04/18/2004 - 3:35 a.m. | i stole your stale mt. dew, all right

I keep telling myself, "There is no way you can keep functioning for this long on 90 minutes of sleep," and yet it keeps getting later and later, and here I am at 3:15, about to spend prolly another hour on a diary entry. But, do not misjudge; this is most certainly an uphill battle.

First off, why less than 2 hours of sleep? Well, it's difficult to explain. Or rather, it is and it isn't. I got off of work (after just a brief fleeing to get some tea), and it was late, and I was tired and possibly sick, and I still wanted to get around to making that damn banana bread. For whatever reason my brain made up, I decided that it would probably be easiest to do everything under the influence of a large dose of DXM cough syrup. You know, the kind that makes you crazy and gives you brain lesions or something? I didn't really go through my notes too carefully, but it's somewhere along those lines. So in the process of baking and, uh, baking, I came to the conclusion that it was better to lie in the hallway singing, followed by doing a massive kitchen clean at 3, then.

Right about here, I totally passed out and some stuff happened, but let's carry on.

Michelle and Kyle came over (because Kyle is no longer technically a resident here, see) to do TAM and mostly I just sang until the happiness kicked in, and I started seeing through time and all that. Then I went over to hassle them, and I don't really remember too well. I tried to sit in a styrofoam cooler and broke it, and Michelle kept slapping my ass, but she wouldn't let me slap hers, which I think is totally unfair. I mean, girls touch my chest all the time. Why can't I touch theirs? Not so much that I even want to, but I get bogged down on details/principles/whatever. One thing I clearly do remember before I started somersaulting backwards through history was asking a girl out to dinner. It would seem she said yes. Nate Walsh has his first date in... ever. Ooh - did I mention that another Nate Walsh IM'd me a few days ago? We talked about he we could never meet because if we touched, the Universe would explode or something. Actually, I go with the Timecop theory that we would turn into a big purplish-pink blob, but I guess it will have to remain theory.

So I just kept saying how I really needed to sleep, really did, etc. but I was so not tired. Finally, though, with less than 2 hours 'til I had to get up to cross the guard, I gave it a shot, and it was some of the trippiest sleep I've ever had. The lighting was all weird (in my mind), and the alarm clock sounded like pure insanity like a looping record backwards, and there was a myserious purple wound on my arm, and I was just gone. OK! Time for work!

I don't know where I kept managing to pull energy from, but I did. Early morning was pretty bad, but I gave Beth (Crossing Guard Lady has a name!!!) her banana bread, and she seemed really happy. At least I hope she was. And her daughter with a crush on me was out with us, and that was just awkward because she's trying to get my attention and junk, and you're 12, for God's sake. Just let me be. Ooh!! I forgot to tell you this one! OK, so I will admit that I may be perhaps a little judgemental in my thoughts on people... like, I'll make wild speculations and assume they are true from then on, but that one slow-walking kid I cross recently confirmed everything I thought about him and then some. Thursday afternoon when I was guarding, he comes to the corner with a little package in his hand. Looked like maybe wrapped in tissue, dunno what it was. So, he's crossing, and I'm not expecting a thank you or anything because he doesn't do that shit, when all of a sudden he yells out, "My secret!!!" and clutches the bundle close to his chest. Then, swear to God, he gives the thing a kiss before he finishes crossing. All right, Gollum. You've got me pretty well worked up now.

I drive to work (carefullly! oh so carefully!) and once again pass my time on the little kids' rides, namely the firetruck. I contemplate popping in a quarter, but they've bumped the price up to 50 cents now. Bullshit. Just when they lowered the prices of shit in the vending machine, too. CheezIts or a ride on a big plastic cat. There's a toughie.

Without the benefits of any Ultra PepBacks, I somehow made it through my 7 hour shift alive. Sold somewhere around $350 and $400 worth of stuff, which I know is hardly impressive, but it does show improvement, right? I dunno - of course I am terribly biased, but I have a feeling that I am the best one there. Maybe not at sales, but at striking the right balance between being a salesperson and being a regular old person. There's this one guy there, Kenney, who I guess is hot shit as far as selling stuff goes, but he's this little vulture (or, in more familiar terms, Kyle asking about your Wendy's the second you actually put the sandwich down), swooping down on people with only the thinnest cover of friendliness. "So..... how are youBUY JEANS BUY JEANS BUY JEANS." I don't know. I just don't trust him very much. I'm really good at selling watches and shoes, and I think it's because I really like watches and shoes, so I can give a pretty honest perspective on them. I mean, I know not everybody likes bright colors, but I'm enthusiastic and truthful. And I know most of the songs they play, so I sing a ton. I don't hate myself in the morning, is all. I wear my nametag near my waist because I so alt-punk.

