03/13/2005 - 3:14 a.m. | breck

Oh, to write about this evening. It's a tough task, really. I would say something like, "If only you could just follow me around with a video camera, then you would understand," but I am not even sure that is adequate. More like, "If only you could make a direct recording of all my brain wave patterns and whatnot so that you see what I saw and hear what I thought and blah blah blah." Clearly, I am bombed out of my mind. However! Tonight was a very good evening as far as college nights go! Very archetypal! Too many exclamation points.

It would be better to write this when all details are cleared up, sorted, and filed, and whatnot, but that isn't half as interesting as me stumbling for the keys, now is it? It was such a long strange night. We watched some Left Behind and Booger and his soulless girlfriend were here, and suddenly I made Smacko walk with me to Schnucks to get some sasparilla because I wanted something in a glass bottle for the evening (A weird fetish at that) as well as a God damn useless 9V battery such that we could hang the Gays sign on the wall. There was an old wooden sign that could easily be knocked down if we had the balls to tackle it and get splinters in our face, but no. We didn't. And then he was telling me about his experiences with DXM and how on his first time he was alone in the dark in the bathroom of his room at IMSA and he saw a mosaic and it shattered and reformed to become that of an angel. And the angel said, "Drink RC Cola." No shit. That might just be the funniest thing I ever heard in my life. We dragged a bicycle security thing home. Along with the ladder.

There's so much I'm missing, but I'll try to fill in those pieces later on. The trek to tonight's party seemed so, so long, and there were many stops, such as when Smacko shat on a pile of toilet paper in ISR and then rubbed the poo all up and down all the walls and the handicapped rail as well, I think. I made myself note, specifically, that it was like moving through marshmallow. But we did get there. And it was a crowded party, where I was surrounded by people. One girl was described by Shelly as "hardcore," I think concerning her dancing. I kept maybe getting inklings that she was into me, but then, maybe I'm all making that all up and whatnot. The important thing is, I am always alone in these sort of situations. Like, I don't try to dance with no girls, and I kind of just hover around, so sometimes I am near the big tall black guys, and I worry that they might think I am making homosexual advances on them and will bash my skull in, but I continue dancing because that would be a pretty good way to go anyway.

Some Asian troll started all grabbing me and whatnot, but I was not there to get some ass. At least not with her at least. And this one stupid couple just kept spilling their drinks on everyone. One drink on me, one on Shelly. Why did you even try and drink while you danced, stupid? And the music would keep stopping. I had no idea where it was coming from, so I sort of just yelled in any old direction. Everyone was paired off.

I thought about staying when Kyle and Shelly were leaving, but what would be the point? Might I get some ass? Maybe, but damn, it would probably be gross nugget ass because only drunk nuggets will break social convention and come over to you and make the first move, and yuck. That is not even worth my time! So I went along with Shelly and Kyle.

Here is the thing: Well, first, Shelly and I talked a lot about sex tonight. We came to no real conclusions. Next! It seems to be fairly well agreed upon that I am to be their third wheel forever. Like, I wouldn't want to impose, but they seem to want me there, living with them, where ever they go, raising their children or whatever. And maybe it is just drunk talk or maybe they are joking, but I hope not because it somehow feels really, really right to be with them together. Like we are a family. But then I see us all old and freaking people out with our "alternate lifestyle," and I'm like, hell no, we ain't gonna be havin' no threesomes or nothin'. It's just that - I think all three of us needs each other, so maybe we'll have to be sort of a family. I love them both, you know.

But I feel sort of crass because, well, others get shuffled aside in the process. For instance, I am sad to say that I don't think Missy is The One. I mean, I love her, and I don't deserve half of the functions she throws back at me, but I don't see it working out in the long, long run. And I know! I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck and I'm not trying to sabotage things on purpose. I dunno. I just see things working out in a certain way. Am I going to be a successful psychologist / advertiser? No, possibly not. But I feel like the fact that I was here for these things is in someway important to my overall survival.

Do you realize how many words I've written in this diary so far? It's just insane when you sit down and think about it. Millions and millions probably. And I don't even mean to. I feel like it's something above me, and I don't know why anyone would care, but I'm hoping maybe they would. I am wearing a slim fit t-shirt that actually fits me tonight. And my stubble is so feathery smooth. I feel like I am gay.

So, we leave the one party and we go to the one we passed on the way to the first in this big crazy house with all these different levels. And some dude is trying to get some chick to drink some more (so probably he can fuck her) and couples are being all close and someone has brought a dog in and then there are two lonely Asian guys on the top floor in the kind of reflection-like slit through the door. This campus is huge. I don't think of it much of the time, but it's so vast that it overwhelms me. Because all of these people had to be built up to this point. All of these people - theoretically - could write diary entries like I am doing right now, talking about all the little inane silly things that made them how they are now. Smacko was telling me this story about how he was on vacation and this big fat Mexican guy died. Drowned out at sea or something. And I dunno. It's so strange. Because so much work went into that guy. He was educated and loved and worked and had friends and had all these experiences adding up to make him, Big Fat Mexican Guy, and suddenly, it all ends?? It seems so unfair to cut off shit like that. I don't like to think about what his last thoughts were, what my last thoughts would have been. It's very, very unnerving.

From the crazy huge (slanted? everything seemed slanted) house to White Horse for some reason. I've never been there before, and it sort of made me so happy. Now, THIS, my friends, is a white person bar. No beating around the bush. The other places, they play shit by popular hip hop artists and whatnot and other cultures at least make cameos here and there. Not White Ho, though. She is filled with white bread, blasting country, all singin' and not one smooth dancer in sight. Just a little dive bar where the rednecks can hang out. It's sort of sweet in its own way. I saw Justine from my ad group there. She was drunkenly yelling at the DJ.

We ran into Fitz, and I could not focus on anything but his voice. It sounded almost cartoonish. We all talked about how fat we had all gotten. Then Kyle planted me somewhere around #6 on his list and we got lost in that for a while while Shelly ran ahead to catch the bus. The bus we ourselves caught through our own lucky wanderings. It was mostly us and some pizza people. They wanted to stop specifically at McCullough, too, and it made me sooooooo happy to get off the bus and be on our front lawn. I'm home!!