03/15/2004 - 2:53 a.m. | clearly now, i will go sailing no more

Well, Saturday was sort of a downgrade from the night before, I must say. Most of the afternoon was spent doing absolutely nothing. Spritz and I sat around desperately trying to think of something to do. At some point in this process, he threw a pen at my crotch, which bounced off perfect on the tip. This eventually evolved into a game called PenCrotch, where we took turns throwing pens at each other's groins, trying to score a, uh, direct hit. This too, however, evolved into another game, NipplePen, where we would throw pens at one another's chests, trying to make a pen mark on the actual nipple. I'm pretty terrible at it, as I am in most things, but I can still boast that I am the second best at it in the entire world ("I would like to thank God, who gave me such tiny, un-pepperoni-like nipples"), Score is 2-1 right now, and hopefully play will continue in really bizarre situations. Then Spritz watched me play Morrowind :( until Smacko came, and we all started playing shitty Mortal Kombat together. The nice thing about that particular game is that while the games they typically play are based on skill and timing, Mortal Kombat is entirely random and insane and Smacko can win 50% of the games using only low kick. The great equalizer.

We went to the Other Guys concert a bit after 7. Now, please don't think me overly critical or nostalgic or some shit, but I just don't think they were as good as last year. I mean, they could still sing obviously, but sometimes it would sound sort of off or strained or something. It could just be that I am predisposed towards upbeat songs, and they sang a lot of downers. And I'm pretty sure everyone would agree that their little comedic monologues were definitely not up to par. One might even call them downright awkward and/or creepy. At least the Morrow Plots song was still great. I also liked the Back to the Future references while they sang "Earth Angel." And it was pretty cool to see various groups of past Other Guys performing. I really liked the one guy from the 1984ish period who introduced the group; he made awkward work. But then, I guess I'll probably never see him again, hmm? Sad. :( On the walk home, we got stuck almost the entire way behind a leg fetishist's dream. And damn, if she didn't know it herself. And she was with some clod, too. One of the few times when I think that being louder than would be considered polite is sort of a useful thing. A car almost ran us down on the walk back. I believe I will call their number in tomorrow. Clearly, I am simply drunk with power.

Things started off well enough, as they usually do. We came back here to pregame a little before Moosehead. And then a little more because bus schedules changed or some shit. Brytne and I sang what few songs we both actually knew, Kyle and Michelle played foosball, Smacko wandered around while Spritz talked on the phone. We finally got out the door (although Kyle apparently had some bad Malibu in him, which is a great start) and onto the bus. Somehow like ten blocks passed with any of us noticing (Well, Kyle was in pain, Brytne was taking to somebody, Smacko was already gone possibly, and Michelle and I were attempting acrobatics), so we got off on First and ran back to Will's frat on Fourth. What was supposed to be ten bucks per person became ten bucks for our group, and then when nobody paid them, five bucks from me. Because I am such a caring individual like that. While I attempted to choke down the Icehouse that everyone else appeared to be reveling in (I had like a third?), I think I talked to Steve and Branson more than I ever did for our three years together at IMSA. Alcohol, the great equalizer. Because I sure as hell know that I did not get any cooler. We only caught the last bit of the Red Hot Valentines, but they were really good. I remember screaming along all the words to some song, even though I had no idea what it was. Oh yeah, "American Girl." While I was trying to work my way over to Michelle and Brytne or Kyle or somebody, I inadvertently wandered into a mosh pit. Now, there's some hilarity for you. "Hello, sir - I am really enjoying this music!" "Me too, friend! Shall we shove each other as hard as we can?" "Oh yes, let's!" So I just kind of took it and laughed my ridiculous laugh at how retarded this was.

