08/21/2005 - 7:48 p.m. | you caught me talking about ben savage

I am hardcore angering some nerds by working on this instead of some D&D, but fuck them. That is a hobby, a very poor, time-consuming hobby at that, and this shit is my life. You could all go to hell (and you will � sinners!), and I would still be writing this everyday for the same nonexistent audience.

Friday night I got a late start because I did not know if I had to work or not.

Actually, that is a lie. Friday night, I got a late start because I wanted to be alone because Hot Michelle was supposedly coming over to borrow my laptop, and maybe we would end up seeing a movie or making sweet love. I think she wanted me to ask her out, but that is just the most forward thing in the world, and I cannot even stand the thought of it.

Synopsis:

Her: what are you doing tonight?
Me: Nothing. Everyone is gone.
Her: yeah i'm alone too
Her: have you seen march of the penguins?
Me: Nope, but I sort of want to. It looks cute.
Her: yeah me too
Her: i don�t have anyone to go with, though
Me: It�s narrated by Morgan Freeman.

This is why I cannot function in your modern society!!

However, when the fuck do my plans ever work out, because I am never alone, and somehow it makes me feel very dirty if others know I have plans. Smacko came over for a while, and I bought those aforementioned pheromones. He did a beer bong, and we watched Nick GaS for a while before he went out on his adventures. Then immediately Spritz showed up, all full of piss and vinegar, as tonight was the night he�d finally break up with Amber. We went to the store in preparation of the aftermath (booze, lube, etc.), and he about got out the door when Allison came home. We hung out for a while, and I was sort of getting hammered, blasting the �Good Times� theme and waxing poetic about God knows what. Honestly, friends � I talked a whole lot more than usual that night, but I cannot remember a single word I said. I was sitting at Spritz�s computer and happened to stumble upon the script he had developed (or rather, had his mom develop for him) to break up with Amber. It was the most clich�d thing ever. �Blah blah blah not you, me� blah blah great person best girlfriend ever� really, really hope we can still be friends�. Blah.� I read it aloud, dramatically, adding footnotes about it being scripted by the Lord of Clich�s. Or maybe the Lord of the Flies. Like I said, not that coherent.

Anyway, Spritz burst in after not too long, bawling, because, honestly, breaking up with someone really is like the hardest thing ever, and I think this was his first time. I gave him a warm embrace (but was still enough of an asshole to say, �Now it�s back to good old regular cheating on Jen, right?� Sympathetic Mr. Walsh), and he was just settling down when Amber herself bursts in the door. Screaming. Her voice is high enough to begin with, so I had no idea what she was saying (I asked a bat, but he only said, �Kee� Kee��), but it was something really lame about not informing a roommate about where he had gone, I dunno. Now, being a psych major, I can tell you that is called �displacement� - that is, a defense mechanism wherein ones emotions are redirected from the real issue at hand to something far more innocuous. I was drunk enough where I wanted to point this out, but I think going, �You�re displacing� in the discordant nerd voice would have only resulted in me with a slit throat. Allison sort of led me upstairs, and thankfully she was not drunk so I did not have to worry about no Advances, and instead we got out of there pretty fast and went to her new place.

Um, we got there, and it was Jasmine, Hillary, and some dude whose name I cannot remember at all. Was he gay? I kept thinking he might be gay, but I seriously doubt gaydar was functioning at all at this point, so it might have just been his polo shirt that threw me off. I wish I could remember his damn name, though! Jacob?? Possibly that. I suck at life. Anyway, I was definitely the only fucked up one there, with my hard iced tea hidden away in a Coke can (Sneaky and brilliant!), and while Allison suggests that �they couldn�t even tell� or �you just get funnier when drunk,� I worry that her slight bias may be somewhat evident. Did they all hate my ass? I mean, they all knew I was drunk � I was stuttering some and probably not completing my thoughts and/or sentences, but how bad was it really? Oh, well, something to ponder on for another day, I guess.

I watched as they unpacked, and Smacko kept calling, so I sort of just invited him over (Did I ask permission first? God, I hope I did that first). At least then there was a drunken minority for me to reside in, and we watched as Jasmine straightened her room, and Smacko did some of his most charming stories (e.g. Randy P. and the black woman grabbing his testicles in the middle of Green St.), which of course were huge hits. I joined in as best as I was able, as I decided now was as good of time as any to start impressing people. Or merely consolidate in their minds how fucking far gone I was.

We were there for some time, blathering on about God knows what, and I think we eventually decided we would go out, as campus was supposedly repopulated, and it was high time we all got some ass. Geography was far beyond me at this point. I knew we were somewhere on Illinois, but that was only because Allison told me earlier, and as we climbed some shitty wire fence to go to someone else�s apartment, I didn�t have a fucking clue where we were. In fact, the next night I delivered cookies to Allison�s building, to the apartment right next to hers, and I only had the vaguest idea. �This address sounds familiar, doo-doo-doo.�

We were in� Hillary�s apartment, I think, and Allison�s summer roommate with the gigantic boobs (Melissa), and there was this other guy there, John, and think he was also gay, but then, maybe that was sort of my thing for the night. Also it became my common practice to lie about something, like, �I love communist theory,� then immediately follow it up with, �Why would I say that? I know nothing about communist theory! What a bizarre thing to lie about!� I�m sure I thought it was agonizingly clever at the time. Once again, Allison and friends, I apologize for being such a cretin.

