanted to establish more than a working relationship with the babes. It is my job to nip that in the bud, that is, if I can control my own self.

Tuesday August 17

I felt worse today but there was nothing I could do about it. I did receive a phone call from one of the local community colleges. I was given the opportunity to get on board as an emergency hire but there was no way I could take the assignment. The classes I will have at the university will be at the same time. Damnit! I will still go in for an interview tomorrow so that I can hopefully become part of the lecture pool.

I was discussing the issue of the rumor mill at the business college with a few students. I asked if any of them heard any good gossip. A couple of the babes said that they heard a few about me. "One of the girls said, 'He's got a body,'" Clara told me. Dona concurred that she had heard the same thing. They were referring to the loser's wimpy physique. Someone must have seen me after I came out of the gym wearing my gym duds.

One of the handmaiden's friends called me on my beloved cell phone. I was surprised as hell. She wanted help with her computer. So, I called her back later in the evening and helped her out. I didn't bring up the handmaiden and neither did she. That was odd. However, I shouldn't be surprised. The handmaiden's friends are just like her. They only call when they need something. Didn't the sages tell me that before?

RealPlayer is letting me down. Not only does it crash a lot, it rarely connects to the servers. It has no trouble connecting to the introductory ads, however. I finally connected to the rap channel. I needed to hear the "message." I heard some of the "message" before the damned CODEC went haywire. I don't know. Lack of sleep has made me extremely irritable. I'm ready to explode. Between the night sweats and the chills, I can barely even nap.

Wednesday August 18

I met with a buddy for lunch today. He detailed to me what may be the end of his relationship. Mind you, I was shocked because I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I have known him and his babe casually for a while so I was taken aback when he told me it was all a matter of money. Baby is not happy that my buddy is not making enough money to support her extravagant lifestyle. Never mind that the economy is in the doldrums (except for the rich, imported mainlanders). The punchline is that she comes from a wealthy family and she has a sizable trust fund. However, she also wants a prenuptial agreement in which she benefits the most. In other words, she'll have any claim to my buddy's dough but he won't have a similar option. She wants to be a housewife with kids and live in a palatial manor. Does this sound familiar? It's odd because I've talked with her many times and I never got that impression. In fact, I told her about my own situation. She must have cringed inside knowing that I could have easily been talking about her. I felt sorry for my buddy. He is still in the relationship although it appears that the engagement has been terminated. I told him to get out of Dodge if he knows what's good for him. Yet, he already knows that he's going to play the fool for her. That's a story I know too well.

The interview did not go well. It was held in a dungy lab and was done in such an unprofessional manner that I was a little perturbed. There was little preparation done. The interview questions were on a sheet of paper. One of the duffers handed me the sheet and asked me to answer the questions down the line. If I were in his position, I think I'd consider retirement. I doubt that I could do anyone any service at that point. If a potential employer treats me like a peon during the interview process, then what will I be upon hire? A slave? No doubt. Fortunately, this was only one department in the college. I will seek out another department that may appreciate my abilities a little more.

The handmaiden's friend called me again. Apparently, the "fix" for the computer problem was only temporary. I tried to call back this evening but no one was home. I left brief instructions on how to remedy the problem.

Thursday August 19

I have become the target of a vendetta. Cherie has taken it upon herself to launch a smear campaign against me and she is feebly attempting to line up allies to back her cause. I have already heard warnings from other people that she won some kind of sexual harassment lawsuit in which she made $25,000. Her profile is typical. A single mom ("I just wanted a kid.") who has never been married and a Section 8 housing and welfare recipient, she is typical of the local demographic. She's only going to school because Work Hawai'i, yet another useless social program, is giving her a free ride. At 29 years of age, she still acts like a high school kid. I have seen her flirting immodestly with male instructors. Fortunately, I was not a recipient of this kind of behavior although I hung out briefly with her and her friends. I should have sensed the almost handmaiden-like personality. My troubles are not over, however.

I managed to see (from a distance) the handmaiden get off the bus around noon. I made sure that I didn't run into her. I suppose that she was going to meet her friend again for lunch. What a life, eh? Not a care in the world. How could that be? Did you say "Mercedes Boy"? The handmaiden has definitely put on some weight. It was fairly obvious with the long summer dress she had on. The lighter colors are not as "slimming," I suppose. However, that is not my problem.

