09/09/2005 - 3:11 p.m. | spirit engine

Here is where we describe my birthday weekend! And not, as has been previously reported, drinking as religion. Because, clearly, the two are not the same. Most people go to church once a week, and I was fucking drinking everyday. Maybe not a lot � usually one drink was about enough to unknot my stomach � but I still wasn�t pleased with the development. I am, however, still a grand proponent of Creative Juice (a.k.a. Sugarfree Redbull and vodka � warm), and I don�t care if none of you fuckers likes my ideas � as long as they make me happy. Then again, I am in a field where I am to please clients. God, maybe I should have been a written.

Although this drivel would clearly indicate a profound �maybe not.�

First off, and most importantly, how did the ruse with the sprained ankle go? Oh, that�s right, fuckers. I went through with that shit. And no questioned me for a second. Why would they? Who would fake an injury and stumble around all awkwardly, unable to confidently carry objects or open doors, just to make a point (a point only he understands)? Not many! Anyway, I�ve tried to be a good little actor, but I don�t think it matters much. Everyone is all concerned and giving me tips and shit. Awful landlords I normally hate are all, �You should really get one of those boots for that foot� and the coordinators are recommending free clinics or something, and all the while I keep waiting for the fateful day when Brian finally does catch me on the phone (a difficult task considering I will never call him back and will never ever answer when he calls my cell), so I can go all crazy at him.

On Thursday, I made an appearance in my pop culture class. Strange in itself, but it only got stranger. I was sitting in the front row, trying not to listen, sort of chatting back and forth with the vaguely attractive girl next to me (attractive in that she was not fat), and the professor is talking about how certain behaviors start out with meaning but then sort of become trends and lose that meaning. Her example here is those little yellow livestrong bracelets. It started with people wearing them because they did not like cancer or whatever, but then everyone started wearing them because they were hip, but then they started making bracelets for everything in all colors to cash in on the trend. Eventually, someone made the connection and brought up the subject of magnetic ribbons and how everyone has those now. Then, this girl like two seats over from me raises her hand and goes, "I don't know if you guys have seen it, but there's car around campus that is completely covered in those ribbons. Like, hundreds of them, so that you can't even see the paint." Apparently a lot of people have seen this car and never really made the connection that they've all seen it, because suddenly the whole giant lecture room fills up with chatter.

While the professor starts speaking on this topic, I turn to the girl next to me and whisper, "Yeah, uh. That's my car they're talking about." "No way. It is not!" "Yeah, it is! Don't say anything, though. They'll probably murder me." "You should probably tell the class."

We argue back and forth until I finally raise my hand. The professor, still going on about the ribbons, calls on me. "Uh, that - that's my car. With all the ribbons." Now the class is in a fucking roar. I look back at the class. "I'm sorry if I took any of your ribbons!" They are loving my ass, and the teacher knows it, so she's like, "Well, we don't often have a celebrity in our midst. Would you mind coming up to talk about it?"

Well, yes, I would sort of mind. If anybody in this room had ribbons or knows someone who had ribbons that I took, they now have a name and a face of the thief, and with our modern internet search apparati, they can totally come bomb my house. I would have to watch my back on the way out.

But, you know me... can't not get attention when it is offered, right?

So, I stand there in front of the hundreds, which is strange, and I go over where I got them ("Uh, my friends pretty much did all of it. Promise.") and how it started because I wanted to mock those people who already had so many ribbons on their cars that it actually took away from the causes they were supposedly supporting and how now I focused on rare ribbons blah blah blah. And, well, since I'm since an amazing storyteller (e.g. everything written here), the class was loving it. And somehow the professor skipped over the apparent lack of legality in what I did and called me something in French. Like "bellefant" or something. Means I take old shit and use it in a new way so it means something different.

It was weird being the center of attention for a minute. I got the fuck out of class and made sure to listen if anyone was talking about me. They were. "I wonder if he's going to it right now," someone whispered. "I AM," I yelled and run out the door real fast.

