One of the cops who'd approached me took my wrists, one at a time, pulled them down to my lower back, and handcuffed me. I didn't resist at all. My total cooperation didn't deter Officer Bullhorn, who by this was time was out of his car and therefore just Officer Loudmouth, from repeating, "Do not resist the officer, Do not resist the officer."

The thought crossed my mind, to scream out that I wasn't resisting shit, but I didn't. I was in serious trouble for some reason, and I was actually fearing for my life a little bit. I remembered that a lot of police cars have video cameras in them, and I resolved to make sure that any recording of what I suspected was my impending murder would show that I'd cooperated completely.

These cops were going to fry. Not that it would do me much good by that time.

Once I was cuffed, they pulled me to my feet that leaned me over against the hood of my car. They frisked me and found nothing. Officer Loudmouth said something about how they were going to search my car because of a felony or something. By this time I wasn't paying attention at all. I was mentally preparing my will, and wondering how my sisters and my dad would take the news of my death.

While one of the cops was searching my car, the radios in the cop cars crackled to life. "Blah blah robbery suspect in custody blah blah," they said. Even though I couldn't see anything, what with my face pressed against the hood of my car and all, I could sense the cops looking at each other with surprise and confusion.

The cop who still had his gun drawn, at least I think it was him, pulled out his microphone thing and talked into it.

The radios cracked some more. I couldn't make out anything, this time. But a lot of amazing things happened right away.

The cops all whispered to each other for a minute or two.

My handcuffs were removed.

Two of the policemen got into their cars and drove away.

I was still afraid to move, so I stayed as I was. Leaning over my car with my face pressed against the wet hood.

Officer Loudmouth and the last remaining backup cop talked for a bit, then the backup cop got into his car and left.

"Please stand up, sir," Officer Loudmouth said to me.

I stood up, and I turned to face him.

"The reason I pulled you over tonight, sir," he said, "was because your driving sucked."

He said it with such a straight face that I couldn't help but contrast his expression with a smile.

"I didn't think that cops were allowed to use language like that with civilians, " I said.

Officer Loudmouth managed to grin without cracking his face in half.

"Only when it's true," he said.

I was starting to decompress.

"Well, sorry about that. I was just having a really hard time seeing in the rain. The glare from the road was blinding me, so I slowed down. Better safe than sorry."

"Right," he said. "Better safe than sorry. You're free to go, sir. Sorry for the inconvenience, and be careful."

As I moved to get back into my car, I had to ask, "What was that all about? The handcuffing and the drawn weapons and stuff?"

"Sir," he said, "Your car matched the description of a car used in an armed robbery in Bellevue earlier tonight."

"So that's why you pulled me over?" I asked.

"No sir," he replied. "As I said, I pulled you over because your driving sucked. It was when I was running your plates that I was told about the robbery and the suspect vehicle."

"Okay," I said. "You thought I was dangerous."

"Yes, sir," he said. "Armed and dangerous."

"Well, I'm pretty much the opposite of armed and dangerous."

"That's good to hear, sir. You have a good evening, and be careful."

"You, too."

And I got back into my piece of shit Thunderbird and drove away.

A couple of weeks later, I finally stopped shaking.

After I drove my Lebaron off that cliff, saving all those lives, I found myself without a car. This sucked, as you might imagine, because I needed my car to work.

Problem was, besides not having any insurance on the Lebaron, I had very little money with which to buy another car. Luckily for me, unluckily for him, a friend of mine had recently gotten a DUI, not his first, and so he wouldn't be driving for a while. Or maybe forever.

I bought his Thunderbird for like $100. I may have been ripped-off.

But the thing ran. It was ugly as sin, but it got me around for work. And other fun things.

One rainy night I was driving home from some bar. Back then, I ran a pool league, so I spent a lot of time driving between bars. I didn't really drink back then, though, because I hadn't discovered any beer that I liked yet.

So I was driving home from a bar on a rainy night, and I was having a very tough time seeing the road. I bet I was going about 25 MPH on a road designed for twice that speed.

I saw flashing lights behind me. One of Washington's finest.

I pulled over to the side of the road, and I clasped my hands together behind my head. So the cop could see my hands and so wouldn't just preemptively shoot me. I saw a guy do that on the show Cops once, and I thought it was a good idea. I mean the clasping the hands thing, not the preemptive shooting thing.

Anyway.

This guy got on his bullhorn and told me not to move. That was fine with me. I wasn't planning on moving. But after I sat like that for about 15 minutes, I got a little fidgety. I'd thought the cop was just running my plates or something. Or maybe he was waiting for the rain to let up a little.

