I don't know what's going on.
|
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
People must really hate their kids come Christmas.
Today, I overheard a woman scolding her kid today at work. It was reaching over the shopping cart from Sears she'd brought into the store, and she kept telling it not to touch anything. Finally she slapped it's hand away and said, "I'm going to sell you one of these days, you know that!"
On Saturday, I was fixing the Christmas cards and these ladies were buying cards with their little girl. They'd picked the one they wanted, and were ready to leave. The kid didn't want to go, and kept saying she wanted to "stay in the card store." One of the women said, "Well then you're gonna just stay here while we go home." The little girl said again, "I want to stay in the card store!" The other dyke mother said, "Well good, we don't want you to come home."
Another time, a lady dragged her daughter up the register with some thing, and quickly whispered, "Just stash it away." Then she turned to her little girl, who was holding some doll or butterfly thing, and commanded, "Give it to me so I can pay for it." The kid seemed really scared, and wouldn't give it to her. The lady told her again, and then reached out and tried to snatch it. The lady said, "Give it to the man so he can ring it up and you can have it!" The girl looked at me and reluctantly gave it up. I rang it up, and gave the lady her bag. She looked at the reciept, and said secretly, "Oh, I didn't want you to ring it up. Just stash it behind the register and act like I paid for it." I hadn't heard her fully the first time, so it hadn't clicked, but I suddenly played along. The girl was tugging on her mother's leg, and the woman turned and snapped, "Stop it! Let me pay for it so you can play with it in the car! If you keep this up, you won't get to see it until you get home." The girl looked at me and I smiled, and stuck the toy behind the register. I gave the lady her money, and she thanked me and pushed the kid out the store.
What a bunch of fucked up bitches.
1:00 AM
I'm going to try and start posting in this again. Don't hold your breath, but I'll do my best, which probably won't be enough. I'm not even sure if I can handle all these new features and layouts. That'll be my excuse, anyway.
12:53 AM
Wednesday, May 07, 2003
I can sleep for another hour. Fuck showers.
I can sleep for twenty more minutes. I can memorize my monologue as I wait for the bus.
Oh fuck I overslept.
Oh fuck I don't wanna go to class.
Maybe I should wake Ryan up and ask for a ride.
Where the fuck is my coat?
Where the fuck is the bus? It was supposed to be here at 9:40.
Fuck I can't be late to class again.
Maybe the bus isn't coming today.
Maybe the bus crashed.
Maybe the bus will crash after I get on it.
Maybe I should just email my professor and say that the bus never came, and that I got stranded at home.
I'll explain to him that it's been a rough semester.
I'll email him later tonight, when I wake up from this nap.
12:24 AM
Monday, March 31, 2003
I would imagine that any person who has just jumped from an incredible height in the attempt to kill themselves upon impact must have the thought or moment of denial where they think to themselves, "It's going to be OK. Somehow, I'm going to make it." I suppose this concept shouldn't be exclusive to building jumpers, as there are many other methods of suicide that would offer enough time to try and fool yourself into thinking that you'll somehow pull it out. For example, I know that if it was me that had just hanged himself (assuming that I'm in the noose and the impact hasn't snapped my neck and I'm kicking at the chair), I would probably think to myself, "OK cowboy, shoot the rope already." The ultimate moment when I realize that, "There is no cowboy!" would probably be the worst aspect of the whole ordeal.
12:25 AM
Saturday, March 29, 2003
I'm proud to announce that last night I got a girl's phone number. I got digits! I got digits baby! Hell yeah, and I'm gonna call her too. Her name is Amy. I'd post the phone number to prove it, but then you jerks would probably call her, and that would screw it up for me. See, she didn't really give it to me herself. I sorta took it out of the 'Win A Free Happy Meal' fishbowl at McDonalds. I'm still going to call her though...
Also at McDonalds, they are doing some game where you peel the things off the side of drinks and fries and stuff. Kevin took his off, and he'd won some free breakfast meal. I took mine off of my cup, and it was a free sandwhich. He was braggin' about having a better one, so I went up to the counter and told the guy that there must be some mistake, because my cup didn't come with a peel off thingy. He said he thought that was weird, and gave me a new one. I smiled at Kevin and peeled it off. "Sorry, not this time. Please play again." I guess it serves me right, I thought. Since then I have peeled off four other stickers, and they've all been losers. It's Karma; I think I'm screwed.
How awesome would that have been if I'd won the car lying to the guy like that?
10:56 AM
Thursday, March 20, 2003
The War Has Begun!
This war might be the most depressing thing to date. I think I'm going insane thinking about it. It's all so fucking ridiculous.
10:17 PM
Tuesday, March 18, 2003
I added an Iraq Civilian Bodycounter to this site, but the picture for it isn't working yet. I think it's a pretty funny idea. Hopefully the number will get really, really high.
10:54 PM
Monday, March 17, 2003
This is a story I wrote by a gimmick I've been playing with on the T-Town board. It's nothing special, but I figured it would serve as good filler for a blog entry.
5:18 PM
Friday, March 14, 2003
The Negative Aspects Of Meeting Somebody You Know When They're Walking The Opposite Direction.
The Encounter.
Is there a more awkward experience (not counting anal rape) than running into somebody you know while you're walking one way and they're walking the other? Neither of you really have anything important to say, and yet you're obliged to say, "Hey" or "What's up?" or "Up yours, Nigger." It really is one of the worst parts of any day. Most times I find myself just holding my hand up in a weak attempt at a wave. More often than not I'll use, "How's it goin'?" or occasionally, "Hello." It's always good to diversify your greetings, because if you develop the habit of greeting everyone you come across with the same old, "Hey dude!", you make yourself an easy target for impersonations. On the other hand, a trademarked greeting simplifies things immensely. It also, however, helps contribute to one of the most uncomfortable, yet often hilarious, aspects of Meeting Somebody You Know When They're Walking The Opposite Direction.
The Greeting.
This happens to everybody at some point in time. Both humiliating and amusing at the same time, The Greeting is when one person says something like, "Hey, what's up?" or "How are you doing?". The other person, anticipating the greeting to be something different, panics and pre-packages a response in order to get the whole ordeal over with as soon as possible. The problem arises when the pre-packaged response clashes with the initial greeting of "What's up?" or "How are you doing?" It goes a little something like this:
Person A: "Hey, what's up?"
Person B (anticipating Person A asking, "How are you doing?"): "Pretty good."
Person B walks away feeling like the dumbass her or she is, and Person A is just thankful they weren't the asshole this time. There can be infinite variations of Greetings, but the end result is always the same. As awkward as this interaction is, it is most often much more enjoyable than the the next possible outcome of Meeting Somebody You Know When They're Walking The Opposite Direction.
The Conversation.