I don't know why but I felt so lonely this evening. Perhaps because tomorrow is a holiday and I'll be choking the chicken again. I didn't have a single brewski for four days. I couldn't take it any longer so I had to make a fire water purchase. I really wanted the 151-proof fire water but I restrained myself. I have got to get the dubious e-Commerce project going. I have to break out of the ranks. I can't take it anymore. One of my students was trying to persuade me to go to the Mystique nightclub tonight. He told me that another professor of the university goes there all the time. This particular professor likes to get a little freaky with the babes, especially former students of his. Is anyone dealing with a full deck anymore?

Friday August 20

Although today was a holiday, I went to town to catch up on a lot of work. I have to wrap things up and make preparations for when I return from Cali. It's all for the better. Otherwise, I would have sat at home and got hammered. I made the arrangements for Derrick, Bruce, and I to meet next Wednesday. I'm also working on some specific aspects of the e-Commerce project in order to be prepared to meet with the LA connection. That's right. I may drive to LA in order infuse new life into the e-Commerce project. I talked with Paul (from Chaminade) but he seems more concerned with finding a new babe.

I used to think that way myself at one time. It didn't take long for me to come to my senses. Babes were not throwing themselves at me so I was wasting my time. I had been grappling with this same stupid scenario just recently. I was getting desperate because I don't have much time left to find a babe. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa! I didn't realize that I already ran out of time. If I played this dumb game with myself, I'd be sitting here for the next five years literally watching the paint peel off of the walls. I'll be impotent by then. That's the motivation, isn't it? I want to do the wild thing as often as I can while I can. I might as well drop dead on the day that the Vienna Sausage stops functioning. The stupid part is that it's not functioning now. It still works but who am I going to use it with? So, there's no sense worrying about it. I might as well rechannel my energies into something more constructive. After all, I am hard-core unemployable and I will default on my loans very shortly. That is, unless I get the dubious e-Commerce project going.

I have finally decided that I don't want a babe. I can't handle a babe anyway. What am I talking about? I can't even find a babe. It's not a matter of financial resources, although that seems to be the most important element. One of my major premises a long time ago (when I was good monk) was that there exists certain guys that babes just cannot fathom. There is something so detestable about these guys such that all babes can pick up on it. I am one of those guys. I've tried to fool myself and I've also tried to break out of the ranks, as it were. In the end, it's like what The Master once told me, "Give it up already." He's right. Nine months have gone by since my breakup and I am no closer to finding a babe than I was over ten years ago. Back then, I had became a monk to save face. I beat the babes to the punch. I rejected myself before they rejected me. I also learned that trick from The Master. As Kevin (from here) told me recently, "The way to destroy a man is to hurt his self-esteem." The only way to not be hurt is to avoid babes.

In the end, I've wasted nine months of my life fretting over a moot point. I've worried about becoming impotent before I lose my virginity. Remember, I'm a virgin now. I have drank myself into a stupor almost every single day over these issues. What was the outcome? Nothing. I still know no babes. I have not been out with any babes. This whole journal has been useless. I am going absolutely nowhere. I am just waiting for the day that I cash my chips in. Doesn't it all come back to spirituality? I have lost my spirituality. I have lost my sense of being. My purpose.

A bunch of punks make a video with a cheesy camcorder and release it as a major motion picture. The total gross receipts so far is what? $80 million? Someone is laughing all the way to the bank. Derrick and I have been trying to start up an e-Commerce project that could bring in over $2 million per year if we do it right. No one wants to touch it. They don't want to lose a single dime on a risky venture. And, what about their reputations? Well, say good-bye to the $2 million because it will never happen then. It's not my purpose to become rich. That seems to be the message here. I don't need much money. I'm an ascetic. What exactly is my motivation then? Retirement? Why don't I just go on like a zombie for fifteen more years and retire like everyone else? Would it make a difference? I'm vegetating anyway. Is it my secret desire to show up Mercedes Boy and these rich punks? I brought this up on Monday in jest. But, really, what else could it be? Is there any proper motivation except greed for getting rich? For guys, isn't money the vehicle to attract babes? Big house, big car, big bank, and big dick. What else do guys need money for? Tell me, please.

Saturday August 21

"Are you still feeling loser-ish?" Jamie asked me when I ordered my coffee tonight at the Barnes & Noble Café. I didn't want to tell her that I just came to from a drunken stupor not less than an hour prior. I even unboxed my Bose Acoustic Wave for the occasion. I spent enough dough on the damned thing. Why not use it? I have to admit that I do not regret buying the Acoustic Wave (even though the handmaiden tried to guilt me). If any of you are considering the purchase of an audio system, the Acoustic Wave should be a real consideration. It is small and unobtrusive, although it looks like a room dehumidifier. The sound is incredible. [See the LoserNet KnowledgeBase for more details.]

