10/25/2004 - 8:45 a.m. | shake the sheets

Whenever I take a shower and come out wearing the exact same thing I was before I got in (This happens frequently), I always feel like that scene in Back to the Future: Part II where Doc is talking about his overhaul and he peels off his face looking exactly the same. "You look great, Doc." While he does a little "tah-dah" motion.

Once again, I feel like Hemingway, although I think he drank to write, whereas I am writing to stay awake long enough to drink these 17 bottles of water I have lined up so's I can sober up. Considering it is morning, I am still hilariously drunk, which I try to mask through continual movement - like Michael J. Fox! (What's with all the tangent references? And incidentally, I vaguely remember reading or being told that Michael J. Fox used to be Michael A. Fox but changed his name because of the unfortunate sentence structure of it all)

I am having a bowl of oatmeal, the first bowl of oatmeal I've had in a long, long time. It's weird; I didn't remember how to make it, and back when I was a young'un - freshman year or whatever - I made the shit all the God damn time, when my mom forced me to eat breakfast. I mean, so much fucking oatmeal. I ate it until I was absolutely sick of the shit, it would practically make me gag. And I'd watch my "Pokemon" until the bus came, tempting fate. My God, has it been that long? What is that? 7 years? No fucking way. Anyway, it is really intolerably cold - to me at least - so I stumbled over to the thermostat. Unfortunately, through some mishap that we have no clue how to correct, all temperatures are now in Celcius. 22 degrees? I have no idea what that fucking means.

Anyway, cleanup wasn't so bad as we thought. OK, I mean, it was, but we got all the major cleaning done in three hours or so, and if you had seen the place, this would be most impressive to you. I ran to Schnucks to get mop(s) and the lady was like, "Heh - have fun!" But honestly, I think the house is cleaner now than when we moved in - and definitely since we have lived here! So it's a good form of spring cleaning for us to have one of these big parties; I feel so productive. Mopping and wiping walls down and throwing all the cups in the bushes away. Accidentally tossing Bash's weed in the dumpster, because who really puts it in an Altoids tin in the bushes, hmm?

Nate checks the number of hair ties on his wrist and notices one missing. "My God, what have I done?!" It's cool, though; I gave it to Spritz to put together the gangsta wad of ones he's going to use to pay the noise ticket with. Gotta keep abreast of things, am I right? Anyway, it was a really productive day, which I guess I felt I had to counteract by getting completely ploughed ("ploffed") on grownup beer.

Bingo was fun and all, from what I remember. I sort of think Tony might hate but sort of just has to deal with us, like Touchdown. Oh well - go Team Tourette's! lol - I just remembered Kyle's God damn 6X orange t-shirt. Fucking most ridiculous thing ever. Anyway, I don't remember anything specific really, and maybe that's for the best because I was probably yelling some stupid shit at somebody. Did I offend Michelle telling her she would never please Kyle? If so, well... hahaha firstly but secondly apologies I'm sorry and all that. She keeps comparing me to JT, so we'll call it even.

Missy and I have been trying to construct our lists of people we could sleep with without fault from the other, but besides a convergence on Rhett Miller, I'm having difficulty not putting down real people. I mean, Allison "My Everest" Helm, obviously (Facebook says she's "In a relationship" now, which means I have even more reason to cut out the drunken phone messages), but God damn! Heroin Chic was in attendance last night, and she is so just staggeringly, blindlingly brilliant I can't even stand it. I moan and pass out a little whenever she walks by. I mean, just like celebrities I'd never have a chance with any of these people because I have been too loud and drunken around them already, but still - where is my element of fiction and my sense of fair play?

Shelly drove us home, and I called Missy for one of the highlights in the grand annals of drunken phone calls. I sent her an e-mail this morning: "Did I say anything embarrassing last night? Besides 'barf,' which I do remember saying - and apologizing for - several times over." I rule. "Hold on a second." HURL "So, you did what with Tracy now?" I checked it out this morning. Gross chunks of jalapeno poppers which, horrifyingly enough, really gave me a craving. That ain't normal. Then I desperately wanted to get indoors, but something went wrong with my balance where, despite my severest insistence, I would not move forward. "Backward! Backward!" my brain would say. No, you bitch, forward! Trying to lope up the front steps and suddenly taking this flying leap (well, a fall actually, but it went so far and fast that I felt it amounted to a leap overriden by my stupid, confused little brain) backwards, hopefully not into my ownn vomit, fucking dying on the ground but pretending nothing was going on while on the phone with Missy. "So how long did you stay at SMS then?" I eventually managed to overcome the workings of my inner ear and the front steps and stumbled upstairs. I am also fortunate that this was one of the few times where Missy passed on the phone as well, because I'm assuming I did the same, and always feel bad about that. I believe she told me she loved me, though, which I bet she didn't think I'd remember, but HA! I did! Or dreamed it all. Still, I was mightily impressed with myself this morning (I mean, when I could find the energy to focus on it and, say, not just toppling over). I managed to set my alarm and take out my contacts all by myself! I love how alcohol reverts me to the state of a God damned 7 year old. This is not something one should be proud of, Nathan. Anyway, I've taken about as much water as my body can hold and will now attempt to sleep until the loverly hangover sets in for the evening. I'll be real peachy for the candy store patrons tonight! Have a good day everybody.

UPDATE: Missy called me a little while ago to make sure I was doing all right (How do I trick these nice people?), and I asked about my drunken conversation with her. Apparently I was at the height of drunken emotional hilarity. Besides yelling at her (not for real yelling but just as loud as the real thing) every time she said I was drunk, I also ended up bawling for five minutes. The yelling makes sense; for whatever reason, I am always very resistent to claims of my drunkeness. I dunno if it's just to be disagreeable or what, but I will never admit my drunkenness if possible. I mean, even as I'm vomitting in the bushes or taking flying leaps off the porch onto my spine, I'm thinking, "No, man - you're doing great!! This is perfectly normal behavior!" You start to think you're a state, you definitely are a state. The crying, though, is fairly hilarious. Missy was teasing me (as usual) about how I never call her because she always gets to me first, and I guess I just broke down. "YOU THINK I'M SUCH AN AWFUL PERSON sob sob sob" It was like a dozen drunken experiences crammed into an evening. I am an archetype.