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� 10/18/2005 - 12:30 a.m. | *makin� love with you is like swimmin� in glue* Oh God, to return to the junior novelization that is my life. Perpetual failure, Nate Walsh. If I begin to catch up on one thing, how many others are left behind? Well, no use in delaying. I had a migraine on Thursday night (hours in a fluorescent tepid hellhole with nothing but Overhead in New York to look at), so when I called Smacko and learned nothing was going on, I was secretly relieved. However, as we should all know by now, the very air changes when it knows I am not going to be out in it. Suddenly, Spritz and Smacko are out encountering everyone we ever met in our lives, including a very drunk Angela Biagi. I thought she would never be the type to drink, let alone get trashed, but I am wrong almost constantly, aren�t I? As she was the object of affection for all three of my senior year quadmates, I�m sure some hearts were broken that night when Angela kissed Spritz. He won. He always wins. The best part, though, is that she knew about their affections the whole time. And somehow still chose Smelly. Well, by now, karma, you and I are thoroughly at odds. Course, she was trashed and being dragged off by her concerned friends, but the seed has been planted, and I am sure this is not the last we heard of this. Friday, heh, I had all these plans � class, transcription, meetings � and I flaked on all of them to sit and watch more GD �Star Trek� episodes. My hair was really getting on my nerves � my pseudo-sideburns growing bushy over my glasses, roostering out in the back � but I was content with bitching until Spritz offered to cut it. So, we�re out on the front porch with our fucking terrible Wal-mart scissors � scissors that function more like a machete to my hair than anything � when the bus pulls up in front of our house and same Asian lady gets off and walks over. She watches for a little while (as I sit there in� blind horror, I guess you�d say) until someone finally questions her. �Oh, I just studied hair styling, and I wanted to see what you�re doing.� We have no idea what we�re doing, so Spritz eventually hands the scissors over to her, and this strange lady starts cutting. I guess everyone else did sort of know her (she lives in Smacko�s building), but I�d never met the woman before in my life, did not know anyone else had, and here she was with her crotch up on my shoulder. She went from cosmetology to grad school in environmental sciences apparently, all because someone stole like the $650 she had in scissors. And, to be honest, my hair turned out quite nicely. She was slow as hell, so when she was still cutting things 20 minutes in, I started to give Spritz worried looks, but for a free haircut, it was fucking awesome. Spritz and I got hotdogs. Happy Friday. I almost started out describing Friday evening in a negative light, but I do believe it was actually sort of fun � it just happened to pale in comparison to the next evening (or rather, my chemical state in the next evening). Yousaf was in town visiting, so Kyle was gone for the night, leaving me, Shelly, and Spritz to our own devices. A weird weekend in that lots of people were out of town (Smacko included), actually forcing our party into Champaign for� parties. As I was explaining to my parents half-drunk on the telephone, all parties and bars are intolerable. To tolerate them, you must send your mind into the ether, so that it is somewhere between dimensions. Thus, parties then are only half-intolerable, or tolerable. Anyway, I was well in the ether this night, as we followed Shelly�s scrawled notes and I tried unscrewing every car antenna I could find. Success rate was low, but it was worth it to try handing them out to random passerby. �Take this.� We actually stopped over at one party for a piss break, but then discovered its second room and stayed for a while. Someone was piping in some trash for a bit, but they eventually started on the mid-90s hits, and things got glorious. Shelly nearly tried beer pong, and Spritz left for greener grass, but I was willing to stay. Champaign people would surely hook up with me probably?? I was happy deluding myself at random at first (Yeah, she probably gave me the ol� cutie eye� She definitely touched the small of my back right there) when I was forcibly rocked out of my haze and into love. Perhaps you think love at first sight is shallow, but this was not based on beauty. This girl (although she was fairly pretty) was the most insane dancer I have ever seen, doing crazy air