Hooooooboy. I heart Wildcat Transit.

That’s what we always say whenever a mess is made of something, and so often something is, like LAST NIGHT… *sigh*

4:15 PM: Residential Life. Alexander Hall. Bruins game. Fleet Center. I wrench D55 into C-Lot, load passengers, and depart for the one city on the eastern seaboard that deserves to get wiped out with an atomic bomb (read: Boston).

6:00 PM: We arrive, they go to the game, I embark upon a hopeless search for a bus parking space.

7:35 PM: Having knifed deep into the heart, liver, and intestines of Boston (e.g. the Theater District and Southie), I finally collapse in a tour-bus space near the aquarium. Muttering darkly under my breath about the not-so-convenient proximity of a fire hydrant, I take the subway to South Station and get dinner.

8:00 PM: I return to discover that the bus has miraculously not been ticketed or towed from the absolute minimum distance it’s supposed to be from that hydrant. I head over to Quincy Market for the Starbucks stick I will so desperately need to get everybody home.

9:53 PM: We depart and hack our way through unimaginable acres of vehicular nincompoopery back to Route 1 and I-95.

10:41 PM: We’re about five minutes from the Mass.-NH state line, I check my dashboard; all gauges and lights read primo.

10:44:15 PM: We’re now crossing the state line, and I look again. My oil gauge has dropped all the way to 0.

This ain’t good. So I start to get over.

10:44:23 PM: We cross the state line into NH. The bus shakes. Smoke begins to pour from the engine compartment. The engine shuts down. I lose all power. I swear guardian angels are holding that blasted thing in a straight line toward the breakdown lane.

10:45 PM: I jump out and examine the profusely smoking engine.

Our dear sweet D55 has spewed every drop of oil in the pan.

I can’t tell if the engine has seized. If so, that bus has had it. God help us all.

10:46 PM: I call Jon to apprise him.

11:45 PM: Jon arrives with a relief bus to rescue the passengers. I stick with D55 to wait for the tow truck to show up.

12:30 AM: The wrecker arrives. I have to punch the clock again in precisely 6.5 hours to do an airport drop. Go me.

1:10 AM: After a grandiloquent period of farting around dropping the transaxle and hooking up the bus, the wrecker guy is ready to go. I try not to wonder why all tow-truck drivers operate under the “find it, grind it” principle of gear-shifting.

1:45 AM: At last we return an oil-coated D55 to the garage. K-Dawg shows up in the Winter Parking Ban bus and commiserates briefly.

2:10 AM: I reach the office and clock out.

2:30 AM: K-Dawg, Keffy, and Wu get back from WPB and Safe Rides. Wu, God bless him, offers to let me crash in his room for the night.

2:45 AM: At last I stretch out on Wu’s couch.

6:20 AM: Alarm goes off.

6:35 AM: I arrive at Dunkin’ Donuts. I can go no further without a little assistance from the doughnut deities.

6:55 AM: I punch the clock for the airport drop.

7:30 AM: I’m back on the road, loading unheard-of volumes of baggage for the UPS crowd and then driving them to the airport.

11:39 AM: I’m off the clock and on my way home. I’ve gotten this far on 3.5 hours of sleep and 16 oz of coffee. Can’t give up now.

1:38 PM: I’m hitting the “Submit” button on this excruciatingly detailed blog entry. And how was your evening/night/morning, hmmmm?

I heart Wildcat Transit.

Well, gang, Great Lent is upon us. Always a nice thing when Western Lent and Orthodox Lent coincide – it saves me the trouble of having to explain in excruciating detail the differences of the Orthodox church calendar.  I’ve been browsing blogs here and there and reading the pointed things some people have to say about giving things up for Lent. A few years back, I would join in this little radio-station joke (a rather funny one, I might add) that we would Give Up Giving Things Up. Sure sounded agreeable to me…

BUUUUUT, then I became more painfully aware of how destitute I was spiritually, and I practically rooted myself to the ground the last couple of Easters, determined to make a change. Here’s a simple alternating current, and I don’t ask anybody to agree: In the Orthodox church, it’s held that Lent isn’t about simply giving something up for a limited time and then going back to it after Easter. It’s more about reining yourself in from any number of tempting targets, so you can devote the greater part of your attention to Christ. My priest put it into more practical terms last Sunday – he talked about slavery and what it was like back in Jesus’s day, and how we’d feel to be ensconced in it. Then he pointed out that, in a way, we *are* ensconced in it – we’re enslaved to the material things that are given us in this short, wretched life of ours. Ergo we’re the ones who need to do the work of breaking free.

