12/29/2003 - 1:43 a.m. | your paragraph structure is atrocious

Tomorrow I'm embarking on what is becoming my annual New Year's road trip. This is all fine and good except that I have to be out the door by like 8:30 tomorrow, and I'm a good 3.something days behind. Therefore, I must scoot. And look up like ten things on IMDB. And a poster and some CDs. And check some auctions.

OK, first the .something. I can't believe I forgot to mention this in the first place. Yesterday, while at Wal-mart with my mom, I ran into Ryan Savage, the tall, awkward, lanky kid I used to sort of kinda spend time with when I was younger. By which I mean make fun of. Anyway, he has not changed much except for his HUGE SIDEBURNS. Not only are they long, they are bushy as all hell! He's getting the same degree as my mom, and he didn't look at me even once. I must be too hardcore punk for him? He still works at Subway and his vacant girlfriend was with him (the one I assume he called "the one" whenever ago). Later on, saw Jeff Schwegan (pretend that's right), the big, sort of slow ghetto delite guy in my class. Now, listen. There were loads and loads of reasonably cute girls that were in my class at Serena, and I never run into a damn one of them. Something's gotta change. OK!

Luckily for me, Saturday wasn't too damn interesting to begin with. Woke up and started watching this horrible, horrible movie on TNT. Like, you know how they show the same movie over and over whenever they get the rights to it? Yeah, this was a one time deal for old Only You. Marisa Tomei is fine and all (must start calling people "fine," you see), but a whole pile of her ass can't make a whole pile of ass any better. And still I watched a large percentage of it. MAMA MIA!

Read, read, read, blah, blah, blah, shower, shower, act pissy for a while, and so on. The pissiness I cannot explain entirely. Just hate the system or some shit. Riiight. Apparently, when I come online after three days, everyone wants to friggin' talk to me. When I'm around all the time, big pile of baby mice. Noted. Let's rain some parades, all right?

Anyway, we went to dinner at this new place. I dunno - it was all pretty "eh" for me. Guster along the way was good. But our table was in a spot where there really shouldn't have been a table, so people were swirling around us all night. Once again thanks to my extensive ebay knowledge, I can know identify certain touch lamp models by sight. I made my mom run over and touch it. Then related the price. My brain is much less wasted than yours. Anyway, my tortellini was fairly balls. The worst part was that the hostess was this troll in a Christmas tree sweater who just kept roaming around the floor and sticking her nose where it didn't belong, so I kept making jokes about riddles and how fire was her worst fear. I am going to write them a letter (illustrations included). Actually, she reminded me a lot of Harve, which reminded me a lot of the factory, which reminded me of my top secret plan to become confident in all aspects of my life. I will share once it undoubtedly fails.

I helped the drunks navigate the so-called "internet jukebox" and then made my way down the path myself. We went to a different bar (my parents, Tina, and myself) and yeah. I was carded and then made an exception. Funny how knowing people works. Personally, I like the drinks where you mix a lot of stupid fruity shit together until you are too confused to understand what it is you are drinking. And wine. Anyway, Kelly came in (my cousin-in-law) and we all more or less screamed baby names at here until she ran out an hour later. I think "Omar" or "Helga" ("Hortence?") are lovely. No one agrees. Meanwhile, my dad, not interested in babies, more interested in... stupid weird shit like me, pointed out the classy couple wearing Wisconsin bar sweatshirts, leading me to my brand new fashion statement - t-shirts from really obscure bars across the country. "I had a swig at Nig's" tops my list for now. Meanwhile, we both giggled at this poster, which I'm not sure you norms would find funny or not? Anyway, I would really like it now, but not the version they have because that's the real thing and turns out costing over $500. God damn cultural elite of LaSalle-Peru. I don't know how you can be so snooty when you are living in our backwards little shitpile. Yes, you are the cream of the crop of Podunk, USA. WTFG. Mom toppled over. She says she tripped. I say hilarious.

Creepy late night walk. Good thing Mom wore a reflector on her hat. Slept early, up... not as early. Mom went to Chicago and Dad to his dad's, so I was stuck alone. In times of crisis, one only need watch four hours of billards on ESPN. Namely, trick shot competitions. I can't even begin to describe how damn happy that made me. Now, that's a sport, fellas! Once it finally ended, I went into Sheridan proper to rent me up some good movies: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and Old School. I haven't watched the latter yet, and while the former was not a complete disappointment, it could've been so much more. It's such a good idea. Guess I need to read the comic. Er - "graphic novel." Justin called about then, and we made yet another attempt to eat at Petey's Cantina.

Another failed attempt, I might add. Closed on Sundays. Why do you mock us, cruel Kali? KALI!!!!! Kali being the god of death for... some group? Jesuits? Nevermind. We battled more mutants for cheap movies in the bin at Wal-mart (I still wants me Josie) and then off to R Place in defeat. I am so bad at those gun games. Maybe I should become fiercely dedicated to mastering their art. Eh. I keep getting the feeling that people are looking at me. Like this one girl at the booth next to ours kept glancing at me. Scary shit. Then he recalls the hair? Almost nudged my self-esteem a notch up there. Can't have that. WARZAID was broken. What kind of horse shit is that?

Unfortunately, I'm not even making an effort to explain myself. It's one of those moods, I'm afraid. I keep insisting to everyone that I am New Years and that it simply cannot exist without me. Also, I am where the party is at. I insist that, too. We went to see Stuck On You, which was kind of cute but fell flat in a lot of spots. Not as hilarious as I'd hoped. But! If you do go see it, make note of the statue of the guy reading that Greg Kinnear sits next to. Don't we have the exact same one outside of Grainger? I've even touched that motherfucker's feet. Also, Matt Damon's girlfriend in it was SO, SO CUTE! Her website is balls, but here you go anyway. We arrived just a little early for the movie, but it felt like an enternity because there was a couple in there all alone before we came in, and Justin was in a rather obnoxious, loud mood, and I so bet that guy would've gotten theatre head otherwise, so I felt pretty awful. Then other people came in, and it turned out OK. Incidentally, one of the theatre ads they showed was for this guy's missing lawn gnome. He had a website and a toll free number to call and everything. I'd like to think that's the sort of thing I would do with unlimited money and time. Actually, I'd like to think I'd do it anyway.

Justin and I argued about what he thought the next Will Smith movie was called ("Trobots," my ass!) until a long-lost favorite of mine came back to light. "Who's in the House? (Jesus in the House)" by Father Brian. The CD Chris Jones found walking back to our dorms at IMSA with just the one song on it. A message from God? More like a message about the hilarity of having clergymen rap. I cannot explain in words. You'll just have to listen. I'll leave you with that, I think.