10/05/2004 - 8:11 p.m. | saucy jack hehehehehe

Where has all the writing gone? Well, guys, I'm just full of excuses, so you can take your pick. My lack of glasses certainly seems stupid, but usually I wind the day down with some writing at night, and it's tough to do if my contacts are out and everything looks like a blob of gray. I'm also, dunno if you noticed, sort of sick of my writing style... Well, something like that. I just feel sort of uninspired. To remedy, I've gotten on a bit of a memoir kick, which takes time because I am reading and also trying to find something new to read, which is difficult, as I am supremely picky. I do see a gap in this genre, though. A gap that I feel I could fill in. Everyone has this bizarre need to write about some sort of big, underlying problem - dead parents or getting beat up or drug use or social conflict. I think some general thoughts are needed out there, and maybe that's why I'm starting up again.

Despite everything else, I still have a bit of an alarmist in me. OK, ew, that could be misconstrued. Like when I acted like I didn't have any money, well... OK, I didn't... but that was just really poor timing, and things are a little bit better now. And maybe I acted like I was a little worried with the whole "three tests in a week thing," but we all know better, don't we? How much studying was really going to be done? Once again, it's a battle of the senses, namely my sense of responsibility versus my supreme sense of arrogance. Time and again I am absolutely convinced that I am so very blessed with memory and common sense that a few hours of studying will get me an A. Was I right? Well, who knows? Psych tests are funny like that. The hardest easiest tests ever.

I really don't have it in me to do a whole day-by-day for the week I've neglected you, diary. Ugh, I hate people who refer to their diaries like they are people. Eat it, self. Anyway, at least some sort of summary is in order. I've been visiting Hot Topic a lot lately to talk to Jen. No ulterior motives, I swear, other than to seem like the nicest guy ever just in case she ever did search for a tryst, but Lord no, we wouldn't think of that! Secret shame is that I sort of finally like one of the bands we play at work. Breaking Benjamin. *sigh* I don't know if I have the genre down exactly right, but I think it's somewhere about the "scr-emo" area. See, the firefly is a metaphor for blah blah blah we couldn't think of anything. I feel so dirty. Speaking of, "leather pants" have been stricken from my birthday list because I tried on a pair of pleather something last week, and they were ... I dunno. I ask my brain, "Well, brain, what clever phrase or metaphor would you use to describe wearing these pants?" "Like wearing warmed ham." Well, good enough. It'd be pretty cool if I had an ass to show off, but no. No ass. I really shouldn't be writing at this time. New euphemism for sex is, "Faux-hawk," I've decided. Like, Jen was saying she wanted to give me a faux-hawk, and I said, "So you want to faux-hawk me?" but I said it all stretched out and crazy, so that it did sort of sound like "fuck." Get it? This is a sort of thing I do often. Well, OK, I can only think of one other example, but it's good: Justin and I were volunteering at some church thing, tutoring little kids to read or something. I was standing around with him waiting for it to start, and he goes, "I had to take the long way today because they were putting new tar on the road by my house." I say, "So they re-tarred it?" at which point some church lady zooms up and yells, "We don't use that word in here!" Sorry, church lady.

How you can tell if a movie is going to be a complete bomb, commercially: Whether or not it is extensively advertised at the Champaign Marketplace Mall. Since I have started my life there, there have been three movies extensively plugged, huge posters everywhere, decals on windows, cardboard placards on tables in the food court. The movies featured were I-Robot with Will Smith, First Daughter with Katie Holmes, and we have now arrived at the nirvana that is Taxi with Jimmy Fallon and Queen Latifah. Best of luck, shitheads.

Thursday night I was coerced into going out with Brytne and company. Well, mostly Sean was, because I am abused like that. Strangely enough, it would seem that Brytne and Owen know each other, because he was somehow there. Fucker put out a cigarette on my arm, which caused me to freak out for a good long time. I mean, more than most, I understand and appreciate Owen's social experiments, but fucking hurting people and then not feeling anything about it is pretty much the definition of psychopathy. "I'm sorry, man." "No, you're not." "Okay, you're right." But who can stay mad at Owen? Not me! Meanwhile, Brytne was feeling, er, amorous and slipped one rung lower on the "What the fuck?" scale, namely she stuck her tongue in my mouth. Luckily, Kyle 2 showed up not long after, and her tongue had a somewhat more appropriate receptacle. Everyone started making out on the engineering quad, and I collapsed on some steps to call Missy, where I did not talk about making out, because I am a classy motherfucker. So to speak.

