05/14/2004 - 12:26 a.m. | the red is dakota smith

Why I had a hard time waking up today: I had a dream, all right? I was working in a retail place. Not the Buckle - it had more of this urban woodsy feeling that didn't make any sense - but it might as well have been for all the customers we were getting. Our manager told a bunch of us staffers to just kind of sit tight outside the store in case somebody did come in. Like the Buckle, there were a bunch of mechanical rides for the little kids (although none of these cackled horrifically even 30 seconds), so we all sat around on them and waited. It is here that I should note that Christy Carlson Romano was one of the other employees there. I was pretty much in awe of her, of course, so I tried to be cute and funny without being obtrusive. I knew there was no way she'd like a guy like me. Anyway, one of the rides were these two horses (actually, one was a donkey) on the same platform. Each revolution one animal's head would stick out in front of the other, making it the "winner," so I suggested that somebody should have this stupid race with me. Everyone was kind of "meh" about the idea (which I can understand; it was a stupid idea), but to my surprise, Christy stepped up with a quarter. So, we started bobbing up and down kind of like normal, but then we got really into it, I guess, and wrenched the animals right off the machine and took off running with them clenched between our thighs. We ran out of the mall and through some neighborhood (I had the distinct impression we were in L.A.), and I had a pretty sizeable lead on Christy before I slowed down. My thighs were hurting. Somewhere along the line, she had dropped her donkey and was just running at me full force. I dropped my horse and ran back to meet her. "What the fuck?" I said. "Where's your donkey?" "I was looking for another one," she replied. "But since you dropped yours, I guess the first one back wins by default!" She took off running. I chased after her, with a strange feeling she was being a little coy with me here. She made a louie into some sort of enclosed drainage canal tunnel that wasn't as gross as you'd think. I'd nearly managed to catch up to her and was grasping for her, trying to slow her down. Finally, I tackled her or whatever, and out of nowhere, she kissed me.

This is all pretty lame, I agree. The part that got me, however, was her breath. It was amazing. Although I list many attributes in front of it, I secretly search only for a girl who is as concerned about having good breath breath as I am. And her's was better than you could possibly imagine. Even having run for a good leg (which can make about anyone gross), she was still fresh. Not even just fresh. I mean, there was no flavor to it - no bullshit mint or whatever. It was just clean and cool. Like a nice spring breeze maybe (This is why I don't regularly use similes). I can hardly describe it. It was just perfect.

My dreamgirl don't exist.

STONED, DRUNK, AND WHAT WERE THOSE BLUE PILLS-ED, I STUMBLED BOTH FEET DRAGGING ON THE FLOOR IN SEPARATE DIRECTIONS. LIKE GOD HAD INVENTED A NEW FUCKED UP TREADMILL AND WAS TESTING IT OUT [ON] ME.

You don't worry about your old pal Nate, OK? He got along just fine with his studying throughout the day. There really wasn't even too much of that done been doing, if you catch my drift. Mostly I talked to my ex-girlfriend Lisa about the sorts of things you can only talk about with your ex-girlfriend/boyfriend after the hellish period has passed. And it will pass, trust me. If it passed for us, it will for you. But yes, we are still so alike in so many sick ways that the rest of the world should be frightened. Well, more like insulted because that's what we are both doing behind your back. Oopsie.

Having successfully completed all their finals, Kyle and Spritz are in a complete state of anomie. "What do we do with ourselves?" they ask. "I don't have any more work to do," says Spritz. "I don't have any work that I should be feeling guilty about not doing," says Kyle. "Just keep doing as many stupid little projects as you can," says Nate - as he is systematically breaking each thread on his broken ass Cape Cod shirt collar. I don't even remember how I got started on the project, but it's done now. I've got an 80's vibe going on, and despite Shelly's beliefs, this shit will hold together 'til the end of time. She might say I'm mean, and she sure as heck might be right, but I don't think I know a single more negative person. What's worse is that she does it all in the guise of an optimist.

"Thanks, red-haired guy," says the kid to me as I hold up my sign and wait for him to meander his way across the street. That's fine and all, but man - what would he call me if my hair were dark blonde still? Has this become my defining characteristic? My God, what have I done? Before long, it was time for work, dinner, final. The California Medley soup wasn't as amazing as it had been built up to be, but it was still very good, and it brought back some pleasant nostalgia to be eating in a cafeteria with everybody again. Stupid mist. The final was all well and good. In an out in half an hour. Once again, and despite being in as huge of a place as Foellinger, I ended up sitting right near Big Boob Redhead Girl. Or she ended up near me. We ended up near each other. Whenever I see her, I have this very strong urge to let her know that her boobs are big, but I can never seem to work it into conversation. I even did an extra loop around the quad (in the rain, singing sorrowful country songs) in the hopes that she might come out in time for me to yell it at her. After the final, in fact, I even looked her up in the directory so's I could send her an e-mail informing her, but I wussed out at the end there. No doubt she already knows this; I mean, she does have them prominently displayed, but it would be kind of a good "Mission accomplished!" for her, right? Sometimes I think I need an analyst. Not because I have serious problems or anything - I just would like to know what I'm talking about and why I think some of this stuff. It's interesting. You know what else is? Jack the Ripper. I'm going to go to the bookstore tomorrow and maybe get a book about him. Guess what else I have tomorrow? Job interview at Dollar Tree!!! "All items 90 cents" could fast become a reality! I have to learn to start turning people down, though.

I WAS TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THOSE BLUE PILLS ARE, AND I UNZIPPED MY PANTS. THE ARGUMENT FOR NO UNDERWEAR: NO DRUNKENED UNDERWEAR FUMBLING. YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT IT GOING TO THE BATHROOM. NOR DO YOU HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT IT WHEN YOU ARE TRYING TO GET OFF ONE GIRL'S PANTIES AND ANOTHER GIRL'S BRA. WHICH, IF YOU'RE ANYTHING LIKE ME, IT'S ALL THE TIME.