I’ve Fallen

And I can’t get up.

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There’s This Girl

I asked another girl out last week. She turned me down. It seems that she was a whopping two months old when I graduated from high school. And that’s too much age difference for her.

And I respect that.

OK, not really.

I had asked her out by sending her flowers, since there was only an hour of overlap in our shifts, and I have no legitimate reason to talk to her while we’re both supposed to be working. Starting this week, she comes in after I leave.

Her first question was about my age. But we actually had a decent text conversation after she turned me down. That surprised me. She’s very pretty, and doesn’t seem to be hurting for people to talk to. But instead of rejecting me and ending the conversation there, she talked to me.

Big mistake. Huge. Now, I’ve taken in upon myself to convince her that I’m not too old for romantic consideration. I asked her if I could still get her flowers once in a while.

“If you do, that’s on you. I don’t want you wasting your money on me. But it’s your choice. It made my day today.”

“It’s not a waste if it makes you smile.”

“OK. I don’t think any girl will deny flowers.”

So, I have her permission. Sort of.

We had this conversation during her lunch. While talking to me, she posted on the book of faces (where she honored me by adding me as a friend): “Eating strawberries for lunch is making me crave chocolate covered ones from Edible Arrangements.”

You know exactly what happened next. I found the closest store and placed an order. This was Friday, and we were off the weekend, so there was nothing I could do immediately. I had to work late Monday morning, and didn’t know if I’d have time to go get them and bring them back before her lunch. So, I scheduled them for this morning. Her craving is probably long gone, but I’m pretty sure she’ll still enjoy them.

I have already planned what I am going to do. Every week will be something. More flowers. A stuffed animal. A gift certificate for a mani/pedi, another box of strawberries, a “thinking of you” card, flowers again, a gift certificate to wherever she gets her art supplies if I can find out where that is, and eventually if she doesn’t stop me before then, a birthstone pendant for her 10,000th day, which is also her son’s birthday.

I don’t really expect her to change her mind and go out with me, at least not more than a pity date. (Which I will take. Girl is gorgeous and sweet as honey.) And if she does give me half a chance, I will make her fall in love with me. But for now, it gives me somewhere to focus besides the past.

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I had a reasonably good weekend. I got the TV hung on the wall. I also mounted the DVD player shelf to the wall below it.

After hooking it up and throwing away the box, I realized that the home theater system that I bought isn’t. There are no inputs, so basically it’s a DVD player with its own speakers. Which sucks, because the sound on the new TV is really shitty.

After hanging the curtain rods, I found one more way that they cut corners when they built the house. It has a vaulted ceiling throughout, and silly me thought that the outside walls were a standard eight feet. Wrong! They are six and a half feet. Which means that the 84″ curtains that I bought are way too long. Grrr…

I also mounted the fire extinguishers. And did laundry. And bought groceries. And even cooked a little.

Mostly, though, I got caught up on my sleep, and relaxed, enjoying movies on a sixty inch screen instead of a twenty-four inch screen.

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Jinhao X450 Fountain Pen Review

I bought a Jinhao X450 Fine Nib Fountain Pen, delivered to my front door for five dollars and seventy-nine cents. It shipped from China, so it did take one day short of two weeks to arrive.

It’s a beautiful pen. It is a deep blue with gold trim. From a cosmetic point of view, it is my favorite so far.  It’s metal with a solid feel and an average size barrel. It’s comfortable in my hand, and posts well. The cap doesn’t take much effort to remove, which makes me worry that it will separate from the barrel while carried in my shirt pocket.

It certainly isn’t a fine nib. It makes a much thicker line than my Parker 45 with a medium nib on the same paper. The gold plated nib glides over the paper very smoothly, but it lays down pools of ink. In fairness, the product description lists the nib as M, but the title says Fine. I guess I should have inquired prior to buying it, to verify which was correct.

I inked it with Franklin-Christoph Emerald 357 ink.  After experiencing the pooling, I switched to Noodler’s Bernake Blue, which is supposed to be some of the fastest drying ink on the planet. There’s still so much ink on the paper that even that stuff smudges. After bleeding through and making the backside of the page unusable.

I’m going to use up the ink that’s in it, clean it, and retire it to the back of a drawer somewhere. Not recommended, even at such a low price.

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I’m done. I’m so fucking done.

Well, probably not really. I’m going to keep looking, and there is a good chance that I will keep trying. But only because I’m too stubborn and too stupid to admit when I’ve been beaten.

I don’t want to be alone. But I am, and probably will continue to be.

I don’t get out much. But I made three attempts in Real Life™ this past week. One I chose not to act on, for reasons that I explained previously.

The second, another new girl at work, I actually asked out. Unlike with the first girl, I had no background information, not even a name. I had misjudged her age, but was beyond the point of no return by the time I realized just how young she, too, is. Not that it mattered. She very sweetly informed me that she is married. Of course.