guitar and lip biting and shit. I couldn�t even believe it. People don�t even dance like that in Urbana. Shelly and I began to confer, which is to say that she told me to talk to her, and I kept sending Shelly to get more drinks so I could possibly try and talk to her. The problem is all in my mind, I know, and it goes deeper than you think. It�s not merely that talking to a girl is difficult. It can be awkward or whatever, and I�m eventually gone anyway. But lord, I just keep building more anxiety on top of the original until it just seems an insurmountable task. Through careful social networking (and stalking), we learned she was Jenny, and I continued to fight my demons as we observed her wackiness. She wasn�t there with anybody, that�s a good sign. She doesn�t seem to have anyone to talk to, that�s good, too. (Meanwhile this chubby effeminate man had tacked onto me as a winner, I knowing the words to most songs, so he kept stumbling over for elaborate handshakes). To bide my time, I stole some chem goggles and a pack of screws. Numerous attempts were made, but each time she seemed engaged � on the phone, being chatted up by some cretin who did not understand what made her truly special � until finally it was clear she was leaving. We were certain she knew Shelly and I were stalking her by this point, so might as well take it full on, am I right? I decide to get brave at the weirdest possible times. So, she�s walking off to some other party alone, and I run to catch up with her. Spritz was right � about halfway there, you start to not think this was the good idea it once was, but hey, too late now. So I told her my name and she told me hers and we shook hands and I complimented her dancing and that was like � it. Heh, I don�t honestly know what I thought would happen � I mean, the only impression I could have possibly made was creepy � but at least she had not left unconfronted. We started home in quasi-shame, catching a SafeRide to the next party. We both found that hilarious. Clearly, the liquid courage I had been downing (and Shelly had been helping with) kicked in a bit too late, as suddenly we were both fairly sloshed, using each other for support. Maybe it was just in my head, but I swear the party was slightly Latino-themed, meaning we were the only white people in the mix. But Shelly and I share a weak tolerance for alcohol and an amazing love for dance, so we made the best of the situation until the party completely thinned out (I sort of blame us). We protected each other � her from giant black guys who would have gladly dry humped her and me from the shame of dancing there alone. There was a girl who smelled very pretty, but it will be a while before I can face more than one awkward rejection in an evening. Some goth chick was all grinding up on a hipster, but only because he beat me to the punch by the like a minute. Also, Shelly and I tried to start a dance train with another couple who were clearly very intent on staying intimate. They were� displeased. I would not shut up about Taco Bell Doritos, so we stopped for those and mushed our way home. Shelly collapsed on the couch to play Lego Star Wars while I came up here to drunkenly hassle Hot Michelle. Did I offend her? I checked the chat logs (God bless those) and see nothing offensive, but who knows how a real person interprets my madness? Anyway, I was up here in my haze when I get a phone call. �Shelly?� �I�m too drunk to move off the couch� Help me�..� Uh. OK, she wins again. I come down and she is so slow-moving that the phone has not been lowered from her head. I am drunk enough to think carrying her to her bed is wise. Amazingly, I succeeded (NATE STRONG), only crashing against one wall or two. The best was that Kyle was in bed the whole time, as we are yelling and thrashing about. Here�s some water, good night. Actually, my own bottle of water must have tipped over, as the bottom end of my bed ended up all soggy and cold, waking me just long enough to put a cardboard box over the offending area. It was water, though, right. Most of the day was spent carefully not moving just in case a hangover would creep out from the folds of my brain. Luckily there were still enough Taco Bell chips to keep my alive, if not entirely pleased (The things are not great in sobriety). I was perfectly happy up there until it would be time to drink again, but all of a sudden I hear a strangely parental voice coming from downstairs. It is well-established that grownups are barred entry from our abode, for the simple fact that we live in squalor and this is somehow