01/31/2004 - 2:37 a.m. | i know it might sound weird, but all of these things here are things that disappeared

It's funny how things sort of occur at just the right time to suck. For instance, today's was, I'm guessing (praying?), pretty much the coldest day of the year, and time and again, I was thrust out into it under unusual situations. My inner ear fluid is still frozen, I do believe.

Anyway, seeing how I had a job interview today and how I tend to take these things sort of seriously, I was all set to go to sleep at midnight. 1 tops. But, seeing how I have fucked up, self-defeating tendencies, I instead flew over to Dank's at the first suggestion that we watch GaS. I'm not exactly sure how the logic followed, but it eventually came up that it was so cold that I pretty much had to spend the night, which is fine by me because I get to sleep sooner, and Jared is a much more reliable alarm clock that my Sony Dream Machine, which is a bit of a misnomer, I would say, as it does nothing but destroy my dreams in a burst of horrid static.

Interviews make me a little nervous, so even after GaS when I was exhausted and knew I only had like three hours going for me, I still didn't conk out as early as I should've. It seems 4 in the morning is when I usually start coming up with plans. Last night's was pretty lame, though: I decided I was going to ask Niket and Andy Friedl and maybe Gautum if they could let me know when there is stuff to be out and doing, but it just screams desperation, and I think only you, my loyal readers, need to know about the depths that reaches. Besides, perhaps the fact that they never talk to me already is a clear indication that I am not truly wanted there. Or they don't have my screenname. Whatever.

Jared got me up at 7:30 (I hope I wasn't grumpy - I don't think I was) and I sat contemplating life for a little while. I sort of missed the old sleep-deprived feeling, that indescribable ache behind the eyes and the feeling that this is all sort of scripted, so you can probably just float through unnoticed. And the fact that I can just sort of float into my Scottish dialect and not notice for great lengths of time. And then I start writing poems (which is what the entry after this is) and reciting them in my little dialect, and it's just... strange. I rode home and began fretting over the details of my appearance, not because I am vain so much as I have been taught from sitcoms that job interviews are important, and I should look not like a sleeze. This of course meant showering, and I sure as hell wasn't going out in the -24 weather with wet hair, so I just through some gel on. And if any of you bounce back with the "It's only -24 with windchill" bullshit, I'll just start screaming back at you. Unless I had some sort of crazy windshield suit, I am going to feel the wind, and it is going to make me colder. It's all well and good that it's 8 degrees (except for the wind), but that doesn't make any damn sense. You might as well say that it's 87 out (except that it's not summer yet). Well, OK, that logic is flawed, but yours isn't gonna win no Scattergories games itself, all right? So I ironed. And I think I looked pretty presentable, even if I didn't tuck in. I can't tuck in, all right? It's like cold lunchmeat; I just have to avoid it.

As one who has a pretty good handle on the weather and does not whine excessively or point out the obvious to everyone all about, I myself was still being kicked in the nuts by the cold. Normally it makes me pretty happy, but this is the type of cold that makes trips seem longer and makes me fear death because a cold death would be so much worse than a temperate one. I can't explain the logic behind that either; it's more of a gut instinct. I try to pass warmth from my breath to my hands, and from my hands to my ears, and it does not work very well. So instead I cuss. A lot. A lot a lot a lot.

Once I get to the police station and start aimlessly wandering in an attempt to find where I am supposed to be, I get a little nervous because I have only had one interview, and it was pretty worthless. What if they ask about my car accidents? Or why I want the job or some bullshit? What if I'm not dressed up enough? Did I need a tie? But, as soon as I finally see the lady and notice that she is wearing a craft show kitty sweatshirt, I sort of think things might be all right. Just another bullshit "You already got the job" interview. Fine by me. I start training sometime next week, I guess, and I get my own sign and vest and raincoat and shit. Nate Walsh is a crossing guard! Much love.

Since that took all of seven minutes, I make the somewhat awful trip back home and await for the feeling to return to my appendages. It's getting there, I think.

