08/20/2004 - 4:45 a.m. | your madness will not descend!

No, bitches, I have not put in enough time or energy yet to write you a full-fledged entry, but I'm getting there, OK? My computer is at least running now, if not internet-enabled, so I could write out more Notepade files if it weren't for American McGee and his goth hottie Alice. God damn that Hot Topic - it's changing my world view of everything. It is also apparently giving me $50 for free because I won some contest I did not rightly deserve to win? Finally, I am that guy. Anyway, it's late, and I'm debating now because I have a crossing guard meeting tomorrow morning at 8. Well, actually, the letter I received said either Thursday, August 20, so it could either have been yesterday or today, but since I slept through yesterday, I assume it must be today. Anyway, I am trying to decide upon a course of course. It's nearly 5 now. Should I just sit up the next three odd hours or so, feel the beer actually pass through my system, and go to the meeting in this haze? Or should I try and conk out and get in a little rest so that I am all pissy and horrible at the meeting. About the beer, though: Andrea called me shortly after we got through with From Dusk 'Till Dawn (Still rightfully one of my top five movies of all time) and invited me out to Joe's with her roommate. Anyway, we were talking, and I was singing and trying to figure out who the girl with the glasses was at the next table because she looked so, so familiar (Do you work at Rentertainment? What?), when this girl brought over a couple of beers for the two girls. Nice enough sleaze, I thought, until we were getting ready to leave, and Andrea thanked them again. Apparently they were like the nicest people in the world - guys and girls both - who kept buying us drinks and being really outgoing and friendly. In fact, the Owen Wilson lookalike who originally brought the drinks probably talked to me more than he did to the girls. Once the bar closed we all lurched over to one of their places to hang out and drink more shitty beer until Andrea was pretty much passed out. Jana, her roommate, and I tried our best to get her moving, but she was a complete heap, and all the people seemed so nice that we just left her. Was this too trusting? Incidentally, Perfect Legs e-mailed me back. Let the games begin. I'll just start being mean until she loves me. Shelly says that girls like any sort of attention, even when it seems like the guy is being a total ass. At least they're an ass to them, is the thought. Girls are retarded, is my thought. Once again, I promise that diary entries - full, exquisite, heaving ones - are on their way. I've been taking a complicated system of notes so that I don't forget things. I mean, nothing so vague and awesome as in Murakami's "The Fall of the Roman Empire, The 1881 Indian Uprising, Hitler's Invasion of Poland, and the Realm of Raging Wind," but they'll do. "I don't have a girlfriend" and all that. "My farts smell like BBQ sauce." TANPEN-3!