Needless to say, you all know yourselves a damn sight better than I do, so I’ll not try to speculate how easy or hard it is for you – but it’s just a thought. Keep something in mind, though. If you make an end of your abstinence after Easter, then go back to your icky habits and old suppositions of a less than savoury nature, it’s as if Great Lent never happened. Last thing you want to do is blow off whatever effort you’ve made, however minor, to grow in spirit. Couple of years ago, I worked on both Good Friday and Easter – the Man Upstairs was not happy, and He let me know about it. I’ll spare you the details, but that was the last time I’d ignore our salvation for the sake of worldly acts and desires. I urge you to consider this and keep yourself as close to Christ as you’ve gotten during Lent, and prod yourself ever closer to him next year.

I’ve got a job, I explore
I follow every little whiff
And I want my life to smell like this
To find a place, an ancient race
The kind you’d like to gamble with
Where they stamp on burnin’ bags of shit

Looking for a place to happen, making stops along the way

Wayward ho, away we go
It’s a shame to leave this masterpiece
With its gallery gods and its garbage-bag trees
Soooo, I’ll paint a scene from memory
So I’d know who murdered me
It’s a vain pursuit, but it helps me sleep

Looking for a place to happen, making stops along the way
Looking for a place to happen, making stops along the way

Looking for a place to happen…making stops along the way…
Jacques Cartier, right this way
Now put your coat up on the bed
Hey, man, you’ve got the real bum’s eye for clothes
Aaaand come on in, sit right down
No, you’re not the first to show
We’ve all been here since, God, who knows?

Looking for a place to happen, making stops along the way
Looking for a place to happen, making stops along the way

Jacques Cartier, right this way…aaand put your coat up on the bed…oooh, you got the real bum’s eye for clothes…come on in…sit right down…we’ve all been here since, God, who knows…

**********

Whadda night.

Cassie’s injured, so here I am covering for her - quite voluntarily, mind you. Things I hope have settled down at good ol’ transit, so I’m feeling far less at odds with the world. So yeah, I’m driving her runs, getting my bus washed in between, and hoping to God I can crash at Keith’s place on Thursday night – late trip to Beantown on Thursday and early trip to Beantown on Friday. This is gonna be an interesting week.

But I digress. So I’m finishing up the first run and Gene calls me on the radio: “Do you know what time you left the mall?” “7:57 on the dot, right when I was supposed to.” I can just hear the would-be passenger ripping both Gene and me a new one over the telephone. *sigh* Some people just can’t spell “responsibility.” *carefully checks spelling*

So then I’m washing my bus between runs along with Keith and Melinda, and Keith mentions bowling Saturday night. Boy oh boy, it’s been ages since we all had a bowling night together – however, I have to remind him, there’s one condition under which I won’t be attending. He says no problem, she probably won’t be invited. Well, I should hope not, because be warned that if I even see the Pratmobile in the Dover Bowl parking lot, I’m outta there. You listening, Keith?

So THEN I’m finishing up the last run and rumours abound on the radio: the Midnight Bomber driver (the poor bastard who has to drive the shuttle until 2:00 in the morning) hasn’t shown up. She’s damn well known that she has this shift for the past month, but is she here? Noooo. Gene can’t get a hold of her. So I succumb to insanity and consider covering it at the last possible dwindling second, after helpin Gene close up the office. Turns out there are three volunteers, including the guy who’s currently driving the shuttle and is supposed to get off at 11:30. But those 12 bucks per hour are a major Midnight Bomber selling point, and he volunteers to stick around. Soooo…that’s a commendation for him and a big-time reprimand for the mentally unstable…individual who declined to show up for her shift.