disgusting to them. �Lord, better make myself presentable then,� I say and throw on some pants. Good thing, too, as it was the Weztlers, and the mere sight of Shelly�s sister would have made boxers alone a grave miscalculation. Wink. BECAUSE I GOT A BONER, SEE< Anyway, the adult Wetzlers are looking around in disgust, as I bump down and gurgle out a greeting. Mr. Wetzler said something I took to be a joke but in retrospect might have been a serious statement. �I�m very disappointed in you guys, you�re supposed to be professional college students,� something along those lines. Perhaps laughing in his face was not the right response. He fled to the out of doors while Shelly�s mom started to pick things up. I may be a fuckup these days, but some of the old guilt does remain, so I grabbed a garbage bag and Jessy and I picked up garbage. She reached across my face as she and I were both bent down. I could not stand back up. BECAUSE OF THE ERECTION CUZ HER TITS WAS IN HIS FACE I think it�s funny that some kids hide their habits from their parents, so I make it a point to be stupidly frank whenever I am in front of them. Shelly was not willing to let me tell our little Bodyguard story from that night, so I instead went off on my own drunken account of the evening, hopefully making very clear that there was no way Shelly could not have been involved. It was fun. And lord bless marching band competitions because it is the only thing that could make Jessy Wetzler attainable. The lamest extracurricular activity in the world, but easy does it, whoa. The Wetzlers went to eat with the Wilds (A convergence of two southern Illinois Republican families � I am nearly glad I was not invited), and I returned to my shell until invited out by Yousaf and Dank for dinner. I coerced Kyle into going with the promise of gay drinks and prepackaged Americana. �But I just ate!� I knew what I was in for and decided to go for it whole hog. If you�re going to be eating shit, might as well eat the shittiest shit of all. CHICKEN WINGS! And as I tried to gnaw my way through that gristly hell, I only laughed. �This is the worst food I have ever tasted.� HA HA HA At least we had a nice waitress. She naturally assumed we were all underage, so it was great when three of us ordered the drink special for the night. Stupid giant Long Islands. Yes, I understand that they get you trashed for cheap (which is why Kyle and I ordered seconds), but do any of you sick fucks actually like them? Actually, come to think of it, I think I might have by the time I got to the bottom of the second. As Smacko argued, "Drinking them is like having six shots with the taste of four!" I guess that's a good deal? Anyway, we were clearly in good spirits (hurr) by this point, so I dragged everyone to Meijer to get some enhancements. While in line, Dank was fucking with his magic phone such that it started quietly cranking �Cracklin� Rosie.� I was enthralled and started yelling it at the top of my lungs, actually getting some middled aged mustache guy to join in with me. Best of human nature, right there. I can bring it out for cheap! $6 in drinks! lol, oh yeah � and our bills were all insane. $15 for 2 drinks and an appetizer. I could have bought a sixer of girl drinks and two Wendy�s combos and come out a much happier man. And were I willing to cook and produce moonshine, I would be set for the year! It is a night of tangents! I came upstairs to further prepare for the evening. I came down a less even man. Everyone else was watching the Charles Barkley DVD (where did that shit materialize from?) He is apparently a smart fellow, but he does not look or sound it, so I laughed and then asked if anyone wanted anything from the store. Drunken bike ride time! In my efforts to remember their requests, I actually forgot my own purchased, leaving me un-smart drugged for the night. Perhaps this was for the best, however, as I ended up very near to Perfect Drunk, which leaves with warm fuzzies for what was actually a pretty standard evening. The plan (I�m told) was to get Yousaf some ass. No, this is not the Herculean task it once was. Due to some insane diet and lord knows what else (He must gorge himself on crabs every three weeks or he will go into shock, something something), Yousaf is a small child lighter. 