Hey,
I was doing pretty well there for a while. I mean, with the posting, not with my life in general and the horribly misguided attempts to "be legitimate" and "do something useful" with my life. Obviously, those things are shot. I could start this up again, but I'm not sure how much I really need to. I've got so much other crap I could (and should) be doing for school (I'm in law school now), that it doesn't really make sense for me to jump on this again. However, should hilarity ensue, I'll post it.
11.06.2005
8.10.2005
D.T.S.B.
Ahhh... fellow WB's. This is a time for rejoicing. And no, the lord has not risen again to save all the christian scientists (sorry brickley), but I have fulfilled one of my lifelong goals, and almost two of my lifelong goals, all in one fell swoop. That is correct. I spent the night at the downtown Marriott, and I almost spent the night in the same room as Doug Barnbrook, and would have if he wouldn't have skirted out like a little girl who didn't like the presents at her birthday party.
A little context: I picked up a hot chick last night after sucking at bowling and also hanging out at the Knights of Columbus chapter Mishawaka. Okay, I didn't pick her up. I hit on her at the jukebox at Corby's. She then invited me and bauters to hang out with her friends angela and darren, darren being a black guy and angela being a decent looking chick who sucks donkey at pool. So, we hung out for a while and then it was time to go, but go, I did not. They wanted to walk back to said hotel, and I didn't think they should walk by themselves. So, I took Quinn home, but we didn't make it all the way there, ended up laying on our backs by that weird orange sculpture by the St. Joe River behind the Century Center and talking about how she majored in zoology in college and I majored in the second most useless topic after that: poetry. Then we ran into barnbrook and angela, who had the same idea.
Later, in the room, barnbrook put on his super-rappaport pimpness and tried to settle the score with Angela in the other bed, so Quinn and I went looking for the pool. It was locked. F that. We went back to the room to discover a big lump where two seperate people used to be. Assuming the best, I laid down on the other bed while Quinn went to change in the bathroom. Soon thereafter, Barnbrook emerged from the lump and said, I sh!t you not, "All right man, I've got to go." I gaped in slack-jawed wonder at him and angela did too and then her drunk ass passed out and then Quinn came out of the bathroom with tiny shorts on and jumped into bed with me. I tried to then pull a barnbrook, half-ass though it might have been, and she pulled me back into bed on top of her and made me promise to be good.
I wasn't.
The End.
A little context: I picked up a hot chick last night after sucking at bowling and also hanging out at the Knights of Columbus chapter Mishawaka. Okay, I didn't pick her up. I hit on her at the jukebox at Corby's. She then invited me and bauters to hang out with her friends angela and darren, darren being a black guy and angela being a decent looking chick who sucks donkey at pool. So, we hung out for a while and then it was time to go, but go, I did not. They wanted to walk back to said hotel, and I didn't think they should walk by themselves. So, I took Quinn home, but we didn't make it all the way there, ended up laying on our backs by that weird orange sculpture by the St. Joe River behind the Century Center and talking about how she majored in zoology in college and I majored in the second most useless topic after that: poetry. Then we ran into barnbrook and angela, who had the same idea.
Later, in the room, barnbrook put on his super-rappaport pimpness and tried to settle the score with Angela in the other bed, so Quinn and I went looking for the pool. It was locked. F that. We went back to the room to discover a big lump where two seperate people used to be. Assuming the best, I laid down on the other bed while Quinn went to change in the bathroom. Soon thereafter, Barnbrook emerged from the lump and said, I sh!t you not, "All right man, I've got to go." I gaped in slack-jawed wonder at him and angela did too and then her drunk ass passed out and then Quinn came out of the bathroom with tiny shorts on and jumped into bed with me. I tried to then pull a barnbrook, half-ass though it might have been, and she pulled me back into bed on top of her and made me promise to be good.
I wasn't.
The End.
8.09.2005
Fat Lip
Here's a series of e-mails from today... By the way, I'm one of the kelly brothers
McMahon: "Ummmm, so what happened this weekend boys? Kelly brothers are going to need to fill in some gaps."
Ron: "Crackbaby talked sh$t to a much larger man. He was punched in the face, then BK came to his aid. BK was punched several times in the head. He escaped with a few bumps, but most of his face was left unscarred. Crackbaby has a fat lip, and I believe that BK is a bit peeved with Crack's antics. However, I also believe that BK doesn't really mind much, because he got to act all "Uncle Hank".
Brickbaby is a f*cking poser. We drank vodka, whiskey & beer yesterday as well. You're definitely the type of homo that would be seen drinking out to those horribly uncool aluminum Bud pint bottles. You parents should be completely ashamed of your greasy, Michigan taint.
And for all of your rants about religion....I'd like to point out, to our entire group here, that Chris Brickley was raised as a Christian Scientist. Yes, that's correct, he doesn't believe in medicine, or caffeine. Chris believes that all you have to do is pray, and you'll feel better. So, Crackbaby, tell your Dad that his profession is worthless, and all doctor's will soon starve, because the Brickley's and the rest of their CULT have discovered this new way to heal...you just have to ask God, and he'll fix everything. I'm willing to bet that Chris also prays that he'll win the lottery."