Last weekend (Well, two weekends ago) didn't account for much. Justin and Lisa came into town, and we saw Mason Jennings (who I also saw in Austin, but you wouldn't know that because I haven't written about it, I suck, I suck, I suck). He was decent, but he didn't sing "The Mountain," which is all I frickin' wanted. And then I tried to download the album track, but he doesn't scream it like he does live and well shoot. I can't tell if I am really as oblivious as I think I am. Probably, and I never act anyway, so in the end, it don't matter. We had this elaborate (OK, not) plan to get smashed and then maybe go out to the bars and get some La Bamba, but somehow that became "passing out to VH1" instead. The living room reeked of Justin's God damn chicken jerky, rotisserie flavored. Which leads one to wonder, how is something flavored like a grill? Well, whatever. Saturday, we hit campus a little bit. A, er, water pipe was purchased for the, uh, smoking of water, and then I just sort of read until I passed out early that night. Way to use that night off, Nate. Well, Spritz was out of town, and Kyle and Shelly have not recently been able to convince me to go out with them alone. They just start making out and CONSTANTLY LEANING ON ME.

Sunday you know of (glug glug, yell yell, lose lose), and then I tried my very best to fret during the week. Monday was hungover, pretty bad. I wrote a paper about jelly beans and did my part of the vague group project that I supposedly have in one of my many advertising classes. I hear about these things secondhand. "So, when are we gonna figure out what we're going to survery on in regards to sports and advertising?" HUH Well, luckily, I am a much better faker than everyone else, and unlike the confused-ass Asian guy in my group (who I believe sides with me because I am male) I get a pretty good grasp on these things, so I was way ahead of the game after not long. Honestly, folks, I'm so vain I feel like I could make anyone fall in love with me if I tried. Hear that Justine? Well, except damn Allison Helm. She's my Everest. Insert your own climbing joke here. Tuesday I was presumed to be studying, and I think I maybe worked at the candy store that night. Yeah, I did, and I kept being a dick to all the poor mall employee girls, and they loved it. I am shameless. Wednesday took the one test and theoretically studied for the second. Cognitive psych, joy of joys. Luckily, I am very easily convinced of shit, so when Spritz said, "It is Wednesday. We must go out on Wednesday," I said, "OK!" Turnout was sparse, to put it mildly. Kyle was too engrossed in "Super Tennis." I don't play pool, I don't go to meet people, mostly I just buy the drinks. Man, and I stepped in some of the worst fucking dogshit of all time. It made a cloud around me, I swear. Thursday was supposed to be the tough day, but it didn't come off as such. One test, then "The Price is Right" with Kyle. Actually, the most fucked up episode of "The Price is Right" with Kyle. One idiot lady kept saying "ice bucket," and of the showcase prizes was completely insane (Twilight Zone parody: "And then she saw her worst nightmare: A deragned clown! ....on a new mini-scooter!" And the clown was pretty fucking deranged. All in black and white and scary as hell) and then there was this ad for this old lady putting money in a parking meter to keep alive and going, "I wish life could be like this!" Here you go, God! "TIME EXPIRED" It doesn't make any sense to you, does it? Well, whatever. Then a Long John Silver's ad, which somehow convinced me, who somehow convinced Kyle that we had to fucking go there right then to get a $3.99 Make Your Own Combo. It was fairly fucking terrible, and we wore the stupid pirate hats and got dirty looks, but at least there was plenty of deep-fried air to go around. I have been a series of bizarre cravings lately. One day last week I went to Schnucks and bought spiral generic macaroni and cheese, salt and vinegar chips, and a 6 pack of generic "delicious chocolate" Ensure. Later that week, I bought a McDonald's 2 cheeseburger combo of my own volition. Last night tops the list, though: Fucking Dinty Moore cassarole shit. Two cans of beef stew with fucking "biscuits" on top. Prepackaged for my convenience. Then a nap then a test then a nap. Then sleep. Friday was my busy class day, I guess, which isn't saying anything at all. In Creative Advertising, we were divided into groups and told to come up with a creative strategy for this weird Mt. Dew substitute from Tennessee called "Ski!" "Taste the wake," it said. It also said that it was all natural, by which they meant there was ass sediment at the bottom. Feeling particularly manic, I just kept screaming about this water-skiing squirrel I saw once. Everyone laughed nervously. I also worked at Hot Topic, which made me really grumpy afterwards, so I was hardly in the mood to get drunk and grill stuff with everyone else. I did supply them with their cheapass vodka, though ($9.99 a gallon or whatever). It would seem I have lost all fear as Sean D. Mills. I will be voting as the fucker soon enough. Still, felt sort of used and was best left alone.

