Motherfucking piece of fucked up useless shit. Hijo de la puta madre. I kick the tire. It doesn’t make me feel any better. How in the fuck is a $30,000+ German luxury car going to come with a jack that could hardly lift a plate of pasta.

I had been in such a good mood too.

I picked up Karen at 6:45, which – against all odds – is when I said I would pick her up. Then we got to the bar at 7, which – against all odds – is when we were supposed to get to the bar. Punctuality, it’s an invigorating concept. I even persuaded myself that this was something I could keep up, this arriving on time. 2006 would be different; it would be full of muscles that grow and to-do lists that shrink. Goals would be achieved. Books would be read. Friends would be both met and maintained. My professional life would become, actually professional. Things were looking up, I could feel it.

I had been looking forward to the San Diego Bloggers “thingie” more with curiosity than excitement. The last time we met, we were about 7. Mitch, Joe, and Al were the only bloggers there that I had read consistently. We introduced ourselves and our blogs. A reporter was there from the San Diego City Beat, but the story never made it to print. Which is understandable because god knows how she tried to make our conversation – bouncing between, Linux, OS X, and podcasting – interesting to anyone but ourselves.

Now it’s nearing 8 p.m. and the last stragglers have wandered in. A practical standing ovation was made for Joe, which made me happy. Even though he no longer lives here, he’s single-handedly responsible for an exponentially growing sense of community among San Diego’s internet users. Or, that is, geeks. Which is really what we are. Just look around. Four pushed-together tables of stuttering, fidgeting, and anything-but-suave-socialites who say things like “will you ‘ping’ Jeff for the basket of fries.”

OK, not really. Truth is you have no idea what any blogger will be like until you meet him or her offline. MAS surprised me. A foot taller than I expected, he was calm, affable, and easy going. Even charming. Nothing like the perpetually furious conservative I was expecting. He did, however seem much more the software engineer than the fitness guru or coffee connoisseur that had made its way into my character sketch. Route66 was also extraordinarily easy to get along with. We used to trade emails back and forth about local and national politics. At one point, when we were the two main contributors to San Diego Blog, we tried to plan a meetup. He suggested Starbucks, “if it wasn’t to prole” for my tastes. Not wanting to admit that it was, I wrote back saying hell, let’s meet at the Wal-Mart cafeteria. For whatever reason, though, it never happened.

Route66, it seems, is the type of person I like to be friends with. He’s informed, but not arrogant. Easy going, but not boring. With plenty to contribute to a conversation, but more importantly, an ever-attentive ear which listens to others, not himself. I was reminded of a flattering complement Liza once awarded upon this weblog. She said that the internet erases the artificial boundaries we insert into our minds and puts us in a light where we are just thinking, flawed individuals. Were it not for the internet, I would never have met friends like HP, Myke, Georgia, and hopefully now Route66 – who is probably about twice my age. Not because I discriminate, but because we are at different stages of our lives where we’d never come into contact. Or even if we did, it would (sadly) never occur to me to befriend a gay man from the South or a 50-year-old conservative from my own city.

I also had very nice and comfortable conversations with Leah, Mikey, and Joelle … bloggers from the old school who I used to read on a daily basis, but never caught back up with after returning from Monterrey. And of course Joe, one of those lovable guys that I know I’ll probably only see once every year or so, but who will remain a friend online and off well into the future.

Around 9, as was the plan, I got a friendly poke in the side from Karen and we shook hands around the table as we made our exit. We made fun of each other on the drive back as we like to do. It was a wonderful night.

And now this … this piece of shit, Nazi-engineered, useless fucked up excuse for a jack. Fuck it, you know what I’m going to do? I’m going into that McDonalds, I’m ordering two cheeseburgers and a sundae and then I’ll deal with this shit.

To be continued …