I came home and idly watched an episode of �Scrubs,� trying to decide whether I should skip class or not. And then Missy was standing in my door frame, and the decision was more or less made for me. It certainly came as a surprise to me, as she had given me no word one way or another and was just suddenly there, crying in my arms. And I can�t stand people shaking, so I pretty much had to get back with her, right?

I know, you�re all like, �Nate, you stupid fuck! You knew this was going to happen! She was a psycho� and so expensive (Now I�m talkin� �bout money). Why did you let this happen?� That�s a good question, friend, and it�s not one I can so easily answer. Long story short, being apart from her was killing me, and I did not want to get fucking ulcers. This recent stomach thing was indicative of something else, probably guilt that I had been too rash and had dropped this on her when I really wasn�t ready myself. For all the stupid commitments and the annoying little things I had to deal with, I still really like this girl a lot. Maybe my preemptive strike was a little too preemptive. Then again, maybe I�m like the protagonist of �I am trying to break your heart.� Things are easy now, but am I ready for nightly phone calls and horrible cross country trips again? I can�t say.

Heh � and it�s not like my life as a single was nonstop party central. It�s a lot easier to contemplate banging some stranger when in a nice steady relationship. That way, when you don�t get anywhere, you don�t really expect to either. Pheromones or not, it�s not like me and Smacko were going to be the toast of the town (the town�s vaginas, specifically). Still, if someone special were to just throw their panties down at me, it�s not like I can�t just throw this away all over again! Yay!

Anyway, with a temporary solution firmly in place, might as well let things progress as planned, right? Smacko came over for drinking before work, and I made it a point to use Sean D. Mills one last time before the big switchover at midnight. Actually, I would have liked to return that same evening to the same cashier, but I think we just fell asleep instead.

Friday I hobbled through work and could not wait for my time to finally expire. Three day weekend and a drunken dinner and tournament? Oh hell yes.

Of course, nothing ever works smoothly when it involves my pack of friends, so we did not get on the road until the last possible moment. Smacko was violently ill, puking and passed out on the bathroom floor with memory loss. Somehow he wasn�t up for an evening of nonstop alcoholism � go figure. Kyle has an interesting theory that Smacko has some sort of social anxiety. Like, he�s up for anything if it�s spontaneous, but if something is planned long in advance (the camping trip they took, this excursion, etc.) he starts to worry about it and backs out. If that is the case, then I can forgive you, man, but you shoulda been vomiting out my window all the way up to Schaumburg. Incidentally, Schaumburg means something like �foam castle,� according to Henry Andoh�s mistranslated German website from IMSA sophomore year. I�m just saying.

We got some food and stocked up on booze and Spritz pretty much threw random shit of my car nonstop and everyone forgot at least one thing and had to run back inside and then seat arrangements had to be made and a driver had to be decided on. We meant to leave at 3 � we left at 4:30. That stuff bugs me a little bit, but I know it bugs Missy a lot, so I just kept passing her beers and whatnot so she wouldn�t worry. Unfortunately, I had forgotten my bottle of gin, and there wasn�t too much else I�d drink at first, so I was entirely too sober to begin with. Kyle, of course, did his best to balance the average, getting shitfaced next to Dank in the back back seat (the one looking in reverse). We made a �Show Us Your Funbags� sign, obviously, which still has not garnered the results we were hoping for. On the plus side, this one confused smiling Asian woman held up her purse (her �fun bag,� get it?). Kyle held up his bottle of Jack.

She shook her finger at him, still smiling. I want to be her friend.

Probably the worst possible combination was putting Shelly at the wheel of my car, in that a) Shelly is the spaciest person I know � and therefore the worst driver and b) my car is weird and temperamental enough for even good drivers. �Oh, God � you rolled the window all the way down. Yeah, uh, you aren�t going to be able to close it again for like 20 minutes.� And the transmission is just a dream. �Yeah, it goes pretty well there unless you have to stop and start a lot.� Never much of an issue with a motorcar, now is it? So the poor beast is grinding and we are weaving an awful lot on those curves (We are very late, and I have already made an agreement with Shelly that we will split any tickets she gets but please just go faster damn it!), which is especially scary for Dank and Kyle. And Shelly starts pawing at the radio, and we�re all like, �Uh, maybe you shouldn�t fiddle with that right now.�

Our tickets said we should be there at 6. It was 7:30something. Luckily, the show was just starting, so we grabbed Zou (who was meeting us last minute) and went sprinting across the lobby, being yelled at by guards and whatnot, adjusting our terrible cardboard crowns. Kyle had suggested that we stop at Burger King earlier and gotten one of their crowns. �I come from the land of Burger. I am the monarch there, and I am here to observe your dinner and tournament.� No time for that, though. We ran to find seats in our section (Black and white � the priest knight, of all the fucking luck), right next to some poor family.

The standing and running had stirred Kyle�s juices, so he was at the peak of his game right as the show started. Mostly he yelled veiled �Star Trek� references that only I would get (�Kah pah!� � this is some sort of challenge or greeting in Klingson), but he would occasionally let loose mammoth streams of profanities towards the other knights, our knight, the king, the wenches, everybody. Luckily, the family next to us seemed to enjoy his antics as much as we did. Well, as I did anyway.

You don�t go to Medieval Times for the food. Hell, I�m not even sure you go there for the battles, but you definitely do not go for the food. Not that it was horrible or anything � the chicken was coated with enough MSG so as to be enjoyable � but everything needed salt or dumping onto Kyle�s plate. No thank you, spare rib. No thank you, dry potato. No thank you, half a Toaster Strudel. Missy had it even worse with her vegetarian plate (and �just water please�? Come on, Miss! Get into the fucking spirit!). School lunch vegetable medley and some sort of lasagna, all shrink-wrapped for your convenience? They do know how to treat us like royalty there. Kyle, being quite drunk, was enjoying himself and the Medieval Times policy of eating with your hands. Of course, he took it to a whole new horrible level, eating with his face about an inch from the plate, shoveling random chunks of meat in like some sort of mangy dog. Most people were fairly disgusted. I was incensed. Here was a boy getting into the spirit. WHERE ARE THE LIBATIONS WENCH Throw more of your scraps down on the floor! Pee down there, if you like! Dump another mug of coffee and ask for more! We are barbarians!

Kyle was very demanding of our little page boy, Ryan. Luckily, we had like the nicest guy ever. He kept granting everyone�s stupid little special requests and saving extra food at the end of his rounds to give to Kyle. When the check from my grandpa fell out of my pocket later, he even tracked me down to return it. And when he learned it was my birthday he just kept telling me to drink more and more. Good lad, Ryan. I hope he gets to be a knight someday.

Drinks were on Kyle apparently, so he got me this massive Tom Collins in a goblet, followed by a mystery drink served in this huge stupid plastic horse cup. After careful consideration, I eventually decided it was Mountain Dew: CODE RED with a lot of our mediocre vodka dumped in.

Therefore, as you might have guessed, I was well in the mood myself when the show finally rolled around. I thought the substances were messing with my head, but it turned out no one could understand what anyone was supposed to be saying in the area � except for the wizard fag, who had pre-recorded lines and mostly flailed his arms around. During the wizard�s second appearance, Kyle grabbed one of the Toaster Strudels and threw it at the wizard. It fell directly in front of his feet at a very dramatic moment. I would have been loling, but Kyle had also managed to sock me right in the eye while he was throwing.

OK, so I know that this is just about the stupidest thing ever. All the fights are so choreographed and so weirdly slow as a result that it just sort of looks silly. But maybe I wanted to watch a bunch of community college actors act silly for a while. I wanted our guy to throw me a rose so bad! I kept showing him my tits and yelling about how fucking great he was, which may only have deterred him. Our knight wasn�t doing too bad � I thought he might be the secret winner at the end, but then he got mowed down by that bastard green knight, so I sort of lost interest. I don�t think the story changes much, as it was about the same as when I�d seen it over a decade ago, so I instead focused on getting as drunk on Mt. Dew as I could for the rest of the night.