Another cool part of my job is they just let us, uh, go wild and build all those little outfits you see on the walls ourselves. I know, maybe you aren't impressed, but I was glad to have a creative outlet and took a ridiculous amount of time thinking about each combination. No one will even notice, but it's good practice should I ever decide to go and actually use my 40% discount. Gotta get some money to spend and not eat first, though, huh? They told me to go on break, but I had no idea how long break was, so I walked to the bookstore and back. Later, Kyle and Michelle stopped by and promptly left when daunted by the high prices. You and me both, guys. I still don't understand how people can just drop $50 here and there without a second's thought.

When my shift ended, and I was all hot and disgusting, I sat down for about four minutes, and then it was back out the door to tan and go see if Spritz and I could switch our Kill Bill tickets to an earlier show (so that we could have more time at Niket's rockin' party, see). They said no, but we just bought earlier tickets anyway - money down the loo. However, it was all worth it to see Super Car, this little red Honda or some shit with these two huge cardboard and duct tape structures on the back. You know the time machine in Back to the Future? How it had those stickuppy black back parts on the trunk? Sort of like that. And then, taped to the front hood was affixed a sign with the aforementioned title on it. Ice cream, shower, back out again.

Kill Bill was pretty great; an awesome counterpart to the first one. [I've been saying the word "awesome" way too much lately. I bet people think I have imbibed the 80's - much like Kyle has embodied the audience from an episode of "Arsenio."] I can hardly believe that it was originally supposed to be one movie. It got split into parts so nicely. Well.... Mostly. I dunno - like the first one was so cheesy in parts, and it made sense because it was coherently cheesy like that throughout. The second was less like that all the time, though, so when there were cheesy parts, they were a little incongruous. But I'm just a bitch like that, so don't listen to a word I say. Anyway, Tarantino rarely makes me LOL, but the giant floating VOL. 2 at the start had my hyucking so bad that I'm sure the weird fat guy who sat next to me almost regretted his decision. Not quite, though. Weird fat guy.

Now, I'm pretty much always ready to go out, just because I've realized that everyone who goes out wears the same thing and smells the same, so I don't really need to waste my time on that stuff. It's decided before it starts. OK, that doesn't make sense. But. Other people do not share this philosophy, so I sing in here and wave my mug of box wine about lustily while they try on outfits and put on their face or whatever. I finally met the old Hot Michelle, and I am glad to say that she isn't vapid. Yay for not vapid! We actually even talked some, too, which definitely helps. Most of the time it's just an us and them sort of scenario, and I'm not hopping that wall any time soon. Also, I don't ever put on airs, which definitely has its downsides, like how I'll talk about my diarrhea and how you can instantly tell if I don't like you or am mad at you or something.