The name for this experience is ironic, because it isn't really a conversation at all. The Conversation is what happens when The Greeting goes awry. Both parties meet eachother, exchange compatible greetings, and a 'conversation' is formed from a sense of obligation. It's easy to tell when a Conversation is about to occur, because at the moment when both people pass eachother, they will turn to face eachother, and slow their pace. This is the crucial moment. If both parties are in sync and continue on their paths, The Conversation does not ensue. If, however, both parties are not on the same wavelength, and the first person comes to a complete stop, then the second person will be forced to do likewise, and thats when The Conversation strikes. Now both people are trapped, forced to think up bullshit in a weak attempt at making the whole experience less agonizing. Eventually, when they take absolutely no more, one person will look in the direction that he or she was originally headed and force a feeble excuse to walk away. The other individual will be very delighted to escape The Conversation, and will joyously cooperate. Both parties will say their goodbyes, and walk away wiping their brow. Example:
Person A: "Oh, hey Marcus!"
Person B (unable to remember Person A's name): "What's up dude?"
Person A: "So, where are you going?"
Person B: "Oh, I was just going to go get some lunch in the Union."
Person A: "Ah, well that's cool."
Person B (nodding head in agreement): "..."
Person A: "..."
Person B: "So, did you see that show on Fox last night? The new reality show about the bear?"
Person A: "Oh, nope, I didn't get to see that. Was it funny?"
Person B: "Um, I dunno. I didn't watch it; I just read about it in the papers."
Person A: "Heh, oh. Sounds pretty cool."
Person B: "I thought so too."
Person A: "..."
Person B: "Man, I forgot what I was going to say."
Person A: "Heh, yeah. I do that all the time."
Person B: "Dammit, what was I going to say?"
Person A: "I dunno man."
Person B: "Hmmm. Well, I uh, I bet my food's getting cold. I should probably go check it out."
Person A: "Yeah, probably should. I'll uh, see you later Marcus!"
Person B: "Yeah dude, we should drink some beers or something some time!"
Person A: "Right on man."
As harrowing as this Encounter is, would you believe that it's not the worst form of exchange when Meeting Somebody You Know When They're Walking The Opposite Direction? If you answered yes to that question, you're right.
The Realization.
Far worse than The Conversation, more often than not, is The Realization, or the moment(s) preceding the actual event. Sometimes The Encounter surprises one or occasionally both parties, and when this occurs, The Realization fails to transpire. When this happens, both involved are simply lucky. The majority of the time, both people see The Encounter coming a mile away. If they are resourceful enough, they will immediately find a different route to their destination. This rarely happens, however, and both Person A and Person B are like two trains on a collision course, unable to prevent the awkwardness that is to ensue. Person A will spot Person B thirty yards away, and will immediately find something to look at or do to avoid from making eye contact. Person B will do the same, and both people will wait until the moment right when they pass eachother to look up. Occasionaly eye contact will occur while both Person A and Person B are a distance apart, and such a Realization is much more unpleasant. And yet, as awkward as it is, The Realization is is much preferable to the last form of Encounter.
The Total Package.
This is the type of Encounter one dreads finding themself in. As its name suggests, The Total Package is a combination of every aspect previously listed, only worse. There is a Realization, replaced shortly by The Greeting. The Conversation soon follows, and by the time the calamity of errors is over, both Person A and Person B are ready to move to a cabin in Wyoming and slit their wrists. Hopefully now that you're familiar with the steps you'll be able to spot them coming, and if you're smart and luck is on your side, you'll get your ass out of there. You won't get away though, because Person B is everbody. You're bound to run into him or her sooner or later. Face it, you're fucked. Might as well move to Wyoming and slit your wrists.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I ran into Kevin on campus today.
4:02 PM
Saturday, March 08, 2003
I'm back.
First I should apologize. Being faithful to the reader through updates and posting is one of the keys to a successful blog, according to Biz Stone, author of Blogging: Genius Strategies for Instant Web Content
Hmmm. I'm trying to decide what is worse: me not writing anything on here in almost two weeks, or the fact that I read an article by Biz Stone, a guy who writes self help books about webblogging. I actually have been busy the past couple of weeks, but I've also done a whole lot of nothing. Once you don't post for a while, it snowballs out of control and it takes something special to right the ship. I think last night might have been that something special.
My Aunt Patty was in town, so her, my dad, my grandma and I went to Applebee's to eat and catch up and stare at waitress's asses. My grandma and I both had the All You Can Eat Honey Rib Tips, and my aunt and my dad both got salads. I challenged my grandma to an eat off, and I'm proud to say I beat her ass. She couldn't even finish one platter. To her credit, she did fall asleep halfway through the meal, so I don't know how fair the contest was. My aunt gave me $20, so that was a good thing.
After dinner my dad dropped me off at Temple (I'm not Jewish. It's the theatre building on campus), and I hit up the Masquer's New Play Festival. Most of the plays weren't very entertaining, but there were a couple that I thought were really well done. The main attraction for me was the local improv troupe, The Huge Embarrasing Failures, who were performing between acts. I've been going to improv workshops with some friends in the department, and it's a lot of fun. My goal is to get better and learn as much as possible through the workshops, and then hopefully 'make the team' next fall, because the majority of the members will be graduating. That's a long way down the road, however.
I hooked a ride home with my new friend Jordan, and on the way Nate called and told me to come to the basement of Niehardt, one of the residence halls on campus. A girl I sorta know's band was scheduled to play, and he said there were some cool people there, so I went. There was quite a few folks from the T-Town board, so it was pretty fun. The band playing at the moment was The Hot Carls, some pop-punkers with a little too much spunk. When I got there they were playing a cover of 'Happy Together' by The Turtles, and it wasn't very good. This is what they look like. They stole our family picture idea. I started fuckin' around, yelling random shit like "Boobs!" and "Rock!" The lead singer kept doing all these creative rockin' poses and kicked his leg at parts that were extra hard. Even though they've already accomplished more than I ever will, they still sucked.
We kept taking trips to Ian's car to drink the boxed wine he had in his trunk. It felt like I was in high school again, and although I should probably be ashamed of such alcoholic behavior, it was pretty fun, and the threat of getting caught chugging wine straight from the box made it all the more exciting.
The next band to play was the girl, Amy, that I sorta know's band. She had a choir and she played a little electric piano machine, and it was a pretty cool set. Everybody was standing around a little off to the side, so I dragged this big comfy chair right up front real close, and put my feet up on the stage. It was pretty cool. I heckled the band a bit, and at one point, in the middle of a song, I shouted "More boobs, less music!" People kept fuckin' with me, though. I'd stand up to do an Arsenio fist pump, and they'd try to pull the chair out before I could sit down. Eventually Billy jumped on me, and the back two legs of the chair broke out. Everybody was laughing and taking pictures, and I flipped the chair over and took the other legs off. Almost immediately the guy in charge of the room was next to me, asking what happened and who did it and who's going to pay for it and I'm the guy who is responsible and if they find this I'll get in trouble and you're going to have to pay for this and who did it? I told him it wasn't my fault, and there was no fuckin' way I was going to pay for it. Eventually I convinced him to turn head while I 'stole' the thing. I called Dennis quick and arranged for him to come pick it up, and headed for the parking lot.
