05/13/2004 - 1:52 a.m. | my name's nate, but can i be frank with you??

Before I could write this entry, I needed some sort of chemical aid. I have not been very interested in writing lately. Not that anything is really different. No more or less has happened to me in the last couple days. I'm just not... feelin' this, as the song goes. So, yeah, like I said. Chemical aid. While I was walking back and forth between the two gas stations to determne which one had the shorter line, the 50 Green flew by a rate I did not think buses were even capable of achieving. I had this vision of the bus driver finally going hysterical. "You know what? Fuck stops! Fuck ever stopping again! I'll drive until Jesus Christ Himself stops me, and He's gonna have a hard time catchin' up!" And then he or she fires a few pistol rounds into the air Raving. I would have been creamed corn. As it was, however, I was buying this really, really big Coke. OK, that isn't going to do it at all. I need a much better descriptor. I mean, when I saw this soda, I imagined absolutely reveling in it, just getting sick with the idea of it, suckling deep, squelching gulps, and pouring half of it all over my head. "Feel it cascade through my hair and across and my chest..." No, this Coca Cola was not merely big. It is fucking Dionysian, all right? And racing themed!

So I feel a little better already, although I mostly just wanted to talk about my soda, and the rest of my life seems weak by comparison. Also because, quite honestly, I remember very little of what went on yesterday. Oh, okay - got it now. I interviewed for the candy store job. I thought I was fairly charming, but then, when don't I these days? I guess we'll see if I get the sucker. Then there was just kind of that pointless hole before, after, and waiting for all my jobs where I sit and think about what I would do if my four hours of time weren't broken up by 15 whole minutes of having to guard the cross. I'm not an unreasonable person; I just have a bad frame of reference as far as time goes.

Speaking of that, NEWS FLASH!!! Turns out the final I have been saying for forever was on Friday (and delaying and delaying and delaying and delaying...) is actually tomorrow night. OOPSIES. Thanks very much to Dank for passing along this information and to Kay for knowing it in the first place. Of course, since I have all day tomorrow to study, I'm still not very worried. However, had it been tomorrow at 8, this would be a much different entry, I'll tell you that. Gibberish explosion is what I picture. Sometimes I think my brain lets these things happen just so that life will be a little more interesting for a time. Imagine the adventure I would have had had I gone to Foellinger on Friday, and it was all these Germans kids or something. I'd have to annex their ass. No, I don't know what that means.

I worked a disgustingly slow shift at the Buckle last night, so I have nothing to talk about regarding that. However, Spritz's mom, God bless her, gives her son all of this weird shit that he blatantly ignores and leaves in a shoebox in the backseat. This is fortunate for me, however. Wait until the time is right and wham - annex the junk to United Things of Nate's Stuff...ica. It's how I got that winner of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit day-by-day calendar last year and how I got the winner of "The Onion" day-by-day calendar this year. The reason I mention this is that one of the fake polls they have in it was, "How Are We Deluding Ourselves?" 16% of fictional people said, "That girl over there is giving me the eye." I am not quite so deluded to think I am not part of that 16%... but deluded enough to keep on thinking it anyway. In keeping with the spirit of destroying any illusions I have about myself, I posted a different, less wacky picture of myself on HotOrNot. Fuck off, 8.6! Helllloooo, 6.2! Take that, self-esteem!

So, like I was saying about the eye, I totally keep myself fooled all the time. Makes me feel swell anyway. Example: This girl comes into the Buckle yesterday, absolutely gorgeous. Pretty face, nice body, cute dresser, whatever. And, in what I have noticed tends to be the case time and time again, she is with this absolute frado (fray-dough. n. an ugly guy who thinks he's good-looking). So, someone else is helping her buy jeans or whatever because they are all VULTURES who won't let me get in a word edgewise, and I'm kind of just bumming around the counter or complulsively refolding shirts or whatever it is that I do, and any time I happen to glance over at them, she's is staring at me (and quickly looks away whenever she notices me noticing her). I do not understand the charm here. Oh, the forbidden fruit that is the skinny Buckle salesperson. And what am I supposed to do, huh? Punch out Jarhead (God bless Kyle, I love that word) and run off through the meadow with her? So I just blush. Because blushing only adds to my cuteness. Fuckasssssssssssssssss.