We walked to Niket's (Got the worst gum ever on the way, incidentally... It actually makes your breath worse!), which was decently crowded as usual, but they had the cops called on them, so music was down to a whisper. Depressing. Spritz was off in his world for the most part, so I mostly kept an eye on Lynn and Hot Michelle - who were getting closer and closer to pseudo-lesbianism for the benefit of the crowd - and tried to avoid Elliott. Here - if you've got a minute (and I assume you've got several, if you're reading this), take a look at this. Feels like Elliott all over. He just talks over and over again about how he wants a girl, but then he stands by me all night, attempting to dance half-assedly every few minutes. This is not the path one takes to meet people, and I tell him so, and he says he fears rejection and does nothing. And talks about how everyone loves dancing with Spritz blah blah blah. Maybe he thinks I am a co-conspirator, but I am not. I don't want to hook up with anybody. I like people around, and I like spacing off, and I like dancing with myself. I am not one to crowd around, and I'm never displeased with the results. For that occasional self-esteem boost I know we all need, I look around the room and find a few people that might be attempting to check me out. ChickenMc, of course, but I swear the one cute tummy Hawaiian chick was (even if that actually is in my head), and that's more than enough for a while. Lynn and H.M. were fun; they were all retardedly touchy feely, especially when they found out "I HAVE A PENIS" written on my tummy. ["Why is that, Nate?" Good question, Reader. The one night I was writing all over stuff in permanent marker, I thought it would be a good idea to assert my manhood in ink, so I left myself that note. No one will ever see it, I thought. LOLOLOLOL And then, I keep meaning to forget about it, but then I'll get exhausted or smashed or drugged up enough to remember it, and it gets rewritten in a flashy new color. I guess a tattoo would be easier, but won't that be an awkward story down the line?] They seemed to think that written confirmation was not enough and wanted to know about it, etc.. I went on a five minute long tirade about how one penis is as good as another, and it doesn't really matter, it's just this floppy body part, and we're all just acting on pent up urges to spread our seed across the nation, etc. Pause for a few moments. "So... how big is it then?" Arg.

We stumbled home. I was so hungry for Mexican, but there was huge line and a big pile of vomit in about the spot where we were going to have to stand, so fuck it. Spritz and I sat out on the porch while about 30 people kept popping out the door to ask how we were doing. I was reminded of a "Three Stooges" routine or something, and I'm still not entirely sure what inspired every single one of them to check on us.

I got suckered into working at 3 o'clock today, but I didn't bother setting my alarm. I thought there'd be no way I could sleep 12 hours. "No way," I said. "Ha ha ha!" Stupid peotic justice. 3 o'clock on the dot, I wake up. Well, darn it. Now, I'm not one for dishonestly, but you have to learn how to fudge an excuse out of these sorts of things. So, when I finally got the call, I explained that I was stranded at the gas station because something was wrong with car. While ignorantly describing the symptoms of what I knew from experience to be a busted alternator (!!!), I threw on some clothes and said I'd be there as soon as I figured it all out. Forgive me. But, once I did get there, I swear I sold like $250 of stuff in one hour! I rule! OK, so maybe Mom's Weekend rules, but I feel pretty special, too. Also, I would like you to know how much willpower it takes to prevent me from saying really inappropriate things to people at times. "Nice dress," I say. "And nice boobs to fill in the parts of the dress." It's their fault for making me fold all of their clothes all day. Here's a fun one: One of the Heathers I work with is actually also empolyed at IMPE as well. She gets a job as a crossing guard, and we shall be equally desperate!

And, like I said, since I report all self-esteem boosts to my adoring public, I have to note that a girl was blatantly hitting on me today. I feel so cheap. I was ringing her up or whatever, and she was like, "Do you wear contacts?" "Ummm... Yep." "Because you have the prettiest eyes I have ever seen!" "...... Thank you." "Are they colored contacts?" "Uh, nope. All genetics." "Wow...." "Yes. OK, here's your belt!"

Took forever for us to close because I was in charge of vacuuming, and I am all ridiculous and meticulous, but when we did get out, came back home for another brief rest (and some hilarious bargaining with Lisa about using my car. "If you fill the tank up, you can use it." "How much is in there?" "Fumes, baby!") and then off to climb the mountain out by the UPS building with Kyle and Spritz. Mountain ruled! Actually, I guess I sort of suck because Kyle and Spritz both managed to climb it before they got freaked about the nearby trailer with its lights on, and I was still floundering halfway up because it was all pretty loose and dusty, and I couldn't get a hold. But we're just making excuses, aren't we?? I am a weakass. Still, lots of fun with the dusty clothes and piles of rock in my shoes and surfing back down. Wendy's afterwards in the longest wait ever, and then we all sat on the roof and ate and yelled at people and tried to look down their precious blouses. Stupid breasts. Spritz got called away on business, so then it was just me and Kyle serenading the world. I honestly didn't think we sounded too bad with our Sister Hazel and shit. We also started playing these insane clapping games, which are tons easier if you close your eyes. Did you know that? There were some tentative plans to go to this nearby party, but it got shafted by the other two, and I'm not that self-confident yet. OK, there. Now I've been up a good 12 hours. Back to sleep.