Time to do some calculations.

Today I did a 345lb deadlift. A good rule of thumb I heard was the ability to deadlift twice your body weight. Well, if you count my minimum body weight, first thing in the morning after a whole night of dehydrating, it’s about 162 lbs. So that means I really only have to deadlift 324 lbs, which I did last week. But as it is, I weigh something around 172 lbs when I go to the doctor (they don’t let me get all nekkid on the scale there) so I got twice that body weight today. My next goal is to deadlift twice the weight I peaked at, 2 x 185 lbs or 370lbs. That might take a while.

Since I can’t find any woman to go out with me, I figured I should look for my ideal woman. And how else to do that but with MATHEMATICS? You know the minimum age thing where you take half your age and add seven? That’s nothing. I figure I should go out with a woman who turned 33 1/3 when I turned 45. I keep doing the calculations and getting different numbers, so I figure I should show my work and let someone else make sure I got it right.

Here’s where it gets tricky. What exactly is 1/3 of a year? And do I want to get the exact time of birth in this? Aw, heck, I’m never going to find this “ideal woman” anyway, so I might as well half-ass the math like I’d half-ass anything else.

So that gives:

So I googled that date and I found one woman born on that date, a Japanese actress from the area I lived in back in Japan, Tomoka Kurotani.

Woo, and the Zodiac says:

The Aries-Sagittarius combination is very good, because you are both Fire signs and you have so many ideas that you could recreate the world from the beginning. You are both curious about anything that surrounds you.

The Chinese Zodiac rates Dragon (1964) and Rabbit (1975) a 7 out of 10 for compatibility.

So where does that leave me? Actually, it leaves me just about finished updating the software on my mom’s computer, which is where I wanted to be. It still makes me a lonely dude living with his mom, but the Mac’s up-to-date.

Nothing to see here.

I spent some of the evening (more than I’d like) doing work and I’m still not really finished. So I have nothing to see here, other than this growing stack of books I’m supposed to read.

There’s a Kindle 2 on top that has a couple of books in it as well. Time to try burning a disk.


Eleven years ago I told my crazy friend Megan that I was going to buy Ricky Martin’s CD if (when) he came out of the closet. Today I bought two. Good luck Ricky!

I had something else I was thinking about, but really I can’t remember what it was. I decided I was going to take it easy at the gym, but instead I started doing extra pushups during the Renegade Row in the “Kill Me Now” workout. Chip Conrad wouldn’t think they were extra, though. Basically, I think that pretty much used all the glucose up in my noggin.

I was going to quote from some personals ads of people who were looking at my profile because I can’t do broken English like a real Nigerian scammer can, but the profiles were taken down already. The only other activity was from a 24YO serving in Iraq. Really, I don’t know what to think about that, other than identity theft. It’s not that I see the glass as half-empty, I see it as half-full of bad-tasting, smelly, and possibly harmful liquid.

Extreme pessimist my ass.

Well, there you go. I even got an invitation to become a Facebook friend with someone who looks like a real person who wrote in COMPLETE SENTENCES with no MISSPELLINGS. They liked my blog postings, thank you very much. In any case, I don’t think I’m an extreme pessimist at all. An extreme pessimist is the guy who thinks, “Wow, lots of good things are happening to me right now and I wonder how it’s all going to turn to shit,” where I’m more likely to think, “Well this isn’t turning out the way I’d hoped, what now?” And in my experience it usually does go slightly downhill. I’d think that was more along the lines of being a slightly negative realist. Most people who work in a customer service related field know what I’m talking about.

So here’s another mystery for you: I go to the gym five times a week, lifting moderate weights like 24kg kettlebells dozens of times (that’s 53lbs snatched on each arm at least 5x 12 times each arm) or deadlifting 325lbs and I got a cramp in my back by screwing an anchor into drywall to mount a flashlight onto the wall. Basically, that’s using a screwdriver on something that is about as tough as butter. As my dad would say, “What the hell?”

Back to the intarweb, though, those fake Facebook friend invitations are nice to get, too. Lots of photos of attractive women and interesting emails that sound like,

I very nice girl, very much like to go in for sports I run more often! I wish to find to myself the person with which would be happy!!! Very much I wait for your letters!!!”

Oh, wait, that’s just a cut-and-paste of a personals email I got last week. The realist in me (not the pessimist) knows I don’t have it in me to date a real “very nice girl” who “very much wait for my letters” but at least it’s nice to see that the intarweb scammers are still thinking about me. It’s nice to be wanted.

Maybe I should go check match.com again, or as I like to call it, “I don’t know what I’m looking for but it sure the hell ain’t you dot com.” I figure I should finish one of the eleven fiction books I have in my stack before I start in on that sort of intarweb fiction, even if I am throwing away a monthly fee on it.

Wow, so some people thought I was suicidal, huh?