Nope.

He was waiting for backup.

Not one, not two, but three police cars arrived at pretty much the same time, lights flaring and sirens blaring, and they parked so as to surround me.

I got a little nervous at that point.

I got really nervous when Officer Bullhorn instructed me to (a) use my left hand to roll down my window, (b) use my left hand to throw my car keys outside the car, and (c) place my left hand back behind my head.

I nearly pissed my pants when, while I was following Officer Bullhorn's advice to the letter, the backup cops all got out of their cars, crouched behind their doors, and pointed their weapons at me.

It was probably stupid of me, but I had to say something. "I don't want any trouble," I shouted into the rain.

"Shut up right now!" Officer Bullhorn replied.

So, I shut up.

Next I was instructed to use my left hand to open my door and get out of the car with my hands behind my head.

I did so.

Next I was instructed to lie face-down on the sopping wet pavement, facing away from my car, and to place my hands back behind my head.

I did that too. It was cold, but I don't think that's the only reason I was shaking.

All of the cops then stood up. Two of the backup guys holstered their guns and approached me slowly, while the third backup guy kept his weapon pointed straight at me.

I heard Officer Bullhorn open his door and get out of his car.

(to be continued)

I have serious doubts that this will work. I just wanted to say that, right up front. So there's no doubt about my doubt.

I went to this thing. A meeting, actually. For a thing called National Novel Writing Month. I'd never heard of it before, but apparently they're organized enough to have their own website. Not that that is saying a whole lot. After all, I have my own website.

Anyway. I went to this thing because LaptopGirl invited me to it. I would have, of course, gone to anything to which LaptopGirl invited me. A dog shit tasting. A neo-Nazi convention. A football game. So I felt a bit fortunate that this meeting was about something that I could possibly be interested in. Or, at least, something that I could feign interest in.

The point of this thing, for those of you who haven't clicked the conveniently placed link which I so generously provided, is that you write a 50,000-word novel in a month. The month of November, to be precise.

Also, I'm not really sure that it has to be an actual novel that you write, because I asked if I could just use my regular blog stuff and they said that I could. It can be autobiographical nonfiction. That would be a pretty shitty novel, I think. But I do have a title for it already.

A November to Remember.

Probably not very original, but as long as I don't Google it, I can continue to imagine that I made it up all on my own, and that I was the first to do so.

To write 50,000 words in November would require averaging 1,667 words every day. I looked back through some of my old blog entries, and the longest one I found was 1,800 words. So that was cool. But then I counted all the words for every entry for all of the months that I've done this, and the most words I found was a little over 12,000. So that sucked.

Basically, most of my most verbose writing came when I was crazy. So, to become verbose again, all I have to do is be crazy again. I certainly could do that, but I don't want to.

This entry is a test. To see how long it takes me to write 1,667 words, and also to see if I can do it without much effort. Because I can't imagine putting effort into writing 1,667 words every day for a month. If I do this, I'll just have to sort of skate through most days.

Okay, it was 426 words up to the end of that last paragraph. And it took me about 15 minutes, but I went to pee at one point, so maybe 13 or 14 minutes, tops. Now, all I have to do is quadruple my current output, and I'm home-free. Then, all I have to do is manage the same feat every single fucking day in November.

Doubtful.

I have a very strong suspicion that this would be an easier feat if I wrote fiction. Like a real novel. I've never really tried that, but I don't think I'd be very good at it. And I don't want to write something that has no real hope of being at least readable.

Only 543 now. Damn.

I do have some ideas for fictional stories. There are even a couple that I've had rattling around in my head since I was a kid. I even have a couple of opening sentences waiting at the ready for a story to back them up. I started one, once. It's probably in one of my notebooks around here somewhere. I only remember the first sentence.

Gary knew a flying saucer when he saw one.

Ulysses?

Nope, too dated.

Conan?

Ugh. Too much strength, and my character would not be gay. He would also wear a shirt at all times.

I dunno don't know do not know. Notice how cleverly I just increased my word count? Pretty subtle, I know.

Only 698?!?

Fuck. Not even halfway there.

I kind of think that writing this novel in blog format would be cheating. I'm not saying that I won't do it that way, I'm just saying that the idea doesn't seem quite legitimate. Kind of like when LaptopGirl asked if she could convert one of her existing screenplays to novel format. That, of course, would definitely be cheating.

See, I think that we're supposed to write new stuff. And, I get the impression, it's supposed to be stuff that we wouldn't be writing anyway. Like, it's supposed to be writing that we do specifically for this nanowrimo thingy. That's why I think the blog thing would be cheating. I already write 4,000 words every month, adding 46,000 more wouldn't be that great of a challenge. All I'd have to do is let the crazy thoughts back out of the bottles.

