05/19/2005 - 4:17 p.m. | hey smilin' strange, you're lookin' happily deranged

I sneezed last night and pulled a muscle or something, because I had a sore throat immediately thereafter. I fucking hate sore throats. The whole thing puts me in a foul mood.

I was doing pretty well for a while (as long as I don't catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror). I'm keeping fairly busy with my jobs, to which I may be adding the horribly dry geology library one, and relations with everyone seemed good, but then I call Missy back last night, and she's all up in arms that I never answer my phone when she calls. Why do I do this anyway? I'm not sure, man. I mean, I feel like it's because I really don't want to talk sometimes, but maybe it's also that I like the idea that someone out there is specifically trying to get a hold of me and that I can still shoot them down. Same old story. Anyway, she's all mad, it seems, and mere moments away from giving ultimatums, I can tell, which is not a very good idea in her position. Listen, I've settled myself down for this commitment thing as much as I'm able, but trust me when I say I'm just lying in wait for a problem to appear, at which point I'll uproot faster than you can comprehend. No, it's not fair, but I never asked you to like me anyway. At the top of my relationship wish list are #1) independence and #2) ease. Maybe I wouldn't be so reluctant to answer the phone every night if I could get off the phone in 5 minutes if I so chose. As it is, there is no effective way to do this, short of hanging up, and believe me, that wouldn't solve any problems.

It's fun writing without being judged!

What else can I cover? Not that the sex is boring or anything, but I think I have a few more kinks in my system than her, and I kind of wish I had someone who, I dunno, wasn't afraid of semen or might smack me around a little bit or (most of all) might take some hilarious erotic Polaroids to satisfy that little fetish, but I can't even approach Missy about the idea. I need a goth chick or something. There was this one girl at Hot Topic, Jen (not the Jen who got married and was all fucked mentally), and she was pretty hot and wore all black and little skirts and was pierced in the right places, and we were even kind of flirting for a while. I bet she'd be a freak... but she moved to Chicago or someplace. See, my mind starts roving the second I smell trouble! Not good! Not good!

Besides S&M whatever, my main cravings lately have been for salt and artificial grape flavor. My, that's healthy! Since it seemed like such a bargain at the time, I bought this extra large pack of sugarless grape Bubble Yum. "Same price as the regular! What a deal!" Yes, what indeed. You know when regular gum runs out and just sort of tastes like shoe leather? That's downright pleasant as compared to this nasty shit. It turns into Nutrasweet hell after about 3 minutes, and it's so intolerable that I can't even swallow it like I normally do; it must be tossed across a road with much anger. Fucking gum.

We went out to Radio Maria for Kyle's birthday - the best restaurant in town, according to all the fag mags. It certainly was ecclectic - Shelly and I had this shrimp with a lime, mint, and tequila sauce. I don't think she liked it because it was so sweet, but it reminded me of a Shamrock Shake, and I already missed my chance to get those for the year. I had to work that night, but Kyle drank more than half a bottle of Jim Beam Black ("the highest rated whiskey on the market!" it boasts - yay, you've won the Special Olympics!) while Tebben and Andy apparently scaled our home with a grappling hook. I dropped off my present - a 2 liter of Coke - on the way to another deliver, as my plans to get him a Jar Jar Binks air freshener were sort of foiled by their non-existence.

I'm not such a bad guy - I washed linens for the girl. Linens!

I went over to Allison Helm's sublet last night - no, nothing sinful... We're just two only child advertising majors whose friends have pretty much all up and vanished. And now she is alone in Champaign of all places. She seemed depressed, and I know how that feels, so we hung pictures and watched some "Pete & Pete" episodes. Mostly it's nice to talk to someone who hasn't heard all of your stories yet. Her roommate is apparently this superbitch whose boobs even I could not help staring at (perhaps these two facts are connected?) and who apparently I also have met before. "Yeah, you were at such and such's party, drinking straight out of a bottle of wine." Ah, my reputation preceeds me. I'm so glad that that is what I will be known for. I remember the wine better than her, though :( Anyway, Allison just managed to get a job at Geo's CHILL & GRILL (the place attached to the porn shop in Urbana, filled with threatening blue collar workers and the like), so I did my best to warn her ("Wear a low-cut shirt; you'll be fine") All the more reason to show up there for karaoke now, though. Also, add to my to-do list: "Work at Six Flags as whatever the hell Allison Helm was" because she had the weirdest set of duties ever. She mostly held open doors at a movie theatre and used her fake friendly voice, but she also guarded the giant foam Looney Tunes characters (mostly from obsessive fans from Wal-mart and the like), drove these huge old rickety parade floats (one of which she crashed and knocked two slutdancers off of), and got to dance around as Porky Pig in the hell suit. If there was ever a job that would generate stories, it would be that one.