60 pounds!! Jesus! All to go to the Army and get shot in the face. Anyway, he got a nice shirt and we were going to some Champaign bars (the nice ones, not the slutty ones). I killed the rest of a bottle of Apple Pucker (ooh, forgot about that) and ran off with hedge stones waiting for the bus. Fuck the bus, we started to walk. Allison called and met with us along the way. Maybe it was not a good idea, but I have other, shallower pursuits that needed undertaking, so I abandoned everyone and went with her to Urbana parties instead. For me, this was the right choice on so many levels (e.g. I hate bars and am in love with several of Allison�s friends), but I still had that tinge of regret that I was abandoning my friends. Does Spritz still have that tinge? (I guess while they were out, they got Dank to try some girly drinks, as he was of the firm belief that everything tastes like hell. He stands corrected as of now, so I can only hope he will be doing beer bongs in our living room soon enough. He tops the list of people I wish to see intoxicated.) Ooh, I was well fucked by the time we got to the party, so it seemed GREAT! Most of Allison�s gang was there, and I was drunk enough to just be content in standing there and saying little. At least that is as I recall it. I also recall some insane dancing (rotations and all) and crazy trance lights I kept fucking with, but I was mostly just happy to tap my foot and not try to yell things. Do you know how rare that is? To not feel awkward because I should be talking but am not? That is the miracle of Perfect Drunk. Plus, another sign of what is right with the world, drinks just kept appearing in my hands. A guy went out around with a case of High Life, passing them to one and all. And some cherry punch I�m sure was not healthy for me. I can�t say many things happened, but I was there in the sound and noise for some time, and I was having a riot. I took some pictures for people and had one truly awful one taken of myself, shook some hands, did occasionally yell things to Hillary, and leaned against a wall and tried to look cool. I doubt I succeeded. At one point, the music died down, and I went to investigate. Discovering I could read nothing, I dragged Allison over and forced her onto the laptop to dredge up something that wasn�t bad trance. She came through with Tenacious D, which was glorious, all of us yelling in a huge indie crowd, but it may well have been the thing that alerted the cops to our presence. The cops? HA! Fuck the cops! I�m 21! It was so nice not to have to worry anymore, and better, to laugh at the worry of others. Allison, Hillary, Hillary�s so hot ex-roommate, and myself collapsed on the couch in some antechamber, just us, and I felt pretty fucking cool. For once I was not at the center of some horrific nerdy sausage fest. Some dude stumbled in, looked at us, and backed out, all intimidated by our group of coolness. That guy is usually me! Not this time, bucko! Anyway, the police condition concerned me far less than the annoying disco ball, which I tumbled around and tried to unplug. Success! Eventually I decided that we should leave. I am not sure why they all followed, considering they could actually be harmed by the officers, and I was immune. Yes, I know public drunkenness is still an offense, but I am very private about it, all right? Hillary and Mel left (aww!) but Allison and Hillary�s Hot Ex-Roommate Whose Name I Still Did Not Know were ready to party (yay!). I did not know her name, but she was rather forthright about her sexual habits. Out of nowhere while looking at her phone at the party: �Oh, it�s the guy I have casual sex with.� Was there a meaningful look as she hung up on him? Only in dreams. So many questions. How does one apply to be the guy she has casual sex with? Is it only �casual� sex because she mentions it so freely in conversation? There are so many things I don�t know. On the front porch of this one house, these two guys were playing guitars. Took me a moment to recognize �Optimistic� and start yelling the words out, but they were cheered, and I was fairly proud of the accomplishment, considering my state and their shoddy guitar efforts. It was like being led around blindfolded. So much, in fact, that when we left the next party and headed for home, I (normally very good with sense of direction in any state) was going the exact opposite of the right way - on some perpendicular street I thought parallel somehow. That is Perfect Drunk for you. Recalling details now, though, possibly we were on Green and Elm, in some house. I had no business being there and sort of wandered away from the pack. In one room, old hip hop was blaring to an empty white room with ancient exercise equipment. I climbed over to the exercise bike and pedaled for most of my time there. Much safer than usual, and I could listen in unnoticed (??) on other people�s conversations. They were mostly boring. Hot Ex-Roommate (H.E.R.) was talking to some Scottish troll about� acting maybe, but I just leaned against a wall and tried not to look at her boobs, because that is rude. Scottish troll invited us to an afterparty, but HER wasn�t attending, so neither would we. I have weird command power in some cases. I waited for Allison to come outside and some creepy gaunt man (corpse?) sauntered by and touched me with one of his cold dead claw hands. Just experience for the novel, I tell myself, but that doesn�t mean I liked it. HER said goodbye. �Nice meeting you, Nate.