I had the chair over my shoulder, and I lugged it up these stairs to the parking lot where I would wait for Dennis and his truck. Who did I run into at the top of the stairs, standing around a car and smoking cigarettes? Why none other than The Hot Carls themselves! I gave them a wave, and sorta stood there silently. They looked at me for a bit, and then one of them finally approached me.
"Alright buddy," he said, "you'd better go take that chair back now." "No way," I laughed, "I stole this. This shit's mine." He looked to his bandmates for support as he continued to try to persuade me to take the chair back. "Look man, I rented that room, and if anything is missing I'm going to have to pay for it. You should probably take it back; you know you can't just leave with that." I was really playing up the fact that I'd 'stolen' it. "Hell no man! Look at this chair. It's terrific. I'm not giving this back." I kept calling them all Carl, and at one point I said to the first guy, "Whoa Carl, don't get all hot on me."
Pretty soon the whole band had me surrounded, the whole time I have this giant purple chair on my shoulder. They kept saying things like, "Give it back man" and, "Come on, don't be a dick dude." It was a pretty cool scene. Finally I set the chair down and walked to the top of the stairs. Down below was a crowd of my friends who were watching the whole ordeal by the doorway to the basement. "Who wants to fight The Hot Carls?" I asked them. Everybody cheered. Billy came up, and I jumped in the bushes and told him to scale the building across from Niehardt so that we'd be able to take them by surprise. He didn't follow orders very well, and just stood there while I made bird calls from the bush. The Hot Carls got fed up and went looking for the man in charge down in the basement. While they were gone I threw the chair off the top of the stairs, and then Dennis came. We loaded it up and he went home, and we left for the girls' place, 'cause they were having a party.
The party was pretty fun. Did some chanting, and more boxed wine was consumed. I got way drunk, way way too drunk. Somehow a hole got knocked in their wall, and I think my shoulder had something to do with. I don't really know though... Nate vomited out the car on the way home, and I threw up this morning. I think my little love affair with that fruity drink from a carton is probably over with for good this time.
Travis is here right now, and come to find out he knows The Hot Carls. His sister Miranda is obsessed with them, apparently. It's too bad he wasn't there last night, 'cause he hates 'em. Anyway, good times.
6:35 PM
Thursday, February 27, 2003
I recently recieved a spam email from a mailer named 'Funny Junk.' The subject of the email? 'Little girl dies in car wreck... MUST READ!'
11:07 PM
Tuesday, February 25, 2003
When I auditioned yesterday, there was a section on the sign-up sheet that asked me if I had any special talents, like dancing or singing or eating glass. I wrote, "I can fake cry really well if somebody hits me on the head with a hammer a couple of times first."
10:18 PM
Monday, February 24, 2003
Today kicked off National Eating Disorders Week here at UNL. They're having seminars, body bazaars, and booths in the Union. At one of the booths, they calculate what a real life Barbie would look like given hip size, etc.
Barbie in real life would be hot as shit.
Imagine 9 feet 7 inches of pure woman; her head three times the size of a normal head, neck twice as long, and her feet an adorable children's size three. Lack of ribs and stomach prevent her from menstruating, leaving her barren (and fellas, you know what that means!). To top it all of, her breasts would be so disproportionate to the rest of her body that she would be forced to crawl on her hands an knees.
Add that all up, and it spells HOTT.
I was walking through the booths with Lori whom I happened to run into while waiting on Nate for our lunch date, and this lady at a booth offered me a sucker. "No thanks," I said apologetically, "I can't eat candy." She smiled and responded, "Of course you can eat candy." Lori was laughing. "No really," I nervously answered, "I'd just have to throw it up anyway so there's really no point."
If I wasn't so busy with theatre shit I'd take time to make a shirt with a funny saying on it, and wear it to one of the seminars or 'body bazaars.' I'm thinking something along the lines of 'Anorexia Is A Conspiricy Invented By Fat People' or 'I Fuck On The First Date.' The latter really doesn't have anything to do with eating disorders, but it's a shirt that I'd really like to have.
10:43 PM
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
You know, most people don't like getting kicked while they're down, but I tend to enjoy it because it means that somebody out there is thinking of me.
Times are tough, and nothing seems to be working in my favor. I'm not really enjoying my classes, and I think I've lost all confidence in my ability as an actor. Frustrated, I check my email in the vain hopes that someone I know has sent me something that doesn't pertain to enlarging my genitilia. I don't expect much, but... wait! What is this? An email from Ross Anderson? 'Wanna be friends??' he asks. I'm excited!
From : Ross Anderson
To : broncosfan51@hotmail.com
Subject : Wanna be friends ??
Date : Tue,18 Feb 2003 21:21:16 PM
Attachment : MyProfile.scr (45k)
Hello,
I just came across your email ID while searching in the Yahoo profiles.
Actually I want a true friend 4 life with whom I can share my everything.
So if you are interested in being my friend 4 life then mail me.
If you wanna know about me, attached is my profile along with some of my
pics. You can check and if you like it then do mail me.
I will be waiting for your mail.
Best Wishes,
Your Friend.
A true friend 4 life! Something I've dreamt of ever since I saw that movie Stand By Me. Finally my prayers have been answered! I hurredly click on the profile, anxiously awaiting the pictures and facts about my new best friend. But then...
The file is infected with a virus, please choose from the following options.
Oh fuck! Oh no! W32/Yaha.k Virus Found? Fuck! Fuck email! Fuck new friends! Fuck you! Fuck everybody! I don't need anything from any of you! Don't offer me help! I don't want your Goddamn viruses. I'm fine by myself; I don't need some bullshit 'friend 4 life.' Just fucking leave me alone, I was doing just fine before you emailed me.
9:57 PM
Friday, February 14, 2003
It's been raining all day.
5:07 PM
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
The Custody Battle Game.
With all the recent hype about Joe Millionaire and nonsense talk about how reality programming is ruining television, I figure it's as good a time as any to jump on the bandwagon. So I thought up this game show.
The premise is pretty simple: a man and wife currently in the process of getting divorced compete to decide the custody of their children. It'd be like Dismissed, only instead of two jerks trying to snag some hooker it'd be two desperate parents using every trick in the book to try and win their children's favor. The winner would recieve an all expenses paid vacation to Disneyworld, cementing them as the #1 parent in the minds of their sons and/or daughters. The loser might get a microwave. Occasionally, social services would step in and put the kids in a foster get up, leaving both mom and dad sad and empty handed. This would add an element of risk to the game, as well as save money by not having to fly anyone to Florida.
It'd work because you just know there are tens of hundreds of families that would jump at a chance to be part of it.
Excited man: "You mean not only do I get to show up that cheating whore of a wife and take my kids from her, but I get to do it on national TV? Where do I sign? Disneyworld here we come!"