Saturday was back to Hot Topic for more selling of goth pants. What can I say? I am so loved... by pre-teen girls. OK, actually I have no idea how old they are, because I look like Im like 16 for God's sake, but the general rule seems to be that you cannot desire me unless you have braces. I wore my "I need a hug" shirt that day and could get so much action, I swear, if only I could master my own impulse control. "So... you want to come over to my place..." "You have your own place?" "I mean, my parents' place? .... They're... out of town for the weekend. We can snog." I mean, I look young enough... it's probably cool, right? No, not at all. I do make friends easily there, though, and it would be easier still if I bought me up some cute little kitty ears to wear, but I've been told that isn't right either. WELL FINE WHAT IS RIGHT STUPID MORAL MAJORITY

Helpful hint: If, on thefacebook.com, you put in your profile that you are interested in both men and women, it actually means you are interested in men and women. Oops. It's one thing when the moms that come into Hot Topic compliment me on my pretty eyes - I mean, it'd be great if some cute girl my age did it, but whatever - but when this huge, gruff black guy comes up to me and uses the same line. "Do you wear contacts?" "Yeah, man." "Colored ones?" "Uh, nope." "Wow, you have the bluest eyes." "Thank you?" Wow, I feel like I've been leaving so much out lately. I mean, I know I have the Austin thing to cover and the longass period before that in the works, but still... all this stuff. I saw the new Resident Evil movie, for instance. And I know, it was terrible, really, but it was such a lovable kind of terrible that I couldn't not recommend it. I mean, any movie where the hordes of flesh-eating zombies become sort of a backdrop annoyance to some hilarious overkill motherfucker with this idiotic smile and a rocket launcher is a fucking awesome movie in my books. Also, Jill Valentine was amazing. I <3 zombies too much. Too, too much. And I wish Shaun of the Dead were playing anywhere even remotely near here. Oh well, maybe in Kansas. Giggle.

Work ended earlier than usual for me, so I went out in search of some glasses with Jen and Spritz. Not as easy as one would suspect. I dunno, I've decided that I'm through with artfag glasses for a while, and I kind of want the exact opposite. The tiniest frames I can find, which unfortunately, are not too findable. Cute little round ones, wire frames, probably really stupidly easy to completely smash up, but oh well! From there, I went to Wal-mart, grabbed the negative face watch I was lookng at before, and hid out in a hardware aisle, using a pushpin to try and adjust the size. The people thought I was crazy, and apparently I was, because it couldn't be made even close enough to fit my rinky-dink wrists. As I walked angrily out, I thought about being a badass and sticking the pushpin into one of the plastic tubs of paint, but as the cleaner of many badass moves by other jerk kids like myself, I set store in other plans. Watching Mean Girls, for instance, and getting smashed.

Kyle, Shelly, and I eventually headed to Rahul's for a fairly awesome party, in that there was a lot of dancing and a lot of people. It was all nostalgic to visit the old apartment, and we kept running into the strangest people. Well, Owen, but he's everywhere, but that freshman Nick we met, and fucking Allison Helm, which got me started on that whole kick again, because it seems like maybe she doesn't hate me, but maybe she does. Well, as Owen once again somehow got everyone in line with him, screaming "What?" ad nauseum and alternately punching the air or doing the stupid "gay man hailing a cab" bullshit, I got maybe half a dozen calls from Brytne and company because apparently I had only moments earlier promised them I would go to their place. Oh, it's so hard to be loved by one and all. Anyway, their party wasn't much one at all - more like a group of frenzied alcoholics who wanted their drinking to seem just a little bit more social. I missed out on a good portion of the dance party, and when I came back inside, Katie and Elliott were leaving to sex, leaving things down to me, Brytne, Kitty, and Taylor. Let the stripping begin! The details are a little fuzzy, but people more or less started taking my clothes off in a very persistent manner. Perhaps if they were a group of strangers I would have fought more, but mostly I just tried to avoid my junk being seen by anyone. Not because my junk is so terribly awful, of course, but it really isn't fair for them to see mine when I don't see theirs. And not that I actually want to see theirs, AT ALL, but still... I forget my point. We danced, though, and then they started trying to shove dollar bills down my boxers, but then they wanted the dollar bills back, which doesn't make any God damned sense. Services rendered, bitch! I demean myself, you give me a dollar! It was more or less an on-and-off struggle to keep partially clothed all evening. Sometimes life is weird.

Along those lines, Brytne kept calling Kyle 2, and he kept saying he was coming, he was coming, and we all sat around banking on it like he was going to be the savior of this party - he would bring all these chicks and booze and whatever, and the party would blow up. Off the heezy. Well, hours later, he finally stumbles in with this fucking amazing shirtless guy (Keep in mind it is only a little above freezing outside), this shirtless guy who was once recently skinny but has since developed little pig boobs and huge lovehandles and comes in stroking himself all over. He starts dancing around (Was there music? No, really. Was there?!), grinding up on people, whatever. "Who the fuck is this guy?!" I mouth, as he starts grinding his crotch into my ass. Well, he obviously has not met the master of Gay Chicken, has he? I start grindng back until he runs off into the night.

