04/21/2004 - 2:03 a.m. | so i fall again

Today, Spritz was like, "You should write another entry, man!" And I asked, "What about? I didn't do anything today." He said I should write about the rest of last night. I felt like I could sum that up in seconds, though, so I decided to make into a bit more of an elaborate project, which actually filled up a few hours because of my meticulous nature about these sorts of things:

Actually, this was almost surely take you a little time to download (compression is for newbie fags), so I'm going to write about it anyway. Apparently I start to go crazy if I don't have a job to go to or some homework to frantically finish, so with everyone gone and no one to talk to and a plethora of the wrong type of creative ambition, I decided to go all homemaker for a while. Washed the dishes, cooked dinner, ate it on the floor out of the pot - not so much for dramatic effect; I just could not see the point of walking any further. [Confession time: I really like the fake plastic parmesean cheese Kraft makes. You know, the green can? Yeah, I love that garbage. I put it on everything, unless it would be very rude for me to do so.] Anyway, wine goes with pasta, so I had to have a few glasses, right? And then vodka goes with wine (sort of), and I was off and running! At least I wasn't bored anymore! Bare walls can keep me fascinated by that point. Spritz came back, and we sat on the roof for a while until he "slept," which is seemingly a code phrase for walking in and out of the bathroom every five minutes so that I can see his sessy boxers. God forbid if his penis falls out. Spritz's penis, not God's. Either way, not a prospect I was willing to live with for very long, I took the scenic route to the gas station and decided to get some freakin' Milk Duds! I had like six and then passed out for the night. So that's just me loading toxins into my body, all right.

Had a dream that I met up with a bunch of old Serena people on Halloween. Actually, it was just the girls mostly. And they had all sprouted boobs. I think my body is trying to tell me I'm depraved. Shut up, body. I'd close your AIM window if I could.

You might have gathered that I am not entirely communicative all of the time, in that I often ignore AIM messages and pretty much screen all of my calls. It's not that I dislike you or anything; it's just that I find that the things you're saying or doing are boring. You might find me boring, but I would guess that's not the case, as you are the one calling, IMing, or reading this piece of crap diary.

It rained today? It would seem so. Not that I would even know. I made it my mission to not do anything for most of the day, my logic being that I had a five hour shift at the Buckle tonight and that would make me feel productive. Turns out work got called due to rain. People are less likely to buy jeans during monsoons and the like. Wimps. Anyway, I had double duty today, crossing the guard, having to protect the kids from both speeding cars and the spinning vortex of doom. "Be back in 20 minutes," I called. "Unless I am spiraling in the whirling vortex!" But just think what would happen if the cyclone actually did stop for my little sign! Crossing guards would get newfound respect from the world, and I would be a hero amid my peers. What a weird fantasy. I've been trying so hard to two-fingered whistle, but I'm just not getting anywhere. Gypped by genetics once again.

Like I said, the next bunch of hours were spent erasing tiny pixels one at a time because I am a pervert, and that's the way I like it. I tried to read, but it made me sleepy, and Spritz said that it was a sure sign that therefore books are boring and dumb, so I should go eat with him instead. Today, I found myself vaguely aware of the fact that there are pretty girls around everywhere, so perhaps puberty is upon me. Anyway, sexual revolution or not, I don't think I could ever get that... tone that guys get when they "maintain a veneer of sincere interest" when they're trying to chat up a girl at a party. I dunno - can you girls hear it? Because, to me, it's smackingly obvious. But then, I'm usually a lot less drunk, too. Anyway, it's just this off, strained little tone where the guy is like, "If I can just pretend I'm nice and intrigued by who she is and what she has to say, perhaps she'll let me do her in the butt." The inflection creeps me out so. Better alone than the tone. That's what the buttons will say. Of course, someone will fly in quickly with like, "You're just always thinking the worst of people! I bet the guys are just trying to be polite, something you yourself could never get a handle on!" And you're right, I do often think the worst of people, but I've kind of been going with my own instincts more lately because everyone else really does just seem so wrong and illogical and messed up and doing the wrong thing themselves that I might as well just be me, for better or worse.

Spritz had a brilliant idea today, if I do actually make it to the Rhett Miller concert (which I will, you pessimists!). Since it is almost surely going to be a small venus, he thinks that I should make signs like the ones they have in the audience at WWF wrestling events. "RAW IS WAR" is my personal favorite, but I do like "RHETT MILLER 3:16" as well. So, for once, I did decide to go with the Wonder Twins (Kyle and Michelle, wearing a weird combination of complementary colors - red shoes, yellow Wal-mart shirt; green shoes, blue Wal-mart shirt) on one of their little adventures out to Schnucks to get some tempra paints and poster board. Because I have standards. Anyway, no dice on that, but I got enough carbs to last me... well... two days probably, but better than normal. And then I spent the rest of the night making construction paper animals, which I am actually very pleased with. I do good work, as you have no doubt noticed. Gimme prize.