01/08/2005 - 1:21 p.m. | crying but you don't have the right

I was crossing the guard yesterday when someone told me to have a good weekend. Clearly, they were mixed up beyond all belief, I thought, as it was only Wednesday (Thursday at best). It took three more people doing the same before I finally checked my watch. "Holy fuck! It is Friday!" Ah, the gaping vortex of time that is Winter Break.

I kept promising myself I would sit down and update this thing just as soon as Ducky left town. Then, I did everything in my power to get Ducky to stay longer and longer and longer. What was supposed to maybe be an overnight thing quickly became two days, then three, then finally leaving on what was apparently Friday at 3 in the morning. So you'll just have to excuse my sickening amount of absences. It's not as though I was doing anything noteworthy anyway. We didn't even go to the God damned strip club, but! Mark my words, when Smacko returns, I shall start up on some hardcore lobbying. Anyway, days were mostly spent sleeping bizarre hours, crossing the guard, playing vampire game (I know, frown), watching bad TV, playing old Nintendo games, and drinking. Ducky has pretty much every NES, Super Nintendo, and Genesis game on his Xbox, so the week quickly came to be about playing every possible derivative of "Drinking [Bad TV Game Show Port]." Drinking Family Feud certainly tops the list, what with its bizarre families (featuring John Kerry and Black Hitler!) and absolutely terrible answer system. My arms and shoulders are finally almost not sore from the day of waving my arms about playing the EyeToy window washer game, which speaks loads for my own physical well-being.

Honestly, I'm trying to think of what else we did, and I'm coming up dry. We went out to dinner a lot (I had beef tips WTF), and I saw Yousaf for the first time in a decade. He was in Pakistan over break, so when I first saw him, I yelled something to the effect of, "How've you been, you godless motherfucker!" But with a big smile on my face, so it's not racism. Apparently, his family are like kings of a village over there, and Yousaf himself is next in line to rule the shit. We decided it would be like "The Sims," except with real people. "You two, kiss! You! Study cooking!" For Christ's sakes, they even sacrificed a cow for him and his brother, which they videotaped and which I might see and which may or may not suddenly convert me to vegetarianism. It's too bad the Indians fucking killed his grandfather and took his trunk of gold. No, seriously. He had a trunk of gold. Call me ethnocentic, but he comes from the weirdest place ever.

While Ducky, Spritz, and I were at Olive Garden being typical college students and eating our infinite soup, salad, and bread for $6, I did my best to keep my mind off actually going over to the horrible, stereotypical college couple over in the counter and picking a fight with them. God damn, I'm gonna sound like a Hot Topic t-shirt or something, but normal people scare me. Sort-of-OK-looking blonde chick in her key lime green North Face coat that everyone in the world owns with mouthbreather crew cut frat idiot in a Hollister polo coming to the most typical date spot in the world, even as we had been discussing it only moments earlier. "So, after dinner at... The Olive Garden! ... we'll go see the number one movie in America, Meet the Fockers..." "And then I'll give you your consolation handjob." Good deal. Seriously, though, it took all my self-control to stay only mildly abrasive. I guess I'm probably just envious. As Spritz said, I don't think anyone can argue with ignorance being bliss. I sometimes wish I had no precept of what the world was like around me, no idea when I was acting like an idiot or boring or whatever, no sense of self-awareness at all, and I could just be tra-la-la happy all the time, having sex with random girls in bars and unironically enjoying Vin Diesel movies.

Anyway, while we had our fifth bowl of soup or whatever, I started talking about how desperate my job hunt is getting and what possible illegal alternatives remain. I'd sell drugs... but of course I don't have any access to drugs. I'd prostitute myself... but what girl wants my ass right off the bat? I'm the guy whose "charm" and "good nature" wins people over, and that's jack shit when you're whoring yourself out on the streets of Champaign-Urbana. Spritz, however, immediately went to the alternative that I myself had not been willing to face: I could start going to the gay bar. I do seem to have a certain amount of automatic rapport with those people, and with Spritz as my pimp, how could I fail? We'd just set some ground rules (e.g. "always on top"), I'd give Spritz his 5 dollar commission, and while he ate his hoagie, I'd fuck some dude in the ass. PERFECT. I was seriously thinking about selling my blood, but Spritz said the place I was gonna go to has shut down, leading to the following conversation with Missy:

N: So, there's a sperm bank in Colombia, Missouri...
M: Wait, how do you know that?
N: How do I know any of the things I do, Mis? When I say I check all job opportunities, I mean all of them. Anyway, there's one in Indiana and one in Colombia, which used to seem impossibly far away, but now it's only the halfway point to your place. So, I stop in there on the way to see you, bing-bang-boom, $50 or whatever. Then, as you've been on your period every single time I've come to see you, no doubt I'll be rarin' to go on the drive back as well!!
M: Are you being passive-aggressive?
N: *giggle*

I'm funny. Funny don't get you money, though, as I no doubt learned from an episode of "Martin" or some shit. "Funny don't get you money, Gina! Aw, hell no!!" *applause* I've applied for some more terrible office work, and Brytne let me know about her telemarketing job, but I don't know if I'm cut out for that sort of thing. I'm obviously much better suited for the gay prostitution. As it is, I'm trying to get weird little high-paying things, one or two hours at a time, just to keep me afloat. Psych experiments, $8-10 an hour. Modeling for a video game company somehow located here in Champaign, $12 an hour. Yeah, you heard me. I hope I just get word back on something soon, as crossing guard money can't hold me forever, especially since I had to skip a day this past week.

Went outside in the morning, and my car had been transformed into a 2-ton maroon block of ice. How do grownups deal with these problems? I kicked at it for a little while and breathed on the door cracks or something but was already gonna be late, so I just called in instead. In the afternoon, I thought the car would have warmed up some, but nope. I asked Spritz for a ride, but by the time we got his car warm enough to see, I got there just when I was normally leaving. Home again, I sat down and thought hard about how to crack this bitch. Warm water would work, but then... it's water, so it would just freeze up again. Warm rum, however! But damn, I'm too poor to buy that much rum. Salt water would be good... except my already lovely car would become a rust bucket piece of shit. But wait... urine is salty, right? And urine has stuff in it that prevent it from rusting cars too, right? OK, I made the last one up, but it seemed good at the time, so I pissed in a 3 liter bottle of St. Nick's brand ginger ale (although I might have been giving myself a little too much credit) and dumped it on my door. Fuck it. Fine. Poured hot water on the car and once I got the door open, dried it all off as best as I could. Worse comes to worse, I can always just dump more water on, right? I then carved out my three peepholes (one on each window) and boom - road-ready!

I dunno what else. We went over to Yousaf's for martinis (Well, I didn't have one because I knew they were ass, but it was fun watching everyone else try them and die a little inside) and giant projector-sized Nintendo games. I suck at everything, and let me tell you, it's hard to like anything when you suck at it. Show me a person who loves something they are terrible at and I'll say, "Fuck! Turn off Rudy; I don't need any of that Samwise Gamgee ass!" Or alternatively: "Go away, Shelly." Hahaha. I kid, I kid! What to ask for forgiveness? Repeatedly calling Shelly autistic. Many, many times. After all, I stole her "American Girl" mp3. Is it weird that I think that song is sort of hot? What about if I think that because of The Silence of the Lambs? Well, nevermind.

Spritz was there, and he is admittedly very good at Mario Kart 64 (which is what we mostly played), but he knows it and is therefore the most horrid, arrogant son-of-a-bitch in the entire world. I was about to smack his bitch ass up. Since I couldn't do anything in-game against him, most of my energy was spent coming up with the most creative threats possible. Of note: "I hope you die. No, not in the game. I mean for real. I hope your fucking stupidass red SUV rolls over, crushing you and breaking every bone in your body. All 206 of them. And then when you're in the hospital lying in traction, all of your bones nothing more than useless shards, that is when I will come in, and I will pull my dick out, and I will wave it an inch in front of your face, and you won't be able to move or say shit or do anything but watch. And if you close your eyes, I will tape them open!!" It sucks not being good at anything.

After we got bored with the game (as it started ending the same way again and again: Kyle and Spritz, the two power gamers, having ridiculously drawn out standoffs), the plan was to order nasty pizza and watch King Arthur, but I could do without, so I walked home through the horrid tundra, stopping only to get more Sour Punch Straws. You know how sometimes your cravings are supposed to be indicative of what your body needs? Like, if you're really jonesing for a banana, it might mean you need potassium? What does wanting Sour Punch Straws indicate? Am I low on my Glyceryl Monostearate? Do I need a Malic Acid fix?

I forget what else. I sang the majority of karaoke at Kyle's parents', despite my clear lack of ability. So I'll just eat my words then. Damn. I beat the vampire game, and it was disappointing. I looked up the other endings, and they are moreso. Expect more entries, as Kyle and Shelly are busy skiing, and Spritz is busy humping. And I don't know anyone else.