11/12/2005 - 7:50 p.m. | they say i don't listen no more

Kyle is downstairs watching Michael Jordan play basketball eight years ago, rewinding to see just about everything again. It is rather bizarre, and I cannot abide by it, so I am going to try very hard to sit here and writce about last night.

Veteran�s Day? Better get hammered! Like we really needed an excuse, but Jevon is a vet after all, and it justifies our alcoholism. Speaking of which, Smacko, having just completed his alcohol sensitivity classes or whatever (for having pissed on a storefront so many months ago), is now worried that he is a Stage 3 bordering on Stage 4. I am not familiar with the terminology, but I think it is the difference between a binge drinker and an alcoholic. Of course, this concern only really presents itself when he is already drunk, a pain he might want to soothe with, say, more alcohol, so I would say he�s operating on a slippery slope. More on that briefly. The night began typically � running and hot dogs. My smell was actually forming some sort of barrier around me, so I made a bold move and did some laundry. In the process, I finally found my girl jeans (yes!), so I decided to fully gay it up. Tiny tight maroon shirt, �surf style� hair butter, soaked in pheromones. Well, the pheromones aren�t gay � just stupid and flesh-searing.

I finally grew desperate for song and hooked junk laptop here up with a sound system. I feel like it is an admission of defeat, but if I did not have music, I would have had to drink downstairs with everybody, and we can�t have that. Some basketball game was on, putting us to a very slow start, but I can�t say it wasn�t worth it, considering how drunk Kyle got.

After lots of waiting and slogging about, we were finally on our way. And then immediately sent back. See, we encountered Smacko coming back from the very destination we were headed (�It was horrible!�), drunk enough, he decided, sick with something, and coming home for the night. Unfortunately, we are not good friends for a potential alcoholic to have. Kyle talked Smacko into coming back out with us on the terms that they would both do a �bump� (that is, a line of Ritalin) together. I was brought along as chaperone. I watched as Smacko took the pill, smashed it up on the table with brass knuckles, divided it up with his student ID, and then snorted it with a dollar bill. Kyle, going for a touch of class, used a twenty. It was� fucking weird, was what it was. Smacko apparently also suffers from a genetic predisposition to nosebleeds, so some time-release poder up your schnozz is not what he needed. He starts spurting everywhere. Meanwhile, Kyle is freaking the fuck out a little bit. �What-do-you-mean-you-give-me-two-bumps-instead-of-one?! No-wonder-I�m-feeling-so�. alert!!� I sat there in amusement, waiting for my drunk to kick in. We set out.

Our first stop was Becky�s (formerly Brytne�s) to pick up the rest of our party. Smacko and I talked romantic strategies even as he kept tumbling into me. Kyle and I peed on some guy�s motorcycle seat. We got there, and there was no sign of our friends, only like 18 dudes grinding up on the same girl. It was� not to be a good time. I ran outside to establish contact, stopping to take my shoe off. There was a nickel inside, and it had been bugging me the whole walk over. I got it out, but then it rolled out of sight, and I could not reclaim it. This upset me.

Got the team together in a relative hurry, and we were back on the road to Taylor�s. Yeah, �cause I always feel welcome there. At least I was better off than Shelly, as I guess Brytne was being a right cunt to her at the time. Not my business � I kept my mp3 player on and stayed lost in song. This remained a trend for the evening. Shelly kept pulling the earbuds off, calling me antisocial. Not true! Okay, sort of true, but I stopped the song whenever someone was talking to me! I guess the point is that no one would talk to a guy wearing headphones anyway. What can I say? Sometimes it�s fun to stumble around in a haze, listening to �Oh, Sweetheart.�

We parted ways once again. Smacko, after prodding me and Kyle the whole way there � �You gotta not let me drink. You gotta stop me from drinking. I�ll punch you in the stomach if you let me drink.� � ran off with Taylor, leaving us completely powerless. Brytne and the rest of her friends went somewhere, I don�t care, happy really, actually. No one knew where Spritz was (shock). Shelly�d been personally invited to a party over at Green St. Towers (The Booze News lists inviting everyone you know � or don�t know � typically from facebook, as the first sign of a sketchy party). Spritz sneaked in the gate and got the rest of us through, and we headed up to this hell.

