02/17/2006 - 10:35 a.m. | night of mayhem

For Valentine's Day, Kyle hired some guy to embarrassingly serenade Shelly in the middle of one of her classes. A sweet gesture, yes, but apparently the guitarist sort of sucked balls, inspiring Kyle, upon his return, to team up with Andy to offer some sort of dedicated music telegram service to the campus.

You have no idea how much I would love to be a hanger-on for one more semester, maybe go to bartending school over the summer, work at some dive in town when I could, go around singing with Kyle and Andy, living on somebody's floor like a drunk vagrant. There is nothing I would rather do more than that.

One has a sneaking suspicion, however, that part of the reason I would love this so much is that it would be another half a year before I had to go out and face the real world. And while I would certainly be fine with that cowardice on my own, I would be disappointing some people - well, you know, the only people who are ever really disappointed with me - namely my parents and Missy.

And even my parents reaction I could probably take - I don't think they'd be happy, wasting my newly-acquired useless degree as such, but I think the fact that I'd be off their meal card would ease their pain considerably. Missy, though... Lord. I mentioned in passing last weekend that I would be applying for jobs all over the country / world (e.g. not just Chicago) and she seemed so shocked and appalled, as though she'd never even considered the possibility. "I thought we were going to be together finally, though!" Bottom lip quivers. She goes on to say that she assumed that even if neither of us found the jobs we wanted, we could just take shitty ones and still be happy because we were together. Is this really the girl I've attached myself to? Dear God, this is everything I did not want to happen. You know that book He's Not That Into You? I'm really thinking about slipping her a copy anonymously, because she has the most uncanny ability to ignore every warning sign and indication I throw out. In closing, friends, the future will not turn out.