Angry woman: "I'll show that cocksucker. I show him in front of the whole damn world. I'll cut off his fucking balls right in front the kids. See if he tries to get fired again, that nutless, no job having little faggot."
Wife: "Honey, I just don't know... I think we could try to make it work."
Husband: "Peg, we've been through this. Part of me wants to believe you're right, but it's over."
Kids: "Let's go to Disneyworld! Yaaa!"
The show would be a hit, I just know it.
3:09 PM
Monday, February 10, 2003
Type Of Person # 17
The Captain Of The Loud Table.
This is the bitch with the voice like a loudspeaker. She eats at the same dining hall or restaurant as you, and regardless if she's way on the other side of the room or two tables away, it always seems like she's sitting right beside you, vomiting her ridiculously stupid shit right into your ear. She talks forever about a guy she used to think was "cute" until she saw his room. "Oh, he's such a slob! He's so slobby!" She thinks that just because she sits with more idiots that laugh at what she says, she needs to say it loud enough for you to hear. Then she'll start to argue that not only is he a slob, but he's also, yeah, get this... gay! "Now look," she'll say, "I know that gay guys just aren't sloppy, but he really is gay!" They won't believe her though, so naturally she'll have to increase the volume of her voice, because talking loud always makes you right about things. "I swear to God!" she might repeat, "He's gay with Eric! They moved in together." You wonder why they don't believe her, as loud as she's speaking. "I'm telling you guys, he's a slob and he's gay. When I looked at his bathroom, there were cumstains all over the place!" It's always great to hear the word 'cumstain' as you eat your Whopper. "Gay guys jerk off a lot. They do, I swear it. He jerks off all the time, I mean, look at the cumstains!" You only wish you could. "But now he's dating that one girl, whatshername. The fat one. The one that gave him a blowjob in that back room of the party two weeks ago." Mmmmmm.... cumstains, fat girls, gay guys, and now blowjobs. Burger King never tasted so good. "It wasn't a blowjob," reminds her friend, "it was a handjob." Oh, even better! "Blowjob, handjob, what's the difference? The point is that he's dating a fat chick, and everybody knows that gay guys date fat chicks." You didn't know that before you sat down, but you do now. Good thing she was speaking so loud, otherwise you might not have heard her!
4:05 PM
Sunday, February 09, 2003
Whenever people say, "There's more to life than money" or, "Money is the root of all evil" or, "Money can't buy me love," I just laugh, because they're all wrong.
3:09 PM
Valentine's Day Stalk Off: Day 1.
So we went to the mall yesterday. Ryan and Dennis turned out pretty much as expected: all talk. Dennis decided that he was content to get his creep on all by himself on a bench next to Spencer's Gifts, and although Ryan tried to stick it out in the end, he failed to select a prospective date. I think I might try and convince him to give it a second shot, but the outlook doesn't look so good.
I decided on a cute employee from The Buckle. She has short black hair and a small stud in her nose, if any of you might know who I'm referring to. After gathering the gumption to engage in conversation, I don't think I really made the creepiest impression, what with her giggling the whole time. At one point, Nate called and asked if I was "doing it right now." I told him that he'd "interrupted us" to which she responded with a laugh, probably because she was deathly afraid for her life. I tried in vain to get her name, but for the time being I'm going to have to refer to her as 'Buckle.' All the employees' name tags simply say 'Buckle', and when I asked her if she was the president of the store's daughter or relation, she answered, "Yeah, he's my dad. My name's Buckle."
More news as it comes in.
9:05 AM
Saturday, February 08, 2003
Paycheck time! I'm gonna go out and blow it all on shoes.
GROSS EARNINGS.
__Current: 20.43
__Year to Date: 61.29
Less Deductions
__Social Security: 1.27
__Medicare: 0.30
Retirement:
__Basic Plan 0.00
__Suppl SRA 403(b) 0.00
__457(b) Addtnl 0.00
__Fed Civil Srv 0.00
Other Deductions
__Bad Attitude 1.45
__Poor Appearance 3.18
__Stealing 0.76
NET PAY: 18.86
Man, what a fucking joke my job is. I work three hour shifts, maybe twice a week. I only really work about an hour of that shift, towards the end. The first two hours are spent reading, listening to music, and fantasizing about getting off work. Don't get me wrong, it's a great way to make easy part time money, but I need more than easy part time money. I think the problem with the job is that I just can't take it seriously. I'm a fucking parking lot attendant, for Christ's sake. It's like when you take those tests in high school that tell you what you'll be when you grow up. You fill out the questions and then use those fancy magic pens to highlight your future occupation. Parking lot attendant is what you get if you turn the test in blank.
1:19 PM
Wednesday, February 05, 2003
Women: You can't live with them, and you can't fit 'em in a sack.
10:15 PM
Monday, February 03, 2003
Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life.
1:14 AM
Sunday, February 02, 2003
I've decided to subject myself to further ridicule and registered at a place called mockoutclub. I guess it's a spin off of makeoutclub, only the point is to make fun of the pictures other people post. So if you register you can call me gay and I can tell you to get a haircut.
10:29 PM
Saturday, February 01, 2003
The First Annual Valentine Stalk-Off.
Today is the first of Febuary, and that leaves exactly two weeks until the 14th (providing that my arithmetic is correct). Most everybody knows that the 14th is Valentine's Day, a day when annoyed husbands, foolish romantics, and guys trying to get a piece are forced to buy flowers, chocolates, condoms, and other worthless shit for their respective partners. It's a reminder to the kid in class who nobody likes that the only reason he's getting cards in his box is because the teacher said everyone had to give everyone else cards if they were going to give cards at all.
So here is my idea: On Friday the 7th, exactly a week from Valentine's Day, my roommates and I (along with anyone else who wants a part of the action) will go to the mall and each pick out a girl that we've never met before to be our 'Valentine.' We aren't allowed to leave the mall until everyone has at least one lead or piece of information about his girl. Then, we stalk. We stalk, and then we stalk some more. The person who's gotten the farthest by the 14th wins something special, like a gift certificate. By 'getting the farthest' I don't mean running the bases, but rather any sort of progress made in interest of stalking the Valentine. This could be a late night phone call to her house followed by heavy breathing, mail from her mailbox, photographs of her sleeping, articles of clothing from her closet, what have you.
Email me if you're interested. It's going to be great, providing I can convince my roommates to participate. I'd hate to have to go to the mall all by myself again this year.
3:35 PM
Friday, January 31, 2003
This is the last time I will ever say that it's the last time that I'm ever going to do something.
I really mean it this time.
2:45 AM
Thursday, January 30, 2003
A Shitty Situation.
INT. Bedroom -- Morning.
Bare walls, a dresser and a large computer desk fill the room. Clothes, books, paper, and other objects litter the floor. Matthew, a moderately sized college student, sleeps in his bed. Light breaks through the window despite the fact the shades are drawn. The digital alarm clock reads 8:30 AM. Matthew turns in his bed, groaning. He rises and walks to the door.