Things start to wind down, and I start to get scared. To explain this fully, however, will require explanation of a superstition that I've recently developed and which you will no doubt make fun of me for, and even worse, which shall jinx the hell out of me. Anyway, you know how I always wear a few hairties around my wrist, just in case? Well, that's what I always say. Just in case. Or that it's sort of like Hot Topic-y shit, but cheaper. It seems that I have had far more sinister subconscious reasons for wearing them. Turns out any girl that I've actually gotten any action with has been given one of my hairties. Lisa, obviously, because she was why I got them in the first place. But Andrea, Katie, Missy. It's getting a little suspicious, the pattern. I dunno - and it's not like I forced it on them. But they needed one, and I gave it to them, and then... well, whatever. It's odd. So, like I said, evening is ending, and I'm going to get the fuck out, and all of a sudden, Taylor's fucking hairtie breaks and she starts talking about how she needs a new one. Oh fuck no. I don't say a God damned word. I already know she would jump my bones in a second - yuck, one does not want this at all - and then God just comes down and spits on my face, "How about your little ritual now, bitch!" Needless to say, I am shaken to my core.

Came home, all strange and mopey, couldn't sleep, whatever, the usual. Woke up the next day, maybe not entirely unintoxicated, but that didn't seem like a bad thing. In fact, I considered stopping at a few gas stations along the way to get a bottle of something to keep the buzz alive. I was working open-to-close at the candy store, that's bad enough, but rather than someone at least normal (or someone great like Kara - sigh), I was gonna be stuck with stupid lame fatty Katie. Even if she were just ugly, that'd be all right, but fucking hell, she uses the word "fantabulous" all the fucking time! And "spiffy!" Lord God Almighty. Spiffy. I have to spend the entire day wording my questions and comments very carefully, so that I wouldn't have to hear this shit too much. I don't think you understand the full rammifications of this girl and her "fantabulous." People have been saying my eyes look a little dimmer these days. Drugs? Lord, no! Everytime she says one of those words, a little part of my soul dies! I am going to be inhuman soon enough if this doesn't let off. I kept conversation (if you could call it that) at the barest minimum. Grunts about filling candy. I wasn't really tried when I got done with work, but to actually want to go to bingo, I have to either win or drink - the former doesn't happen, and the latter wasn't about to. Merciful sleep.

Monday, Tuesday? I dunno, man. I read some shit, and kept trying to tell myself things I wanted to do. Better clean your room soon! Better write some diary entries! Better make some t-shirts! This list still exists. Spritz and I went to the mall. He got himself a sweatervest, and it seems crucial to note how far ahead of the trend he is. He's wanted that shit since summer, and the world is only just, just starting to present the chance. It'll be months before you cretins catch on! I was all for the mission, because that is some funny shit. And I got some socks. I am looking for something to make my bed have fewer springs digging into my spine. It's not that I care so much. I mean, yeah, maybe I wake up with random back pains, but I kind of enjoy those! It's just that Missy is going to be visiting soon (He hopes), and since we are LIVING IN SIN, I don't want her hurting, because that's mean. Unfortunately, still am poor, even if I like the idea of living paycheck to paycheck. Along those same lines, I may need some sort of space heater for my room, because it is pretty much cold as balls up here. Again, I could do with just the fuckload of blankets I've been using (meanwhile Michelle in her tepid oasis is all like, "Does anyone think we need to turn the heat up?" I step outside of my door, and it's 10 degrees warmer). It did not help that they decided to light the fireplace, meaning what little warm air hidden in my room was sucked out to make their toes a little more toasty. It will be fun when I go into a coma from hypothermia. Shelly says there is some sort of mysterious heater in the basement, but I think this is how most "Goosebumps" stories started, and I do not need fucking ghosts or Monster Blood III coming to kick my ass. READER BEWARE YOU'RE IN FOR A SCARE With that in mind, I might have to go to this haunted house in Farmer City. One especially freakish mall freak lady who seems to think she knows me told me all about it, and if there's one thing I like, it's haunted houses. Who will come? ALL OF YOU. This is a fairly mediocre entry, but at least it's something. I like to overreact. Here is my favorite quote:

"In one case study, a patient thought hospital staff had cruelly placed a severed leg in his bed; he tried to throw it to the floor, but the rest of his body followed the leg."