The whole thing did sort of get me in the spirit, though. I wish I were some faggot knight in olden times, all swinging a mace about and doing ridiculous shit. But I couldn�t even hack it as a Medieval Times knight � they�re always having to catch flowers and loop hoops on jousting poles and whatnot. I would have to be one of those poor squires, scooping up horse crap (and Kyle�s Toaster Strudel) all the live long day.

Was it entertaining? Yes. Was it worth fifty-three dollars a person? I�ll let you be the judge of that.

After the show, we hung out on the weird little Medieval Times dancefloor for a while. I dragged Missy to get me a wooden sword, but then I had no one to fight with, so I got Kyle a wooden sword himself. I must say, though, there has been a severe drop in the quality of wooden swords since I last attended. People keep saying it was my imagination and nostalgia or some shit, but the old sword I had (and destroyed) was thick and sturdy and molded and elegant. Didn�t say any stupid shit on it either. Oh well, we had some battles by the dungeon (which we were not allowed into unless we paid) and by the horses and their dongs (which we would not want to get any closer to anyway), and there was the briefest of moments where it appeared that Kyle and Spritz might go in on a $150 battleaxe or halberd or some shit purchased from a dwarf.

We went to meet our (deceased) knight and Princess Blush. They told me to look sexy by her, which apparently meant making a face like an ogre. Shortly thereafter Kyle lurched up, got down on one knee and said, �Medieval Times � gourmet cat food!� Needless to say, Princess Blush was quite confused, but Kyle was actually being clever. He�d noticed that I said �Medieval Times � dinner and tournament� and �Fancy Feast � gourmet cat food� in the same voice and was no combining them in various ridiculous ways. Again, who could understand this with me?

I felt sort of bad for the whole master of ceremonies guy � the one who did most of the speaking � as he stood there, by himself, with a permanent marker at the ready in case someone needed something signed. Move on there, Captain Delusion. How many times have people actually asked for your autograph, huh? I couldn�t decided if I wanted to take the piss out of him or let him sign my lame sword, so I did neither.

Dank took over driving now (thank God) and we found him a far more competent pilot than our fair Shelly. Missy and I were tossed to the back (theory being that she was going to fuck me then and there to make up for Shelly�s transgression so many months ago), and while I thought that would have been bad for her carsickness, it turned out OK. Actually, it was better than OK for me. I like that seat a lot, apparently, looking up at the stars, watching buildings fly by and trying to guess where we were, drinking a huge fuzzy navel out of the horse cup, holding my girl (who thankfully wasn�t too talkative) and singing along with everybody to �Too Far to Care.� Nice night.

I�d almost hate to say it and sound like too much of an idiot, but the night had something sort of sentimental about it. That one evening � we covered most of the places I�d ever been in my life � St. Charles, Aurora (We called IMSA looking for RCs we still knew, but there were none), right past Sheridan, through Ottawa, to Champaign � and I was looking back on everything (more literally than not at this point), and it was just sort of lovely and sad at the same time. These are all the places I�ve been. Now where am I going?

Well, enough of that. We dropped Zouie off at his house (which felt more like a model home to me � I was afraid to touch anything. That didn�t stop me from peeing in his sink, though!) and made our way down to Streator. See, it was Kirk�s 21st birthday the day before, and he was apparently in his shitter of a hometown, having something of a barcrawl. So, why not join in and surprise him?

Kyle continued to walk around in his Medieval Times crown, further completing his likeness to Jughead. We found Kirk in some unnamed bar with many, many angry old people in it. The place reeked of vomit (which, as it turned out, came from Kirk�s mother, who had tried to join in on the festivities), and it was dark and quiet and not the type of spot where joy could exist ever ever ever. Kyle handed me a shot of Tequila Rose, and we got the fuck out.