The third was a waitress at a local steakhouse that I met the weekend before last when I ate there. She claims thirty-five, and I believe her. She’s thinner than my usual preference, but cute.  Three kids, 12-18. I figured, why not. She has significant ink on both arms, and God only knows where else, and I’m not a fan. But as long as it’s not another dude’s name, I’m pretty sure I can get past it. Anyway, I was going to eat there as an excuse to see her again last Friday, but she wasn’t working. Saturday, I tried again. Not working, again. Maybe God’s trying to tell me something about her.

And now, let’s look at the results of a recent online dating site search:

Must love dogs.

Full time grandma (!) of a four year old.

Mom of five, ages 2-21.

No overweight guys.

Wants kids (at age 43!!!).

More pictures of her fucking dog than of her. OK, not really, but three pictures of her, one of just her dog, and one of her and her dog.

Here’s one. Shooter. Good sense of humor (don’t be upset if I shoot better than you), but no – she has dogs and doesn’t want a homebody.

More fucking dogs.

Must love kids, as I have three and they are my world.

Wants kids.

This one looks OK. Has a nose ring, which is a huge turnoff for me, but maybe I can get past it. Never mind. She only dates black guys.

Finally, here’s one, no pets, sounds reasonably sane, all kids over 18. But she’s fucking gorgeous. I’ll write to her, but I’d have better luck getting a date with Scarlett Johansson. (Not that I’d want one. Skinny-assed yankee cunt.)

Sure, maybe five percent of the search results would be worth writing to. And by “worth”, I mean that the chances of a positive reply are slightly better than the chances of me winning the Powerball jackpot. And the Mega Millions jackpot. Both in the same week.

I don’t see myself as an overly shallow person.  I’m a realist, and I know that I’m no prize in the appearance department. While I truly believe that my definition of attractive is rather broad, there are limits.  There has to be some attraction. Even I don’t find everyone desirable. Many of the ladies in the aforementioned category are so far outside of what I consider attractive that I don’t think chemistry would be possible. Not that it matters.  They probably won’t write back either. Just like all the rest.

For a long time, I thought that my lack of success on match a few years ago was because of my marital status of “separated”. Now, I don’t know. I’m officially divorced now, and my profile reflects this. I’ve written to maybe fifteen ladies this time around, which, admittedly, is hardly a representative sample. Two responded. One ignored everything that I wrote and sent, “Thank you. :)”, then failed to answer either my initial email or the two follow ups. The second seemed interested initially, but after two brief replies, she stopped participating in the conversation without explanation.

I’m not in a huge hurry. I’m still on the edge of not ready. But considering how long it will probably take to get someone to go out with me, I figured I’d be OK to start trying now. That way, my first date may take place before I become the world’s oldest living human. But probably not long before. Assuming I ever land said first date.

My dear sister, whom I love very much, has accused me of thinking with my dick on more than one occasion. She may have even been right. Once. But, despite how much I enjoy sex, and how important it is to me in a relationship, I want need more.

I honestly believe that had I not pushed to become more than a penile life support system, I would still be fucking B on a regular basis. In the beginning, I was basically a booty call. We had to keep our relationship a secret, so we’d steal a couple hours every chance we got, and fuck each other silly. Because that was pretty much all we could do.

The sex was awesome.  And the frequency was even better.  I had the only relationship problem that men will never complain about.  I was so frequently and well drained that I worried that I might have trouble getting it up next time. But, as awesome as it was, I wanted more that physical intimacy and satisfaction.

The drama began when I started pushing to bring our relationship into the light of day. To be an open part of her life. To be introduced to her kids and be involved in their lives. To spend time together outside the bedroom. The more involved I became and the more serious the relationship, the less bedroom time we had and the more frequent the problems, until it finally ended. Precisely how, Dear Sister, does that translate to thinking with my dick?

Fuck this.  It ain’t worth the headache. Regardless of what I may or may not have to offer in a relationship, nobody is interested.  Banging my head against the wall isn’t going to change that.

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Fuck Freight Companies

I’ve taken to buying lots of stuff online.  Pretty much the only time I will buy something in person is if I have no other choice, or if the price is significantly less. Yes, I hate people that much.

Well, I’m probably going to have to limit what I buy online in the future. Every fucking time I order something that is too big or too heavy for FedUp to deliver it, I get fucked.  Either the only available delivery window falls in the middle of when I normally sleep, or they miss the window, or otherwise manage to completely fuck up my whole day.

I just got off the phone with the local agent for AIT Worldwide Logistics.  This was the third phone call with these fuckers trying to get my new TV delivered. First, I get an automated message from them telling me to call them back to schedule an appointment.  So I do.