I sleep for a nice quantity of hours and then soak up some Disney Channel in my jammies. Unfortunately, some prospective apartment renters visited, and I felt highly embarrassed for myself, my roommates, and possible males in general. After a shower, I forage back into the tundra and try to get to work as quickly as possible so as to, you know, not die. God has other plans, though, it seems (He has a plan for everyone you know), and mine seems to be to die of hypothermia. Stupid freaking Huff Hall is locked. I call up IMPE and after being tossed around on hold for a while, they finally say they'll send someone over. In fifteen minutes. Keep in mind they're about a block and a half away. Why don't you just throw me the keys?

So, the sort Matt Maly / Jared Bramer clone comes and lets me, and I have to tell you, my job just gets easier. I mean, there was IMPE first, and that's sort of lousy. Then I got CRCE, and it was pretty much nothing. Three of us were working there after all. Then Kenney, where I do almost nothing. Just get a few signatures, answer questions, whatever. Freer, where I do nothing with a computer. And now Huff, where I sit in this huge gym all alone up in the bleachers while these six guys do their action ballet or whatever. I'm not sure what it was, but it did seem to involve a lot of prancing around and weaponry, so that's the name I came up with.

After reading Jesus' Son (my Christmas gift from Justin) in about half an hour - it was pretty good in some spots, which I underlined if by some strange coincidence you wanted to borrow it and know what I thought were the good parts - I decided to do my usual exploration of the building. Um, Huff is one creepy fucking place. It's just this HUGE abandoned building that all cold and makes random, horrifying noises. The big gym is one thing. I could be fine in their alone. Hell, it would even be sort of entertaining to be alone in a huge gym. I could beat off at the center of the court and pretend I have an audience. Although that's just an idea. The rest of the building is so forbidding, though. I went down into this one room to get a soda, and there were all these big crazy machines. Generators and boilers and crematoriums and shit. So I start walking by, and it waits 'til the perfect moment and goes, "WHOOOOOOOOOSH!" as loudly as possible, so that I ran screaming from the room. And then, when everyone left, and I had to lock up and turn out all the lights, well... I'm sure that is the place that I am destined to die in. I am sure of it.

Came home, ate leftover Chinese food, and screamed random factoids about "Ed" to my roommates who had never even heard of it before. I got dressed to go out to the movies with Dank and Yousaf, but because I was wearing a shirt with a collar, everyone assumed I was on some sort of super secret date. Actually, there have been a series of theories like this, that I am living some sort of double life I refuse to speak of, possibly because this life is so dreary that they figure it couldn't be all I have. Anyway, sadly enough, y'all are wrong. This is what I do. Not that I don't wish it different sometimes.

We went to see You Got Served, which in case you didn't know (because the movie has probably already left theatres by the time I post this) is the one about dance battles. Remember seeing the guy who slides on his forehead? Mmm-hmm. So, the theatre was filled with me, Dank, Yousaf, the Bashes, and pretty much every black person in the county. This wouldn't even really be worthy of mention, except I guess they all came from Stereotype Land because they were all as obnoxious as hell, yelling at each other and having conversations and making loud comments and shit. One girl, swear to God, waited until precisely when the movie started to pull out her cell phone. Thank you. Yousaf sort of seemed like he was in hell, but Dank and I had to revel in it. The movie itself was, of course, pretty damn lame, despite a noble effort by Roger from "Sister, Sister." The thing is, battle dance didn't seem that hard. See, 'cause all it really is is like one really good guy. I mean, they went on and on about how these two guys had the best crew, but it was mostly everyone swaying in the background while the one ripped guy did insane handstands and flips. Sign me up.

I kind of ambled restlessly until I found The Blues Brothers on TV, whereupon I sunk into a nice little rut for a couple of hours. Spritz made me some instant pasta, except it was stale or undercooked or something. And now everyone is asleep, and I have all this unfocused energy. Life marches on.