There were a lot of bars in Streator, and the gas station was selling smoking paraphernalia (and what else besides), and everyone cruised around in their ghettomobiles and motorcycles, honking or shouting foul things at us. �Why didn�t you tell us you lived near such an awesome town?� everyone kept asking. �Uh� I hadn�t realized.�

Our next hot nightspot was Cheapseats, the local sports bar and singles spot for all the as-of-yet still hopeful people mostly our age. Crude paintings of Sammy Sosa were everywhere. Here is where I belong! I was reminded, almost painfully, of a campus bar. �Oh, so this is where the uneducated come to meet and fuck. I knew it had to be somewhere!� Kirk was overdressed in his way in a suit and red silk shirt, and I love him for it. He had friends with him, but I really did not care to meet them. We split up at this point � Kyle and Missy heading to ATM, Shelly wandering about, barely avoiding rape at any moment, and me and Dank as close to the blaring DJ as possible, smiling because we did not belong here in this place by any stretch of the imagination. We�d try and act all serious for a while, me sipping someone�s (?) beer, but then we just start laughing again. �Oh, God! Why!� The �dancefloor� was empty at first, but some drunkos spilled out on there. One of them, practically spilling out of her green Hollister top with every bounce, was giving me some serious fuck me eyes, and that only made me laugh even more. What the fuck is this town, man? Shelly came back with a shot of apple Pucker. Fair enough.

Perhaps because we all look 12 (or because we were not plugging enough money into the town�s alcoholic economy), but they finally sent someone around to card us. At last, we were all fine� except Missy. And even then, the waitress had to double take before she realized the date was wrong. Missy was surprisingly well in her game (perhaps because I had warned her beforehand that she could not get stupid drunk as I would not be the one taking care of her) and had some line prepared about her being the DD for everybody on our little barcrawl, but it didn�t fly, and she had to go. Which of course meant I had to go.

And she starts doing something strangely reminiscent of Lisa Yung, the whole killing you with kindness thing, where she�s like, �No, it�s OK. You can go back in the bar if you like. I don�t want to ruin your birthday.� OH GOD WE JUST GOT BACK TOGETHER, is what I�m thinking, but I tell her she�s retarded (which she allows, because I am drunk) and that I�m not leaving her out there to get raped. Besides, I can�t imagine anything good would have happened if I had returned. Maybe some more free drinks, and I might have danced with that green shirt chick (whose age I could not determine as anything more than �too old�), and we probably would have made out because I looooove attention. And while that would have made for an interesting evening, I was trying to keep everything happy. So we wandered around the neighborhood until Kirk finally realized what happened (Good old considerate Kirk!) and shifted the party back to the original vomit bar. �They won�t card you here.� And that�s the best thing that can be said about them.

Kyle kept ordering awful, awful drinks (root beer and brandies, shots of Jack), and I was so scared he was going to offer them to me. There was a hand-scrawled sign advertising apple pie shots for $2, so Dank went ahead and purchased everyone a round of them. I was sort of suspicious when I saw the surly bartender pouring them out of a Mott�s container (�That�s just fucking apple juice!�), but lord were they delicious. Apples and cinnamon! We asked the bartender what was in them, and he did not like the third degree. �I DON�T KNOW, DAMN IT! I GET THEM READY MADE!� Uh, I�ll just have another then, thanks. Got Missy a few rum and Diet Cokes to keep her quiet and then mostly hung out with Dank, as he seemed more out of place than anybody. Plus, I just miss the boy. We were looking at the jukebox (filled with mostly burned CDs and poorly-typed track listings, e.g. ROLLONG STONES), trying to decide what butt rock to play, and this fat mom woman comes over and starts friendly yelling at us. �DON�T YOU KNOW HOW TO USE THAT THING!� Well, this is clearly too much for me, so I back the fuck out while she and Dank spend the next five minutes discussing music and what tracks they should. I joined up with him a little while later. �So, how�s your new friend?� �Say what you want, man, but I get to hear Foghat now for free!� Fair play.

This is the type of classy place where you can fish a two dollar Jack�s pizza out of the freezer, and they will heat it for you and charge you seven-fifty. Which is exactly what Kirk did. Once again, I asked myself, �Where the fuck am I! Are there so many places I don�t belong!� Dank�s friend Fat Mom must have been a regular or an employee or God knows what because she just started hoonin� down slices nothing doing. I was certainly ready the fuck to go, and Missy was getting drunk, but I didn�t want to interrupt nostalgia time. Eventually, though, it became clear that we were in the majority, and we got the fuck out of town (although Shelly first made the wise decision to lose her shoe right in the middle of a crowd of hoodlums exciting a bar for the evening).

