Wednesday, February 12, 2003. 8:38PM

This log is pretty late. Sorry about that. Though really, I don't know why I have to answer to you people, I mean, I pay for this site, I spend my time writing its content. Very few of you have your own, similar sites. Basically, I do this entirely for your amusement, at no real gain to myself. Though nobody has ever really complained. So I guess the only person I have to blame is myself. Damn I'm an asshole. Fuck me.

Today I went into uni in some vain attempt to finalise my enrollment, but that's not much of a story (when I got there the woman said "the AMS works, go do it from home". So I went home, I'll try it tonight, but I know it won't work). The story comes as I was walking to the train station. At the end of my street this mailman on a motorbike was driving quite fast along the road, which in itself was unusual, but then, straight after came another identical mailman, traveling at the same speed in the same direction. "Woah", I thought, in my most Keanu Reeves voice "Dejavu. They must have changed something in the matrix." I pondered what they had changed for a moment when finally it came to me - my exit. "Shit", my inner monologue screamed "The train". I began to walk a bit more briskly, and as I approached the station I heard the train hoot a few times, two long hoots then three shorter ones (Morse code for MS), then pull off.

I'm trying to think back to last week and what happened there. Nothing really. I was still working (I have now finished working, by the way. Last day was Friday). I remember I cracked it at a few people on the phone on my last day. I hate the people on the phone so much. They were such idiots. I remember this one woman who reckoned she had been given the wrong book (they all reckon they've been given the wrong book) and she didn't want an exchange, or a refund, or anything like that, no, all she wanted was for the girl who did it to be punished. What a bitch. I mean, we give out hundreds of books every day, and I answer hundreds of phone calls, and this one woman bothers to fight her way through the switchboard, and wait on hold, and all that, not for any benefit to herself, but to deliberately make the life of another human being miserable. She's very luck I didn't swear at her.

I went out on Friday, with a few people who I guess are my friends, although really they're more friends of a friend. At least they were, but we've been out quite a few times, and they're all quite decent people, so I guess they are my friends. Two of them are seventeen, and we were in a bar, drinking our drinks (the first drinks I'd had since that night in a previous log where I drank too much - I found out how I broke my nose, by the way. It wasn't on a pot at all, but more climbing up the outside of the staircase and hitting it on the banister, so I'm told), when this woman comes up to us asking for ID. Now, one seventeen year old pulls the old "I haven't got any on me" stunt (which worked, amazingly), but the other one, showing some balls I didn't know he had, pulls out his ID and calmly explains to the woman that although this ID I am showing you says I'm seventeen, I am in fact eighteen and I've spent two weeks arguing with the ID people trying to convince them to put the correct date on there. It worked. What a fuck. I was impressed.

I saw the special on Michael Jackson the other week, which I'm not really going to comment on as I know different people feel different ways about Michael Jackson, but I'm going to say something about the documentor. What a pretentious bastard. He kept doing these meaningful sounding monologues, giving his own opinion about Michael Jackson (which is not really the role of the documentary film maker in my view), but more importantly, he shot all these shots of himself looking concerned, and walking along a beach, and driving his BMW, and worst of all, looking thoughtfully into the sunset. Christ, I say. You want to make a million dollars making a film about Michael Jackson, then make it about Michael Jackson, don't make it about your freaking self.

I had Ed buy www.zeedarteretz.com the other day, so we now have an official type name, on a paid server. This website is fast turning pro. The forums have been up for a while (and eating bandwidth like crocodiles eat jelly), and seem to be somewhat of a success, albeit fairly perverted. This is truly the spring of Zeedar Teretz.

Anyway, that takes us to now. When uni starts I'm going to go after another job, but until then, I'm on holidays, so where ever a girl sits alone at her computer, you should call me (yes you), whenever a drink needs drinking, you should call me, whenever some movies are going unwatched, call me. Yes me. I'm lonely. Call me now.

That's the end. I'll just quote a song lyric to see us home. Hmm... what shall it be,

Girl I got this feeling, deep inside of me. Girl you just don't realize, what you do to me.