INT. Outside bathroom door -- Continuous.
Loud, disgusting diarrhea noises come from inside.
INT. Inside bathroom -- Continuous.
Matthew sits on the toilet, grimacing. We see him from the chest up. Various pornographic magazines are visible on the counter to his right. Pinups from teeny bopper magazines with fake quotes attached adorn the walls. He speaks to us while continuing to carry on his business.
MATTHEW
This is funny. This is really fucking hilarious. I had planned on skipping class today. I wasn't going to go because I hate Thursdays because I have to get up early and go to three straight classes and I hadn't done my reading for the first class. My roommates Dennis and Ryan have had the flu for the past couple of days, so the excuse that I'd contracted it from them made perfect sense. By the time Tuesday rolled around I would have beaten the bug and would have my reading caught up with.
He puts his head down and strains for several moments. He tears off a piece of toilet paper and wipes his brow, throwing it in the trashcan to his left.
MATTHEW (cont'd)
So I figured it'd work like a charm. I can stay up late and sleep all day and not worry about anything until Monday night. Then I wake up just now, and I feel fucking terrible. I'm sick. It just fucking figures. I got the flu because I was going to lie and say I had the flu. I'm not surprised at all. God's got it in for me. He's does this all the time. Not this terrible diarrhea shit, but he's played games before. For example:
EXT. Residential streetside -- Night.
Matthew 'walks the line' for two police officers and is later cuffed and stuffed in the back of their squadcar.
MATTHEW (V.O.)
I was only a mile from my house and I wasn't even that drunk when I got my DUI. That fucking figures. Thanks a lot God.
INT. Halls of a high school -- Day.
Books in hand, a younger Matthew walks past lockers and through crowds of students, each with a member of the opposite sex in his/her arms. They hug, kiss, etc. Matthew comes to his locker to find a couple having sex against it. He waits and they move. He puts in old books and takes out new ones, slamming locker door.
MATTHEW (V.O.) (cont'd)
Oh, and then the time in high school when I never had a girlfriend? Really funny God. Yeah, I know... irony. I get it, I get it.
EXT. Dirty snowcovered alleyway -- Day.
Matthew walks alone down the street carrying his books. He accidentally trips and falls face first into a large puddle of dirty snow and water. He lays in it, face down.
MATTHEW (V.O.) (cont'd)
The other day I tripped and fell in a giant puddle of mud. Don't try to tell me God didn't have something to do with that.
INT. Bathroom -- Continuous.
Matthew stands and flushes, washing hands at the sink to the left. He continues to speak to us.
MATTHEW
So then you gotta ask yourself, "If I hadn't planned on faking sick, would I be sick right now?" It's like the Chicken Vs. The Egg.
He turns to dry his hands, now facing us.
MATTHEW (cont'd)
Anyway, let's hope that's the last time I gotta go through with that shit.
He turns and walks out the door.
INT. Kitchen -- Continuous.
A small table covered with random things sits between Matthew and his room. A refrigerator adorned with pictures and magnets connects to the 'L' of a cluttered counter, itself lining the far right side of the room. Stolen dorm signs and cute pictures of teddy bears cooking pizza hang on the walls. The cabinets above the countertops display fun facts about South America. Matthew opens the fridge door, scanning the contents inside. He pulls out a large plastic liquor bottle full of water and takes a pull. He takes a moment to glance around the kitchen before going to his room. He heads toward his door, but something on the table catches his eye. There on the table next to a large box of broken bottles and fiberglass sits an empty plate of cookies, crumbs still attached. He's in shock. The camera pulls tight on the plate, and then on Matthew. His head is spinning.
INT. Living room -- Previous night.
Two couches , a large chair, and a foosball table surround an entertainment system stocked with devices. A Christmas tree sits atop it, waiting to be taken down. Large paintings, signs, and talking animal heads hang on the walls. Dennis, a tall skinny guy with long black hair plays foosball with Ryan, a short gawky fellow with a shaggy mop of a haircut. These are two of Matthew's roommates. Watching them are Michelle, Jaime, and Rachel, girls from down the street. Michelle carries a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies.
MICHELLE
We baked you guys some cookies, aren't we the sweetest? Here try one.
Ryan and Dennis ignore her. They are wrapped up in their game. Dennis kicks a slow roller that somehow makes it past Ryan's goalie.
RYAN
Motherfucker! That's fucking bullshit!
DENNIS
Aha, yeah bitch, yeah bitch.
Jaimie and Rachel sit to watch, Michelle stays standing. Dennis proceeds to beat Ryan handedly, and he continues to beat the hanles with his fists and shout obsceneties. Matthew, from his room, laughs.
MATTHEW
Is something wrong Ryan?
RYAN
Fuck you.
MICHELLE
Gee, you want a cookie? They're really good?
The yelling back and forth from room continues, and Ryan challenges Dennis to a rematch.
MATTHEW
No thanks, they probably taste like shit.
Dennis and Ryan laugh, and then Dennis scores on Ryan. He curses. Michelle interrupts the game.
MICHELLE
Maybe if you were eating cookies you wouldn't get your ass kicked.
She holds out a cookie to him. He doesn't accept it.
RYAN
I don't trust you bitches. You probably put some shit in it. I don't trust you.
Michelle puts the cookie back down. Matthew enters from the kitchen, leaning in the doorway.
MICHELLE
Do you want me to eat one? You guys think we'd bake cookies and put shit in them? Look, I'll eat one.
She takes a different cookie from the tray and bites into it.
MICHELLE (cont'd)
Mmmmm. That's good. See I told you we didn't do anything to them. What would we do to them?
She offers the plate towards them again. The cookies are very soft and flat, and they've melted together in a way.
RYAN
They look fucked up. They're not natural.
MICHELLE
Yeah, I know. We needed more flour. I told Jaimie to get some.
JAIMIE
I'm sorry, I ran out.
They shrug and each take one. Ryan eats his, Dennis sets it on the foosball table.
MICHELLE (cont'd)
Want one Gee?
She holds one out to Matthew. He takes it, but doesn't eat it yet. He walks back to his room. The girls begin chatting about things, and Dennis returns to beating Ryan's ass in foosball.
INT. Matthew's room -- Continuous.
Matthew sits at his computer, reading and instant messaging to friends. The cookie sits off to the right of his mouse. He looks at it. He shouts towards the living room.
MATTHEW
Hey, that cookie was really good, thanks!
Michelle excitedly responds.
MICHELLE
Thanks! You want another one? I told you they were good!
MATTHEW
No I was just kidding. I didn't eat it; I threw it away. I just told you I ate it to be nice.
From the living room comes laughter. Matthew stares at the cookie some more, and finally takes a bite out of it. It tastes good. He eats it in two bites.
INT. Kitchen -- Present.
Matthew stands staring in horror. Camera pulls tight again on the empty plate of cookies.
INT. Living room -- Previous night.
