06/04/2006 - 2:32 p.m. | You are like the prettiest girl ever.

I was pretty worried about last night. Everyone is up in Chicago moving and buying things and generally just being so grownup that I want to die, and I figured I was going to be here alone, drinking rum out of a shoe (for some reason) and writing depressing poems in the dark (my lightbulbs have all burned out), but luckily Brenna was in town for some reason, and I eventually stumbled over to Brothers to meet her. I was pretty well fucked, I think, because the walk, which took 18 minutes by my watch, clocked in at something like 2 hours, 45 minutes in my mind. I really wanted someone to talk to on the phone on the way there, but then I realized I actually don't have anyone I ever talk on the phone to ever. Flashes of angered faces appeared in my mind at every name I looked at: Shelly, Allison Helm, Lisa Yung. "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU BOTHERING ME I HAVE SO MANY BETTER THINGS TO DO." Clearly I was not so far gone as to eliminate paranoia. However, I did not want to seem like a sad fucker standing outside the bar and waiting, so I put the phone to my ear and started faking my side of a conversation. I suppose this secretly makes me a sadder fucker than anything, but at least no one knew about it.

By last count, I puked and rallied twice. Now that might tell a lesser man that he should stop drinking, but we have transcended those sorts of negative thoughts. Hork that 3.25 beer you just bought! You deserve it, Nathan! In my defense, I believe the second time was brought upon by the horrible Jewess that wanted a piece so goddamn bad. See, I was sitting at the bar with Brenna and her roommate, so we'd often have to shift aside to let people get drinks ordered and shit. So I moved aside for this beast, and she took my basic human decency as clear signals that I wanted to fuck her curly hair straight again. If you watch "Weeds," she looks like the one atrocious daughter on that, aged 10 years, short and squat and frog-faced and in clothes too tight and revealing for an attractive person. So I was trying my hardest to just sip my drink and ignore her until she was gone, but no, she had to get involved. I think she even used some line on me, which caught me so off guard that I laughed in spite of myself. I think she took that to mean she was doing well and went on to introduce herself. "Becca." Mentally resorted it to a new catalogue of similar names (Medusa, Godzilla...) She tried chatting me up for a while, and though I was polite, I just started violently gulping my vodka-water-lime in the hopes that a) I would die of alcohol poisoning or b) it would make a large enough awkward hole in the conversation that she'd leave. I finished one and slapped down a five, crying, "Another, another...." She eventually got the idea and left, and I was allowed to get back to staring forward and drinking angrily like Brenna and her roommate.

Apparently they are just that awesome. People all around talking and dancing, touching and being sociable, and we three kings are just like gulp gulp gulp glare. It was good seeing Brenna again. She was drunk as fuck as well, and she let down her guard a lot more than times prior, so she was all giving me hugs and stuff, which was sort of cute, and which, admittedly, I probably needed. We talked about ads obviously and how basically we should start presenting ourselves as a two person advertising entity, BrenNate, because we really don't want to work with anyone else ever, ever again. We bitched about our more successful friends' lives and how we are generally getting the shaft in all areas and made fun of some ugly people, and I don't know - I can see this being our lives. Being out in Chicago bars we clearly do not belong at, awkwardly sipping our drinks and kind of desperately clinging to each other for support. It felt kind of right. Only thing is that at some point Brenna mentioned a girl she was considering as her future roommate. No no no, Miss Essary - that is simply not going to work for me. You will have to be reeducated quick snap.

Apparently before she came to the bar, Brenna was at Fitz's for one of his taco events (I thought I heard something about that on the phone, but I was also pretty well-covinced I was having aural hallucinations, so I did not dwell on it for long), so it wasn't long before he popped by to say hello. It was... more weird than usual. At least he remember my name, though. Anyway, there were these two guys around him - I don't know if they were with him or not - but my god, I have not met two bigger dorks in my entire lifetime. Plus, they were drunk dorks, so they did not have the good sense to shut up at all. And I know, I'm a pretty big nerd myself, but I usually keep my comments down to the mumbled and sardonic. Hardly anyone has a problem with that. These guys, though, they were trying to do, dunno, routines or something. Like, they had little lines prepared that they thought people would think were funny (something about fucking a nine year possibly?) and then after a few of them, one of them was like, "Yeah, we always talk like this. It's like my whole life is a sitcom." Hurrrr. WHO THE FUCK TALKS LIKE THAT? Okay, admittedly, me, like seven years ago, but fuck! I learned! Who the fuck didn't teach these guys their lesson? I kept giving Brenna these looks of just absolute shock that they were saying these things. She actually seemed pretty unperturbed, which maybe means it was just more of a touchy point for me. You nerds need to learn things! God!

Brenna and I got into a big argument about who was singing the "Gin and Juice" cover as the bar was closing. She said it was Phish, and I said it was The Gourds, and I knew I was 100% right, but she wouldn't believe me, so we went around asking everybody, and everyone had a different fucking answer. "Durrr... O.A.R.?" You fuck right off. Well, anyway, after we left, I sprinted straight home and found definitive proof that I was correct and sent it to her all in giant caps and I don't care if you think this story is boring I am good at some things and they are puking and knowledge basically.

UPDATE: I have since located the two fucking huge dorks in question. They are Joe Lamberson and Blake Stubbs. I suggest you facebook them quickly, because Smacko and I are going to pipe bomb them off the face of the earth. The best part is how I specifically noted how unfunny they were, and their interests are like "talking comedy, writing comedy, performing comedy." Also smoking Jack Bauer's pole and being conservative! TAG TEAM!!!!