04/04/2004 - 2:29 p.m. | i break it down

When your life becomes so intertwined with others', it becomes kind of hard to keep their privacy. I'm not even sure if I need to or not, but it seems like the best thing to do. On Friday morning, noon almost exactly on the dot, I was sleeping off any memory of crossing the guard that morning when there was a knock on my door. I figured someone needed a stapler because that's pretty much the only reason anyone knocks on my door. I was wrong.

So began the emotional whirlwind, at least as I experienced it. I am not by nature an unsympathetic person, even if it may often times seem like it, so I did my best to comfort. Listening would come later, maybe would even go to a person made better for the job, but I can at least fill in for a human presence until someone better qualified comes along. I can "ape the motions of a sensitive human being," as the song goes. Like I said, this is not the time for words, and besides, words rarely - if ever - actually help in times like these. Time helps, and that's hardly ever helpful to know, as those first few hours drag by with horrifying slowness, and pretty much every song you hear is gonna bring pain. Hell, let's not be trite; everything you see, hear, or do wil most likely bring pain. So you hug and make tea and just try make 'em know that there are still people out there on their side, on both sides even, whatever.

Meanwhile, as an added difficulty, Brytne's wallet had gone missing, and Kyle may or may not have accidentally thrown it away at Grainger, so we had to leave things behind for a while and try to sort this mess out. I felt like some sort of weird... archangel or something. Hard to explain. Maybe I just the like the idea of having black wings. Rather than a maroon station wagon, I mean. We drove back to Brytne's. No dice. Then off to Grainger for searching and asking around. No luck there either. The garbage cans were empty. I was only seconds away from dumpster diving (after calculating that once I did leap in, it would probably only take me a few tries - and possibly a ladder - for me to get out), but as seems to be the rule these days, it was at the last place we looked. Allen Wittman's. Who, incidentally, rolled up on a unicycle wearing special unicycle gloves. I swear, Satan, you've got to stop messing with me like that.

Arg - forgot about Daylight Savings. It is now 1:29, and I feel an hour's worth more miserable that I have wasted the day. OK, not really. Back home then, to where the mood is all creepy and foglike - but different at least! - to exchange looks and try and think of exuses to get out of the house. I'm sorry; I've always been sort of a loner on these things, and I don't entirely understand people who aren't. My fault. Anyway, after a while (I showered?), it was off to guard the cross, and the contrast was just weird. All the little kids were all happy, and I think it was beach day or something for one of the classes, so the cute girl was wearing a little sun hat or something. I sincerely hope a) she dresses herself and b) that my own theoretical daughter will be so cool.

I lost myself in a book for a few hours and went to pick up some more meds. I thought there was a girl on the other side of the counter and that the guy was talking to her about Zoloft as well, and then I could say something hilarious about us being crazy together, but then there was no girl there, and he may have been talking to me the whole time, and I just kind of blew him off, thus prolly confirming to him that if anything I need lots more pills. Justin called and said he'd be here around 4, so we could go eat or something, but he had pressing matters (I'm not sure what they were, but in my mind's eye, I picture him shoving pine cones up his butt) to attend to, so it was more lik 5:30.

We hit Mandarin Wok (so did Lisa Yung, but she had her Asians with her, and we were the only white people there, so I can't expect a warm welcome), and he really wanted that fried tofu dish that they do not list on the menu in English. I was pretty sure if was either 239 or 329. Guess it was 329. Oops. Turns out my guess did have tofu in it, though. Tofu and soybeans in it (which is more or less the same thing, plus or minus coagulation), meaning it had roughly the same amount of flavor as paste. That's why you go with something safe like Americanized fried rice! That you paid extra to get all of the meat in it, at which point you systematically pick all of the meat out of it. Maybe I just like a challenge.

For a while, we had been desperately trying to get a parking spot in this one lot, Justin circling threateningly in the Bronco Dos, and me supposedly in charge of guarding any spot that did open up so that he would have time to circle back to it. Apparently Justin has much more respect for my brute strength (or much less respect for the value of my life) than I thought because I sure as fuck am not going to stand up to some big ass silver bean SUV. Once he did find one, and with not too long to spare before HELLBOY, he stopped for bubble tea. Zoom zoom. Throughout the walk back, I veered dangerously close to him on my bike and then told him how safe I was. Finally, in some back alley, right in front of two confused Indian guys ("What, they decided to go gay right now?") we tried riding on my bike together at the same time. Horrible failure. Let's never speak of it again.

Made it to Hellboy with little time to spare. Dank and company were already there. Luckily, I did catch the two movie previews that may well prove that Hollywood has run out of ideas. I'm not sure if it's like this at all theatres, but the previews they show tend to vary on the type of audience think is watching. Apparently Hellboy was expected to bring out a very African American audience, because we had previews for Soul Plane and White Chicks, which takes the old standard of a guy dressing up as a woman and spins it around on its face! Two black guys dressing up as two white chicks!! Give them the Oscar now, Academy! Contest over!

Throughout the movie, Dank kept raising his arms in disbelief at the FBI chief who was such a blatant asshole to Hellboy for no apparent reason and who then suddenly became his best friend. I think sometimes people forget. You have to flip off the "credulity" switch to watch movies like this. Justin mostly liked the dramatic scene where Hellboy ripped off his horns. It was inspiring, I must say. I myself liked the Wil Wheaton clone (the real one being occupied with such projects as "Additional Voice" in Brother Bear) and still cannot understand how people (e.g. Yousaf) can find Selma Blair attractive.

I dropped off Justin and then came home and tried to decide what to do with myself. I really don't know what I want out of my social life. Kyle was already asleep (and would be for the next 12+ hours), so I decided to take a little nap, and that quickly evolved into 11 hours of sleeping, waking only to remove my pants because I am just so God damn sexy you can't even believe.

PEOPLE KEEP SAYING MY ENTRIES ARE TOO LONG I THINK YOUR BRAINS ARE JUST TOO SHORT LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

And just think: I would be writing about Saturday now, too, but I have to go shower. Thank heaven for my active lifestyle, yes?