Some people have such easy lives that they think a hamburger is going to make me suicidal. I guess they could be right, if they thought that my lack of aggressiveness in looking for female companionship is going to keep me from passing on my genetic legacy and that could be thought of as suicidal. Or if my lack of belief in their god will exclude me from their afterlife, so then I’ll be dead, dead, dead when I die and that can be thought of as suicidal. But in either case, I DIDN’T COME TO MY EXISTENTIAL DECISIONS BECAUSE OF A MOTHERFUCKING HAMBURGER.

OK, to be fair, I should have said BACON CHEESEBURGER, because in my life there is a serious difference between the two, but you get my idea.

I’m thinking some people have no idea how to spot the suicidal. The most depressed I’ve ever felt was when they were jerking me around between various anti-depressants which I probably didn’t need in the first place. You start up with some of those and you can feel incredibly despondent and I don’t ever want to feel like that again. But when I was feeling that way (and this was nine years ago?) I didn’t behave like I did the other night. I wasn’t blogging or complaining. I was calling the doctor’s office asking why I was feeling so horrible and if the goddamn medication was at fault. They said probably, and they gave me the number for the suicide prevention hotline. A fat lot of good they were.

Ah, well. I told my sister this and she laughed. She said, “You write that crap to be funny, and if they don’t like it they don’t have to read it.” Which is exactly what I’ve said on numerous occasions. Then we talked about external CD drives for her netbook or something. I’m only useful when I’m being a geek.

OK, so I did get a WiMax modem lately, and I can download things incredibly quickly now. I have a DSL connection so I can run some servers, but that’s reliable but slow. So I got this WiMax because, well, I have money to spend on silly things like this. Well, I downloaded all I wanted, and now it’s kind of just sitting around eating up juice. Ah, well, maybe I can stream Netflix with it or something.

I suck and a $63 hamburger dinner isn’t going to change that.

The following has been rated NC-17. That means I’m “in a mood” and people who don’t like cursing can fuck the hell off and click on something else. Here’s a Rick Astley and Nine Inch Nails remix for you.

Everyone in burger club ditched my sorry ass tonight. Actually, the only person who said she was coming told me she didn’t want to go if it was just the two of us. In fact, it was a little worse than that. Most of the people in burger club knew it would be just the two of us and kept trying to convince me this could be a golden opportunity. I’m not sure where their optimism comes from, but I figure it’s something rich white people just have. Beat down Asian motherfuckers don’t have that sort of confidence. Tonight she asked who was coming and I told her, “Well, me.” She repeated the question as if she didn’t understand what I said. And with my second reply she pulled a face. So I told her that if she didn’t want to go it wasn’t a big deal. You know condescension when you hear it and it was there when she said, “Yeah, maybe next time.”

I decided to go to Paley’s Place to try their hamburger. It’s a fancy restaurant in my neighborhood and quite well known. The chef has won national awards and I’ve heard the food is excellent from trustworthy friends. The acclaimed hamburger can only be ordered in their tiny bar, and so I knew I had to go when I was by myself or with a couple of other people. (As an aside, I actually did ask someone out to Paley’s Place this year and she just blew me off. That’s neither here nor there, but I have been trying to get someone to go there with me for a while. Hell, my friend Matty G didn’t want to go there with me.)

The hamburger took a long fucking time to get to me. They overcooked it the first time, they said, so they made me a second one with a second complimentary order of fries. They must like fat Asian guys so they can rub their bellies. The meat was seasoned quiite well, but the rest of the burger was a let-down. The bacon was thick cut back bacon (Canadian bacon) and was hard to bite through. And the part that completely ruined the burger was a stale bun. I wish I could say it was excellent, but it wasn’t. The fries with the mustard aioli were, however, excellent. (What the fuck is aioli anyway? I bet it’s just a boojie name for mayonnaise so rich white people can eat it. It’s probably just Hellman’s in a smaller jar.)

I had their chocolate souffle for dessert, and they also gave me some tasters while I was waiting (for fucking ever) for my burger and they were excellent. The tasters made me expect a Laurelhurst Market-level of burger that I didn’t get. I think this is just another fancy restaurant that has a burger on their menu to pretend they’re like normal people but they don’t really give a shit about it. Which means they don’t give a shit about me but I’m used to that. As I’ve been saying, THAT’S MY FUCKING LIFE.

I feel better now, but I can’t find my fucking dirty gym clothes so I might have to drive back to look for them. Motherfucking hell. That means I won’t get to sleep anytime soon and I’ll be tired at work tomorrow and Friday is “yell at Todd day”. I fucking love my life. (No, drugs won’t help my attitude, in fact my ex-girlfriend made me take antidepressants and they just made me feel old. I wasn’t able to enjoy sex and I wanted to play with my ham radio. So she dumped my ass. If only I had another pill, perhaps a reverse Rogaine, to facilitate a comb-over I could have just stuck with the fucking ham radio and been happy with my life. As it is, here I am grabbing my ankles for another fucking day.)