Aah well, luck has been passed all around. Eric’s lucky he gets to stay on for a few extra hours getting paid time and a half. Gene’s lucky he doesn’t have to stay and drive till 2 AM. I’m lucky because I came straight home instead of taking a chance on falling asleep at the wheel. And the no-show is lucky because I didn’t have to cover for her carelessness, and she didn’t have to take it up with this guy.

somewhere there’s a soccer game
I can hear the wild crowd moan
it’s not that life here’s distasteful to me
it’s just that I’m all alone
I wanted what took a lifetime to learn
and that determined then
with no more pause than a sigh
turn and start again
it’s not that it’s such a mystery
I saw it from miles away
it’s not that it’s such a mystery
it was practically on display

February 22. Four months to go before I hit the Big Quarter. And it has suddenly and unceremoniously occurred to me that I am almost at the precise age that my dad was when he got married.

That was May 1969; my dad was three months shy of 25. My mom was 23. Now that I think about it, Christa had been on this wretched little rock for exactly 24.5 years when she got hitched. Yet it’s never been clearly explained why I’m the only member of the family who has never darkened the door of a girl’s heart, even though I’m at roughly the age when the rest of them were happily married.

What gives? Do I dare to speculate?

In earlier entries, I’ve spoken quite vehemently of how I feel about love. Nevertheless, it confuses me why that emotion has so harshly contradicted itself whenever I’ve tried to experience it, why it hasn’t let up for seven years. It struck again the other night, and I drove home at 55 MPH in below-freezing temperatures with the windows wide open, hoping to go completely numb so that I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. Why have I been condemned to lifelong lonesomeness? It’s not that I mind being alone, but I still can’t help wondering.

The reason I say seven years is that I really wasn’t ready for an intimate relationship until I was seventeen. The few years prior were inundated with hormonal, unscrupulous teeny-boppers – too much too soon. Yet I also have to wonder if that’s part of the problem. Have I been giving off this “untouchable” vibe unawares ever since? Or has the decision been made by the female of the species that I’m just too dense and stupid to deserve their companionship, just because I don’t want to go all the way right away?

Is personality an issue? Is it because I get a tad tetchy and nervous when talking to a girl who is pleasing to the eye, the ear and the mind? Does a girl not want me in her life simply because I’m not smart enough for her? Or am I just as shallow as a bathtub? The last seems to be the most likely answer. But there’s a limit to what I can do about it, because these days, it’s impossible to tell where passion ends and sexual harassment begins. Ever has it been a source of much despair, knowing that I can’t risk making the first move, lest I spend the next quarter-century of my life paying off a lawsuit.

At any rate, I don’t really expect an answer. This aloneness, which as you can see has made me uncomfortably self-conscious, will remain one of life’s mysteries, merely existing to be explored and discovered in the search for a deeper understanding. Granted, there are many things I would rather do – but then I say the same thing about loving someone.

In however long it takes me to find it, there is only one answer I wish I had.

WHY.

A bit of surveyin’ fun handed on down from Aegis from multi from God knows where…

