03/26/2006 - 10:05 p.m. | to the furthest reaches of / the ham-fisted box of gloves

Somehow I feel even less motivation to write an entry when it is a short one. �But Nathan, why not just stretch it out in your usual tangential manner, blithering on and on in regards to nothing until you have reached an acceptable page count?� Yeah, Dear Mental Reader, that is exactly what I shall do.

I was awoken for payback lunch with Kyle and Shelly, with whom I journeyed to Legends for the fish sandwich I have been hearing so darn much about. It was more like two tiny deep fried pheasants on a bun � or at least that�s what I received � and I shat it out immediately, so all in all it was a good time. Nothing like fish and Pepsi to make you want to tapdance around with pure joy.

We got Smacko for some reason, as obviously no trip to the outdoor supply store is complete without him, and Kyle and Shelly both dropped ridiculous amounts of money on sets of Rollerblades. Apparently this has become something of a trend in our little circle of friends � the two of them, Jevon, and Alex all stumbling around together in gangly little gangs. Maybe I should feel out of the loop, but I keep finding myself distracted by what big dorks they are.

While everyone else settled in to scream about �Big Baby� excessively at the television, I went on a run to try and purge the remainder of the fish sandwich. I find myself running more often when I eat really disgusting things, which means the weeks when Kyle visits turn into goddamn marathon sessions. I made the stupid mistake of offering to pick things up from the grocery store, though, and after first being told to track down some athletic shorts, Kyle gave me money for a half gallon of apple juice. Running with a big bottle of juice is the most horribly awkward thing a person can do, it turns out, and people were not reluctant to inform me of this as I wobbled down the street, clutching the bottle in front of me with both arms just as I would a tiny, nutritious baby. One man going into the liquor store yelled something about running live organs. A car of old people actually circled around the block to laugh and point at me a second time. When the elderly are deriding you, that is pretty much your last vestige of dignity right there, my friends.

The reason I was buying apple juice was that Kyle would be trying weed for the first time (Shelly returning for a reluctant second), and he wanted to use juice instead of water in whatever device was enlisted. Turns out it was a gravity bong, thus making the juice completely useless and my efforts completely unnecessary, but you know, whatever. It also turns out that the Wonder Twins are equal in all things, Kyle�s physical reaction just as bad as Shelly�s psychological. While Shelly was spazzing out, trying to will herself to speak, Kyle was hacking up a lung in Smacko�s sink, puking and coughing up what appeared to be blood. He was a champ, though, and went back for another hit; I totally expected him to wuss out. Smacko and I made it a point to ignore the two of them and let them focus on their own little world, which seems to be the wise choice on our part. From the little I actually listened to from Kyle during this period, his verbose tendencies combined with the marijuana to turn him into a fairly annoying stoner. I was actually reminded forcefully of Scientology, as he rambled on and on importantly without saying much of anything at all, vague notions about people and the universe or something. We tried to convince them to go home and fuck and leave us in peace as Smacko died again and again in The Godfather game. We did think of the funniest way to kill somebody, though: Choking them while screaming their own name in their face. �FREDRICO SANDRIELLI! FREDRICO SANDRIELLI!� Well, obviously we thought it was funny at the time

As standard procedure dictates, it was off to Geo�s for the evening. Well, there were other things beforehand � drinking, singing, me freaking out a little bit when my brain could no longer comprehend Solitaire� Something had to kill those two hours � but we eventually made our way on what seemed the longest walk yet.

It seemed like it was going to be an OK night � moderately busy with a slightly amused crowd (better than a large, agitated one) � but things cleared out like half an hour after we left. It was strange. Maybe such a sudden influx of youth and hopefulness frightened everyone off. Did I make that joke before? Probably. That giant fat girl who thinks I am Rivers Cuomo called me over and introduced me to another friend who happened to agree with her. Staggering. I have idea where she is going with this, but I hope she knows it will never, ever be to a bedroom. Oh my God no. No no no no.

In line with his hiring policy, Geo got another winner for the waitstaff. She is slow as hell and has all the candor of a mule (and a face to match, to some degree� I can hope I was mentally airbrushing the extra mustache hair onto her), but lord almighty did she have huge boobs. Skinny, too, which I guess in total is enough to make her a superstar among these people. I can�t even imagine the type of shit she has to face on a rowdy night. On our own part, Jevon, apparently in the bit of a dry spell, tried to put the make on her but was interrupted by a quasi-retarded man in matching Bears hat and shirt. I don�t think he would have been pleased the next day anyway, waking up next to that.

Nothing much to report. Kyle seemed trashed and emo for both of songs, I felt like I was yelling poorly during mine, and Jevon was definitely doing so during his. Shelly kept dancing with me because Kyle was completely in his own world, developing a spreadsheet for his phone with which he could randomly choose one of his favorite karaoke songs from. I felt a little awkward about the whole thing, really. Jesse (of slitting wrists karaoke fame) has apparently gotten a job with the company. Either that, or he�s now a roadie for them. Both are endlessly depressing, much like the completely deserted environment in which we were drinking.

It was so dead that karaoke actually ended early, and we started for home, making the inevitable stop for food, Schnucks in this case. The Wilds debated endlessly on the various merits of TV dinners until Kyle found an item so Kyle-like in nature that Shelly and I could do little but hold each other and let the various emotions wash over us. Revulsion. Mania. Depression. Et cetera. Of course I am talking about nothing less than the likes of Cheeseburger Fingers, disturbing chunks of ground beef and cheese deep-fried in batter and frozen. Shelly tried to guilt him out of it, but you can�t stop two Wilds. I just sort of laughed and cried at the same time.

Back home, there was enjoyment of these stellar foods. Jevon dropped his horrible-smelling 1 dollar BBQ chicken dinner on the floor, and it was the saddest thing ever for him, I think. Most everybody fell asleep sitting up, and Jevon stalked around, placing Apple Jacks on their faces. Apparently they kept falling in Kyle�s mouth, who kept eating them in his sleep and making contented little moans. This is pretty much the archetypal Kyle Wild action in my mind henceforth. I couldn�t sleep, but that is all right by me, as it gives me time to scheme and plot.

This afternoon the back and forth yelling of the Wilds woke me from my reverie, and I was told we were going out to lunch. Now, don�t get me wrong � Jevon is a fine fellow. He buys me drinks and makes for pretty decent company. However, I won�t be entirely missing him now that Kyle is gone again, and I think I know why. He is much, much better at being single than I am, and I think I resent it. Whenever he�s out with us, there�s no way I can really continue my internal farce that this girl or that girl might possibly be attracted to me. How could anyone be interested in me when he is floating around in the same pool? (Ha � another nautical reference. I really am a sullen pirate!) Plus, you know, he actually just goes over and talks to girls � a talent I am seriously very envious of � and with a fair amount of success, I might add. In short, his presence removes even the modicum of confidence I might have in a normal situation.

The reason I mention this is that we went out for Thai food today, and our hostess was very, very cute with a nervous laugh and the prettiest blue eyes, and normally I could pretend that she might in some universe like me, but no, no, not with him there and with this retard haircut (even though, admittedly, I still sort of wonder what it would look like shorter). My self-esteem is balanced on some way too fragile shit, I�ve decided. I need a way to toughen it up. You got any ideas? Maybe everyone should just be fucking horrible to me all the time, and I will get better as a result. Or hang myself. Either one.