08/23/2005 - 8:33 p.m. | i am gonna make it through this year, if it kills me

There is a shitty wristwatch hidden somewhere in my room. It has a little �beep beep!� alarm that is set to go off at 5 in the morning. Normally, I am sound asleep, and I don�t even hear it, but if I am still up at fairly late hour and am nearly asleep, it will jar me awake, and I will hate that watch for one solid minute. I don�t think to find it when I�m sober, and I�m too drunk to stumble around and get it when it�s bugging me, so I just lie there and take it. I have been hearing that alarm a lot lately.

It was a good weekend. Or at least it made forgetting my weekdays easy enough, so that when Monday did roll around, I did not want to go back to that place. I took the day off, inventing an elaborate backstory of food poisoning, just in case. Was that a mistake? Probably, but they all hate me there anyway.

Sunday was fun enough to seem like a Saturday. I was coerced into the depths of Frat Town by my friends, but I got comfortably numb enough to do so. I decided I would dress like a Champaign person, but I had no idea how much work it took to approximate that. My linen button down shirt was too nice, and I do not like having that many buttons unbuttoned. Rolling up sleeves the right length, borrowing one of Spritz�s belts, spiking my hair. And I still didn�t really pull it off. It was fun to try, though.

I was drunk, by the way.

I forgot to speak to Allison Helm about coming along with us (Missy: �She�s going to hang out with you guys all the time now, isn�t she?� Me: �No, of course not!�), but Smacko did, and she walked up to meet us with Emily and Fran (a boy) and Hillary. Sigh. �I�M A LITTLE BIT HEIRESS, A LITTLE BIT IRISH!� I kept yelling to no one in particular. (�Tower of Pisa, whenever I see ya� So please be kind if I�m a mess��) No one had any obligations (besides me and the work I was still potentially attending at this point), so campus was just nuts, and it was raining, and it turned out no one really knew where any frats or parties were at at all. Kyle and Spritz tried to lead us to Will and Steve�s frat, but it looked dead as hell, so we split into groups at that point.

I will briefly summarize their portion of the evening. They stole:
- a booklet of CDs (hidden in the bushes on John, I�m told)
- a hammer
- a beer bong (which was thrown off a balcony)
- some wood cleaner (which Kyle thought was spray paint)
- some books

That�s all I got.

The rest of us (Smacko, Allison, Shelly, Hillary, and myself) followed crowds at random and ended up at two, maybe three frats. We had all developed personas for this evening, and though my accent would kick in from time to time, Smacko was the only one who stuck all the way through as Guy Who Only Spoke French. I cannot speak French, so you will have to draw your own conclusions about how funny this was. Just imagine some frat idiot trying to ask him if he wants a cup or not, though. That�s a good start.
It was the same drill throughout: We would enter, locate the source of alcohol, send the girls in (Three of them � an abnormality for our social circle) to coerce some crud beer out of the dudes, drink said beer in a corner, and head for the next frat. There were just too many people with our exact same plan. We were all hot and disgusting, and I was too messed up to drink anymore. I guarded the bathroom door for some girl and watched some sluts dance on the stripper poles one frat had so graciously provided, but mostly I tried to avoid being elbowed in the face. It was more fun than it sounds.

We eventually got a call from Kyle and Spritz at Legends and ran to catch up. I believe we (I) sang the �Full House� theme for a while, and Smacko made friends with his French language skills. Random street dweller: �I don�t like you! I don�t like you!� They were already gone from Legends when we arrived, but Jevon was there, and this weird Asian guy who was friends with Jevon. His name was Koji, and I don�t think he understood a word of English. He had imported Lucky Strikes from Japan, though, and that makes him OK to me.

To Murphy�s then, to finally up with all, and sit around in a circle and drink some more. I just cannot tolerate conversation, so mostly I sang. Spritz and Kyle were playing pool, Kyle all doing these amazing jumps and shit (as he can only do when drunk), such that they thought he was a hustler. Moller was there, and I gave him $20 and told him to ask the barkeep for the girliest drink they had. He succeeded, but none of us have any idea what it actually was. It tasted like strawbreries. Matt Maly was around, and Smacko was fucking hating him for it, constantly pantomiming shots the face and talking about what a fucking douche punk rocker he is. He was going off on this one extreme tangent in particular when Maly himself happened to walk back up. We all subtly tried to indicate that he should zip it, but the time was not ripe for subtly body language, and he carried on. �Fuck,� he goes. �Matt Maly�s probably right behind me!� Finally, I lean in and indicate that, yes, he is, and that he will probably stab Smacko for it now. Smacko, terrified (No, seriously), crouches behind the bar for the rest of the evening, hiding behind Hillary�s ass and yelling at Allison for taking pictures of him (�Are you trying to get me killed, woman?�) As soon as last call came out, Smacko took off up the stairs and out of the bar.

Spritz had a different tack, walking right up to him and going, �I hate you, Matt Maly.� Then again, Spritz was really, really drunk.

We covered for Smacko while he pissed in a doorway (Never a dumb move from that boy!) and once again separated into two teams. Alpha Strike We Need Tampons Force forged on (Spritz and Shelly and Moller and those two guys I guess Spritz knows� They are called �Abin� and �Rabin� roughly, but Smacko mostly just called them both Batman) while the rest of us waited for some drunkos to catch up.

Not all the drunkos, incidentally.