1. Your name spelled backwards. Sirhc or Rehpotsirhc…nope, doesn’t really work, I’m afraid.
2. Where were your parents born? New York City – both of ‘em.
3. What is the last thing you downloaded onto your computer? If you must know, an add-on for MS Train Simulator.
4. What’s your favorite restaurant? My kitchen.
5. Last time you swam in a pool? Errmmm…two years ago at the Sheraton Hotel in Burlington, VT. (UNH was paying for it, btw…)
6. Have you ever been in a school play? Gah, not nearly often enough.
7. How many kids do you want? Zilch. I guarantee you I’ll fail miserably as a father. Besides, right now I don’t even fancy getting married.
8. Type of music you dislike most? Still confounds me that the C is always missing from “rap.”
9. Are you registered to vote? Yup.
10. Do you have cable? And the bill to go with it…
11. Have you ever ridden on a moped? Nope. ATV? Yeah baby.
12. Ever prank call anybody? There’s a very thin line between prank-calling and telemarketing. So I would say a qualified no.
13. Ever get a parking ticket? A couple of times, but I successfully appealed both because the shitheads at UNH Parking were on a power trip as usual.
14. Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving? HELL YEAH!!!
15. Furthest place you ever traveled? Minneapolis.
16. Do you have a garden? Not unless you count the little shop of horrors my dad keeps in the bay window.
17. What’s your favorite comic strip? “Zits” all the way, baby! I swear, my parents and Jeremy’s went to the same high school.
18. Do you really know all the words to your national anthem? Wouldn’t be much of a patriot if I didn’t.
19. Bath or Shower, morning or night? Shower at night…any time thereof. *mwahaha*
20. Best movie you’ve seen in the past month? October Sky. Few words other than “inspiring” can do it justice.
21. Favorite pizza topping? Italian sausage and lots of it.
22. Chips or popcorn? Come see how much popcorn I inhale next time I go to see “Return of the King.”
23. What color lipstick do you usually wear? Uhhhh….do I LOOK like I wear lipstick?
24. Have you ever smoked peanut shells? Can’t say as I have.
25. Have you ever been in a beauty pageant? Uhhhh….do I LOOK like I enter beauty pageants?
26. Orange Juice or apple? Orange is gaseous. How d’ya like them apples?  
27. Who was the last person you went out to dinner with and where did you dine? Had a much-missed casual dinner with Cassie at Libby’s a few weeks ago.
28. Favorite type chocolate bar? How ironic that its name is a combination of the two feminine personal pronouns. One wonders if that was deliberate…
29. When was the last time you voted at the polls? Presidential ’00, and don’t count on me doing it again.
30. Last time you ate a homegrown tomato? Every. Single. Summer.
31. Have you ever won a trophy? Nah, but I’ve won several medals.
32. Are you a good cook? Depends on the recipe. I used to make breakfast for the whole family every weekend, and I LOVE doing Italian dishes.
33. Do you know how to pump your own gas? Yeah, but the hard part is paying for it….
34. Ever order an article from an infomercial? Never.
35. Sprite or 7-up? Root beer.
36. Have you ever had to wear a uniform to work? Not unless ROTC counts as “work.” (And even more so if it’s Air Force…)
37. Last thing you bought at a pharmacy? Various and sundry dental products.
38. Ever throw up in public? Nope.
39. Would you prefer being a millionaire or finding true love? Well, I’ve found neither one to be attainable, so I’ll have to say neither.
40. Do you believe in love at first sight? Nope. Actually, these days, the only love I believe in is the friendly kind.
41. Ever call a 1-900 number? Now why the hell would I commit a bullheaded, money-burning moral infraction like THAT?
42. Can ex’s be friends? Never ever again. That much is certain to me.
43. Who was the last person you visited in a hospital? My maternal grandmother, the afternoon before she died of leukemia.
44. Did you have a lot of hair when you were a baby? No, if pictures are any indication.
45. What message is on your answering machine? A glaring hint that I don’t want to talk to whoever’s calling.
46. What’s your all-time favorite Saturday Night Live Character? Lord take me if I ever watch Stupid Nutcases Live of my own volition.
47. What was the name of your first pet? If he could be called a pet, Indy. I realise it’s bloody ironic to name a snake after Indiana Jones, but there you go.
48. What is in your purse? Uhhhh….do I LOOK like I carry a purse?
49. Favorite thing to do before bedtime? Work on one of my stories, read a good book, pray, watch a classic Star Trek video, or any combination of the four.
50. What is one thing you are grateful for today? That I’ve lived through the night, and yesterday, and the day before that, and I’m still breathing.

This is but a taste of the wackiness that Seb will unleash…

ARDA ONLINE, PART 4: A Chat in the Dark

DurinsBane2187: hiya

RingKing2000: mornin’

DurinsBane2187: yeah it’s mornin’…but it ain’t good

RingKing2000: how come?

DurinsBane2187: dumbass dwarves came back and toilet-papered the second hall

DurinsBane2187: and spray-painted graffiti on the Bridge of Khazad-dum

RingKing2000: sheesh…they DO like to fight

DurinsBane2187: boy I’ll say…they’re asking for a barbecue…I’ll never get a decent night’s sleep again while they’re duking it out with the orcs

RingKing2000: who’s winning?

DurinsBane2187: one guess

RingKing2000: you? 

DurinsBane2187: you bet yer great big mean flaming eye

RingKing2000: great

RingKing2000: oh get this

DurinsBane2187: ?

RingKing2000: there was this pretty-boy elf dude at the council of elrond

RingKing2000: had brainless teenage girls hanging off of his fingernails

DurinsBane2187: lol

DurinsBane2187: man, now I’m REALLY in the mood for a barbecue

RingKing2000: hehe

RingKing2000: and guess who else was there??

DurinsBane2187: oooh…Arwen in a leather bikini???