Foster Burger is worth going to.

My hay fever is killing me right now. None of the sneezing or itching today, but I was pooped. I couldn’t think straight and I was dragging around. This happens to me every spring and it’s fairly miserable.

So I made it back to Foster Burger for Sean & Trevor’s birthday dinner. It was a random affair that I had to twist arms to get going. Fortunately, Sean & Trevor both showed up. In any case, Foster Burger seems to be up and running and I can now say that the burger is definitely worth going to eat now. It’s not my favorite, and there’s nothing that jumped out at me about it, but the sweet bun complements the quality meat and I’d tell anyone that it’s up there on the list of burgers to try. I’m putting it below Hopworks on the pub scale, but at 8:30PM on this Wednesday you’d be hard pressed to find a seat at Hopworks but there were patio seats at Foster Burger. And if you were looking outside, you could have seen me do the worst job of parallel parking ever. Twice. It took me five tries to get off the damn curb. Sometimes you got it and sometimes you don’t. And sometimes your parallel parking is so bad that someone might put it on YouTube.

I wonder about this WiMax stuff.

I was going to type something on this here computer, but the past two workouts at the gym have taken most of the biochemical energy out of my body and there isn’t enough left for my brain to think of anything. In fact, I think my body may shut down though it is doing its best to turn whatever I ate today directly into gas. The Mad Greek Deli may not be my friend in this case.

I’m trying to remember why it is I’m working this hard. Bikini season? I doubt that. Perhaps so I can floss and brush for the recommended two minutes without tiring myself out. That must be it. It surely can’t be to attract women on Match.com, because it’s not working for that AT ALL.

When it rains, it pours.

Looks like work is heating up a little, and it always seems like it’s everyone having problems or no one having problems. Thing is, I like my job so I won’t say too much about it. Plus, the worst I’ve ever had it is when I got bored at work.

My secondary job, trying to design my mom’s bathroom, is kind of a pain in the ass. I still have to draw some cabinets to see if they look right but I haven’t found a program I like so it might be time for paper and pencil. I may have to build some simulated walls to see if the space I’m putting the toilet is too small. That and a bag of mints will probably get me fresh breath.

I wonder how that one turns out.

Wow, the sale at George Morlan Plumbing was way better than I thought. All the internet prices I found were beat by the normal sale prices, and that’s saying a lot. Nevertheless, I spent $2100 on plumbing crap today and I realized I still have a long ways to go. I better get on it. I think I need to figure out just where I’m going to put all my subway tile and the 3D interior decorating computer programs really aren’t doing me a lot of good. Google Sketchup is total crap, Sweet Home 3D is only a little better. I’m liking Live Interior 3D so far, but I haven’t paid for it yet. We’ll see how it goes. I hope I don’t have to resort to getting out the drafting table, since I gave a lot of it away recently.

So I was watching a couple of movies tonight. Someone lent me Inglourious Basterds and that was absolute crap. I don’t like Tarantino movies, though, so I should have known better. I thought there were two good actors in it and at least they were fun to watch. I also started watching He’s Just Not That Into You, a movie that my Facebook friends told me was definitely a chick-flick, and all I’ve learned so far is that relationships suck. Perhaps the ending is uplifting (something I hope to see in these kinds of movies), but the movie cut out on me and so that’s all I know about it so far. Stupid intarweb.

Happy birthday mom!

No wonder my contractor wanted me to design my bathroom before he came back. It’s a pain in the ass! I’ve spent hours just looking for a sink! I finally had to resort to looking up what I had already, and since there’s no obvious part numbers visible I had to hang out at the plumbing store for hours to figure it out. I had to pick out the toilet, the Washlet seat, even the g*dd*mn knobs for the shower. And I’m not close to being finished. Do you know how hard it is just to figure out what wall spout to put on your tub? Yeesh. Tomorrow I have to put all of this in some sort of 3D CAD program so it doesn’t all look funny. I just realized I haven’t picked out the tub yet. Ugh.

Slightly disappointed.

I know I have issues with rejection and I suck at dating, but why shouldn’t the computer help me out? Well, I went to match.com tonight just to see what it had suggested to me and it told me that I was too picky and it had no women for me. OK, so the only criteria I think I had locked in was age, and the age span was 29-47 (I know, the bottom end is kind of low). But you notice something? THAT’S A SPAN OF NEARLY TWENTY YEARS AND THERE’S NOT ONE FUCKING MATCH. Good thing they have my money already. Jesus H Christ I guess I was looking for some romance (with a woman) and there’s match.com, BONING ME IN THE ASS.

It’s just as well. I usually get on there, send some email, get no reply, and then look longingly at the menu from Laurelhurst Market. Is it almost time to listen to my “friend” who said, “I’ll let you buy me dinner. You’re not going to get anywhere, but you can pretend you are.”

Work wasn’t too pleasant today too, but I can’t publicly reveal any details, but I did get ambushed. Yeah. Whee.