09/07/2004 - 11:11 p.m. | old entry #1

Of course the night I decide to start back in on this is the same we shut off the internet at the apartment, thus removing the last reason we had for staying in this shithole. Yeah, we're about fucking ready to move. Kyle's going to Cairo for 2 days tomorrow, Infantry practices are ranking more important in their minds, and I don't know how to complete this list, so I'll just save it for later.

Let's try an exercise in conservation of language. I have not written since, dunno, Thursday? Let's try and limit each day's description to a single sentence along with retarded details afterwards if I can keep the, uh............ Let's begin! Friday, work and then a shitty mediocre party at Maly's where some fat chick Natasha with gigantic boobs that were practically flying out of her blouse hit on first Kyle, then me (the bottom of the barrel, but still better than all of the nerds there); Kyle was nearly as fucked as I've ever seen him, even St. Patrick's Day, throwing up on cars (nearly) and robbing them for sunglasses and checks and tool kits. That was a sentence, you cunt full of bees. Actually, fuck this plan. I suck at it. Mitch Vaughn was there - I am not sure I like him exactly, but he looks something like Rhett Miller + Johnny Depp, so I can understand why all the ladies must. Matt Maly was there, and he had me come along with him to Green St. to try and get people to come to the party. "But it's 2:45, Matt. The bars have already closed." "Dawwww... They stay open 'til 2:30 sometimes; there'll be people." Good luck with that. I am glad that he invited me, though. I assume this means I am punk (also that Shelly said I looked like I could beat her up). Jeremy Bash was there, and he was drunk, which he seems to think means he can automatically be as fucking annoying as he likes. And eat all of Kyle's food. I would have killed him personally - at that moment, I mean, as - full of revelry - he dumped Kyle's bag of nuts down his bulbous gullet, but I was preoccupied with modifying every lighter in the place (and they had an entire display of them there, so a lot!) so that faces will be burnt. And then clicking one of them in time to the music in the loudest room because no one will try and talk to me there. I have cool callouses. To match my personality. Kyle was in no shape to do anything because he stole a bag of ice from the gas station and brute forced it all the way back up to Main. I refused to help, so mostly he just lurched and dropped ice all the time. When it was past five and Kyle was arguing about Ivan Drago from Rocky IV ("Always - ALWAYS - look for the guy who looks the most like Drago, and don't fuck with him because he will FUCK YOU UP!") - and still fucking drinking, one might note - I went out on my own. Why do so, so, so many parties fucking suck?

Saturday was mostly spent getting bad breath and subsequently trying to get rid of it. Fucking Thai food. Hey - do you remember those Breath Asure capsules? They were these little yellowish transparent gelcaps that you swallowed and that were supposed to cure bad breath internally? Apparently they were lead-laced or something because I think they've been taken off the market. In my frantic last minute search for them, I bought a pretty lily or some shit for Kara because it is her last day, and the best way to make friends forever with a randomish girl is to give her flowers. We totally crapped out on our shift that night, shucking our shitty aprons and singing and dancing about. We put up a tip jar and actually made $3.10, which is not too shabby! I'll miss her a lot because she made work the most fun, I think. I would say vulgar things too loudy, and she would act horrified and then giggle anyway. When Jane called, however, to see if I had actually shown up, I was up on the ladder, so she was like, "Bless his heart!" The illusion is complete. Spritz and I were supposed to go out that night and celebrate his new freedom, but he kind of vanished on me. Spritz a flake? No! Perish the thought! I had already pissed off Kyle the other night by bugging him about doing anything, so mostly I was just gonna sit. He did join me, however, for BET comedians, followed by fucking Satan himself, Robert Tiltman. What Would Jesus Do? Apparently he would ask you for a thousand dollar donation to make miracles come true. I started on a t-shirt, but my Tiltmans ranged from Mr. Magoo to Grandpa Raymo.

Sunday was a happy fun day off - I thought - until around 2:20 or so when I got a call from Hot Topic saying I was supposed to have been there at 2. Well, fudge. This seems to happen about once per job, so hopefully I am cured again. I was really lethargic and sleepy for about the first hour because I had just woken up and was suddenly trying to explain complicated piercing procedures to people - procedures that I don't actually understand at all. They all loved my black hair because that's the type of people they are. Jen kept talking about how her libido was fucking crazy that day. Is that supposed to be taken as a sign? Well, I learn slowly, so mostly I just acted grossed out. Oops. I had to stay an extra two hours to help hang jeans and shit, but I like to think I was specifically picked for it because of my nimble fingers!! And the fact that I don't talk much. Angie was saying how mean I looked all the time - how my natural facial expression seems to be a scowl. Perhaps this is the explanation why no one ever sits next to me. I mean, if I talk or whatever, then I light up, and it's all good, but no one wants to sit next to the bitter pyscho. He's not really bitter! He just has foul thoughts!

M and Caitlen drunk dialed me the other day; I think I am going to send the latter some fucking candy because, well, because I think it was cause trouble. I am a plot device, and a damn good one, if I do say so myself. Was this also the night that we started drinking? I think it was. I was reading excerpts from my IMSA diaries, but then Dank came over with Zouie, and the conversation instantly became Infantry-centered again, so I had to amuse myself by exploding bugs into oblivion with the Racquet Zapper. We were going to drink until ordering an escort would actually seem like a great idea, but only one place actually still existed, and they were charging $120 for their cheapest. There's a scary thought, and I don't have enough money to fund that kind of stupidity. See, that's why I should have money above all others. I already blow it even when I have none - imagine if I even had a little bit. My thought process is far beyond yours. Trust me. We eventually all went out to Steak 'n' Shake. There was a footrace, and I lost miserably. I'm more about endurance, baby!

Monday, Kyle and I went out looking for presents for Shelly's birthday. We spend the majority of our time wandering Michaels in random loops over and over again, where we somehow we came up with the most insane, best idea possible. And no, not getting a miniature microwave figurine (with a hand printed on it?), putting it in a glass case, and scrawling "NO THE MICROWAVE IS LOCKED IN HERE" on the back in blood. That was my favorite idea, and I'm sure the store thought a condor was dying from my laughter, but no one else seems to get it. What's to get?! Nor was it the idea to completely overhaul Shelly's room to have a nautical theme. Who the fuck wants that? But the concept is... well, perfect. Anyway, I can't tell you what it is except that we worked on it for pretty much the rest of the day, and we are still not even close to being done, and I don't know when we are going to have time to work on it before her b-day. It is soooo very much worth the time, though. This will be another project that I will be proud to have had such an important role in... The other ones being?