One computer is up and running.

It required reformatting my hard drive, but everything that really needed to be salvaged was salvaged.

Final paper has been turned in, the additional papers required will follow suit tomorrow.

Spent about an hour or so earlier taking in a dress I like, but is now too large on me. I forget how easy it is to adjust clothes, sometimes. I've been putting it off for months, but now it's good to go for a club I'm hitting this weekend.

Speaking of, I'm quite... well, not happy, but a shade lower than happy. Finally got guest-listed for this club, the biggest club in the scene right now. One of my exes, Darkeyes, this is his favorite club. He's been going for, oh, maybe two or three years. I can't remember when I introduced him to it. And I'm finally on the guest-list. I disappear for nearly a year from that club, come back, and I'm sailing past him. He'll never know, probably, but it gives me a warm fuzzy.

And since we're on the topic of warm fuzzies and men...

A different club, last weekend. A man was there who I had made friends with, who was very flattering, decent looking, a good dresser. A bit of a beta bitch, but I wasn't expecting more. That was December.

Anyway, back in December, he flaked on me.

It wouldn't have been anything major. I would've just shrugged and written him off.

But it happened that he flaked on me the very first time I was stepping away from my family since the incident with my father. It was my escape into fantasy land where everything that had happened in the past two weeks didn't exist and I was just going to go to a club with this guy and lose myself on the dance floor.

I got all ready to go and, at something like 840PM (when he was supposed to be picking me up at 9), he calls and says he can't make it, something came up.

Normally, by the by, I don't let other people drive me to the clubs. Nor do I drive other people. I don't like having my location in control or influenced by other people. The only reason I was letting him pick me up and drive us to the club was because I was so stressed and exhausted I didn't want to do it.

I was not quite devastated. But with the weeks I had just gone through, and the subsequent guilt trip that my father tried to lay on me for going out... I was pretty damn crushed.

But I forced myself out anyway. I drove, exhausted, to the club. I danced, I talked, I flirted.

And I saw my flakey date for the evening.

Oh, he was there.

It's just that one of his friends needed a ride as well.

So he gave him my seat.

Instead of simply telling me this, he lied to me.

Didn't really talk to him much after that, though he tried.

We roll around to this last Saturday.

I'm introduced to some guy I hadn't spoken with before, but had seen around, knew who he was. We're out on the smoking patio, talking about Buddhist enlightenment or some such. The December Douchebag rolls up to us to join in the conversation.

And being, well, not well-versed in club etiquette, he does what some people do when they've been going to clubs for a little and need to validate themselves as "clubbier-than-thou".

He starts criticizing the DJ. Starts talking about the song choice and how she spins and generally being "oooh, I know what I'm talking about because I'm scene."

Throughout the course of the evening, this happened a couple more times. I'd be talking to the new guy on the patio, the Douchebag would come up, insert himself, fail to insert, so start in on how scene he was by DJ-bashing.

Just think: if he hadn't pissed me off so badly in December, I would have told him that the man he kept talking to negatively about the DJ and the music was the DJ's boyfriend of several years, and was also a DJ himself.

Whoops.