08/01/2004 - 11:32 p.m. | i was just a brain whose brain would never let up

The bitch is back! And he can't see! Stupid light bulb going out once again in damn shitty apartment. That's right! We are now officially able to move into our house, thus rendering this shitheap obsolete! Unfortunately, it's pretty much from here to infinity as far as packing and cleaning goes, and all my freaking hours are spent at the mall (For example, I worked open to close at the candy store today, followed by a two and a half hour meeting at Hot Topic, which I am now no longer supposed to speak of in my "online diary" because the internet is watching oh shit oh shit oh shit), but still! The hope! Maybe I shall make my room into a love den like every other college guy in the world plans on. "Mumble mumble something mirrors." Maybe I'll take Shelly's route and get some freaking candles. Actually, I lied. Or withheld the truth. I already bought some candles today from William H. Macy clone at Yankee Candle Company. Ylang-ylang. I love that shit and can never find it anywhere, especially because I don't know what it is really? Some sort of porpoise maybe?

So, why hasn't he written? Ah, yes. Why has he not? Well, I refuse to say that I was depressed - I refuse to admit anything near it even - but I had pretty much flatlined on existence for a while. And it's certainly not that things have gotten any less miserable, as far as freetime and energy go, but things started to look up on Friday. I was at the candy store (duh) with Jane (ugh), and I said goodbye to a pair of prepube girls (Charming term, right?) leaving the store and one of them turned around and waved wildly and gave me the happiest grin in the world, and I just started to think, "If she can be that happy, I sure as fuck can bang out something." I dunno, there may be other reasons. I mean, obviously I am emo (See, I didn't used to be, but then Kyle got... better, and someone had to take his place because we can't be an emo band without someone to write the whiny lyrics, right?), and I was getting sort of depressed about no one non-mutated ever being interested in me, but now I think that the huge-boobed Abercrombie girl is, and she comes in the store a lot (For candy what?) and we talk, and once it is not too soon, maybe I will ask her out, and I have decided to be very shallow here and take this as a good thing. I mean, what did I say? I wanted an Abercrombie girl, and here we don't just have one of the cookie cutter people who roam the mall - Oh no, we have a girl with an AOK from the eugenics-based corporation itself! Question: Is it ironic that girls with large boobs keep liking me? Because I don't really like large boobs, I mean. Is that irony or the Alanis kind?

I dunno what happened. I just snapped out of things, and I can't really explain it. I was not depressed, I know, because I still wanted to dance around, and who is depressed and wants to dance? I got the new Old 97's CD, and it pretty decent. In fact, I am going to post some lyrics at the bottom of this entry, I think, and I know nobody ever EVER reads lyrics (I sure as hell don't), but maybe you should read these just this once because they might apply to someone(s) you know. So occasionally I have the fake rage, and that occupied some time. It's good having that. The rage and the dancing and the countless hours at part time jobs. I think I worked, dunno, 45, 50 hours this week? I try not to count because, yes, that might actually depress me.

I have not seen nearly as many movies as I would like, but then I was sort of tired of movies after a weeklong spree more or less with Yousaf, and I did nothing this weekend at all because of some harsh interventions, but I must recommend Napoleon Dynamite to you. Not because it is particularly good - at all - but there are so many little scenes in it worth seeing that I feel you should know them so I can make reference to them and you'll get it. Speaking of which, I kept waiting for them to turn Deb upside down so they could see the map to Mt. Everest. A billion points if you get that one without having to IMDB anything.

Little crowds of 13 year olds follow me around all day. It's sick. One guy, Tommy, has pretty much been hassling Hot Topic since I worked there yesterday. He asks everyone is they watch Adult Swim (his version of the pickup line) and then proceeds to talk with them for hours about how much he likes Jesus and "Aqua Teen," and he kept hugging Jen, and she looked all horribly awkward, and I think everyone but me completely hated him. Meanwhile, a new group of stalkers, fine, whatever. Jen (Candy store Jen) and I were too busy playing the degrees of separation game. I thought I would be the king at this, but she has the distinct advantage of knowing about every romantic comedy ever. Also, she covered for me on Saturday, and I was really appreciative (and drunk) the night before, so I decided I would buy her flowers, which I did. Never say that I am ungrateful. Does this make me a flirt? Because it really was just a friendly gesture, ironic almost even, because I was yelling about in the store for a while. Then I had a cheese steak sandwich, which sounds fucking gross, and I bet all of you vegetarians out there are throwing up, but it was so, so good. I practically came myself.

