Maksim Malik

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I don't update very often anymore.

I suck.

Things that happened since the last update: an acquaintance of mine from high school died from a drug overdose; I find out an ex has been committed to an asylum a few weeks ago, yet she's been there for over a year—she's even made a few calls to me from inside; my mother got promoted and will be moving to Atlanta in March; I hung out with an old friend hoping it would be like "the good old days," but it wasn't; my cd-rom drive physically masticated upon a disc, convincing me that my desktop is indeed possessed and will be "put down" in a few days; and some other stuff.

Valentine's day was yesterday. What a lovely day. Just crams the fact that I'm single and haven't found my other half, my soulmate, etc., etc., making me feel quite lonely and crappy. Television is usually good for completely numbing my brain, but yesterday I turned on the TV and there was just so much VD crap on that I turned it off. Yesterday was a bad day really. I was (and still am) recovering from far, far too much of being driven around this weekend: over six hours in a car kills me anymore. Yesterday I was so dizzy I was concerned about my ability to walk to the bathroom without mishap, and mishaps there were.

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Yeah, I'm updating finally. Do I have any readers left? No? Ah well. That's okay. This is a journal. It doesn't matter whether or not I have readers, as long as I update.

I've sucked about updating. I know. I suck. Ugh. I have several entries I've written in my moleskine journal which I haven't typed up to put here yet. I shall do that when I'm less inebriated.

Yes, I'm drunk. Brad and I drank a bit more than two bottles of wine tonight. "Alice White" makes a decent cheap red wine. Stay away from... what was it? 2000? I don't know. The shiraz is okay. Definitely good for $6. The 60-40 Cabernet Sauvignon / Shiraz is better though.

Brad is asleep in front of the fireplace. He's using a small box as a pillow.

I want to update more often, but I feel as though I never have enough interesting things to say.

Of course on New Year's I was drunk, but I was too busy socializing to post in my diary. There is a video clip from the New Year's party I need to upload somewhere sometime. I'll put a link somewhere.

I'm an idiot. I don't keep in touch with my friends as much as I should. I'm slack. I suck. I apologize.

I've been talking with DD a lot more lately. The phone conversations are going a little bit passed simple friendship. I don't know what to do. She's in DC. I'm in NC. I kind of want to pursue it, but I don't know if it's the right course of action.

I figured out finally that I've lost about 75 pounds thus far. Brad bought a scale. The last time I weighed myself I was 75 pounds heavier than I am now. The funny thing is that then, when I was more rotund, I was able to socialize and meet new people with greater success than I can now. To put it bluntly: I got laid way more often with women who shockingly were less than half my weight.

I don't understand it. I'm confused. Why do women even think to have sex with a round guy like myself? Yeah, I'm drunk and I'm rambling. Get over it.

DD and I... I don't know. She's very cool. Beautiful. Intelligent. Creative. She's a singer for an opera company in Washington, DC. Did that break the anonymity? I doubt it. Nobody is reading this. I burned through a lot of my 1000 rolloever minutes talking to her today. She got me a Christmas gift from my amazon wishlist which recently arrived. Thus, I know how much it cost. Spending that much on someone... It was a full DVD set of an anime I wanted. It was on my wishlist. I don't even know how she found my wishlist.

She's a geek. I'm a geek. She sings. I used to sing. I remarked to Brad earlier how I ought to start working on my voice again. I used to be much better than I am now. I mean, come on, I was Mr. Mushnik in high school. Then I was the Phantom in college. I was a round phantom, but I got damn good reviews. I miss that. I really miss being on stage.

I remember when I was giving DD tips on singing. Now she is the master. Luke, I am your father.

Oh! I finally got the original Star Wars trilogy on DVD, as well as the Harry Potter movies. I can't decide which I'm more excited about. I think perhaps I'm more excited about Star Wars since I like all of those. The Harry Potter movies have been good, but the second one has just blown the others out of the water thus far.

Thus. I've used that word a few times this entry. I shall refrain. Thusly.

I'm amazed my drunken singing to a Tori Amos CD isn't waking Brad up. Then again, I really shouldn't be amazed. That boy could sleep through anything. I'm thinking of taking his wine and drinking it since he didn't finish it before falling asleep. Alcohol Abuse!

Other than the place being somewhat of a mess, living with Brad was probably a good idea. I don't know. His messiness doesn't exactly inspire my tidiness. It just seems to make me care less which in the long run makes me annoyed. I'm working on seeing if he'll want to hire someone to come straighten up for us weekly. There are things I simply cannot do without great difficulty. For example, there is a very high probability that if I use a vacuum cleaner I will just pass out. Not necessarily whilst I'm using it. Sometimes it's after. I do not like passing out.

It's like blinking. Hours can pass, but it's like a blink of the eye. Es no bueno. I don't even know if that's proper Spanish.

I'm on the second revision of my book: Buttons: Golden Booty. I have yet to add the sections I need to flesh it out a bit, but it's getting there. I need to come up with a better title too, I think. I'm not sure. After this revision I'll probably let people read it.

Scratch that. I'll probably let very few select people read it. Top of the list: V. I'm sorry, V, I haven't even read anyone's updates since the holidays. I'm horrible. I apologize. I feel crappy about it. I keep saying, "oh, I didn't even check to see if there were updates, but I'll just call," but I just haven't called. I don't know how my friends stay my friends when I have difficulty picking up the phone to call them.

Guitar. I've been diligently working on learning Recuerdos de la Alahambra or however it's spelled. I can play it, I know. It's more of a memorization thing. It's very long. So beautiful. That's why I play guitar: to play beautiful songs. Some are simle. Some are not quite so simple. It can be a challenging song that'll make people go "Oooo" because of my technical difficulty, but I don't give a shit. If it isn't pretty then I don't even make the attempt to learn it.

