07/12/2004 - 12:59 a.m. | all the sea was coal! [coal! coal!]

My reasons make more and more sense. At least I would think, you think. Like, I sort of wanted to write a diary entry late last night, but I was feeling quite the emo, and I don't revel in that, and I'm sure you don't enjoy it too much either. "I don't have a girlfriend," etc. And let's not sit down and figure out the logistics of that because it would just be painful.

!

I think the lone exclamation point up there is sort of cute. Thursday, I already told you about, except the extra karmaic kick in the face where I lost my wallet for a while. I made Spritz go out with me to get a baked potato, and we saw J-Kwon ("Nurrybody in the club gettin' tipssss") at Perkins. I thought one of us maybe held the door for him, but I was wrong. Anyway, it came time to pay and there was no wallet there with me to pay with. So I made my way back to the park and with the kind of step retracing that Kyle could only dream of, I found that shit right away. Thank God. Wouldn't want you all to think me irresponsible - er, missing check.

Friday, briefly - sleep sleep sleep sleep, errands with Kyle. Kinkos might be my new favorite place. Color copiers are the most amazing devices in the world, and we both really liked the rotund, supergay man who helped us out. The world needs more of him and less of me as far as I am concerned. "But Nate," you say. "You are one of a kind!" Thank you for the cliched sentiment, friend, but we are moving beyond that. Did I learn a whole lot about Kid Rock... again? Yes! And then we met Dank and Kay for Mexican. Lisa Yung was there; I'm not sure if she even noticed me, but I certainly had a Highlander sort of vibe going on. Kay thinks we should go to Texas to see Old 97's, plus a million others (Ben Kweller, Gourds) play. There are probably several more reasonable possibilities, but I like the possibilities this extends something something. Kyle boxed - he was better at it than me. Replace "boxed" with about a hundred other things, and you might see where my depression stems from. It's become this sort of new statement where I'm like, "Actually, I'm relatively [+/-un-]happy these days." We saw Anchorman, and it was a Will Farrell movie. That's about all I have to say about that. Vince Vaughn has turned the cameo into sort of an orgasm for us, and there was a cute girl in front of us. IF ONLY I DIDN'T THINK THAT EVERYONE WAS NOT INTERESTED IN THE OTHER PERSONS I AM AROUND. EXCEPT THEY ARE PROBABLY. Self-confidence is so important. Maybe I just need to be meaner to people. It seems to work on Shelly?

michelleawetzler: i miss you
michelleawetzler: and you hate me

Then I drank and added people on Facebook! Then I worked, then I drank and added people on Facebook! Fuck, I don't care if I know you - we've practically met, Amanda Barry, and you've made out with a guy right in front of me, and I kind of knew him, too, so I think we almost nearly count as friends. I actually worked a lot more than I intended - 1 to close, which is just about the proper time span where I start to get punchy and dance around at people. Jane calls at 11, and God forbid, I am awake, so I come in, and Scott is in... Maybe she is trying to show off her best employee, huh?! Anyway, he is definitely a pud, and his voice is so monotone that Ben Stein's seems like a fucking rumba, but I have this really weird talent for business social skills. Not personal social skills - I suck a nut at those. I made friends with a lot of black children, who have completely redeemed their race for the time being. We danced together, and they taught me a secret handshake. And little kids love me! I make them smile with my mere clownish presence. That day was our "sidewalk sale," which was pretty much just a box outside of the store. Oh - and a balloon on the helium tank which had already started to lose air about halfway through the day. I named him Depressive the Balloon, drew a little sad face on him, and hung him outside for everyone to see. I never ceased to laugh whenever I saw him. But yes, I was around for a hundred hours, and the staff of Panda Express is getting a little too familiar with my appearances ("A bowl of just fried rice with three packets of soy sauce?"), and by the time I got an espresso shot and a fruit smoothie in me, it was more or less coasting the rest of the night across. I don't think that made very much sense. I worked with Jennifer, and I think Kara was right - she does get a lot more entertaining as you get to know her. In fact, I like her so much that I hope she never likes me, so that she could just always be a cool friend. But she told me about her psycho stalker, and I told her about mine, and speak of the devil, guess who fucking showed up on their 15 minute break? Once again I was forced to make very awkward conversation while Jen chortled in the background. She managed to get me away from them for a few minutes for some helpful pointers ("So the one who likes you is a 200 pound 10 year old?" - This is the better than any description I've tried to develop). Shortly thereafter, I was invited to watch a movie or something, and I swear some sort of animal instinct kicked in because I just started talking - yelling, almost - and I don't really recall what was said.

"YeahIhavesomestufftodotonightbutitsreallyguysonlysoyouknowguysnightoutnogirlsaloudohmygodnevertalktomeagainmaybe?"

