01/24/2004 - 3:31 a.m. | i was there when you were young and strong and perverted

I live my life for everything past the daylight hours. I woke up at 9:30 to stumble to class, and following the ride there, I felt pretty lucid... that is, until the teacher started to talk. I guess I like the cognitive part of psych more than the biological, and that's pretty much all there is in BaM. Add in the fact that I'd already read it before, and I was drifting fast. Came back home, slept 'til 1:30, and whiled away my hours not showering, playing UO (I did pick up the shitpile a little bit), and sorting through my old CDs of MP3s. I swear to God that, even a matter of a couple of years ago, I intentionally listened to almost entirely bad music. There are almost no songs from these old lists that I actually really do like. It's scary. So much has changed. Now I listen to music I like and that nobody else does. Arg.

At 4, Lisa convinced me to walk her to downtown Champaign. I very nearly thought I had found a copy of "The Babysitters' Club Mystery Board Game," but it turns out it was just the cover. And the more I think about it, the more I think I should have taken and/or framed it. Meanwhile, I need to investigate the very hidden Asian food store right near Lisa's. While Lis purused the artwork, I sort of half-assedly looked at jewelry. There's this part of me that always sort of wants something - a ring or necklace or bracelet or something, but it's all way too girly for me. After much thought, Lisa finally decided on what what her (and my) favorite painting, even if it was sort of expensive. I wish I had taste (he says as he glances at his Avril posters).

After I warmed up and watched "The Osbournes" for a bit, I came back home to finally shower. So fresh and so clean, clean, I waited for Dank to pick me up so we could go see TORQUE. Unfortunately, since they picked me up, I wasn't able to get shotgun and was therefore crammed in the backseat in the middle of two Bashes. I swear to God my legs were going numb, and no damn Disney songs were going to help that. If you apply my... bizarre set of standards to it, I'm pretty sure that Torque was the best movie ever. The camera work was so elaborate and confusing that I was always either dizzy or unsure of what had just happened, and what I did understand was usually horribly insane. My top three moments were as follows: 1) When Ice Cube says, "Well, ain't that ironic!" See, because this guy was trying to kill him, but then he got himself got killed instead. 2) A motorcycle with a Rolls Royce jet engine inside of it, so that it can go "zero to 200 in ten seconds." Even if we ignore all the engineering impossibilites of this, there is still the chase scene. Car windows exploding, people being knocked over, and yes, that one lady's skirt being blown up to reveal her panties. Good thing she was wearing the sexy black ones and not her PMS granny pantines, eh?

After some time killing (and another none too comfy ride back), Spritz and I headed towards Eric Szczesniak's (I really should learn how to spell his name, shouldn't I?) for a party. We stopped at the gas station for water and Bubble Tape (guess who got which!), but we timed it just right to end up in the Slowest Line Ever. It was all these Asian guys in leather jackets, and the one at the front kept buying lottery tickets and not moving while he scratched them out to see if he had one. Good thing my standard operations are 1) patience and 2) amusement. But if we ever make it to step three! Oh, man!

This was the most crowded party yet, and that's not entirely a good quality. It was like moving around at a concert to get anywhere, and so, SO many people smelled like B.O. I didn't know too many people, except winners like Marty McCormick, but I seriously don't go there to meet people. It's more like a soaking up process. Of environment and experience. I'm like Sponge. I have this tendency of spacing off and dancing absent-mindedly, which I suppose is sort of embarrassing. I'm sort of silly, you see. Not intentionally, really. It just sort of ends up that way. I don't really take myself seriously, so why would I present signals that would make other people do so? I'm just goofy old Nate, never more than a friend by nature. Unfortunate? Maybe. I haven't decided. At least they played "Milkshake" like thirty times. Michelle and Imran stopped by, so I at least had someone to make fun of people with while Spritz was off peeing on windows every ten minutes and cursing his miserably existence. Or at least how he figures it to be. Meanwhile, this one guy kept asking everyone to slap him as hard as they could, and I talked to some redhaired British guy about how he went to this party instead of getting laid. I was sympathetic. Then he went on to talk about some liquor store ("the size of fuckin' Sam's Club man") that didn't have whatever specific British alcohol he enjoyed. Again, I was sympathetic.

I honestly do have some little kink in my system. So, this girl came into the party, and she was short and pretty cute, and from the get-go, she was checking me out the whole time. Now, listen - I don't put much stock in this sort of thing unless it really is noticeable. I mean, everyone looks around all the time, and I do fall into the line of sight occasionally, so I will chalk most things up to accident, but this girl was definitely checking me out. So, I responded in kind. But I can't seem to get anywhere past looks. I mean, even as she was dancing with some guy who did have the balls to just go up and talk to her, she kept shooting me glances (and NOT 'cause I was staring! She started it!) and she would smile at me and junk. But, there is some wrong wiring, and even if I am like 100% sure a girl is interested in me, I can't do anything about it. It just seems so... rude, I guess. And I know it's how the system works. Guys hassle girls, girls reject guys, natural selection and all that, but I just can't cooperate with that. The dice even told me to be confident tonight, and I just couldn't. It seems so sleazy, no matter what my intentions may be. Anyway, didn't do anything, even as she tossed me a final desperate look as she left with her friends. And I had half a mind - more than half, actually, because I actually started to chase her down - to at least say hello and ask for her number or give her mine, but Spritz called, and I took it as fate, and that's it for me. Maybe next year. But man, one of my shoelaces got torn apart, and it's awful! The funny thing about my medication is that it doesn't really make me feel any more confident. It just makes me feel OK about not being confident. And let's not forget the immunity to alcohol. Or the psychological effects, at least. Even if my face goes numb or some shit, I still am entirely conscious of what I'm doing or saying. Sometimes I try to blend in a little. It helps.

Spritz was, uh, pretty much smashed and started acting like characters in UO do when they drink, much to my nerdy amusement. We are quite the pseudo-gay couple, dancing together and walking arm-in-arm and all that shit. We stopped at Dank's so Spritz could get some water, and I ended up watching a good portion of this movie with Lisa Kudrow and Damon Wayans. And I thought Torque was lousy. Everyone except Dank was trying to be all snobby about Torque, but man - this was bad without even being funny. It's one thing when a movie knows that it's stupid. When it actually thinks it's being clever, that's when I draw the line. Spritz had collapsed on Dank's bed, and I tried to lug him home, singing "Lean on Me" to keep spirits up, but as soon as he got to the couch (at Dank's), he plopped down, and that was it. Weird walking home alone.

And once again, the police are called on us. And once again, it is practically dead silent here. Spritz was playing some music, I guess, but it wasn't really all that loud, and Kyle and Brytne are asleep, and I've been back ten minutes, so yeah... Damn trolls. I guess it's a good thing Spritz didn't come home because while I am entirely functional, he would probably yell, "HIC!" and pantomime throwing up on the officer's feet. Not that I love him any less for it.