Green St. Towers does not have the biggest apartments, so I did not expect great things. Still, a DJ�d party is usually better than most, so we hung around for a while, all going our separate ways. I plopped on the couch awhile and sort of spaced, watching the other people dance and chewing my gum obnoxiously. My unspoken plan was to act not like I was awkward and antisocial but that I didn�t even care about this fucking party, I was just so damn cool. Uh, roaring success, I�m sure.

Luckily, Shelly came back, and I asked her to dance. I threw off my coat and now, in full on flamboyant character mode, I started to bust a move. �It is very gay when you put your hands on your hips like that,� says Shelly. �I am OK with it,� says I. People were apparently entertained by my antics (and my buttcrack � holla) because some sort of dance circle formed, with me in the center. I was told I won. YES!! Everybody was pretty well-paired up (including the one couple making out in my face), but I was not desperate enough at this point to really try and cut into anyone�s game. Not even the dude dancing with like two chicks. I hate that dude, even when I am that dude.

Maybe I was a little jaded, though, because as we started to head out in the night, I invented some little techno song along the lines of, �All girls look the same / Steal the umbrella on your way out.� It was good at the time, as I was moonwalking it passerby, but then I was very, very drunk.

We went to Legends (WHY, WHY) and met up with Spritz and Angie Weis at this point. HA HA HA! She has not lost weight! All were commenting on it! He said she had, but I knew she had not, and now everyone knows it! I felt very vindicated. Even as I sat there singing Kelly Clarkson with a table of nearby uggos. Shelly and I shared a cherry bomb (apparently Redbull and red NyQuil � stunning combination) and then Kyle kept buying Jevon and everyone shots of Tequila Rose because of the whole veteran thing. I swear it was good before, but this time it tasted like old warm cream, strawberries, and a punch to the throat. I still downed two anyway. Some people came up to us and acted like they knew who we were. I tried very hard to place them (pretty Asian girl, whooshed back redhead girl� pretty Asian, whooshed back redhead� Yeah, I got nothin�) and then promptly forgot when I was informed. Much time was spent pouring salt on the table as I tried to convince everyone that this place was not worth our time. I eventually won and we went to Firehaus, which was also not worth our time.

Kyle got immediately absorbed into the crowd, and the rest of us (Shelly, Jevon, myself � Spritz once again found himself absorbed� in Viking�s cavernous vag) sat around waiting for him to develop. I listened to more songs, dancing around as we shared headphones, and downed two random drinks someone left. That was gross in retrospect. Plus, they might have lacked booze. Kyle eventually did turn up but had met some fellow he�d played Uniball with (and who had also tortured Ducky as a child apparently), so we were obliged to follow him back. I stood against the wall and cranked my music as loud as was possible and tried to observe the masses. Almost felt like a grownup big city bar, really� except that all of us were there. This one sleeze was hitting on these two chicks in front of me, and I watched his efforts with detached amusement. All the little tricks � whispering things in ears, constantly physical contact (on the small of the back if possible) � all these things I know, but I don�t think I could ever use them. Then again, I don�t think they were working too well, as one of the chicks (the prettier one) kept shooting me �help me� glances. �Sorry, gotta go!� I mouthed as I struggled to drag my friends away from this horrible scene. It would have been too awful to imagine rescuing that beautiful girl if she wasn�t attracted to me, and worse still if she was. I would have simply ended up the same colossal failure� although I�ve found girls tend to forgive some of those transgressions if they think the boy is really cute. Still, it was less painful not knowing.