RingKing2000: haha…not quite

RingKing2000: her scruffy-looking boyfriend actually

DurinsBane2187: oh GEEZ

DurinsBane2187: not that wimpy-running bag of grease

RingKing2000: yeah the same…isildur’s airhead

DurinsBane2187: LOL

DurinsBane2187: I swear that guy has some serious security issues

DurinsBane2187: not to mention a godawful stubble problem

RingKing2000: hehe yeah you’d think he never saw a razor in his life

DurinsBane2187: I know…how can Arwen stand to kiss him through all that greasy shag???

RingKing2000: dunno

RingKing2000: but you can ask him when he comes through

DurinsBane2187: come again?

RingKing2000: yep…fellowship’s headin’ your way

DurinsBane2187: oooh…how’d you swing that?

RingKing2000: well saruman cast a spell on the guys at the weather channel

RingKing2000: so they predicted a blizzard on caradhras

DurinsBane2187: and knowing the Weather Channel, I’m guessin’ Mr. Still-Not-King figured it would be clear as a summer’s day

RingKing2000: pretty much…anyway the blizzard hit ‘em with a 2×4

RingKing2000: and the ringbearer chickened out and decided to take the mines instead

DurinsBane2187: sweeeeeeeet

DurinsBane2187: I can smell those roasting elves right now

RingKing2000: damn wish i could be there pal

DurinsBane2187: ‘sok

DurinsBane2187: hey, Saruman’s IMing me about the fellowship

RingKing2000: k…i gotta go, something’s boiling over in mount doom

DurinsBane2187: k, ttyl

RingKing2000 signed off at 2:14:22 PM.

DurinsBane2187: so did you engineer this?

WhiteWizzywig: yep…hey get a load of this…remember gandalf?

DurinsBane2187: yeah…dude, am I the only one in all of Middle-earth who uses caps on IM???

WhiteWizzywig: beats me

WhiteWizzywig: anyway gandalf is comin’ to town

DurinsBane2187: aw nice

DurinsBane2187: POT ROAST!!!! *gets all flamey*

WhiteWizzywig: enjoy

WhiteWizzywig: hey they painted a pretty good picture of you in the dwarvish encyclopedia

DurinsBane2187: pfft…they better pay me royalty if they know what’s good for them

WhiteWizzywig: lol

DurinsBane2187:k, gotta round up the orcs

WhiteWizzywig: k…have fun!

DurinsBane2187: kthxbye

DurinsBane2187 signed off at 2:20:19 PM.

Nothin’ like a nice long day at work, only to come home and listen to the parental units piss and moan about Christa… *sigh* One of these days, I’m going to have to do one of two things – either tell them where to get off, or drop an equally subtle hint that I’m bloody sick and tired of being stuck in the middle. Ever since Christa moved out (which is almost five years ago), they’ve both been grouching and scrimping and moaning and groaning and complaining about how she never talks to them, how she’s just giving them the finger with everything she says and does, how she doesn’t give a damn about them anymore, rant, rant, rave, rave. I was so sick of listening to it that tonight I actually told the maternal unit to take off the tinted glasses and look at it through the clear ones.

Now whenever the maternal unit opens her mouth, you have to acknowledge constantly that everything coming from it is passing through the Mom Filter and must therefore be taken with a 55-gallon barrel of salt. This tirade was no exception. We started out Catholic, but about twelve years ago, all of us except my dad converted to Greek Orthodoxy. Far as we could tell, we were all happy as clams. HOWEVER, after Christa got married, she reverted to Catholicism, and the maternal unit was less than thrilled. So tonight, how does she put it? “I could understand if I could feel that she did it out of some kind of conviction, but I feel that she did it just to give me the finger.”

Ma, TAKE THE TINTED GLASSES OFF. You have no right to decide what religion Christa chooses, nor is it your place to conclude why she chose it until you have all the facts. You should just sit back and count your blessings that I’m happy being Orthodox, and then you should mind your own damn business. I mean, why do the two of them think Christa hardly ever communicates with them anymore? I used to listen to the arguments they got into before she moved out – they literally tried to belittle, scare, and bully her into staying home and being their little girl forever. I know, because they’re trying to do the same thing to me now, and I can only imagine how much Christa is enjoying her freedom from their constant criticisms and, as Ruth so astutely put it, passive aggressiveness. Seriously, some of the E-mails they’ve sent her have been condescending to the point of insult. It’s all I can do to keep in mind that they’re just paranoid nervous wrecks who need to get some sense belted into them.