Every time Spritz and I go out with Kyle and Brytne, and they drink, and they get how they get when they drink (Kyle becomes emo, and I know he hates it when I say that, but in this case, it is true, and Brytne just becomes an impulsive cretin more or less), we always swear that we'll never do it again. And yet here we are. Now, of course, please don't think that I hate them all the time or something. They are plenty fine normally. I mean, I love Kyle, of course, and Brytne is very nice (she made us cookies and soup for dinner), and in general, things are good. They are just fucking horrid to be with when they drink. I mean, what could have been an okay party became a lousy time because Shelly and I had to spend pretty much the whole night babysitting them. Incidentally, this is like the first party I've been to Shelly with before, and besides the fact that touched the side of my head for no apparent reason a few times, and she is a good party buddy to have around. I would enjoy being her side-by-side dance partner. Not her actual dance partner, of course, because that is weird and creepy, and somewhere on my list near grinding one's own sister. I don't have a sister, of course, though. Anyway, I don't really want to go into details because they are not my details, even if they have been made my business. This may eventually be marked as the start of the rift. I'm hoping it's nothing that dramatic.

We thought that Kyle had left already and sort of assumed (hoped) that Brytne was with him, and Spritz was sober, so he'd be fine. Michelle, Smacko, and I started the trek back, all of us having to pee pretty badly. Michelle started running towards Altgeld to see if it was unlocked just as a police car turned into the lot right next to us. Oh, dear, I thought. This can't bode well. For whatever reason, though, the officer either thought that Michelle and I hadn't been drinking or weren't underage, so he left us alone, leaving me to my sudden, impulsive thoughts about marshmallows. Smacko was less lucky, I guess because of body language or something, which would have been shit terrible, but the cop was nice and just let us run off and pee. Still, just another reason to at least act normal. And, of course, seconds after leaving, Smacko immediately began twisting the tale into his own amazing bullshit adventure while we peed in ISR. He also started describing some movie he had watched about a grandpa with goggles and a big coat and Fonzie using a time-travelling motorcycle to make some guy kill himself so that Fonzie could get out of Purgatory, which was a bar.

Turns out nobody else had made it home yet, so there was the frantic notion of going to look for them and then ignoring that and crashing in whatever general area we fell in. They did stream in eventually. Spritz and Kyle first, and then a very wet, drunken, miserable Brytne. We all took turns blindly jumping around in "Killer Instinct" while Spritz pummeled the shit out of us. Spritz and I drove Michelle home, and I stopped for tortilla chips and nasty ass salsa con queso because I am a gross fuck. It's weird. Sometimes Spritz can be so gone from the rest of us, and I have no idea how we relate, but then he has his really good periods too where we can talk because I do at least still worry.

Another amusing Smacko anecdote: So, just minutes after I had gone to bed, Spritz heard the door slam or something and came out into the living room. Smacko was gone, so Spritz proceeded to the hallway to see Smacko peeing all over the door of apartment 5. Startled, Smacko whipped around violently and pissed all over himself. Spritz started to question him, but Smacko kinda hunched over and darted back inside, wagging his finger and smiling. He immediately crashed again. I dunno, but that somehow seems really approrpriate. Like, if I had to pick a metaphor for the entire universe, I would almost surely use that.

I had a dream that someone in a pink shirt was being underhanded and evil, but I don't see the connection. A lot of the time, I'll randomly - and certainly not seriously - blame my troubles on God. Like, I'll be late or something, and I'll say, "Well, God hates me enough to make my bike explode once again" or whatever. Anyway, I've decided to take a new route. It's all about me versus the devil. I dunno - we all know how musically inclined I am, but I think it would be really cool to make an album entirely about the devil getting getting in the way of your plans. "I wanted to tell you I love you, but the Devil's in way." OK, I don't know what that is.