We rolled out, and I still had some desperate delusions of getting some ass, so I talked the party into returning to Green St. Towers from whence we came. There was a very pretty girl giving my eyes almost from the second I walked in the door (or Jevon eyes � or Kyle eyes � at least it was near my vicinity!), but she and her friend were currently occupied by some douchebag in a gray sweatshirt, so there was nothing to do but shop around. Micah was there, bombed out of his mind, but at least he�s a friendly drunk � and considerate enough not to get all up on Shelly. Although the resulting fight would have been hilarious. I watched as Jevon went up to the cute girl, her friend, and Sweaty, but the latter was far too dominating, I think, and wouldn�t let Jevon get in a word edgewise. Luckily, that�s why I have a drunken Kyle Wild. As soon as he stumbled over to introduce himself, I crept my way towards them (what a sick game we play, huh?), and he plugged me right into the conversation. You�re the man, Kyle Wild. Introductions made, I was hoping to stick around and get some ground when this Asian girl grabs me and more and less commands me to start dancing. So I�m kind of absent-mindedly dancing (at the front of this long line of people, it would seem), vacantly answering this Asian girl�s questions when she asks them (the true power of conservation in the drunken mind� �What�s your name?� �Blah.� �Oh, I see.�), but mostly trying to listen in on the threeway between cute girl and the other two, hopefully indicating that I mostly dancing with this chick as a social obligation, not because I want to jump her (and not, say, your) bones. Shelly, Kyle, and Jevon leave, but I stick around with those faint vestiges of hope that keep my life worth living. Finally, Asian chick decides to get a little aggressive. �I need some air. Want to join me?� Damn social obligations. I follow her out, thinking to myself that I have not really seen her face as of yet. And suddenly I do.

Yipe.

It�s like someone took a normal potato head and, if it were made of dough, squeezed the face together so that there is a lot of room around the edges. It was� fucked up. Awkward conversation followed. Briefly. Don�t ask me how the fuck I got away, because it was all fear and adrenaline, but I made it back inside. Alone. Thank God. Took my seat there, kind of casually observing our fantastic threesome from afar (but not too afar), where things seemed to be heating up. Guy Sweatshirt kisses the pretty girl, then the other one� then back to the first. Tongue, tongue, tongue. I am able to casually observe the madness. THE FUCK? I�m thinking to myself. How does this creep make these things happen? And now they�re getting up, trying one door, then another (all locked), looking for a place to conduct their lewd triad. Unable to find privacy, the threesome wanders out, and I am like, �All right, you�ve made your point, Buddha. Let�s fucking go.� So I grab my shit and head out into the courtyard, but I kind of linger for a while because I�m not really ready to leave. The two girl members of the threesome walk out from behind some corner, Sweaty following in a huff, and they part ways. I quickly pull out my cell phone and fake conversation as the girls pass me on the way to the elevator. Well, one shot then, huh?

I walk in the elevator myself and probably would�ve stayed silent the whole time, but perhaps they understood my vampiric tendencies and invited me in. �So, you heading home?� pretty one asks. And we�re off. And I don�t know what happened, but I actually fucking flirted! I have a theory about this. You know zombie drunk? Well, the theory about zombies, as Day of the Dead taught me, is that everything in them is dead except like this little core of instincts in your brain (e.g. �Eat fucking people�) that keeps them bumping around and doing shit. So why not with zombie drunkenness then, too? And in the very deepest parts of my [car??? - meaning essence perhaps?], there is a part that is willing to sidestep politeness and be one of �those guys,� even if it is a milder form of it. And I don�t know what I said (fear and adrenaline again), but I was charming as balls - funny and slightly self-deprecating and kind of coy. And it seemed to be going pretty well � whereas I thought it was normal Champaign behavior, it turns out the two of them were just as freaked by Gray Sweatshirt as I was. The pretty one totally liked me, I could tell, and who the fuck cares what the other one thought? We talked outside for like 15 minutes, and though I figured I could eventually get somewhere with enough effort, it was cold, and I was thrashed, and I might as well go for broke now. Everyone knows the standard �Wanna come over and watch a movie?� line, but since there were two involved, I altered it in what I decided was the most hilariously bungling way possible. �Wanna come over and play a board game?� Man, I am so fucking cool. Well, damn/bless you for the fucking system, lord. The other one started to make excuses at this point, and pretty one was forced to tag along, even though I think she would have been quite up for some board game. Shouldn�t drag things out any further at this point, so I decided to quickly ask for pretty one�s number (to confirm I was correct) and get the fuck out of dodge. She obliged, and we parted.