We were all gearing up to go� wherever they told me to, quite honestly, but then the fucking monsoon downpour started, and we were stuck on their balcony for hours. Now, that was fine with me, as I so far gone that sitting alone and waving my legs in my air would have been fascinating, but I sort of feel bad for Smacko, as I think he was having a shitty time. He kept suggesting we watch The Sandlot 2, and I was having none of it, preferring to speak in a general direction towards Hillary, Jasmine, and Jacob.

Kyle and Shelly were in Sheridan, of all places, incidentally, having gone there with Jevon and Alex to camp and canoe. As such, Kyle kept calling me (or rather, I would ignore his calls, and he would phone Allison, who would dutifully pass the phone to me) with updates. �I am at the Last Resort!� �I just had two shots of tequila at the Last Resort!� �Where can we get some fucking marshmallows?� Sheridan shuts down at about 8, so if he�s asking for marshmallows at like 1, he is not going to have the best of luck.

Did we talk about �Nickelodeon GUTS�? Did I make my SARS joke then? Oh God, I need some sort of social report.

I wandered downstairs to pee (Like I was going to stumble through a house to find a toilet) and nearly whipped my dong out right in front of this troll couple waiting around the corner by the stairs. Where did I piss in the end? Was it some driveway? Because that was pretty stupid, Nate, if that�s what you did. I don�t know how I found the stairs back up again, but I do remember inventing some sort of mnemonic device to remember which apartment to head back to.

Since the evening was rained out, we decided to head back to Allison and Jasmine�s to play the 90s board game �Mall Madness.� Yep, the talking one where you swipe credit cards and shit. I�d never played this as a child, but I was always secretly fascinated by it (as well as the �Girl Talk� game with its stick on zits!!), so I was pretty hyped. Unfortunately, the batteries were also from that decade and as such were all corroded and leaking acid all over everybody. Sale in the shoe department! Maybe it was for the best, as I�m not sure I could have grasped all the basic tenets of such a complex game. If I occupied a fairly decent movie, someone would have suggested Truth or Dare or Spin the Bottle, and my creepy adventure would have begun.

Instead Shanks showed up.

Well, Allison or Smacko or both invited Tebben over, and now Tebben lives with Shanks, so of course the two are irrevocably attached at the hip. I already tried warning Tebben in private at Geo�s the other night. �If you don�t start eluding Shanks, you will find a rapid decrease in invitations to our events,� but I guess he was too drunk to remember. I need this like I need a shot in the foot.

It was about then I decided to leave. Actually, it was about when I discovered that Hillary wasn�t coming back that I decided to leave. I had been perfectly content doing weird stretches and listening to everyone else talk when I thought she was returning, but with that no longer the case, my evening was at a conclusion. This is a new development, by the way, guys. I�ve always though Hillary was very, very hot, but I never thought she might be interested until this particular evening. Of course, as Shelly points out, I tend to think lots of girls are interested in me when I am this fucked up, but she definitely seemed to be giving me signs, in the forms of extraneous eye contact, which is the only form of flirtation I even know. Course, this caught me so off guard, that I didn�t really notice and try to chat her up at all. She doesn�t talk much in general, and I thought I always sort of annoyed her, so I was willing to keep my distance. If my drunken delusions are any indicator, however, we�ve entered a whole new ballgame. Everyone wants a piece of Hillary, but I don�t think any of us thought she�d give us the time of day. Problem is, Hillary is one of Allison�s close friends, and Allison is quite infatuated with me, it would seem, making for all sorts of difficulties in the area of making progress. Plus, how often do I encounter her in the first place? Now that Allison�s out of the house, very rarely. But still, I might have to take a chance, because, well, how many do I get, really?

[Incidentally, I have a post-mortem request for you guys, and I�m serious about it. Once I�m dead, go through my facebook and start asking how many girls on there seriously might have been interested in me. I�m sure they�ll answer, me being dead and all, everyone all sad or whatever, and I need you to compile a list. And read it aloud at my wake. Thanks.

Addendum: Oh � you will need the password, won�t you? OK, well, once I am gone, ask Justin what the name was of the horrible Weird Al-esque parody of a Ben Folds Five song I wrote in middle school.]

I passed out eventually, drunk and alone. I tried to masturbate several times, I think, and it wasn�t even the whiskey dick that got me. My mind was wandering so much that I would eventually stop thinking about sex at all, boner lost. Strangely, my main topic of focus was Roosevelt Franklin, this jive-talkin� Muppet from 70�s �Sesame Street� who got permabanned for being racist or a bad influence or something. I am bidding on his album now. Also, what the fuck?!