� I wanted to point out we had might once, maybe twice before, but since I could not remember her name, I couldn�t really fault her for not remembering that. Lord, had we introduced ourselves over the course of the evening? Or did she just pick up my name from the air? Because I am on everyone�s tongue. Anyway, when Allison came out, I casually (which means probably not) asked HER�s name. She told me, I�m sure, but I also promptly forgot all over again. I like my degrading title better anyway. Strangely chivalrous at times (and no, I didn�t want to get any, you clods), I walked Allison home, even though she ineptly argued that I should be the one getting walked home. We stopped by the porch of those guys again and screamed for more Radiohead. �Just� was adequate, but �Creep� pissed me the fuck off. And I wanted more �Optimistic.� Luckily, Allison was happy to oblige at her place, and then I got the fuck out because I should not be pressing my luck anyway. In retrospect, I don�t think I had much to worry about. Maybe she finally gets where we stand. Maybe she just wasn�t trashed out of her gourd (although she did make mention of Mike as a �douchebag,� hoho). However, one should avoid slippery slopes when possible so I ran home and called somebody (Yousaf?) to ascertain locations. Still at Dank�s, of course, so I loaded up my mp3 player (The sign of user friendly technology is if one can use it in a state of complete drunkenness) and pedaled over to Dank�s. It was cold and far probably, but my bike seemed to be going extra fast, and I had some good tunes. Stayed there for a couple hours, watching Dank play terrible Xbox games (Hulk? Come on!) and listening to Kyle snore on the floor. Here is a list of facts about Hulk: All fascinating, I�m sure, but I could have made up random facts myself. �The Hulk�s dong is so big he must coil it 3.7 times around his left leg to prevent it from flopping out from the bottom of his purple cutoff sweatpants, which, by the way, are a size Super Medium!� Fuck you, Hulk. In between quips between Dank and myself, Yousaf and I had a philosophical discussion about him possibly joining in the army, both of us wanting to die, etc. Conclusions were probably not reached. On the plus side, he is applying for a job at a chocolate shop, which might solve that whole weight loss problem he�s had. Someone called a SafeRide, and while I watched them wait, I started to think. Shelly was wearing a fairly short skirt (fairly well, I might add) and her boobs have seemed noticeably bigger as of late (so much so that I feel I can�t make fun of them anymore� unless of course she is stuffing, in which case, game on). Anyway, I noticed these things and then I looked over at Kyle, all unshaven and unkempt and manboobs sort of poking through his tight black t-shirt, and in my mind�s eye I actually went back to calculus (Can you believe?) and drew this little graph in my head:
Admittedly, it is crude, but then, so am I. Anyway, the yellow area between the two lines (charting Kyle and Shelly hotness, respectively) is the area where it is socially acceptable for them to date. Their point of intersection is, well, bad. I will leave it to you to deduce where upon these lines we are currently, but I will say this. I am getting tenser by the moment. They got their ride, Dank drove some people home, and I was left to my bike. This was not inequitable, but rather glorious, as I believe I mentioned in the previous entry. My mind had cleared significantly, although I still seemed to be flying (in terms of velocity, not flight), and while riding along I did spot a red cube on the ground, which I stopped to attend to (and to make sure it was not a hallucination). It was squishy, so I took it along, smiling. I don�t know what I did when I got home, but I tried to drag out the evening a little longer before sleep. Good nights like these make the not so good ones worth surviving.
I won't be soothed, |
