05/24/2005 - 5:07 p.m. | i've got a girl who's oh, so good

Oh my God, guys � Shelly�s dad made me the cutest laptop ever! It�s so small and cute and has this psychotic little mouse that pops out the side and does not function very well (Shelly sent me this cryptic e-mail about how crazy the computer was, so I naturally assumed there would be some sort of crank sticking out the side. �You have to turn it constantly to provide it with power.� RRR RRR RRR RRR RRR), but wow! It makes me so damn happy. Plus, with some sort of roommate discount, it�s only $75! Almost makes me want to forgive Shelly and open the diary back up to everybody. Almost.

Missy was in town for the weekend. We had trouble deciding what to do, so mostly I was left to decide, which in turn meant the Disney Channel was left to decide. This did not bode well for us. We ate a lot, too. I wish we (well, I) weren�t so uncreative.

We had a pretty decent plan for a while. I had to work on Saturday night, so Missy and Kyle were going to sit around in my car, getting smashed and getting out to make deliveries as I saw fit. Unfortunately, Painting With Yousaf trumps Nate and Missy Drunken Action apparently, so she was stuck at home with Spritz and Jen. I�m sorry, girl. I would not wish that on anybody.

On Friday, at least, we all got trashed. Well, Kyle and Missy did, and I tried my best, but I was sorely not in the mood. I don�t care what they say � that bottle of wine was fucking terrible, and I just could not choke it down. Instead, we had ourselves some homemade messy pi�a coladas (or as newly-formed Spanish nerd Kyle pointed out, �pi�as coladas�) and tried to annoy Spritz and Jen (watching the History Channel. Again) into leaving. That failed, we used the internet relay chat thing to hassle Missy�s teachers and ex-friends and then ended up hitting the Embassy in Urbana� although there was a disappointingly low amount of older singles trying to groove with each other. I blame the musician � some blazer-wearin� guitarist by the name of Caleb Cole. He�d dragged his groupies in and kicked all of the real ambience out. It was pretty fun, though; both Kyle and Missy were getting pissed beyond reason. Kyle kept buying me girl drinks (appletinis, cosmopolitans), which we would pass around because there was no way I could handle them that strong alone. See, Kyle, in Kyle fashion, had managed to attract the affection of the beast bartending (She winked twice, he said), so she was making his drinks strong as hell. Missy took one sip of the Jack & Coke she had made for him and instantly returned to limp noodle mode, falling over the place and making me generally uncomfortable, pawing at my genitals and such. Kyle, meanwhile, had picked his one girl to drunkenly rave about for the evening (a 9.4 sitting right behind us, possibly Caleb Cole�s g/f) and would only pause to yell at the singer, �THIS GUY KICKS ASS� in between every single song. I felt proud because I had to help the guy through the words of Weezer�s �Say It Ain�t So.�

A nice drunken stumble home. Kyle got Missy�s phone and may or may not have left a message on her brother�s voicemail, Missy yelling shit in the background. At least he was able to keep the comments about his Asian girlfriend to a minimum. Then we all ran away from a homeless person, and Missy fell over a few more times. We also learned some more secret insight into the world of Kyle Wild�s past love affairs � important little details keep leaking out that really add to the overall mythology. Missy is a bizarre drunk � sort of like Verne Troyer on that episode of �The Surreal Life,� moaning resolutely and flailing about for no discernible reason, randomly clawing at walls and whatever objects are lying about. It�s sad that the best part of any weekend is the drinking, but we really did little else of importance. �I made a pasta dish with a cheese sauce, but I do not think there was enough cheese in it.� Oh lord, fascinating.

Finally got around to spraying the ants. I feel like I�ve let them down somehow.