12/20/2003 - 3:15 a.m. | down with the tubetop

I hadn't intended to stay up and write this, but I feel suddenly compelled for several reasons. First off, I am listening to a cover of a Liz Phair song by Dakota Smith, and I felt you all should really know that. Second, how in God's name did I get on tht list with all those fucking nerds?! What does this imply about me? OK, I know what it implies, but even with my low self-worth, I think I had myself convinced I was at least a different sort of nerd than that. Darn it if I wasn't wrong to all hell and damnation. Third, no one learns anything ever. Even when they say they do, they do not. Or they fool themselves into thinking they have. They have not. I would say that learning requires pain, but upon further reflection it seems like it takes even more than that.

Once again, I nearly missed my doctor's appointment. Good thing Spritz and Kyle woke me up and then were able to drive me there. You don't know how much I appreciate it. Anyway, it was fairly in and out - watch Home Alone, talk to mystery doctor, watch Home Alone, get pills, happy walk home. From there, I dyed my hair and got it cut, but I am not going to describe it to you, instead leaving it as a fun surprise for when you see me next. If ever, I mean. Ho ho ho.

Spritz and I ran some errands - I stopped at IMPE to lie about my schedule and phone number next semester, we got the whole haircut thing done (Mariann was not there, which made me sort of sad and Spritz sort of pissed because I had made him wait so long), lunch at Fazoli's (damn the Christmas music!), Dick's Sporting Goods (for the cock jokes, foosball, and a vain search for snorkeling stuff), Best Buy, home, and tanning.

I read for a while until Kyle had to go to Farm and Fleet (that Blain must be one rich bastard by now) for onesies. Spritz and I tagged along in shrieking doom van. What an interesting place it is, if you want to walk around and look at weird shit and not have the urge to buy anything. Cattle prod? Castration device? You bet! Although, and this is sort of silly, there's this cat scratch device that I would so consider using as a chair next year. Comfy and dramatic! And then some! Back here for a while, dunno, until Kyle went to go pick up Brytne. She was sort of a grump from working 12 hours straight, but her little apple concoction later fixed her right up! We tried to go to Late Nite, but it was closed, so we decided to order a pizza with the Pizza Hut card she had received at work instead. Kyle harangued us into trying the Sicilian pizza, which I must admit looked really good. The picture was deceiving, however, because our $9 pizza was made up of all of eight slices. Bullshit, Pepsico. As soon as I get my word processor from back home, you guys are getting a letter, and I bet I will be getting some free fucking pizza!

Speaking of home, not sure how I am getting there. Dank won't be up there 'til the 27th, Yousaf the 24th, and Spritz is already giving someone else out of the way a ride. Hitchhike perhaps? The diary potential would be endless, as would the possibilty of my untimely end. But those are really one and the same, are they not?

Kyle and Spritz returned to their respective UO caves, leaving Brytne and myself to our bad TV and worse alcohol. Her apple shit gives me a sugar headache, making ass light beer almost desirable. Almost. We danced and yelled at the TV, and she got plenty smashed (see, I am prone to do those things even when stone cold sober... I mean, Steve Austin), and I guess that's mostly it. Oh - I watched all of the episode of "Driven" about Jessica Simpson twice. She has big boobs. So big, in fact, that the Christian music industry would not accept her, even with her vests and tardo jackets. I have to confirm she is a D cup as I had originally thought. Hold on. OK, I rock.

Incidentally, I still swear I am not a misogynist even if ALL of the signs point to yes. So, we have that to contend with. The slow bubbling rage just lurks under the surface, and I'm sure Freud would say that says all sorts of things about me, and he may be right, but that cigar is just one big penis in his mouth, so move on. Just right now I am not ready for the obligation or the subtlety or the ignorance or any of the other stuff I do wrong. Combine that with my typically level of attractingness (This is not a word, but it should be), and you can see why I stand where I stand. Moving on. Good night, angels.