Would that be worth it? No way. Not even for a Pulitzer.

I was thinking about this for a while last night, because sleep was certainly out of the question. At about 3:30 in the morning, I had an actual good idea. Me, of all people. I think that, if I end up participating in this thing, the novel I write will be a direct result of that idea. So that means that I'm not going to say what my idea was so nobody steals it.

Muhaha.

Still only 928 words. I don't see how I could possible make it to my goal tonight. It's almost time to start checking my email every 10 seconds, and I can't be expected to write and do that at the same time.

I think that, tonight, I should stop at 1000 words. That's a nice round number. Wait, I guess that's actually an even number. Maybe, instead, I will stop at 999.

Six Years ago...
How have you changed since 2001?

1.) How old were you?
184

2.) Where did you go to school?
School of Hard Knocks.

3) Where did you work?
Started the year as an independent, finished the year with a regular job.

4.) Where did you live?
Same place I live now, Georgewardsville, Indiana.

5.) Where did you hang out?
Back then? Either at home or at Bailey's in Clarksville.

6.) Did you wear glasses?
Yes.

7.) Who was your best friend?
I probably hung out with my cousin Jeff more than anyone else.

8.) Haw many tattoos did you have?
None.

9.) How many piercing did you have?
None.

10.) What car did you drive?
1993 Dodge Intrepid, 1985 Toyota Pickup, 1985 Chevy MOnte Carlo SS.

11.) Had you been to a real party?
What a stupid question. Of course.

12.) Had You had your heart broken?
You mean by then, or during that year. If the former, then yes. If the latter, then no.

13.) Single/Taken/Married/Divorced?
Divorced.

14.)Any Kids?
Depends on how you count them.

-------------3 years ago----------since 2004?

1.) How old were you?
852

2.) Where did you go to school?
School of Hard Knocks - getting my doctorate.

3.) Where did you work?
Same real job I had in 2001.

4.) Where did you live?
Same house I've had since 1999.

5).Where did you hang out?
Rich O's.

6.) Did you wear glasses?
Yes.

7.) Who were your best friend(s):
LaptopGirl, SassyGirl, MisunderstoodGirl.

8.) How many tattoos did you have?
Zero.

9.) How many piercing did you have?
Zero.

10) What car did you drive?
Same three as before.

11) Had your heart broken?
Yes.

12.) Single/Taken/Married/Divorced:
Still divorced, somewhat taken.

13.) Any Kids?
Still depends on how you count them.

--------------------Today--------------------

1.) How old are you?
8

2.) Where do you work?
Same place.

3.) Where do you live?
Same house.

4.) Do you wear glasses?
Same eyes. New glasses though.

5) Who are your close friends?
RockGirl

6.) Do you talk to your old friends?
Yes.

7) How many piercing do you have?
Still zero.

8.) How many tattoos?
Still zero.

9.) What kind of car do you have?
Still the same three.

10.) Has your heart been broken?
Still broken from before.

11)Single/Taken/Married/Divorced:
Still divorced. Looking.

12.)Any Kids?
Still depends.

I was wondering, what's the most important piece of advice I could give to anyone starting their own blog?

I didn't have to wonder for very long. The answer is obvious. At least now it is. I wish it had been obvious to me, back when I first started.

Keep it anonymous.

Don't let it be traceable back to you.

Don't tell your family where your blog is, and don't tell your friends where it is. Because, if you tell anyone where it is, they will read it. At first, you might think that you'd want these people to read it. You'll probably write some things that you're really proud of. You'll probably write some things that you want to say out loud, but which you are unable or unwilling to say out loud.

It will be very tempting. You must resist that temptation. I wish, with all my heart, that I'd resisted that temptation. Things would be very different now, if only I'd realized the obvious, back when I first started.

Back before it was too late.

I think that things went pretty well. Not as well as I'd dared to hope, but much better than they could have gone.

It could have been disastrous, but it wasn't. It could have been fantastic, but it wasn't.

It was normal. I was normal. Maybe even better than normal.

Imagine that. Me, normal.

I'll admit that this being normal crap is, and always has been, Plan B. But I've got to pick from the choices made available to me. So Plan B it is. Plan A would be seen as an act of sheer desperation, and so I'm thankful that it's never come to that.

Quite.

Yet.

Also, I'm in a good mood now.

Imagine that. Me, in a good mood. For a real reason instead of some trumped-up bullshit.

Wow.