Michelle holds out cookie to Ryan, Ryan declines. Camera pulls tight on plate of cookies. She puts the cookie back, and picks up A DIFFERENT COOKIE. She takes a bite.
MICHELLE (V.O.)
Do you want me to eat one? You guys think we'd bake cookies and put shit in them? Look, I'll eat one.
INT. Kitchen -- Present.
Camera pulls in on Matthew's face, in shock.
MATTHEW
The cookies...
INT. Matthew's room -- Previous night.
Matthew sits at computer desk with remaining plate of cookies in hand. Dennis and Kevin talk to Matthew while Matthew eats the rest of the cookies. Dennis watches with morbid fascination and glee. The camera pulls in on Dennis' face as he watches Matthew scrape the cookie from the plate. His eyes grow wide.
INT. Kitchen -- Present.
Matthew remains frozen, staring at the plate of cookies growing larger in his mind.
INT. Living room - Previous night.
Michelle hands two cookies to Dennis and Ryan. Ryan eats his, but Dennis SETS IT ON THE TABLE. Camera moves in for close shot of Dennis setting cookie on table.
INT. Kitchen -- Present.
Camera pulls close and tight to Matthew's face, until all we can see are his eyes wide in bewilderment.
MATTHEW
Dennis...
INT. Different kitchen -- Day.
Dennis, Michelle, Jaimie, and Rachel stand around a large bowl. Dennis throws handfuls of chocolate chips in randomly. Jaimie taps flour from a bag in small amounts. Rachel stirs with a large wooden spoon. Michelle pours continuously from a large bottle marked 'Laxative.' All four are laughing hysterically, looking back and forth from one another. The camera slowly pulls into the large bowl of dough.
INT. Kitchen -- Present.
The camera pulls back from the empty plate of cookies. Matthew stands, fully realizing the situation.
MATTHEW
Dennis! You fucking snake!
His hand loosens its grip on the water bottle, and it slowly falls to the floor. Water pours out all over the linoleum. It splashes his shoes. His concentration is broken and he jumps to attention.
MATTHEW
Shit! Goddamnit, motherfucker...
He grabs a towel and begins to clean up the spill, when suddenly he grabs his stomach, groaning.
MATTHEW
Oh fuck...
He quickly gets up and starts towards the bathroom, slightly slipping in the water but catching himself against the wall. He tears open the door and throws himself inside.
THE END.
5:15 PM
A Word Of Advice.
Breaking glass bottles is fun, healthy, and exciting. Just make sure that you do it in someone else' basement.
1:03 PM
Last night I worked from 4-7. That job really is great as long as A) I'm working by myself and there aren't any fucking yahoos talking at me and B) I can convince one of my roommates to let me borrow his car. The car really makes it a sweet deal because I can sit inside and listen to music, not to mention the fact that it shelters me from the cold. After work I watched Cry Of The Werewolf at the new Ross theatre for my film genre class. I came home and chilled out for a bit, then finally cleaned up the basement.
I hung out for a while, talked to some people online, and made some stew. Kevin's fiancee Sarah asked me if I'd made it myself, and I told her yes. The truth, of course, is that I merely dumped it out of the Dinty Moore can and heated it in a pot on the stove. She was impressed, and asked me how I did it. "Oh, it's not that much work," I said, "all I did was chop up some carrots and potatoes and throw them in with the beef. I could give you the recipe if you want." Kevin just laughed.
At some point in time Michelle, Jaimie, and some hot new girl named Rachel come over to say hello. I could hear them in the living room, as they are loud and obnoxious girls. I was eating my stew in my room so I did not go out to greet them, choosing instead to yell unpleasant comments here and there. I overheard that they had baked us cookies, and I shouted that I didn't want any. This of course brought Michelle into my room with a still warm chocolate chip cookie in her hands. I took it and put it on my desk, debating whether or not to eat it. "Thanks!" I said. I later told them that I threw it away and just said I ate it to be nice.
I tried it, and it was actually really damned good. Suprisingly good in fact, which prompted me to eat another. They were all stuck together on the plate, so you had to kinda break pieces off, but they were still good. The girls, Dennis, and Ryan made a trip to the porn store downtown, and they came back with squirt guns resembling penises, which they immediately began shooting at my face. They found these make-believe cockshooters so exciting it made me wonder if they weren't living out some sort of repressed homosexual fantasy with these new toys.
Well the girls eventually left, and Dennis and Kevin and I were up sitting around talking about Spring Break and things like that. I never really realized it was so late until about two o'clock, but by then I really couldn't sleep anyway. Hungry, I cleaned the plate of cookies. In doing so, I caught a queer glance from Dennis.
They went to bed, and I ended up staying up til around 5 editing pictures on Paintshop Pro and listening to music. My first class today was at 8, then I had one at 9:30, and then another at 11. I decided it was probably a good night to contract the flu from Dennis or Ryan. I'd send an email to my professors, I thought, and explain that our practice of kissing eachother goodnight finally came back to haunt us. They'd understand.
1:02 PM
Sunday, January 26, 2003
Two Conversations With People.
A gay conversation with Jake.
jake - Jake.
love will keep us apart - Me.
love will keep us apart says:
Nate says, "What are you doing?"
jake says:
nothing
jake says:
what is "Nate" doing?
love will keep us apart says:
"Ask him if he wants to come over."
jake says:
ok
love will keep us apart says:
"For some lovin'."
love will keep us apart says:
I think he wants you to keep him warm.
love will keep us apart says:
(winking emoticon)
jake says:
eeee....
love will keep us apart says:
He says he'll 'meat' you in his room.
jake says:
ha
jake says:
that is funny because of how it is spelled
love will keep us apart says:
It's a HOMOnym.
love will keep us apart says:
Haha... oh, that's rich.
jake says:
yes, yes it is.
jake says:
that is the snappiest retort i can come up with.
love will keep us apart says:
Snappy!
My screenname is a clever combination of Joy Division's 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' and The Smith's 'Love Will Keep Us Together.' I like the fact that both bands have songs devoted to such different messages, yet I can combine the two and retain all the negativity of the Joy Division song. Marilyn Manson is a fag. The Smiths are sweet.
Talking to Chaos on SoulSeek.
four50mizou - Matthew Reese.
gee76 - Me.
[four50mizou] you talked to a poster though
[gee76] I did?
[gee76] Who?
[gee76] What?
[gee76] Does that mean I'm drunk?
[gee76] Does that mean I'm stupid?
[gee76] Does that mean I'm a failure?
[four50mizou] nah , it just means hey man you talked to a poster
[gee76] Does that mean all of the above and anything I might add?
[four50mizou] you know how it is
[gee76] Yeah, I know the score.
[gee76] I'm down 28-3 at halftime.
[gee76] I should consider myself lucky I'm not getting shut out.
[four50mizou] thats true
[four50mizou] maybe you ll pull through in the end
[gee76] Not a chance, Lance!
[gee76] No such luck, Puck!
