04/07/2005 - 1:29 p.m. | GET YO SLANT ON TONITE BOOOOOI

Quite possibly the nicest thing anyone ever did for me today. I was out crossing the guard in the drizzle, and the kids from the family who approved of the ribbons on my car (the same family with the super cute babysitter, incidentally) handed me a little paper package wrapped in yarn as they crossed today. So I opened it up, and there were like a dozen new ribbons in there for me! EEEE! That's so nice! And opens my mind to so many questions. Like, who actually did the stealing? Was it the mom, or did she force her kids to do it ("They're minors; they won't get busted!")? I need details! Personally, I sort of hope it was the cute babysitter, but regardless, I am so happy now. Seriously, there is no better way to get on my good side than to commit a series of misdemeanors for me.

Later on, Kyle and I went out on a man-date, first to Steak and Shake (where he had a nice Old Man Paste because his wisdom teeth have reverted him fully to infancy) and then an impulsive trip to the movie theatre to see Sin City. Such a cool movie, visually with a strange, awesome cast and as little plot as anyone could stomach I dislike Clive Owen and his wide head considerably less than when I came on. On the downside, Robert Rodriguez is establishing himself as the mother of all disappointing stripteases. He had Salma Hayek playing a stripper in From Dusk 'till Dawn and Jessica Alba playing one in this, and neither one actually did pretty much the only part of their characters' job description. Weak, dude, weak. He could be god among men if he had pushed for that extra bit. After the film, we contemplated shopping for clothes together but ran home instead, grasping what little of our masculinity remained.

General Engineering barcrawl after that! The last thing I remember clearly was trying to choke down the worst bottle of wine I've ever had in my life. Big Daddy merlot can suck my ballsack; I don't care if it ranked at #87 in "Winefags Magazine," shit tasted like rancid bacon or something. I had to bike to the store just to get some food to choke it down with. But down it I did, and it put me in quite a pleasant mood thereafter. Meanwhile, Smacko and Kyle were matching each other quaffer for quaffer; I do believe they got up to 16 by the time we got out the door. Keep in mind that Kyle's drunken adventures on Sunday began with only half that amount. "It's going to be a grrrreat day!!"

The GE's wisely left KAMS and related bars off the queue, making it much more tolerable for Smacko and the like. At Murphy's, everyone ate so so many greasy potatoes, but the thought of it made me sick, so I kept doing laps around the building. I ran into Andrea and her Mexican boyfriend; I stumbled over and say hey for a little and then walked off, pausing for a moment on my way back to wonder how long much effort it would actually take to get her away from him right there and then. But! "No bother," I thought. "It is not my business anymore!" and kept going from there. I miss sometimes, I guess, but I had my chance, and Shelly the Slutbomb was already extolling the wisdom of the whole "grass is always greener" philosophy. Clearly, she does not understand my plight. I don't actually want to be in another relationship; I just want the self-esteem boost from knowing that I could be if I wanted to. Meanwhile, in an effort to keep the sexually fraternizing between Slutbomb and Drunk to an all-time low, Spritz and I made Kyle sign a contract that stipulated he give us each a dollar each time he made an audible pass at Shelly. I know I got at least one dollar during the evening, and there was talk of another one later on, too.

From there, we proceeded to Clybourne, and I was in full swing by then. Somehow I ended up dancing with all these black chicks - lol! I called Missy later and told her about it. "What the fuck?" "Haha - jealous?!" I just know that I wanted to dance, and no one else besides them did, so I just jumped right in. For their part, they played along pretty well and kept their their disdainful looks on the D/L. I have no delusions about being an adequate dancer. It was funny as hell, though. We hit Joe's next, but it was country nite or something and dead as hell. Spritz and I tried to play pool, but the machine was busted, and I ran into some girl that said she knew me from some party. It might have been that one girl I talked to that one time (No, seriously, I remember what specific incident; I just can't remember any distinguishing characteristics about it except talking to this one Mexican girl), but then again, it seems like I have "one of those faces" but with a qualifier stuck on the end: "but skinner." "Oh, man! You look just like my friend Justin from high school! but skinnier!" Good to know, ace. I'm leaving your damn bar now.

Smacko and I abandoned the others to go to C.O.'s, where we heard "the real party was going on" or some horseshit. Of course, Smacko isn't a big fan of "the real party" in the first place, especially when it's Champaign style, so we smashed our way through the crowd for a lap and then started to leave until we noticed everyone else had just caught up and was waiting in line. Stuck, we joined back in with them. I let some girl cut in front of me and then flirted with her hardcore for about 5 minutes (with Jevon & co. making "hit that!" motions behind her), proceeding to dump her immediately after we got in the door. Now, see? That's the kind of relationship I want! Here's an excerpt:

Me: See, I usually only let hot girls cut in line in front of me.
Girl: I'm hot...
Me: Oh... Oh, yeah... Yeah. My bad.

Never give them an inch, Walshie (I'm trying that out; it failed)! She was satisfyingly hot enough (in Drunk-o-vision, mind you) to make m feel good about myself for a little while longer that evening. We did some laps and some dancing, and Smacko sucked down an Icebomb, which did not some wise to me considering his current BAC. No doubt I was obliged to help him.

We headed for Brothers, the last step on our little inebriated journey, and ran into Steve's (ex?) girlfriend Ellen. She was drunk and friendly as balls, which was sort of funny. Hugs for everyone! I made friends with some girls from another barcrawl, and we all stood around in a circle, leaping wildly and screaming Jimmy Eat World. I was having a riot, actually, and wouldn't have minded staying out the whole time, but everyone else seemed to be winding down. Smacko left on his own first, and apparently has no idea how he made it home. I like to think there's a whole series of adventures (and a now-impregnated woman) that he doesn't have any idea about. It's like his missing years. Jevon and Spritz headed off opposite me, and I had no idea where Kyle and Shelly were (probably fucking in a dumpster, was my own personal theory), so I took off towards home. As I so love to do when I am drunk enough not to feel pain, I threw off my sandals and ran barefoot pretty much all the way home, taking what seemed to be ridiculously tiny little steps that kept making me laugh at how stupid I must have looked. Luckily, a bus pulled up pretty much right in front of me, and I struggled to recognize clear landmarks so I could get off at the right place. Kyle and Shelly arrived home shortly thereafter... with a gallon of milk, strangely. Made a huge glass of piss-poor lemonade and then tumbled onto my bed with Rufus Wainwright blaring. Now that's what I call a night!

Maybe this wasn't proper Wednesday night behavior, but I'm going to be cut off for a while, so it was worth it. This weekend will be spent with Missy's family, the next with my own. And they say I don't sacrifice!