And then like a hundred more hours of "The Critic" with Dank. And we met Zouie's g/f, whom I bet we are not supposed to speak about, especially such embarrassing details as she likes to play D&D. But! Here's a curveball: So do we! Anyhow, Dank and I are both fascinated by Dudley Moore as Arthur now, as his frequent imitation on the show never ceases to make us fall over stupid. What a good show. We finally finished up the regular episodes and moved onto the butt Flash animations they released in the year 2000. They were unbelievably mediocre and numerous. The only good part was Jay's new love interest, and that may only be if you have a fucked up animated girl fetish. I will not call her sexy because she is a cartoon, and I refuse to admit I have a problem. The scores of screen caps I made this morning might speak volumes on their own. Dream about eating spaghetti with Amanda Bynes at Toys R Us. Perhaps my subconscious is trying to tell me something.

Speaking of that, I got kind of freaked out thinking about something the other day. So, junior year at IMSA, I think, I took this weird little talking plastic parrot toy from Subway, made him a little paper hat, and started having him act like my conscience. "You should work on your problem set!" he'd say in the wretched, high-pitched, sing-song voice I gave him. Then I'd throw him across the room at a wall. Very satisfying. Fine, that's one. Then, I also happened to win a little amphibian by the name of Ugly Seductive Frog from one of those claw machines at Wal-mart. Story goes, pretty much any time he's out and around, I have him blatantly hit on people, followed by wild rubbing of his genitals on them. That is to say, if he actually had genitals and not just more beans. Anyway, is it just a little unnerving that I took both my id and super-ego and personified them into weird, cheap toys so that I could interact with them in the real world? I would make a good case study, I bet.

Here's a hint for all of you golddigging money grubbers out there: I know you're all after the infamous Walsh fortune. The best way to get to me is to call really early in the morning. I'm too confused to do anything besides agree with everything you ask so that you'll go away and I can sleep more. That's why I ended up working tonight as well. But it's never a bad thing to be a nice guy. Besides, isn't this how most porn movies start anyway? Maybe I'm thinking of instructional videos on turkey barbecuing. I'm a little rusty on both. Most of the morning was spent on my next project: Trying to get one of the perfect, perfect Abercrombie female displays from... dunno. Somewhere. I believe sixty letters ought to do it. Here's to finding out what "it" is!!

I'm now on step 3 of 27 as far as getting into Parkland goes. I got the forms I needed and filled them out. All that's left is for them to be signed by the Dean of the College of Communications. A mere six days away! I can't wait until I am a Dean. If a signature takes six days, imagine what any real work would require! "What you take out the trash please, Nate?" "Yes, but it will take me TWO HUNDRED YEARS!!!" "Fine, I'll just do it." "HA HA HA!"

It would seem that it was a super great night at work tonight... right up until I walked into the door. Jame (one of the Team Leaders) is sort of anal (in the best way possible, of course) and spends most of the evening comparing the night's sales with the totals from last year, desperately trying to sell more this time around. By the time I came in, we were already $600 ahead, so I danced around like a ninny and proclaimed that I didn't need to sell shit. Fate has a sense of humor. I didn't sell shit. I blame most of this on Brenda, the super tall giant girl. She never says hi to anybody or tries to help anyone out, and yet she still stumbles ass backwards into sales, usually because I'm off folding the hundreds of pairs of jeans she's strewn about the store and hasn't gotten around to putting away yet. "Could you help me put these away, Nate? I have to go stand at the counter and talk to my hundreds of friends who constantly stream through the door and never, ever leave!" Then Jame's all like, "We have to work on your productivity" at the end of the night. Bullshit. I work so much harder than all of you bastards. OK, bitterness subsides. I tried to lessen my angst by putting on one of our many cowboy hats (which I admittedly love and will probably go buy sometime tomorrow or Friday) and singing whiny country tunes as I folded jeans and organized rounders.

My sales were not aided by the freaking tornado descending on our fair mall. All these people were running around, and the security guards were flipping out, so we speculated it was one of those crazy mall shootings you hear about in Newsweek. "I'll grab the broom," I said. Finally, someone let us know of the twister warning or watch or whatever, so we shut the doors and descended into the bowels of the mall along with everyone else. Fatty, screaming baby, stinky foreign guy, ugly teenage couple, fat nerds... all your favorite mall consumers! I'll tell you what, it does top my list of funny places to die. And I've got a ready made epitaph: "I'm gonna die someday starin' at the dressing room walls." I hadn't really thought about that connotation, which just shows you learn something new everyday. But hey look I survived and went on to spend several more mind-numbing hours organizing clothes and getting shot down by the pissiest people in the world. One girl shot fire at me with her eyes twice. Twice!

Any plans I had were kind of laid waste, so I just sat here and watched cartoons. Shelly was like, "WATCH IN LIVING ROOM WITH ME PLEASE!" and I was like, "Nope." Then I said something about building character. I just say a lot of things. Like that. Which was stupid. Good night!