[gee76] No dice, Tice!
[gee76] I'm fucked, Steve!
[four50mizou] tice? whos tice
[four50mizou] hahaha
He's a cool guy.
11:44 PM
Sorry. I don't know anything about love. Let us never speak of it again.
10:31 PM
Saturday, January 25, 2003
I'd like to take a moment to brag.
The other night (Tuesday, to be exact) I was sitting around with some friends at their house talking and making jokes about eachother. It was Doug's 21st birthday so while he was on his barcrawl, the rest of us non-twenty-oners sat and waited for his drunk ass to stumble in the door and vomit all over us. It was a long wait, and it wasn't really worth it in the end.
Anyway. While we're sitting there talking, somebody said something to someone about that someone, and the someone in turn denied it. Eventually it turned into a case of somebody saying that the said someone said something that said someone claims they in fact did not say. So. It might have gone something like this:
Somebody: Hey Nate(We'll use Nate because he's funny), you're a big queer.
Nate: Hey! I'm not a big queer.
Somebody: Oh yeah? Well then why did you just say, "Hey! I'm a big queer!"? (This is a strong comeback.)
Nate: Hey! I didn't just say, "Hey! I'm a big queer!"!
Right about then, I say, "Oh yeah? Well how about we ask our little stenographer over here?" I motion over to the corner of the room where a piece of table furniture sat, and did an impression of a stenographer. "Yes," I said, "it was quiet, and then the red headed man there jumped to his feet and shouted, 'Hey! I'm a big queer!' That is all he said."
"Thank you," I tell the stenographer, and we then began to discuss the possibilities of actually having a personal stenographer, and envisioning scenarios in which owning a stenographer would prove humorous. We all shared a good laugh and eventually the subject drifted back and forth from the popular topics of shoes and partial birth abortion .
Then, the next night (that would be Wednesday) we sat around the television for the debut of Dave Chapelle's new show, Chapelle's Show. Clever title. I had been eagerly awaiting this show, and it proved to be just as hilarious as I'd anticipated. The final sketch, depicting a white supremacist author who is blind and is not aware that he is fact black walking around spouting every racist remark in the book, was fucking fantastic. It's too bad there aren't more people with the balls like Chapelle to put something like that on TV.
But It was another sketch that's got me excited. It started out as a simple husband and wife disagreement. Husband didn't do the dishes, wife was fucking one of her bosses, the kids were smoking crack. Something like that. Anyway, the argument turns into a who said what you said that oh no I did not say that oh yes you did oh no I did not yes you did you Goddamn bum Bitch I did not say anything of the sort I'm leaving you and taking the kids sort of disagreement. Finally the wife turns to (her own home stenographer (Hah!) and asks her who in fact said what (Yes!). The stenographer solves the argument and the bitch wife says (of course), 'I told you so.' The sketch then continued to explore funny situations dealing with home stenographers, such as a 'Travel Stenographer,' a midget who rides on a backpack so he's always there when you need him.
So the point is this: I thought up, independently, something that was used in a sketch (one that was funny) on prime time television. This means that I might just have the creativity to take me somewhere in life!
6:51 PM
Thursday, January 23, 2003
Emails recieved today:
Sender.............................Subject
Hollie Hartmann................Pete thinks Martha likes massive men.
Elvira Solis........................Katy wants to see you grow Tanya thinks.
Jeannie Chambers............Mary knows, Terry tingles at big ones.
Jane Bruno.......................Nadine thinks Delta digs the big dongs.
I think they're trying to tell me something. I didn't read them though.
5:46 PM
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
Type Of Person # 48
The Guy You Know But Not Really And You Also Don't Want To Know Him At All.
This is the dude you met at that party the other night. The only thing you have in common with this guy is the fact that you were both at the same party the other night. This guy will say things like, "What's up dude?" or "What are you doin' this weekend man?" even though he might have forgotten your name. You're forced to carry on a conversation with this idiot for upwards of three or four minutes, all the while talking about bullshit you couldn't care less about. "There were some pretty hot girls there." he will say, while all you can think to yourself is 'Damn, I should have acted like I didn't recognize him. Goddamn. Next time I'm going to class by a different route.'
3:14 PM
Tuesday, January 21, 2003
I'm somewhat worried that I have a piece of glass stuck in my right eyelid. Not a huge chunk(although that's a funny mental image, me going to class with a giant piece of bottle sticking out of my eye), just a tiny shard. It hurts to touch, but I can't decide if that's because it's cut or what. I think I might let it heal and if it continues to annoy me I'll just have the entire eye removed. It'd be for the best. An eyepatch could only help in the ladies department, I'd assume.
Anyway there is also the chance that it's just a cut from contact with fiberglass. At one point on Saturday night we were tossing the remains of one of our manequins up and down the stairs at eachother and I impressed everyone by catching one of its legs with my face. Oh, the tricks I can do when I'm drunk!
12:06 AM
Monday, January 20, 2003
Last night on PFMS, Derek and I made a great thread. You can find the link here. Considering how much the board sucks lately, I'm quite proud of how it turned out.
6:57 PM
Weekend was pretty fun. We had some people over on Saturday. Bottles got broken. I surfed down the stairs on half a manequin. Good times.
6:54 PM
Saturday, January 18, 2003
OK, this happened yesterday...
I'm sitting in on some auditions for a couple shows that they're casting here at the university. Small stuff, nothing main stage. My acting prof is one of the directors, and he invited me to sit in with him.
I've seen about 5 or 6 people come in and do their monologues, and then in walk these two nicely dressed Mexican dudes. The lady in charge of bringing people in informs us that this is Miguel and his friend Don, or whatever the fuck his name was, and that Don will be videotaping Miguel's audition. Don sits in front of me and gets out his camera, and Miguel stands infront of the directors, not quite sure what to do.
First thing I notice is Don's hair. It was fuckin' awesome. He had short hair, like a crew cut or something, but in the front his hair was much longer, and he'd styled it up into a point of sorts. It was really Goddamn goofy, and he looked sorta like John Turturro. He turned and looked at me and gave me a toothy grin, and I told him I loved his hair. Miguel was starting.
"I'm going to tell you a story from my country, and a friend of mine write it down for me, and now I tell it." This was obviously not a prepared monologue. He spoke in a very thick accent.
"So there I am, sitting at my home. My family is around me. I look around and I see my family, and I'm happy. I have all that I could need. I am a happy, and I have everything I wanted. Then, I have my girlfriend. She is so beautiful, I love her very much. She is all that make me happy." He continues to rave about his girlfriend for a while, pretty much repeating how beautiful she is and how happy he is. He's happy.
"Then, I decide I must to go on a business trip for a few weeks. I go to this trip, and I am not afraid that something will happen to my girlfriend. I love her very much, and I know she love me too. But then, I come home from my trip, and what do I find?? SHE IS IN THE ARMS OF ANOTHER MAN! They are hugging and doing the kissing and they are very much in love and I can not believe this, I am no longer happy!" Then, he falls to his knees, arches his head back and throws his fists in the air.