And the albino is still really weird and dodgy around me, which sort of leads me to believe that there is some sort of huge behind the scenes battle that is being waged for my affections whereas I would sooner impale myself on a pike, I think, that date either of them... or pretty much anybody right now for that matter. Once they were forced out, Jen and I took turns trying to think me up solutions to this issue, hurting as few or as many people as possible in the process. "We could just start making out the next time they come in." "I could just start making out with a dude the next time they come in!" I could actually pretend to be seriously interested in her and go through the normal ups and downs of a relationship for years and years, eventually settling down with her, having bizarrely round wicca children, and finally break it to her one completely normal night. "Oh, by the way, this was all a sham for my amusement. Whoops." How many physical attributes would I have to change to pass myself off as a completely different person? Hair color, eye colors, facial hair, size, skin tone? Answers appreciated. I sang the club mixes, and I am fairly concerned that I am sexually frustrated, except for the part where I'm seemingly not really interested in sex, so it's more like... I need a new hat or something? It's hard to pinpoint.

Many hours passed. I may have been jealous, I'm not sure, for while I have been blessed with at least a good-natured face and an excellent sense of humor and some degree of compassion (sometimes), because I don't have the physique - or confidence - that Spritz has, no one is going to give a rat's ass about me. Damn you, Ashley from the corner house! With your 10 body and 3 hair (not my words), inviting "us" to your party, inviting "us" only because I was out there fake smoking with Spritz at the same time... And the girls from the downstairs apartment only saying hello to Spritz, not me. I could pretend to be annoyed with the shallowness of the opposite gender, but I have the same thing myself, and my standards are far too high for one with such qualities as I have, it would seem. "So go work out," says Collective Advice Giver Thing. "Get the big muscles it would take to win the shallow ones over, and then you'll be happy... or that's the theory." Fuck off. For one thing, I somehow think that the two are incompatable - that if I were to get good looking, that somehow my brain would shrink until I could do little more than grunt obscenities at my friends after a good score at KAMS (Actually, Project #37 is something like a documentary where I tape guys telling supposedly interesting anecdotes to girls they are trying to get into the pants of... OK, hold off - I feel anothe tangent coming on. See, this is why I try to hold off on these diary things? I just don't like this unspoken arrangement where it's like the guy pretends to be interested in what the girl has to say so that he can get into her pants, and at the same time, I think maybe I am really envious of it as well. Like, I wish I could feel that little for the rest of the world?) Secondly, I am going to be dead at 40, and I shall not waste the time trying to look good getting there. I will be merely a paint smear, I can tell you that (but believe me, you'll know!!). There was a waste of a few hours, and then I made Spritz wander out with me because... well, I never quite know my reasons, but maybe I just think I'll stumble into something lucky. We got burritoes and came home, and I read, and then it was 1:30, and suddenly Justin was going to be here in five minutes. What did we do today? Fuck if I know, but now it is 1:46 again, and tomorrow is going to be this sickeningly busy day. One day on, one day off. But tomorrow I have a test which I shall need to study for... tomorrow, then work at Hot Topic, then work at the candy store until close. So we try and do our best with what we've got and make a drinking game out of Colin Farrell's Tigerland where I drink with every swear there is. IMDB says, "The word 'fuck' is used 527 times in this 98-minute film." I'm not that bad, though.

I tried to suck Justin into the world of VH1 countdowns that I love so very, very much, but I don't think he has quite the same passion. Tried to see a movie, failed, again, failed, bought booze instead. Here's another odd encounter: So, we were driving home north on Neil, and this car is besides us, 2 girls in it. One of them looks over at us, and I joke that she was checking one of us out. He thinks it's him, and I am inclined to agree because of the aforementioned self-esteem issues and the fact that I had not showered at that present point. Anyway, I have a feeling that there is something up, but whatever - figure it's just my intuition being wrong as usual. I joke that they are following us, but then they turn into Osco, and we follow them instead. More looks. They go inside, we follow suit, and don't really catch hold of them. Justin gets the shit while I wait in the car, and they come out and start looking at me again. Justin comes, we load the car, and peel off, because I have my suspicions. We're driving back along Green, and I go, "Dude, is that them following us?" We determine that it is. OK, what the fact. I scrawl down my phone number on a piece of paper to whip at them in case of emergency, and we continue towards home. We get here, park, and start unloading the car. Guess who comes circling around the block? They yell... something unintelligble at us, and we think maybe they are gone. Nope. They circle around again. So, Justin and I are carrying massive amounts of alcohol, and they're being all chatty as our arms weaken. Ask if they can buy some of the Smirnov Ices off of us. Perhaps it is my suspicious nature, but who waits around in an Osco parking lot for someone to buy a girly enough drink off that they can score a few of them off of? Not only that, stalks them some! I accept, because it is a pretty good deal, and maybe they will go away, but still they sort of hang out, asking questions. What is one to do in this situation? Act like an ass. Well, I tried, but again, this seems to be the secret to success. Just be a dick to everyone, and they will love you! Now I know! Perhaps I should not have mentioned that thing about the you-know-what suit for the You-know-who Chords, since one of them seems to know them pretty well? Yeah, I think the overall thing is that whole Woody Allen, "I'd never liked anybody who liked me" sort of thing. Anyway, I think they liked us... Well, prolly Justin like I said (although he insists the chubby one was into me... Karma again!), but where the fuck is this going to lead? "Want to come up to my place and drink?! You can have the 4 Smirnovs if you blow me," etc. I just don't understand what anyone is thinking ever. And it's starting to tick me off. I don't understand flirting, and I think it's stupid, and I'm maybe wanting to just start hitting everyone? I can't even think. I'm all frustrated. Fuck.