Tonight I looked through my photo album for a certain picture. I never did find it, and so I fear that it's in South Dakota, but I did find a few that were worth posting. So long as I don't care about the things I post being interesting. Plus, this counts as an entry for today. So, ha ha!.

I took that picture in the cafeteria at school, in 7th grade. On the left was FoxyGirl, my first love. Her friends were quite cute, too.

In the 8th grade, I'd completely gotten over FoxyGirl, and UFOGirl was my new obsession. She's the one on the left.

This picture has nothing to do with the previous two pictures. I've just always thought it was funny. That's my sister Dina. I still think of her with huge 80s hair like that. Also, when I was a kid, I didn't think that gay guys really existed. I thought they were just something that adults made up to scare little children. Like the boogie-man and Jesus. By the time I'd reached adulthood, I'd begun to suspect that gay men might actually exist. This picture provided absolute proof.

I really wish I could take credit for the title of this entry. But I can't. I got it from my sister Neisha. It's really quite a clever word though. And it describes me much more effectively than musically challenged. That term being all my brain could come up with.

Anyway, I've got this guitar. It used to belong to SassyGirl, and before she moved away she gave it to me. The theory being that I'd pick it up every now and then. As opposed to what I actually did, which was lean it against a wall for a year.

I guess that after my nephew was killed, that's when I became more interested in the guitar. Cory's friends included a lot of musicians, and between the funeral and the couple of benefit performances I've heard his friends give, I've heard more acoustic guitar playing over the last three months than I'd heard in my entire life before the accident.

Plus, I got some of Cory's guitar picks. And what else do you need besides a guitar and a pick?

That's where the word guitarded becomes relevant.

I think I might be tone deaf or something. I tune that stupid guitar and then, 10 seconds later, it sounds out of tune again. Sometimes I just cannot tell if a tone is higher or lower than the one I'm comparing it to. I have to think that this type of tonal perception would be a handy thing to have, if a person wanted to do anything with a guitar besides scare cats.

I've been plowing forward anyway. I had Neisha loan me some of Cory's old beginner books. Waaaaaay too advanced for me, I soon found out. So I went to this music store in Clarksville and asked the dude for the most basic guitar book he had. He recommended one that came with a companion DVD. I've been messing around with the book and the DVD for a week or so now, and I've only reinforced my opinion that I'm guitarded.

I can't seem to get the strumming right. My downstrokes are okay I suppose. I hit the strings I'm aiming at, and sometimes I hit a bonus string or two. So that's cool, maybe. My upstrokes suck though. I get my pick snagged on the bottom string, and then I kind of jump over the next string or two on the way up.

I asked MusicalYuppieDude about this today. He suggested that I try turning my wrist counter-clockwise as I strum upwards. Then turn it clockwise as I strum downwards. Sounds like a lot of work to me.

But strumming isn't my biggest problem. Nope, my biggest problem is trying to contort the fingers of my left hand into the various claws needed to make the chords that the books tell me to make. I'm pretty sure that I'm doing something wrong at the most basic level. I can't even get close to most of the finger positions diagrammed. And then, even if I do, actually applying pressure to the strings? Ha, very funny.

And then there's that whole counting to four thing. Don't even get me started on that.

A while back I wrote about random hot girls. And how much I like them. How they're my favorites.

Well, today I have a new favorite kind of girl. This group is not really a replacement for the random hot girl group, more like a specific subset.

See, today it's been raining. I guess that this rain caught a lot of people off-guard. I, for one, was lucky brilliant enough to be prepared. My umbrella was in my laptop bag.

Anyway, this rain caught people unprepared.

So people got wet.

Random hot girls got wet.

People have been running down the sidewalks. To their cars, to their places of work, to restaurants, wherever.

People are running.

And they're wet.

Random hot girls are running. And they're wet.

Random wet hot running girls are my new favorites.

You know what would have been really cool, back when I was about 14?

If aliens would have came and beamed me up to their spaceship.

I used to daydream about that, back in junior high. The aliens would come and kidnap me and this one cute girl I had a major crush on. Then they'd make us have sex so they could study us.

Of course I'd pretend that I was against the whole thing. But secretly I'd be grateful for the aliens and their twisted obsession with watching teenaged humans have sex. I'd be grateful, of course, because it would mean that I got to have sex with that cute girl.

And, if she didn't like that we had to have sex, I could just say, "Sorry, it's not my idea. It's these damn aliens. Take your pants off."

And then, after a while, she'd come to love me and actually look forward to all the sex. Then we'd somehow kill the aliens and steal their spaceship and explore the universe together. And have lots of sex, of course.

I know, this is a weird entry.