"WHY?!? WHY MUST IT HAPPEN?!! WHY MUST IT A HAPPEN??!?" I'm fuckin' speechless. Then he quickly gets back to his feet and regains his composure.
"But, I learn my lesson well. Now I see my friends, and the same thing has happened to them, I decide to help them. I will be there for them, for I know it is a terrible thing what has become! This way we will show the girls who are wrong!" He concludes his last point by stabbing his finger in the air triumphantly.
"Thank you for this opportunity," he said to the directors, taking a bow. Don packed up his shit and I gave him a couple thumbs up as he and Miguel walked out of the room. I just sat there with my mouth open. That was the coolest fucking thing ever.
I couldn't stop talking about it to this girl that was sitting next to me who is also in my class. The best part about the whole thing is that you know Miguel is going to send that tape to the fuckin' bitch that ripped his heart out. Man, that was so awesome.
4:43 PM
Almost three weeks into the new year and my resolution is already laughable. Last night went over to Nob Hill and then to the Monkey Card house. Nob Hill gives our house free beer because they're suckers, but we did let them use our tap. It's always funny when this situation comes up, because we go over fully expecting free beer, and then we have to face Kip, Shauna's boyfriend. Kip doesn't really like us that much. It's great because the girls always have to talk him into letting us drink free, and he's always standing there sorta supervising the whole free cup arrangement. We're usually able to talk them out of at least another free cup for a friend.
After Nob Hill, I caught a ride with Tab over to the Monkey Card. I was pretty drunk by now, but I mingled and said hello to everybody there. Those guys are pretty fuckin' cool. I played a few games of P & A, and actually won one round, which is pretty fuckin' amazing considering how intoximacated I was. Then I got this great idea. I went over to one of the couches in the living room and laid down.
I wake up to this kid from my honors english class last year sticking some liquor bottle down my throat. I was sobering up, so I sorta sat up straight and said hello to some of the people still there. My ride and most everybody had left, and it was pretty late. I go to scratch my head, and feel this thing up there. It comes off, and turns out to be a piece of bread which at first I thought was covered with butter but was later informed that it was actually mayonnaise. I removed another piece that was slabbed onto my hair and went to wash myself up. What a creative prank!
I hung out for a little bit more, and then managed to call 475-RIDE. I was using some phone on the coffee table and for almost half an hour I couldn't figure out the right number. I kept dailing 472 instead of 475 for some reason. Finally I ask Adam who's sleeping across the table, "What the fuck is the number for 475-RIDE?" He kinda mumbled something but then I realized what a fuckin' idiot I was and got my cab ride home.
Tonight we've discussed having a party for Ryan's birthday. Hmmm. Maybe we can get a keg of O'Doul's...
8:39 AM
Friday, January 17, 2003
I skipped my second class today because I kinda felt sick and wanted to come home and sleep. Of course, I always tell myself that I'm coming home to sleep, but I always end up doing something other than sleeping. Anyway, I luckily caught the bus just as it was leaving the Temple building, and I was the only person on. The bus takes me to the main pick up/drop off point on campus, 14th and Vine, and a whole shitload of other students crawl onboard. I usually try not to sit by other people and make attempts to discourage them from sitting next to me, but for reasons I'll never know this hot chick sat next to me so I didn't really mind. It might have had something to do with the fact that it was the last available seat.
So, the bus is pretty full. I just stare out the window and listen to some song in my head that's been stuck there all morning. This bitch a few seats behind me won't shut up.
"Did you know there is actually a town named Friend? I mean, Friend?! That's gotta be the crappiest name for a town ever!"
"Oh why oh why does it have to snow? I don't get it. We always get all the snow. My cousin and his family never get snow."
I looked back to see who she was talking to and to find out if she was hot or not. I think she was talking to some Asian boy but I couldn't tell because there were a couple people in my way. She was blonde, dressed nicely, attractive enough.
"Aren't you excited that it's the weekend? I just don't know what I'm going to do with all the time!"
"Blah blah blah I'm an annoying bitch punch me punch me punch me punch me punch me punch me punch me..."
Then finally, she starts talking about weird people she knows.
"Oh God, that guy was so weird! What did he say to us that was so weird? I can't believe that I've forgotten it; it was so weird!"
"I swear, this school is full of psychos and schizos. My roommate's friend is a total psycho! She was talking about carpools or something last night. God, she's a psycho."
"There is the strangest boy in my Chem E class! We were trying to find the formula that we needed to mix this and that and something else and this guy just starts saying '4.3.' And he keeps repeating it over and over again! Then he's pretty much yelling at us saying '4.3! 4.3! 4.3!' I was like 'What a total schizo!' I said to myself, 'Nope, definitely not sitting by that boy again.' God, what a schizo!"
Finally, I just turned around and said, "You don't even know the meaning of the word, so shut the fuck up." and turned back around. The girl next to me was looking at me, frightened sort of, and nobody said anything. I just kept looking out the window. Finally she started talking again, but softer, probably to the same Asian guy. When I got off the bus everybody was looking at me through the windows as it drove away.
The best part about it was that I told her to shut up while we were still on campus, and for the most part nobody said anything for the next few minutes until we came to my stop. It was quite a satisfying feeling to say that. One of the best things I've ever done, probably.
11:46 AM
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
You might have noticed that I've updated. Does this mean I might update more often now? Keep posted and find out.
10:34 PM
Times are tough. Nothing seems to be going my way. Yesterday I paid $750+ in overdraft fees and bounced checks to my bank. My schedule of classes is fucked all to shit. Nothing seems to be going right. Then, tonight, I hit a new low. At first, it seemed like a beacon of hope. 'You have recieved an email from (unnamed good friend)' it popped up. Oh! I excitedly clicked on the window. Then I began to read.
Is this some kind of a sick game you have been playing with me....... I have been waiting by my computer for an e-mail from you.. just one would be nice.. i think i expressed myself very clearly in my last e-mail to you. you dirty fuck....... well you have lost me.. i am gone.. FOREVER!!!!!!! i am sick and tired of playing you stupid games with my heart... fuck you.. and you fuck your stupid beard,. and you ugly jewish nose........ fuck it all.... I am sitting here with a bottle of everclear in one hand and my penis in the other.. dreaming about you... and you can't even write me a damn hello e-mail... or maybe even a couple fucking forwards now and again. or maybe you had any kind of descence in your worthless fucking heart you could mention me on crummy dumbass, no-name,, peice of shit,,low life.. web fucking page.... you think you so cool.. "oh look at me I have a web page, and a beard," well you ships come in buddy... and where sitting here ready at the harbor....
fuck you forever
Your lost Friend
(name)
So that's it. This is the first time this friend has ever emailed me out of his own free will, not in response to an email I've sent. I just don't understand.
Oh God, why was I made to suffer so?
10:32 PM
|
|
| |
|
|
|