We walked back, all joyful in our youth or something. I have begun speaking to Hillary now that I have the slightest hope she might like, and I keep feeling like I�m making progress until she just up and vanishes to nowhere. But I know you now, Nathan Walsh, and I am beginning to understand the inner workings of your emotions. Requited love sucks. For you, anyway. It is much more important to have a hopeless crush to pine for than to actually make that crush yours. We�ve proven this with Allison Helm. She used to be just some random girl on facebook whose eyebrows I liked, and it was even fine when I would just see her once in a while and kind of maybe think about doing things with, but now she�s here in my life, always grabbing my arm, and I am totally devoid of interest. I�m finding I much prefer the sickly sweet lurch in my stomach.

Of course, with Missy, I never really had a choice. I just fell ass backwards into that one. I e-mailed her because there was no harm in it, and I took a trip to Texas because it was ludicrous, but then she just started calling every day, and I never really had any option but to be with her. As such, this is my first lurch in a long time.

The afterparty at our place was not quite the raucous event I had hoped for. Spritz was trashed now and clearly wanted some ass (Going so far as to try and grab Allison�s boob � �Sorry, but I call you Spritz, not Ryan�� Good one!) He somehow managed to drag this Indian chick to our porch from the streets. For Smacko, apparently. But looks matched personality apparently, and she was awful all over. I stayed the fuck away. I guess she clocked Smacko on the face, though, huh?

Spritz, meanwhile, disappeared completely. Worried he had wandered back to Amber, I started frantically hunting for him, to no avail. Turns out he passed out on the brick patio out back. Slept there all night, too. Woke up the next morning, was like, �Man, I gotta puke� Wait! Where the fuck am I?�

In our pilgrimage back from the bars, we�d entirely forgotten Kyle.

Well, maybe not �forgotten� so much as �ignored his slow drunken ass.�

He had quite the adventure himself, it seems, and would not stop retelling it. Somebody bought him a pitcher of beer. I assume he drank it all, for he then spent God knows how long sitting on a bench, waiting for us to come get him. Finally, he realized he was indeed alone and started wandering, chatting with people. In my mind, I imagine Kyle alone and drunk as just this wanton id, stopping at every food place he sees because no one was there to prevent him. Turns out this was mostly the case. While at La Bamba�s, though, he ran into this lesbian couple, one of whom he knew from his chemistry class freshman year (and was fairly hot), and decided he should probably try and get a piece. Seems they were locked out of their car, so Kyle just started making up random lies in that hopes that� well, I don�t understand what his thought process was, but it somehow started with fruitless lies and ended with a threesome. It was the middle junk that was the problem. So, he starts saying that one of the landlords, Campus Property Management, would get into your car for free if you lived on their shit, so he called me and had me look up the number. No answer from them (as clearly this was all a farce). However, he kept on his feet and started in on Mike, our civil engineering friend who once stole lockpicking wedges from a locksmith. There is no Mike. I don�t even know what lockpicking wedges are. However, they seemed to buy it, and Kyle called me again and told me to come by and get them so we could get Mike. At this point I knew nothing of his plans, and he was somehow figuring I could deduce it from context. So I drove to them (I�d sobered up� but not as much I�d hoped) and he starts yelling, �Where�s Mike, man! Where�s Mike?� When I expressed confusion, he tried to fill me in, I think, but he was far too drunk to possibly get a wink off, so the whole thing crumbled around him. Then he was all mad at me because I�d prevented him from getting some �dyke ass� and as if that weren�t enough he only had two dollars in his wallet and could not get a burrito. What a terrible ordeal for you, Kyle Wild.

When we got home Allison and Smacko were freaked out because they had been stuck on the porch with Moller, who would not leave. Allison really did not like Moller, which is weird, because he is a strange person to dislike. Some of us hid indoors and Smacko told his stories, which Kyle converted into drunk poetry, some of which was actually very good. I read it like Patrick Stewart. As he sobered, though, his poems became more serious and less drunkenly stupid, and I decided it was high time to hit the hay.

And that damn alarm again!

I�ve been stressed, guys, and I think I know the only way to get better, but it involves getting rid of that which has been causing me stress, and I am really, really bad at it. First off, I want to bag the D&D shit entirely, but that�ll have a whole lynch mob of nerds after me� I just don�t see time for this (the diary) and that and any fun at all. And I�ve gotta get rid of the housing authority job. Anyone in their right mind would have let me go long ago, considering how �livid� the head of the department has been, but I�m assuming they really don�t want to lose the time and money they�ve invested in me, which puts it all squarely on my shoulders to let them down. Finally, worst of all, I think I�m going to have to break up with Missy. And that makes me so sad in some ways, because the girl is just perfect on paper, and I do really like her, and I don�t want her to start hating me, which she will, but she�s just not the one. Or I�ve lost whatever part of me allowed me to have the one, I don�t know. I mean, she�s smart and pretty and caring and skinny and we have complementary tastes and she is absolutely crazy about me and I like her family and friends, and she�s just about everything I would ever want, and we have such a cool history, but it just hasn�t been feeling right. I don�t feel attached to her anymore, and I feel bad because I have to keep reassuring her I do. And, of course, the long distance thing is just going to make this a thrill. We�ve been together nearly a year � I can�t end things over the phone. But drive eight hours, break up with her, and drive back? It�s going to be awful. Oh God, it�s going to be awful. I wish she could make things easy on me by going to the Peace Corps or cheating on me or something, but this is all on my hands. I�m not ready to think about it yet, but it needs to happen pretty soon. How does every relationship end up a serious relationship?