The secret ending to this is I pulled an homage to Vince Vaughn as I left, tearing the scrap of paper with her number in half and tossing it on the ground. Honestly, I know how I do � I don�t have the drunken willpower to not feel guilt tomorrow, so if nothing happened tonight, it wasn�t gonna happen ever. I can entertain the idea of a one night stand, but founding some sort of relationship just wouldn�t sit. Besides, there was something empowering about it, being the one to reject a pretty girl. Self-esteem is all I need anyway.

On the way home, I called Missy, and we had a spirited conversation. I rolled around in the leaves.

I know, I�m such a dick. Might as well continue to stockpile the dark secrets, though, right? I was considering making a list of the five girls I would leave Missy in a second for, but it�s more like 1 through 5 would be, �Whoever is pretty and approaches me,� which lacks punch.

Came home, and our festivities continued for a while longer. Oh � rumor has it that Kyle and Shelly are doing it now, so bully for them. actually, I might have some sort of time frame on it, as I was telling Kyle and Shelly about some recent night when I was in the throes of insomnia, trying to watch Con Air for the thirteenth time, and Shelly goes, �Wait � did you hear anything?� �Uh, what would I have heard had I heard anything?� �Oh, nevermind�� Hmm. Anyway, we pulled out the gat and took turns shooting beer bottles on the top of some electrical box (wise move). Kyle is always a terrible shot, and the drunkenness did not help. In a rage, he ran up to the bottles and shot them point blank, launching glass shards at his face. Good lord. His nose was wounded, but at least I wasn�t driving him to the hospital. I was driving him to Steak and Shake.

Don�t worry! My magic InstaSobriety kicked in, and suddenly I was good to go. Kyle had already eaten, but he was easily enticed to go, provided he had a flask of vodka and his brother along with him. Boy ordered some nasty homemade orange soda, followed by a giant Mello Yello, to which he eventually the contents of the entire flask (keep in mind, it was 3:30 in the morning at this point), making crazy faces the whole time. Kyle has added a whole �nother type of drunk to the lexicon: waterhead drunk. He kept making the stupidest faces in the world, sticking his tongue out, crossing his eyes (intentionally?), and looking for all the world like some sort of terminal mental patient. Of course we picked the table right next to the only other two people in the place, so I�m sure they well hated our guts by the time the meal was over. Using the frozen strawberry preserves in my milkshake as incentive (and of course my stunning powers of sadism), I got Kyle to down the whole foul Mello Yello in like 90 seconds with two straws. For some reason, he suddenly got very ill. I told him to vomit in my empty chili bowl if he had to. I would put some oyster crackers on the shit and then sue those fuckers for negligence. As we all know by now, however, cash money millionaires don�t puke, so he held it in and spent the rest of the night with stomach cramps (and the rest of today with bombs going off in his brain). Back home, as stumbled towards the house, Kyle stopped us and said we needed a �www.grouphug.� �Huh?� �Wild, Wild, Walsh!� The boy is still remarkably clever in this state, but I don�t believe Jevon would ever be comfortable hugging other men and ran off into the night. Kyle and I crashed on the couches to watch Honey. Well, I tried to watch Honey, and Kyle just kept a running dialogue about how much he wanted to fuck Jessica Alba. �Do you like those shoulders, Nate? Do you want to fuck them?� �That doesn�t make a lot of sense, Kyle.� �Do you want to jizz all over them?� �Yes, Kyle. Who doesn�t?� We get it, Kyle. You�re very attracted to women. Now let me learn of the struggles in the ghetto and the toils of choreographer fame. Kyle fell asleep mid-sentence, and I came up here to read nerdy shit and try to ignore my desperation. I didn�t sleep until 8.