DD. Why do women have such power over men? We were friends. We "went out" for a little while and decided to call it quits when she had to move away.

I made vegan cashew butter cookies. You know, like peanut butter cookies, but with cashew butter instead of peanut butter. They were quite, quite tasty. Unfortunately between Jen, B, and I they did not last long. I think I might make more and send them in the mail to those who want them.

Kelly, I never mailed your holiday gift because I didn't get an address. It'll be late, but better late than never.

I have other gifts to send as well, I've just been unable (lazy) to get to Fed-Ex or whatever.

Enough for now. I'm going to see if I can get B to go sleep in his room instead of in front of the fireplace.

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I haven't posted because nothing exciting has happened.

Until 4am last night.

I walked out of my bedroom to use the bathroom, and my feet went squish. I paused, contemplating with my sleep-fogged mind why it squished, and why my feet were suddenly wet, and oddly warm.

I squished a couple more times. Yep. That was a lot of water. On instinct (there was no logic to it in my sleepy state) I opened the laundry room door in which the water heater is housed. Before me I saw a one inch layer of water—warm water—with bits of lint floating as though they were tiny ships in a very tiny sea.

So, I did what most anyone would do in such a situation: I cursed. Loudly. Then I called the emergency maintenance line for the apartments.

Ten minutes later, hearing no response, I called again.

Another ten minutes.

The water heater closet is kept locked by the apartment complex, and I did not have a key.

I left a somewhat angry message on the answering machine at the main office and then called the emergency line again.

Still no go.

In between calling I put down every towel available. That wasn't enough to sop up the lake, so I tossed down blankets as well. It's amazing how heavy a blanket can be when it is soaked.

By now my brain had woken up a bit. I unlocked the door to the water heater closet with a wireframe hanger and looked at the offending appliance in confusion.

I didn't know crap about water heaters. I resorted to calling my brother. True, it was 4.30am, but I deemed it a worthy enough emergency. At the rate of which the water was coming out I knew I would start drowning within the hour—at least, that's how it seemed.

My brother didn't know what to do aside from turning it off somehow. He wasn't sure if it was safe to turn it off without cutting the power to it or not.

After that brief conversation I turned on the computer and found a friend online who actually knew what I should do. The water heater was off—both its electrical connection via the fuse box and its water source from a mysterious pipe coming in from the wall. Plumbing might as well be magic to me, for all that I understand it.

I sat on my bed and waited until about 6.45am, calling maintenance periodically, before deciding to go back to sleep. I cursed my stupidity when I went back to bed, phone by my side (after calling maintenance again of course). I had put all of my blankets down to sop up the water, including the one that was supposed to keep me warm while I slept.

At 8.20am the regular maintenance crew knocked loudly on the door, waking me from my light slumber. I stumbled to the door and opened it. It was cold outside. I spoke with them, explaining the problem. They asked what time the emergency maintenance guy came in to shut off the heater, and I told them he had never even returned my call. They were quite shocked about this, and slightly furious.

The water heater has been replaced. The carpet has been sucked free of most of the water. It is currently lifted up from the ground, being dried by several heavy-duty fans. There was talk about replacing the carpet if need be.

On top of it all, I'm sick. Symptoms: upset stomach, general malaise, &c. I felt better yesterday than I did the day before, but the lack of sleep has left me feeling worse.

My poor kitties are traumatized for having to walk through a marsh in the hallway.

Ugh. I do not operate well off of less than two hours of sleep.

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Well, happy bloody Thanksgiving. Instead of focusing around the negative history surrounding Thanksgiving and the history which nobody seems willing to discuss--or of which they are utterly ignorant--I will just refrain from talking about it. Plus, I've had quite a bit of wine to drink (slightly more than two bottles to myself), and I'm feeling rather, um, besotted? No. That's not the right word, is it? I don't want to say "drunk" because I feel smarter than the average drunk person. Of course, perhaps that
6777 ]tr54 (gobbledygook random text courtesey of kittycat walking on keyboard) just means I get rather conceited upon becoming intoxicated.

I had thankgiving at my mother's. I made a tofurkey and some stir-fry vegetables that were vegan-safe. That's all I had. My sister was over with her son and a few of her girlfriends as well, but they all brought not-vegan-safe dishes, so luckily I had something to hafvfe. Bah. I tried correctijg that typo'd word several times, but to no avail. Alas, a lass will lasso the last monkey. Eh? Yeah, I don't know either.

Too much wine. Or perhaps not enough. I feel as though I was slightly a sore thumb tonight. I was the only male at Thanksgiving (save for me three-year old nephew) and on to pof that I believe I was the only one who leaned more towards introverted behavior than anyone else. So, basically, I drank my wine and kept my tongue.

It's very difficult to keep one's stomach when vegan and the roasted, dead turkey carcass is naught but a few inches away. Maybe that's why I started on the wine so heavily.

I became very talkative nearing the end of the evening which is abnormal for me around persons with which I am unfamiliar. I blame the wine.

Basically, I felt like a sore thumb the entire evening. I was out of place. The small talk I did initiate was casually mentioned and brushed aside. Afterwards conversation was turned back to events of which I had no foreknowledge, i.e., something-or-other about whatever inane event that is happening in Wilmington.

Wilmingon, I have finally realized, is a pathetically small town. It's economy is tourist-based. It pales in comparison to my current place-of-residence.

I'm drunk. I really am. I'm typing very slowly to try to omit typos. I think I've done a decent enough job.

I just don't seem to fit in anywhere. I mean, sometimes I feel like I'm sort of fitting in, but it doesn't ever seem like I truly am. I mean when I'm among a group of people more than three (including myself) in total.

I'm not making sense (at least not to myself) so I'm going to just go read for a bit.

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