04/29/2004 - 9:01 p.m. | i like pleated skirts, and she smiles at the right times

Something will have to be done with my alarm clock, because it seems that screaming gibberish is no longer getting the job done. I'd hate to say it, brain, but the time might be ripe for a return of the "Spice Up Your Life" morning mega mix. Yeah, you just think about that. Anyway, I presumed I had work at 9. I woke up at 9. Well, darn. I arrived about 15 minutes late - just enough time for a passive-aggressive lecture from Danee. These people act like it happens on purpose. I would just as soon not go flying out of the house in a greasy mess, but them's the breaks, kid. Besides, Danee is in sort of an especially psychotic mood lately because the vice-president is coming to visit our store. I assume she means the VP of the Buckle, but I would be considerably more pleased if Dick Cheney came in looking for overpriced (er, quality!) denim.

Weekday afternoons are really slow, which I think Danee somehow blames me for. "You've got to notice if they're wearing our PRODUCT!" she says. And then hassle them about it 'til they run screaming from the store. "And don't forget to push shorts on the way out!" Ugh. You hired me 'cause I'm different or whatever, so you should probably let me try and be different. I honestly do not see anything wrong with just saying hi and giving people a little time to "just looking" on their own before I come charging at them. Yes, that's right. It's a verb now. Ooh - speaking of that... you know those "VERB" public service announcements about going out and doing stuff? Yeah, apparently they just decided to go racist on everybody. Up in the gym here at Freer, there's some poster of "Verb. Native-style." and it's got all these Native-Americans doing shawl dances and playing soccer and and drinking firewater and shit. I much anticipate the "Verb. Negro-Style." series. Anyway, horrible tangents aside, I think I could be a damn good employee if they just let me be the way I am. I finally made it through my reorganized jeans list, which I should probably be studying right now. Shawn said I was like the nicest guy he knew in the world; I blushed.

For my break, I went outside and lied down on the sidewalk, rolling my little receipt up into a cigarette so that people wouldn't question my actions. "Oh, he's just getting a buzz." That's right. I am happy that this one black lady yelled, "Hey! You dead?!" at me, but otherwise, uninterrupted, sunny bliss. And then one windy walk back to get some gross ass mango gumballs that I think they actually made into buttered popcorn instead. I don't hate the latter, but it's kind of a bad surprise when expecting the former. Farmer.

After extensive jeans reorganization, I was let out only an hour early, just in time to cross the guard, just in time to arrive home in a worn-out (cute!) little heap. I certainly remember telling myself I was gonna study, but all I can remember is hours upon hours of Ninja game. Oh - that's right. We went over to Kyle's parents' to eat hamburgers. We are all so shocked by the novelty of real food. I swear, I don't know why I don't cook these days. Because you are a lazy cur who doesn't like touching meat. Oh, right. That.

Apparently not satisfied with already having slept through a good portion of my day, I conked out for an hour or two before Eric's party. YEAH! I would say something like, "They're back?!?!?" but I dunno if they will resume being weekly, and I also feel kind of dumb saying that all excitedly when there was only one other person there when we arrived. The scene filled up in time (*ahem* with uggos), but that first little chunk there ("Time for some party music!" *Ben Folds Five's "Brick"* "Yeah, we rockin' now!") was awkwardly horrible. To pass the time, Shelly wanted to playing drinking games, but thankfully Spritz and I don't have the patience for that. We just took turns taking cards off the deck. "A 6? Yeah, drink 6." Don't mess. Then Shelly started doing card tricks, most of which were pretty impressive. I've never cared to ask how these tricks actually work, a fact that Shelly tried to make fun of. "DAR, LAS NO LIKE CURIOUS AM NOT SMART LIKE ENGINEER" This from the girl who spends her entire life in a stupor of childlike moronics. Er. I mean. At least she's pretty. Funny. I was using that line on Kyle a year ago.

The party was actually sort of crowded by the time I went to get Andrea (and Spritz went to get the world's purses (and Shelly went to get the hell out of that party)), but I guess the popularity was all dependent upon us because by the time Andie and I got back there, even creepy 5th level Sage clone was on his way out. Dead as Aaliyah. Spritz and Shelly were already on their way out, so we just tagged along. I tried very hard to translate for Andrea because, from an outsider's perspective, our conversations are like, "Inside joke inside joke inside joke. Inside joke?" Also, we probably seem like the most amoral bastards in the world. But that is arguable, at least.

Yes, OK, swell. That which I wait forever to do *mumble mumble* I done did. You don't have to worry about me. And nevermind the details. All I'm saying is that it would be pretty funny if you made out during The Powerpuff Girls Movie. Hypothetically. But first we had to withstand an hour long cock block by a totally oblivious Kyle and Shelly. "Derpa derp. I'm drunk and sleepy. Time to drool on Nate's bed." "Doopa doop. I like sleeping and reggae." Kyle didn't come to the party with us. He stayed at home and listened to Bob Marley, who Spritz and I both agree sucks one giant, three chord, marijuan-encrusted nut. (Hint: Also Billy Joel and his pussy-shit, booze-filled rectum). But it did lead to a pretty good theme for the evening, where I would make up songs about shit and occasionally mention "jammin'" so that it would count as reggae. So we sat and awkwardly looked at my toys and/or Weezer websites for a while.

Incidentally, would you like to read an essay about cock-blocking? I think you would!

Um, Andrea spent the night, but don't you worry. My chastity remains intact. I am one chaste motherfucker. One time I chased a rabbit around Oregon, but that's actually irrelevant. Most of the day was spent in bed, with occasional lurches up - by her to get tissues (worst allergies ever!) and by me to go cross the guard and take a test on some more eye bullshit. Mitch Vaughn sat next to me again, and again I didn't even know he was in the class. I can never tell if he does that on purpose because although we did meet (the thumb pit crushing son of a bitch!) before, he never really acknowledges me. Maybe he just thinks I look smart. Ha! We finally got up to eat and watch this Bob Hope movie about some magic baby that the world loves, and this fucking tiny elephant, and an incomprehensible, hot foreign maid. Mr. Hope takes his shirt off. Foxy. Ignore the, urm, mosquito bites by the way.

I am King Park, if you didn't know, and I went out all scummy to run some errands before I got stuck in Freer for however many hours. I try to make my time here better by eating so much junk food that my brain is fogged over with nacho cheese, but it's starting to slow down. My abs hurt from coughing, and I am still pretty exhausted. I tried sleeping on two chairs in between patrons, but then I read the employee manual and learned that that is unethical. And we are all about ethics, aren't we? We being England, I mean.