I’m sorry, the local office is closed. Can you call them directly anytime between 0800 and 1700?

So, I called at 0815 the next morning. They didn’t answer their phone. So I left a message asking them to schedule me for the first available day in which they can be here by noon, and call me back to let me know which day to expect them.

At 1013, after I’d already turned my ringer off and gone to bed, they called and left a message asking me to call them.  They completely ignored my request. Just “please call”.  By the time I woke up, they were gone for the day. Or weren’t bothering to answer their phone, which had the same effect.

So, I called them back at 0830 this morning and left the same message. I added that if a delivery window prior to noon was not possible, to please leave a detailed message as to why, and give a time when I could actually reach a human being. The stupid fucking oxygen thief finally got around to calling back at 0921. I’d already turned the ringer off, but hadn’t gone to bed yet. The message:

This is Ignorant Cunt with Dumbass Freight. Please call XXX-XXX-XXXX.

Completely fucking ignored everything that I had requested. I called back just a few minutes after missing the call, and the bitch actually answered the phone this time. Because of my location in reference to their terminal, 1000-1400 was the best window she could give me. Why the fuck couldn’t she have said that in the voice mail?

Whatever.  I’ll miss sleep tomorrow, but I’ll have my TV by the end of the day. And the next fucking time some dumbass wants to sell me something that requires delivery by a freight company, I’m going to tell them to go fuck themselves with some rusty barbed wire.

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Yongsheng 052 Fountain Pen Review

I bought a Lanxivi® Yongsheng 052 Century Pioneer Extra Fine Nib Fountain Pen, and had it delivered for the princely sum of nine dollars.

It’s an attractive pen. The gold accent lines on the cap and barrel line up horizontally, so you will have to twist the cap after replacing it to keep your OCD from driving you crazy.  If you have problems with anything like that. Like I do.

It has a solid clip that fits tightly to the cap. The cap clicks into place, and it the strongest cap to barrel mating that I have ever seen.  I’ve had caps come off in my pocket before, but I guarantee that this one will never have that problem. I’m sure it will loosen up some over time, but right now it takes so much effort to remove the cap that there is occasionally ink splatter from the nib due to the sudden release of the cap.

It’s a metal pen with a solid feel. It is a little on the thin side as fountain pens go, but not extremely so. It’s feels good in my hand, and is comfortable to use, posted or not.

At first, I inked it with Franklin-Christoph Black Magic ink.  They don’t say why they call it black magic.  Maybe it does cool shading things on parchment paper or something.  For those of us who use it on cheap paper, it is a good, solid black black.  I bought Aurora black when I started playing with fountain pens because it was said to be a very black black, but this stuff is darker. I highly recommend the F-C inks. Their prices are reasonable, and the quality is excellent.

It is advertised as an extra fine nib, but it appears to use the same nib as the Jinhao 9009 that I reviewed yesterday.  However, with this ink, it laid down a much wider line and uses a lot more ink than I would expect from a medium nib, much less a fine or extra fine. Also, in spite of the amount of ink usage, it skipped often. Pretty much every time I tried to write with it. Get it going, and it’s fine. Mostly. But the first letter is going to contain a skip. And it’ll bleed so much ink through cheap paper that it will occasionally mark the sheet below the one in use.

That made me sad. I wanted to love this pen. It looks good, and it feels good in my hand. But the performance of the Jinhao, which was several dollars cheaper, was orders of magnitude better.

Before giving up on the pen, I decided to clean it out and switch inks.  At my suggestion, B bought me a bottle of Manuscript ink from Hobby Lobby for my birthday back in December.  I refilled the pen with this stuff, figuring that since it is the cheapest ink that I have, it might be a good fit for the poorest performing pen that I’ve tried up to now.  I didn’t let it dry long enough, and at first it wrote gray.  Eventually, the water worked its way out, and I was able to get a fair evaluation of performance with the new ink.

I had to keep checking to make sure it was the same pen.  It performed flawlessly. No skips.  Fine line. Not extra fine, but a true fine. Normal ink usage. I haven’t tried the Black Magic ink in any of my other pens yet, but I have tried two other F-C colors in other pens with no problems, so I’m pretty sure there’s nothing wrong with the ink.  Maybe the pen just needed a good cleaning.  Maybe something about it doesn’t like the flow characteristics of the Black Magic formula.  I don’t know.  And I really don’t care.  I will try other inks in the pen as it goes dry, and if any earth-shattering revelations present themselves, I will update this review, or post a new one.

Bottom line: I was going to relegate this pen to the back corner of a drawer somewhere after my initial experience with it.  However, its second chance ensures that it will be a workhorse for me. Nine dollars. Beautiful, comfortable design. Excellent performance, at least with six dollar per bottle Hobby Lobby ink. Grumpy like.

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