The drive home was long � we didn�t make it back until nearly 4 � but we had Dane Cook along the way, and I was pleasantly gone anyway. By the way, missed opportunity for fun at Pamela Anderson�s roast the other day: �You will be dead of Hepatitis C in less than a decade! LOL!� We got home and all lurched out of the car and who should come lurching out of the bushes by Smacko�s place but a very drunk Shanks.

When Shanks appears out of the bushes, it is the worst thing.

Luckily, we ditched him quick snap and passed the fuck out for the evening.

OK, so that only took seven pages! Moving on!

The next day, my parents came into town for my birthday. We went out for Mexican food and saw The 40 Year Old Virgin, which was about as cute as I�d heard. Cute in a gross sort of way. Like Kyle Wild maybe. Anything with Seth Rogen and Loudon Wainwright is good, though, right? And Judd Apatow. Sorry. Lots of lists you don�t care about. Speaking of which, how about an exhaustive list of things I received for my birthday?!

Allison Helm got me the fifth season of �Good Times� on DVD, which is both weird and awesome.

Missy got me a nice thermos, office supplies, a Gameboy, Nick Horby�s Songbook, and Bringing Out the Dead so that I can finally start my Nic Cage collection.

My parents got me a few books (Nick Horby�s new novel, a book about haunted places in Illinois, and a new memoir to read), Dawn of the Dead, a cute little flashdrive, and an infinitely cuter little Walkman MP3 player that I�ve wanted forever! Also, �Surprise from a Boy� from Dollar Tree, which included a sweet autograph book (if only I had it a day earlier!) and some Blow Pops. I am going to find one of those Blow Pops right now.

Kyle got me natewalsh.com, which I definitely think you should go visit.

Shelly got me a big blown-up picture of Kyle and I looking like stupid assholes.

On Friday morning, someone had slipped a bundle of tied ribbons through the crack in my window. I can't say for sure this was a birthday present - it could very well have been from somebody covert in my pop culture class - but it was still appreciated.

Not bad, I�d say, for having done little more than getting sprayed out a uterus and surviving the long. Missy and I came back here, and we got into a fight somehow that I do not even understand. There were three things that led to this fight, and I shall try to describe them. 1) On the drive home, I wanted to sing Rufus Wainwright loudly and not talk. She turned the radio down. What is there to talk about? 2) On the way from the car to the house, I walked ahead of her, and she once again ordered me to walk with her instead. 3) I explained, logically and coldly (and meanly, I guess) that, when she was around, I did not always have to walk next to her and that I did not always have to talk to her.

So maybe I can understand how it got started. But I don�t know if you get how I function. I am a series of unconnected controlling emotions. So, yes, I was annoyed that she was demanding stupid things of me, but then I had my say and immediately moved on. Apparently that�s not how people work, though, and what was now a non-issue in my mind was a very big issue in hers. So when she goes, �Well? Why aren�t we talking about this?� And maybe I was dense here, but I go, �Talking about what?� �What just happened.� �� What just happened?� She was still affected by the things I had said, and I was like, �Let�s get drunk!� I guess for most emotions are not a tool used spontaneously and discarded. Anyway, I eventually sort of patched that up and came back downstairs. And then she comes downstairs and is like, �I think I�m just going to hang out upstairs for the night,� which is most clearly girl code, and fuck all if I don�t hate girl code. �OK! Have fun then!� I say and carry on with my evening. Eventually she calls me - she calls me - from upstairs (a very Lisa Yung thing to do), and she�s bawling, and suddenly we�re having another big talk all over again. �Why do you even want to be with me blah blah blah?� To which I am always tempted to respond, �Well, right fucking now I don�t want to at all, hmm?�

This is part of the additional trouble of long term relationships. Everyone understands the obvious disadvantages, but not many think about going from not seeing someone at all to seeing them every minute for a period of like 5 days. I need some alone time, some downtime when shit like this happens, and there�s no way either of us can get it.