I have been having nightmares almost every night. Like really long extended ones that go on pretty much the whole time I am sleeping. It's weird that I don't really wake up scared, though. I'm just sort of like, "Well, better than hawking candy all day." And then I wake up, and I feel sort of... shaken, I guess, that that is all I dream of, and everything sudden seems of huge importance, so I try and focus on the breastlike light fixture on the ceiling with my shitty controlled double vision, and I try to give myself depth perception by combining the two off images. I don't think it has ever worked, but I'm not sure about that, and sometimes I feel like I almost have it for a second. You deep people have it lucky. I always think I'm going to smash into cars, and it turns out I have feet and feet of parking space. Then again, sometimes I overcompensate for this and almost get us smashed. I mean, that's just a hypothetical.

I wish I had more stories to tell, and I guess I sort of do really, because even though I wasn't much up for writing, I still think "like a writer" or whatever, so I've got about a week's worth of little passing bits about people I've seen or whatever, but it starts to get a little weird when I'm still remembering them days later. Like how I managed to scare this one girl at Hot Topic straight out of the door in less than 30 seconds. I don't even know what I did. I just said hello and then apologized for saying hello because she looked worried, and she took off. For every mob of prepubes I attract, there are apparently many more I frighten off. I dunno about that, though. I think that's why they keep me on at Hot Topic. I am the normal one. I mean, they are really nice and friendly and social there, but I look the most normal. So they keep me at the door to drag the parents in.

Someone asked what my sign was the other day (Virgo), and she said I didn't seem like a Virgo at all, as they are all private and snobby and reserved. Good actor, am I not? Upon naming the Emilio Estevez movie in which trucks eat people (Maximum Overdrive!), I was told by Brytne that I never ceased to amaze her, specifically that I'm "kind of like a robot that way." She also said I am probably the manliest of the three of us dudes here because I am the only one who could strangle a puppy. What a bizarre criteria, but apt nonetheless.

When Will left (Aw, Will!), he gave Kyle and I drinking hats. Mine is some weird little bellhop thing, but Kyle's rocks. It's the bejeweled fez that says, "BOUMI" on it in big sequined letters. Kyle and I eventually decided that Boumi would henceforth be Kyle's drunken persona (Much like I am the Scotsman and Jevon is the climber of buildings, e.g. Busey Bank). So it's like, "Man, I'm a little tipsy... Whoa, I'm trashed. Holy fuck, I'm BOUMI!" Incidentally, as far as pronunciation goes, we decided it rhymes with "blow me" because it's funniest that way when he is wearing it on Green St. (He does) and people compliment him on it. "Dude, nice hat!" "BOUMI" And then from there, we get the classic catchphrase "Boumi don't play that." I'm just saying.

I have a few ideas for some shirts, and even the supplies to make them, but when am I not going to be dead? I was all excited to have Tuesday off, but even if I don't have jury duty that day (haha), I still have to work 7 hours at Hot Topic. And I'm gonna tell you what - the girl from the Old 97's concert is perfect. Seriously. Best ever. Black hair, blue eyes, and she runs, which leads one to believe amazing legs. She likes alt-country and bluegrass, hates olives, and thinks she can hula hoop nearly as well as I can (LIES, but I forgive her). Her name - Missy - is sort of ok really totally bizarre, but I think I'm just going to start calling her something entirely different for no reason. Jane, for instance. Except then I get all these racist connotations in my mind, so not that. Speaking of which, Jane was doing interviews on Friday, and she was just amazing the way she kept finding excuses to not like the black people. What does one even do in this situation? Call her on it? Call Scott? Christ, there's one fire I don't want to stoke. Ooh, that sounds vulgar.

[Shelly, I hope you know I don't hate you, of course. It's just that your passing resemblance to Jessica Simpson has started to create this weird tumor of associations in my brain. So, like, I hate how stupid she is on her show, so I kind of connect that with you. And I really hate the fucking t-shirt song they play on the radio all the damn time, and then that is connected to you. And that's really not fair to you, of course, but now it's getting even more bizarre because I'm by association now connecting your sister to Ashlee Simpson, which doesn't make any damn sense at all, because they don't even look alike, and what ever happened to that trip to Mississippi, huh?]

"the new kid he's got money, the money i deserve
he's got the goods, but he's not good for his word
i should be rolling in it; i've been a working stiff
as for the justice, no one knows where it went."

"the new kid he's got my girl, the girl i used to have
he's got the looks, you know got them from his dad
i should be kissing that girl; we should be so in love
there is no justice; there's just dark stars above"