While I was somewhat sober, I made a few phone calls in preparation for my trip next week. I called John in San Jose. He will pick me up in San Francisco. I will nerd out with him for a couple of days. Then, I will drive down to Santa Cruz and visit Caroll. Caroll is having a tough time. I'm not sure that she's thinking straight right now. That worries me. She is planning to switch jobs. She is also considering another move. She has already moved twice in less than a month. I wish I could help her but we haven't gotten the e-Commerce project up and running yet. If I had that kind of dough, I'd just give her the money she needs.

I have subtly linked Regular One to the main LoserNet site. So far, no one has gone through the portal. That kind of shows you that no one even reads LoserNet. It might as well be a dead link. Of course, the site itself has nothing to offer. One really has to laugh since LoserNet is mirrored at two sites to handle traffic. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa! What traffic? I believe that many readers also lost interest after I moved from Convalescent City. My life with "baby" was just too boring. Little did anyone know that it would lead to my total demise and, hence, I would once again resurface as the ultimate loser. A boy and his computer.

Big headache. I have to wonder whether I will imbibe in the fire water again tomorrow. It just doesn't make sense. I didn't really want to get hammered today, but I did. I'm not grieving over the handmaiden. I do wish I had snapped into action with Clare, but that's not the reason I got hammered. Perhaps I just enjoy headaches.

Sunday August 22

I boxed up my Bose Acoustic Wave again. I also stepped up my fire water consumption for the added effect of psychosis. I also continued to minimize my possessions. It's a sick obsession, most likely a trait I inherited from moms. I'm grasping at straws to survive. It's not financial survival. It's psychological survival. I can't really live here with moms anymore. The idiosyncrasies and associated stupidity are already beyond tolerable. I'm picking up moms' psychotic habits. I'm beginning to see that all of the locals are weird. They are all psychotic to a certain degree. I have no idea why. Maybe it's because of the heat. It cooks the brain cells. I'm going to fight it until the end but I can already see that I'm slipping. The mental illness is eventually going to take over. Then, I'll be just like the rest of the locals. Drooling, stupid, and walking around in a daze while speaking incoherently. Pidgin English isn't a language. It's a symptom of a disturbing mental disorder. How much longer can I hold out?

The whole situation has gotten out of hand. The handmaiden. My chronic unemployment. I am due to default on my loans in three weeks. My psychosis. The damned handmaiden's friend calling. What was it? Five months since I talked with her last? Is there something she wants to tell me? Is this computer problem just a front? Or, is she fishing for information? Perhaps she is the dreaded mole! What really is stupid is that all everyone is thinking about is getting laid. That's right. I've noticed this. People are on the verge of starving because their minimum wage jobs can barely sustain them. Yet, priority one is to try to score. Heck, look at me. That's all I think about. Babes. That does it. I've got to find a monastic environment to settle back into. That's my problem. I'm out of my element. I need a monastery with a T1 connection.

Thank goodness for NetRadio. Crappy connection or not, I listened to House tonight. "Deliver Me" by The Timewriter is on as we speak. And, I'm singing along with my beloved computer's one-inchers. Yeah, deliver me, baby! Oh no. "Clare" by iO is next. Is this an omen? Deliver me to Clare, baby! Or, deliver me to the asylum!

Monday August 23

I frantically made as many preparations as I could so that I wouldn't be caught by surprise when I return from my junket. I also made my rental car reservations although it was an exasperating experience. The process took me about an hour on the phone because some rookie was assisting me. It's a good thing that I'm unemployed. I had all the time in the world.

When I came home, moms was complaining that she was real tired because she worked hard all day. I knew better. I found out that she was spraying some potent insecticide around the house again. I believe that she practically poisoned herself with the toxic crap. If I was retired and had some dough, I could hire a professional to do the work. Moms went to bed a little after seven o' clock so I knew she was sick. This is the kind of stuff that brings me closer to the edge every single day. I made the vow to myself today that I am going to accomplish my goals one way or another. I have no more time to waste.

Well, Regular One is linked to LoserNet. However, no one has come through the portal. I should probably put counters on those pages. It would be depressing to see them remain at zero for months. All I can say is, "Let's have a brewski now, shall we?"

To be continued ... Go to R.8