First things first, I'm blogging on a Saturday night (even though it is officially Sunday morning). I do this because I am a loser and have no friends. Or rather, all of my friends are either otherwise occupied (Lindsay's at the opera with her aunt and uncle, David's watching a movie with his Blue House housemates [I was invited, but I didn't want to impose... fuck, I'm back in high school], Brad's home for Tulip Time [the poor bastard's from Holland, Michigan], and Mike's on his way to the airport to pick up SSG) or I really wasn't up to calling them (I toyed with the idea of calling Justin and Emily, but did I really want to go over there just to be pestered with questions about my future and watch Saturday Night Live?). Obviously, I need more friends. But, finding persons of any conversational worth is so terribly difficult, and I really do think I just wanted to lounge around my place alone tonight.

A new meaning for SSG...
Based on a comment Lindsay made to our tattooist yesterday, those of you who find SSG (Slutty, Slutty Girlfriend) sexist may now alternatively define the acronym as Soul-Sucking Girlfriend. This time, there can be no debate, for SSG is a ravening incubus, greedily devouring poor Mr. Alber's soul. Of course, he's serving it up to her lightly seasoned with a light broth.

Lindsay sez
"I need to marry a man with more initiative." More? More is an inherently comparative term. More compared to whom? Compared to me? So, I'd be marriable material were I simply more ambitious? This, dear friends, bodes well for the future. *wink* I can tell you this much with absolute conviction, my relationship with Lindsay is like no other I've ever had. I was friends with Skeeter for quite some time before my ill-advised attempt to court her; by contrast, my singular and uniquely disastrous date with Lindsay occured scarcely a month after I met her. Our friendship did not really begin, or resume, depending on one's interpretation of events, until several months after that. (I shall explain it some time, but tonight is most emphatically not that time.)

But marital implications aside, I really don't know whatever happened to my ambition. I'm beginning to suspect that I never had any. Dreams, but no real ambition. I was always just content to be as I was, and the only thing I ever really worked at was swimming. Ambition and achievement will not win me Lindsay (were she that sort of girl, would she really be my sort of girl?), but they will be necessary just to stay in the game. This is not some schoolboy crush. It is my intention to win her, if it's the last thing I ever do. She will be mine. (Of course, I predict she'll find a boyfriend in San Francisco within six months, at most, of her arrival, and then you'll all suffer the priviledge to bear witness to my rapid disintegration and descent into a pit of hopeless, bleak despair.) At least for me, the old Chinese curse has come true. These are indeed interesting times.