03/18/2004 - 1:25 a.m. | nervous guy

I am just not prepared to write this yet. "In the way you cross you legs / In the way my right hand shakes / I can see how this thing is gonna end." Sorry, I'm not actually feeling particularly negative, but it's still fun to be a little subversive, isn't it? I still have that darn whooping cough, but at least the phlegm level has decreased some. And like ten pounds of body mass with it. I guess my body still thought I was pretty sick today, though, because it did not let me cross the guard. I woke up and figured it was maybe seven, seven fifteen, somewhere around there. 11:30. Well, darn it all to heck then! So much for the day. Instead, more music videos and more bad video games with whoever was around at the time. I was originally destroying Kyle in the randomness that is "Mortal Kombat 3," but the Devil decided to rub it in and just make him better at everything than me. Darn Lucifer. Too bad he is, uh, "too sick" to take his test today, hmmm?

What type of psychotic person pounds on the bathroom door multiple times (forcing you out of what may well have been the perfect shower) to tell you that a) they have to pee and b) they can hold it? Such is Michelle. So quickly that you wouldn't believe, it was already time to guard the cross in the afternoon. Because there were so many other opportunites afforded her, Michelle came along. I am quite sure she had a blast. I guess she's taken it upon herself to become this big practical joker or something because she saw a worm on the ground, and she said that we should take it and stick it somewhere in the apartment to freak people out. I was not so sure about the level of freaking out my current roommates would be experiencing to a lowly worm (now, if we could get tubgirl to sit on one of their keyboards, that might be worth something!), but who am I to kill joy? Turns out that Kyle was actually at his computer at the time, though, so Shelly just threw the worm on his shoulder without him noticing. With absolutely no appreciation of the subtle, she immediately began cracking up, which freaked out poor, paranoid Kyle and made him crazy for a couple of hours.

And so began the drinking. Happy Official St. Patrick's Day this time, OK? Anything for an excuse to get smashed during daylight hours. Cranberry juice and gin tastes like nature. Although there was much stalling and shoe tossing, we eventually did get ourselves out the door for the Free the Children poster meeting. Michelle is a sloppy drunk, falling over and cackling at shit. My favorite kind, really, but not great for the anti-poverty meetings. We did eventually bang out some ideas, but this club is not an easy sell at all. I mean, on paper, everyone loves freed children, but who honestly thinks about getting right down to freeing the little snots? Not Allen Wittman, certainly, as he wasn't there, no doubt out unicycling his own sort of freedom. Freedom from ever attracting any woman in her right mind ever. Then again, weird staring girl from last time was there, and she kept trying to play footsie, and I cannot believe I said that because it's totally fifth grade. Why do I attract the winners?

Speaking of, I've been getting loads of free advice about this Sara/Sarah thing. Michelle says I should wait weeks until I try calling again, but then Michelle is pretty much everything I hate about modern dating rituals, so we'll just shove her towards the back. In my paranoid little mindscheme, I always figured dating went like this: You ask the girl for her number. If she says yes, that means she would like to see you again. If she says no, she would not. Then you call her and make plans and blah blah blah. All that. According to the Wetzlerian perspective, however, you give your phone number out to everybody, even if they are a disgusting ogre beast (e.g. me) and then you never, ever return calls. How silly of me to think for a moment that a woman wouldn't be passive-aggressive and lead perspective suitors on. "Or," she says brightly, "maybe she's just shy!" Well, I'm sorry, all right, and maybe more than a little desperate, but I have to believe that some goodness still lingers in the world. I am going to try calling tomorrow. No messages. Either she's there or not. And I am going to ask her out for bubble tea or some shit, and all of you fuckers with your Rules can just go to hell. I can't stand it. I need confrontation. I cannot function in the confines of this system. It's all this damned if you do/don't nonsense, and I can't take it. "Well, if you call her, then you're desperate and that's a turn-off and she'll think you weak and gross and awful." "But then obviously she would never call either and then nobody calls ever, and I die alone in a cardbox without my Hobo Queen." No. And if that's what it does take to be with somebody, fuck it. I am much happier alone, occasionally dancing with someone too drunk to recognize the horror that is my blotchy, scarred face.

Today's top headline: "Germany warns 'Passion' may fan anti-Semitism." I did not bother to read the article, but I am sure at least one person says, "And we know anti-Semitism!" I managed to make it all the way through "American Idol," entirely through amazing willpower and nonstop eating, and then I crashed for a couple hours, which means I should rightly be up 'til like 10:30 now, but I am going to try and break the chain and heal some... Although I am not entirely sure I believe in it, it turns out that I am really fascinated by a lot of weird mysticism shit. I mean, there's the palm reading, for one, but that's obviously been designed as a way for guys to meets girls and touch their hands a lot creepily creepily creepily. But I am also really curious about hypnosis, too. I always look at the eBay listings for these really bizarre things ("Travel Forward in Time!") and contemplate giving them a shot. I even offered to buy Shelly a breast enlargement CD just to see if it could work, but apparently she is "happy" with the size of her bosom. Spritz has bigger boobs, is what I say! Ha! I guess I shouldn't nickel and dime away all my money on stupid junk when there are some things I really want or need, but if I were designed perfectly, I wouldn't need hypnosis CDs in the first place.