Well, you know me, gotta make things worse before better, which I am quite good at, but somehow I fixed most stuff, and we were left untroubled for the evening. OK, that�s a lie. I would have been happy at this point to get smashed and maybe puke some, but apparently everyone was too exhausted from the prior evening�s events. Oh, whatevs. Guess I�ll just pass out here then.

�the joke being that the song is not about the joys of monogamy but the joys of solipsism and misanthropy�

The next we met with my parents for breakfast, and something of a Talk was had. Namely, how I�m crazy, so on and so forth. My poor dad. All the rest of us are fucked up in at least someway, and he just kind of watched and doesn�t really get it. It was decided I should probably go talk to somebody (although that is appropriately vague, is it not? Priest, shaman, shrink, homeless person, doctor) and maybe try resorting my meds, I dunno. Strangely enough, they seemed mostly enthused with my decision � or was it my negligence � to get rid of all jobs and focus on school for a while. I�m honestly not sure how I�m going to survive. Mom says she�ll send me food if I make lists, but I am not going to have the funds lying around anymore to make $200 trips to Kansas and back, and I�m not sure Melissa understands that.

Oh � I forgot to mention this one earlier, but when I first spoke to my mom about the breakup, she eventually started in on how it would probably be wise for me to start cutting some of my ties to Kyle and Shelly, as what have going currently is �unhealthy.� I�m not sure about this one way or another. On the one hand, I�m not sure I was really going to follow them anyway. They have their own life together, and it would be just weird if I was always around. We all need to grow up a little bit. On the other, it�s always nice to have that as a possible plan, isn�t it? I guess me even thinking about following them is like Missy thinking about following me, which I still think is possible (and which I also thinking is fucking idiotic). Maybe we all need some alone time.

Still, Mom kept hammering the �unhealthy� thing into the ground over and over again, and that was a little annoying. You think being with this girl is healthy? I guarantee it is not, and I wish I could just show you a little more of my world than I do.

They left eventually and bribed me into taking Missy out for a nice dinner. We wanted Italian, but all the Italian places around here are shit or part of a chain and therefore overcrowded. We went with the latter and hit Biaggi�s. Apparently all the football fan cretins had the same idea, though, because we waited for over an hour. It was decent, though, and on the way back I got Missy some pineapple rum to mix with her strawberry slushie from Sonic.

Just as we got home, Dank was taking a clearly-drunk Kyle and Spritz out with him to see The Transporter 2. I heard they had quite an evening, Kyle pissing on the floor of the movie theatre, yelling shit nonstop, hitting on the theatre trolls, and tossing entire bags of popcorn around above his head (my mental picture on this is very clear). Same old Kyle. Smacko, Missy, and I went to the video store to find something to kill the time. Somehow we decided on 3 Ninjas � High Noon at Mega Mountain (the one with Hulk Hogan and Loni Anderson). Smacko came in with his drink and kept saying things like, �It�s great to get drink in the video store!� I went to the counter to rent the stuff, and the lady goes, �Your account shows an $18.50 balance.� �Wait. Does that mean I have that much to spend or I owe that much?� �You owe that much.� What the fuck? �It says you kept Hitch out for an extra week blah blah blah.� Fucking Hitch! For all the money I spent, I should have just kept the movie and never ever returned. So I say something like, �How could it have been so much?� and Smacko just gets into it, all �Maybe if you didn�t fucking love to suck Will Smith�s cock so much,� which was of course a big success to me, trying to hold in laughter, so he repeats it a couple times, and the lady gets all mad at him, so he has to run out the store, and I have to keep a straight face on. �Maybe if you weren�t so fucking cock hungry for Will Smith as Hitch maybe you wouldn�t owe so much!� Oh Lord.