Calls to mind one time when the maternal unit was trying to scare me out of getting the job at transit, using that tired old “This is the voice of experience” B.S., as if that was supposed to validate it. Oooh, did I want to smack her upside the head. I settled for telling her, “Well, one of these days it’s going to be wrong, and I want to be there when it is.” Needless to say, she didn’t answer – she never does when she realises that she’s wrong. She just doesn’t know what to do with people who don’t wear the same blinders that she does when looking at the world, and it REALLY pisses me off. She and the paternal unit, when examining their so-called relationship with Christa, are simply seeing what they want to see: a rebellious kid who is purposely spiting them for whatever reason. That’s how far their paranoia has gone.

Gotta remember to have foam-rubber earplugs on hand – that’s how tired I am of being stuck in the middle of this feud between Christa and the parental units. In all truth, I’m inclined to side with Christa, but that of course means that they’ll turn on me next and belittle me even more than they already do. All I can do, then, is just stay FAR away from it – and next time they try to drag me into it, tell ‘em where to get off. Enough is enough, people, I’ve got my own life to live without being pulled at both ends for the sake of your security.

Well, gang, here ’tis. My 24th Valentine’s Day without a valentine. I do hope the rest of you are enjoying it nevertheless; meanwhile, here I am, taking care of a little house business while my dad is huffing and puffing and blowing the house down. He’s from the OLD old school – he thinks that by stamping around, banging things on the counter, slamming cupboard doors, and making a household ruckus to beat the band, he’s going to get the rest of us to lend an extra hand.

I hope he knows that the more noise he makes, the less attention I’m going to pay to him. If he wants help, he’ll have to ask for it. Making a household ruckus to beat the band is only going to make him look meaner – and that’s not an exaggeration, since he’s practically been bullying my mom and me ever since my sister moved out. Oh, sure, he’s got a Godawful daily commute to Boston that he likes to use as an excuse for his behaviour, but news flash: he’s had the wherewithal to pull out and get a new job for about five years. Won’t have it. Prefers martyrdom. *sigh*

OK, time for a little walk – then let’s see if the next part of Arda Online will generate some more laughs…  BTW, gang, be at peace – I’m going to try and appeal to a larger audience soon. After the next installment or two, I’m going to move on from Sauron and the Balrog to some of the other characters.

It never ceases to amaze me that nobody seems physically or mentally capable of keeping the speed limit on US 4 going east. And no, I’m not talking about speeders (even considering our proximity to Massachusetts). I’m talking people who drive considerably SLOWER than the bloody limit for no apparent reason, making eastbound travel on US 4 a bore and a chore. However, I’ve lucked out the last couple of times and had enough room to pass the irksome vehicle even in the 40-foot jalopies I usually drive.

Today, though, I think I came to a conclusion. Those of you not from around here, US 4 through Northwood is known as “Antique Alley” because of the solid wall of antique stores that lines each side of the highway. It suddenly occurred to me this afternoon that the merchandise doesn’t comprise the only Antiques along the Alley – the same can be said for the motorists. How else can they explain driving five and ten miles below the speed limit on a perfectly clear, beautiful, sunshiney day with a bone-dry road and no trucks slowing them down?

Well, anyway…Balhunny, here’s to you!

ARDA ONLINE, PART 3: A Long-Expected IM

RingKing2000: hey

DurinsBane2187: yo

RingKing2000: so who was at the door?

DurinsBane2187: oh just the watcher in the water…wanted me to smoke a salmon for him for lunch

RingKing2000: oh ok

RingKing2000: so how are ya?

DurinsBane2187: ugh, don’t ask

DurinsBane2187: stoopid dwarves showed up and caved in my ceiling

DurinsBane2187: can’t get a decent night’s sleep anymore with them banging around up there

RingKing2000: damn, suckage

DurinsBane2187: you’re tellin’ me

RingKing2000: so i finally got barad dur rebuilt after a 500-year suspension

DurinsBane2187: sheesh…what brought that on??

