10/13/2003 - 2:24 a.m. | good luck with that

So, I have this new theory that how good your life is is entirely based upon how good of a dancer you are. See, Spritz's life is perfect (as near as I can tell), and he can dance. Shelly apparently can dance, and her life is all rainbow sunshine and happiness as well. I generalize. Meanwhile, I am unanimously "not that bad" of a dancer (I add the italics for emphasis: Yes, I'm actually awful, but everyone tries to spare my feelings), and my life, in turn, is not all that bad. I mean, it isn't great by any means, but I am pretty reasonably content. And the bad dancers? I can only assume they are already dead. I forget what I was talking about. Oh yes, I suck at everything.

I spent most of today watching movies: Dusk 'Till Dawn, Finding Forrester (screaming, "You're the man now, dawg!" followed by any other catchphrase from Mr. Connery I could think of. Won't it be great when his memory starts to slip?), and The Shawshank Redemption. Everyone seems to have serious problems with Anna Paquin, but I think she is pretty in sort of an off way. That is the best one like myself can hope for. By the way, do I overshoot myself? Probably. Actually, I think you would agree. Hm.

I took a break (cough) for a while to, uh, do some junk. I can't remember what, but I don't think it was high priority. Much like putting sheets on my bed. Not a high priority. Anyway, Justin IM'd, and I was getting ready to meet him for bubble tea when Michelle called and asked if I wanted to meet her and Spritz there. Timing is funny.

Bikes are far too fast, and since I promised Justin I'd wait, I sat outside and swung around on the bike rack. I am such a little monkey. He arrived, we got tea, we drank, etc. Spritz left (a "test" tomorrow - psh!), but Michelle decided to come along to Legends to play bingo and study at the same time. I was highly skeptical, but I am more boring than most and provide her fewer distractions. I'm like a pet rock. What an odd thing to say. Anyway, everybody won something this time. Justin got a Halloween placemat and some panties, Lisa got a pinwheel, Michelle got a Bailey's sniffter, and I got jack shit. Wait - that counts as something, right? I have such weird luck with games. Perhaps part of it is mental. If I thought I was gonna win, maybe I could slightly tweak fate a little. Then again, it's probably the dance. Which is why I'm going to take a class. An informal one sooner would be nice (so if you're interested, let me know), but I might toss one on my schedule for next semester. Want to know something sad? Next semester is going to be easier than this one. That's right. I have only one required class, and then it's just me picking interesting or fun shit. Dance, floral design, voice acting, and on and on and on. I will burn in hell for this later on, but I'm all good right now.

There's this creepy guy who comes to Legends alone for bingo every Sunday, middle-aged, sort of tubby, and definitely creepy (reminds of Doughboy sort of). He yells stuff sort of to himself and sort of to anyone around. I caught a bit of his rantings and yelled, "Touchdown!" as is my typical response (congenital brain defects). "How'd you guess his name?" Justin asked. Holy cow. Speaking of clairvoyance, Lisa was apparently on fire this evening as far as predicting bingo numbers go, and she made an :O face every time it happened... which was a lot. Either that or drunk. I leave it up to the fates to decide.

Anyway, so I made eye contact with Creepy, which turns out was a mistake because then he began shouting at me. Something about him not being riotous and his two cards and... whatever. Later on, he starts talking to Michelle, and finding her unattached, begins hitting on her or something. "I'm not a bad guy, if you started dating me. I've done a lot of good things. You're very pretty." I would love to be a pretty girl. The amount of hilarious diary entries would just quadruple. Now I have to make up lies, and then I start bungling them and get caught in traps, and pretty soon the IRS is after me, and here we go again, right? So we flee as soon as we can. Justin and Lisa go to get burritos, and Michelle and I attempt two person biking some more. We've gotten so much better (even though we did almost collide with Justin and Lisa like two minutes later as they were walking out). We prolly went at least 5 blocks; I can even go uphill now. Listen, my talents are few, so just accept this as one, all right? And my tires are possibly flat.

Stopped here to see if anyone was up to work on homework with. Hairless Spritz was up, but not working so much, but we chatted about the trolls downstairs calling the cops on him for having his bass too loud. OK, they have the right to complain, but I really wish they had gone to us first. Anyway, Spritz is pretty pissed now, and he's plotting revenge. Nothing good will come of this. I walked Michelle home and then Spritz and I BS'd for a while about Slim Jim commercials and how the meat product seems to be able to create explosions from what we recall. Riding my bike no-handed really affords a lot more time for dancing. This is especially enjoyable late at night when I can veer about and sing and dance and generally just look like an ass.

Listen, this might come as a shock to you, but I do realize that I am pretty much a spaz. Not to mention a chump. I mean, it's not as though I'm oblivious to the fact, even if most people are generally nice about it and don't really point it out. And while I'm not unhappy this way, I do still sort of wish I were less of a loser to the masses. But, uh, that's really not possible. I wouldn't even know where to begin. I'd have to revamp my whole personality, and I don't think I'm ready to do that. And from there, appearance, and that would cost thousands upon thousands of dollars. And then what? I'd be a college guy or something? Man, I don't know. I just feel like I make people awkward sometimes, and I don't mean to, and I feel bad, so I'm apologizing. I wish I were a good conversationalist, a hottie, a good dancer, if you will. It's just not in me, so stay away if it makes you feel more at ease. I prefer to not have your pity.

By the way, if I'm ever telling you an anecdote or something, and you already read about it in my diary, let me know as soon and gruffly as possible. "I READ IT." That way, I won't have to waste energy retelling an already boring story, and we can get back to our awkward silence, OK? All right.