We get home and watch some of the shit, which is terrible (obviously), and has none of the original three ninjas (the worst sacrilege of all!) when Kyle comes in drunken than ever. Gautum and his girlfriend already told us to turn our shit down because they were watching a movie in the next room. Now they had no fucking chance at all. Kyle would not stop yelling, which meant Smacko started yelling, and pretty soon it was just one heavy noise fuck. I try to retain some order and get Kyle to shut up, but as you now well know, he consciously ignores commands when in such a state.

�Kyle, shut up! We�re watching a movie!�
�What movie?�
�3 Ninjas�
�Kick Back?�
�No, the one after that. With Hulk Hogan.�

By the end of the evening, we must have repeated that very conversation half a dozen times.

Eventually I decide to take command and we all shift over to Smacko�s place. I have to see his new art after all, don�t I? Nope, still don�t get paintings. Dank is still with us and shows me this thing he mentioned the day before � House of Cosbys. It�s about this guy who clones Bill Cosby, and each one gets progressively worse (a la Multiplicity), but then every tenth Cosby gets super powers. It was so stupid how could it not work? Well, Kyle, Spritz, and Smacko were too easily distractible and left (oh good), giving Shelly, Missy, Dank, and I plenty of time to try and dig up Smacko�s homemade video of Emmy smoking his pole. Unfortunately, this notion eventually made its way through the drunken fog that is Smacko�s brain, and he ran back up to lock us out.

Kyle tried to jump off Smacko�s balcony, I guess, so now I suppose he owes Spritz his life and all that. In the process of dangling over the railing (Spritz yanking him back by the shirt), I guess Kyle spotted these high school kids they had all recently played basketball with somewhere. Oh! What better idea than invite them over to drink! I wish I could have been that drunk, because it is a hilarious idea on one hand, but it was so fucking dumb when sober. Kyle and Spritz just kept pouring drinks into those babyfaced fuckers (with their curly hair and all), and the rest of us just sat by in horror. It eventually became clear that someone was going to puke, and we ushered them out of the house before it got too late.

So, things finally calm down a bit We�re all watching Adult Swim or �Jackass� or something when fucking Kyle pulls out a Redline for him and Smacko. Now, Smacko should fucking know better, as that shit already made him ill once. And I�m trying to explain this, but of course they don�t ever fucking listen. �Kyle, you do not need to drink that shit. You�ll be up all night!� �So what?� �So you�re fucking obnoxious right now, and the only possible respite we have is you passing out at some point. The last night we need is you this drunk up all night.� And he just keeps smiling and mixing his Redline and vodka. It occurs to me at this point that all of us sort of hate drunk Kyle. Like, everybody does now.

Luckily, the Redline about did its trick, and for the first time in his illustrious history of drinking, Kyle finally puked a little bit. His body fought him the whole way down, and Smacko would not stop giving him shit, but he finally did. He tried to act like he hadn�t, though, but we were like, �You�ve got vomit all over your shirt,� so of course he just ripped it off and ran around like that for the rest of the night. But he kept trying to do it some more, even as Smacko taunted him by the toilet. �CASH MONEY MILLIONAIRES DON�T PUKE!� he kept saying over and over. Spritz made a game out of it. �Wait � what is that cash money millionaires do?� �THEY DON�T PUKE!� �But � hold on � let�s say I wanted to be a cash money millionaire. How could I achieve that goal?� �CASH MONEY MILLIONAIRES DON�T PUKE� It was fairly awesome. So was when Kyle and Smacko kept calling each other �baby� and talking about how they would go down in history as � what? A cash money millionaire? And how would one go about that exactly?

Missy left the next day, and I spent most of it stuffing envelopes and watching Resident Evil: Apocalypse. We all went shopping. Smacko bought nasty potpies, sausages, and burritos, I bought a Gameboy game and Shelly got �Silent Hill 2,� which I have been playing more than she has, as it fills her with terror and makes her useless. I guess Kyle had drunkenly decided at the theatre the previous night that we were to make a huge pot of mac and cheese with hotdogs. So we went through with it. Such pain I have never known, on my tastebuds or on the throne. And then I really fucked my stomach over by devouring an entire pack of sour kiwi Juicy Fruit, leaving me in agony and horror of things to come in the next day. I sort of hate school and work, guys. My bad