RingKing2000: EVERYTHING

RingKing2000: “suspension” being the key word…some twit from OSHA came in and cited the orcs for not using harnesses and safety lines while they were building the tower

RingKing2000: then the twerp had the nerve to cite *me* for not being properly secured in the pinnacle

DurinsBane2187: pah…those safety guys need a life

DurinsBane2187: can you believe they even docked the dwarves for breaking down my door?? cited the workplace hazard of waking up a grumpy Balrog in the middle of the night

RingKing2000: heh well, i should know waking you up is hazardous all right 

DurinsBane2187: yeah if you think… OSHA = teh suck

RingKing2000: i’ll say…now i’m stuck in this bloody electrical current, hafta wait till i find a body before i can break out

DurinsBane2187: yeah well…everybody needs some body some time

RingKing2000: oh shaddup

DurinsBane2187: hehe

RingKing2000: oh well…at least on the bright side, i finally got dsl

DurinsBane2187: SWEET

DurinsBane2187: MoriaOne?

RingKing2000: nah…not available in mordor…had to get arda online

DurinsBane2187: AOL? bleck

RingKing2000: yeah they were the only ones who would install dsl without asking if i’d ever tried to take over the world before

RingKing2000: so don’t worry if i suddenly get booted off

DurinsBane2187: k

RingKing2000: hey i took your advice and downloaded councilofelrond.com

RingKing2000: and get a load of this

DurinsBane2187: hmmm???

RingKing2000: they’re sending some pretty-boy hobbit down here

RingKing2000: with MY RING no less

DurinsBane2187: geez

DurinsBane2187: elrond really has it in for ya, huh??

RingKing2000: looks like

RingKing2000: hey wanna do me a HUGE favour?

DurinsBane2187: dude…can’t you do ANYTHING by yourself???

RingKing2000: hey gimme a break!

RingKing2000: how d’ya think you’d manage if YOU were just a big fiery eyeball???

DurinsBane2187: yeah yeah whatevah

DurinsBane2187: what do you need?

RingKing2000: i’m gonna im saruman and ask him to keep an eye on caradhras

DurinsBane2187: isn’t that your specialty?

RingKing2000: ha ha

RingKing2000: can you keep a WATCH on moria in case they pass through there?

DurinsBane2187: nope…we didn’t have watches back in the first age…have to be that cuckoo clock Morgoth gave me

RingKing2000: oh stop it

DurinsBane2187: j/k

DurinsBane2187: haven’t barbecued a hobbit in a looooooong time

RingKing2000: sweet…thanks

DurinsBane2187: hey return favour…can I be your commanding general??

DurinsBane2187: pleeeeeeeease???

RingKing2000: absolutely…dumbass orcs sure can’t hack it

RingKing2000: you’re gonna love this – there’s this stinky pink dude who calls himself gothmog

DurinsBane2187: oh geez…the one who looks like Sloth from “The Goonies”?

RingKing2000: the same

DurinsBane2187: he is SUCH a rip-off

DurinsBane2187: the real Gothmog would deep-fry him

RingKing2000: i know

DurinsBane2187: ok…well the orcs are restless…gotta go

RingKing2000: k

RingKing2000: ttyl

DurinsBane2187: see ya

DurinsBane2187 signed off at 11:48:14 PM.

Guys…

Honestly. I can’t comprehend what the hell is going on here. I can’t say yet that I’m sorry for the other night – none of you can possibly know just how long I’ve been living with this. I’m just so damned sick of being alone, full of bitterness and hate that I can’t rein in. I’d half hoped that this misery would end with adulthood; but now it feels like I’m in second grade again, being spited and ignored, and summarily pointed and laughed at by those who don’t understand and don’t want to. “Do unto others” indeed. I sure as hell haven’t done anything to warrant all this.

I don’t care how dramatic you think this sounds – you don’t know what I’ve had to put up with for eighteen bleedin’ years.

The world is ruthlessly cruel, the people who live in it are worse. That’s not to say that I can’t handle them, but something’s gotta give. Somebody out there has at least got to pretend that they’ve got a heart, that they’re capable of thinking about somebody else’s life. All I’ve ever cared about is other people and their well-being. Yet, to quote the Brothers Karamazov, everything passes and only truth remains; and long ago, it became plain that the truth is as cold and hard as the Arctic ice. Honestly, I don’t want to turn out that way, but if there’s no let-up, there will be little to no alternative for survival.