I did not wake up very early today, but I did get up in time to see the ending of The Mask, so let's go all 5th grade and Parker Enlow and start obnoxiously yelling quotes at awkward times, all right? SSSSSMOKIN'!! Actually, one reason I wanted to watch was 'cause I remember Cameron Diaz was in it, and for some reason, I thought she was actually sort of pretty at the time. Of course, I was also, like, 9 at the time, so pretty much anything was sort of pretty at the time. Anyway, turns out she was tons less freakishly skinny in the movie, and I think she looks so much better for it. I dunno who decided that the whole jagged look was in, but they are sick fucks. I mean, skinny is all good and nice in my book, but once your face gets all creepy and angular, eat a donut. And I know everyone else has been there, but man - Calista Flockhart used to be so pretty at the start of "Ally McBeal" and then she became this bone zombie. Ugh. Wow - that was a tough trip from Cameron Diaz to her. Shrek -> John Lithgow -> "3rd Rock" -> Wayne Knight -> To Die For -> Casey Affleck -> American Pie 2 -> Mena Suvari -> American Beauty -> Kevin Spacey -> The Usual Suspects -> Stephen Baldwin -> The Flintstones: Viva Rock Vegas -> Jane Krakowski -> "Ally McBeal" I need to improve. I also need to finish this entry, but hope dwindles along that path.

There really wasn't much time before I had to go off to work myself. I showered and scrawled Kyle some notes about how things he would need to know to work my shift, and then it was off to IMPE for 4 hours of card swiping delight. I dunno - I think I make a pretty good little card swiper guy. I mean, not so much that anyone would ever think of me as "Cute IMPE Card Swiper Guy," but I'm at least pleasant looking and friendly, and I kick ass at eye contact. The girl I worked with today spent most of her time reading about lesbians, so I occupied myself with trying to look very happy and not die from dry mouth, which the building is apparently a breeding ground for.

So much for being Mr. Cool. I was trying very hard to follow The Rules and not call Sarah/Sara until my little 2 day time frame of desperation had pissed, but the devil had to intercede once again. I see so many weird people at IMPE - Shaun Roach, Dain Twait from IMSA. They, of course, do not recognize me - I would be shocked if they did - but I am better at that sort of thing. Anyway, so Sarah/Sara came in with her little posse from the other night, and it was sort of weird. I asked how she was, and she sort of just giggled and ran off, and she may or may not have just blown me off when she left, I dunno, but it gets me thinking. Yes, even with the pills it gets me thinking. OK, so it was obviously some sort of embarrassed laugh, right? Now, what would account for that? I can think of two things:

1.) She realized that the cute guy that she herself had approached was less than pleasant looking under the painful fluorescent glow, not to mention that the fucker works at IMPE and is therefore immediately a clod (Everyone just sort of assumes I know how the Illini played today... "They're still playing? Shit, man - I thought it was soccer season!")
2.) She obviously had given me a fake number before and was embarrassed because she thought she would never see me again, and yet here I am. The guilt, the guilt, the guilt.

So, this needs to be rectified somehow, and I hardly think that 3 in the morning is a good place to start, so I will bask in my postulating for a bit.

As soon as my shift ended, I raced over to Freer to take over Kyle's spot. Seems psycho Dave Morin had been awfully suspicious about who Kyle was (dummy didn't give a fake name), but I think I've mostly covered everything in the paper trail. 'Cause Ricky or whatever was still actually there and working; he just wanted somebody down the in the office while he was up watching the sweaty Asians play, but I don't entirely understand why he thought he had to do that, so I just fudged a TL report in his name (with an attempted forgery or two), and it should all unfold quietly. All this so I wouldn't be paid for an extra three hours of work. To keep myself occupied for that last hour or so, I tried to come up with as many songs as I could with state names in the title. I only got about 10 myself, but I guess I don't know enough about emo bands. There is some sort of rule that they name all of their songs are about New England states (stuff like, "I'm Leaving Rhode Island for good... because I don't have a girlfriend"). I believe that the One Minute Wonders first album should have 50 songs, each named for a state. Problem solved.

At least things seem cool on the homefront. Brytne and I watched Memento tonight. I've found the first advantage of being a psych major: Being a bitch about all the little inaccuracies. "He can't be conditioned like that, shithead!" It's still a cool story, though, and I liked the few things the website added to it. Michelle has the special 2-disc edition, but they made it nearly impossible to navigate the special features through some crazy pseudo-psych memory est, so I believe Brytne is still clonking along on that. As for me, I am finally satisfied.