Crack Baby (me): "Yeah, fat lip, scraped up face, and it hurts to swallow. If you wanted any details however, I'm not going to be able to supply any. BK just came in to the conference room and showed me his finger, which looks pretty bad. He told me that the guy was crazy chelsea's (not newman, the chick that used to work at the BrewCo) boyfriend. So that's all I know.. Oh yeah, and my right a$$ cheek hurts pretty bad too, so it's entirely possible that I literally got my @$$ kicked.
You're welcome.
If anyone has any details they wish to share concerning everything after, oh, say, 12:00, they would be appreciated."
Me again, fifteen minutes later: "Okay,
here's what BK just told me. He said that we left the bar, and were walking to my car or something. Only I walked up to the wrong car, some other jetta, and my key wouldn't work. The b!tch whose car it actually is walks up and starts screaming at me, because I'm obviously trying to steal her car and she just caught me. I tell her to shut up. We're walking to the other side of lasalle, because that's where I put MY car, and on our way, we walk past chelsea and her boyfriend (who just got finished with his house arrest) and cassie. Dude says something to me about the screaming girl and her car and stuff, and I spout off something to him. We keep walking and he turns around to come after me, pushing down cassie in the process, jacks me in the face. BK pushes him off of me and got in his face, at which point Chelsea starts yelling at BK saying things like "what did you do to me??" in an apparent effort to further enrage her psychotic boyfriend, who begins to try and punch BK in the face. Fortunately, BK was raised on the mean streets of St. Louis and New Orleans, and knows that the top of your skull is very hard and a stupid place to punch someone, so he lowers his head each time a punch is about to come sailing in, and did some serious damage to the guy's hand. I'm pretty sure that, once again, all of this was started by some little b!tch who overreacted because she wanted to be dramatic. Typical.
Brickley: "Now that's good sh*t. Thats wb sh*t. Thank you, Brothers Kelly, for getting into some wild sh*t and making my day better with the story of it. I totally respect fighting - and nominate both of you for co-wb of the month. I seriously doubt any of you will do anything cooler than that in the next few weeks.
About time something of worth came over the wire. I was really getting tired of text message relationship sagas and Johns relentless blabbering about liquor and jukeboxes."
More Brickley: "It would take two elk tranquilzer darts and one of those poles with a loop on the end to baptize theese nuts.
The only "wild" thing about you b*tches is two rowdy brothers that get in street fights and bang daughters of ex-NFL linemen. And England, who once filled a bong with gasoline. The rest of you are riding on their coat tails and need to think about changing your name to "sad-young-self-centered-emotional-buddies."
Can we use profanity when Davis is on vacation?"
- See? Always thoughtful to the end. That's just how the wild buddies are... I love you guys.
McMahon: "Ummmm, so what happened this weekend boys? Kelly brothers are going to need to fill in some gaps."
Ron: "Crackbaby talked sh$t to a much larger man. He was punched in the face, then BK came to his aid. BK was punched several times in the head. He escaped with a few bumps, but most of his face was left unscarred. Crackbaby has a fat lip, and I believe that BK is a bit peeved with Crack's antics. However, I also believe that BK doesn't really mind much, because he got to act all "Uncle Hank".
Brickbaby is a f*cking poser. We drank vodka, whiskey & beer yesterday as well. You're definitely the type of homo that would be seen drinking out to those horribly uncool aluminum Bud pint bottles. You parents should be completely ashamed of your greasy, Michigan taint.
And for all of your rants about religion....I'd like to point out, to our entire group here, that Chris Brickley was raised as a Christian Scientist. Yes, that's correct, he doesn't believe in medicine, or caffeine. Chris believes that all you have to do is pray, and you'll feel better. So, Crackbaby, tell your Dad that his profession is worthless, and all doctor's will soon starve, because the Brickley's and the rest of their CULT have discovered this new way to heal...you just have to ask God, and he'll fix everything. I'm willing to bet that Chris also prays that he'll win the lottery."
Crack Baby (me): "Yeah, fat lip, scraped up face, and it hurts to swallow. If you wanted any details however, I'm not going to be able to supply any. BK just came in to the conference room and showed me his finger, which looks pretty bad. He told me that the guy was crazy chelsea's (not newman, the chick that used to work at the BrewCo) boyfriend. So that's all I know.. Oh yeah, and my right a$$ cheek hurts pretty bad too, so it's entirely possible that I literally got my @$$ kicked.
You're welcome.
If anyone has any details they wish to share concerning everything after, oh, say, 12:00, they would be appreciated."
Me again, fifteen minutes later: "Okay,
here's what BK just told me. He said that we left the bar, and were walking to my car or something. Only I walked up to the wrong car, some other jetta, and my key wouldn't work. The b!tch whose car it actually is walks up and starts screaming at me, because I'm obviously trying to steal her car and she just caught me. I tell her to shut up. We're walking to the other side of lasalle, because that's where I put MY car, and on our way, we walk past chelsea and her boyfriend (who just got finished with his house arrest) and cassie. Dude says something to me about the screaming girl and her car and stuff, and I spout off something to him. We keep walking and he turns around to come after me, pushing down cassie in the process, jacks me in the face. BK pushes him off of me and got in his face, at which point Chelsea starts yelling at BK saying things like "what did you do to me??" in an apparent effort to further enrage her psychotic boyfriend, who begins to try and punch BK in the face. Fortunately, BK was raised on the mean streets of St. Louis and New Orleans, and knows that the top of your skull is very hard and a stupid place to punch someone, so he lowers his head each time a punch is about to come sailing in, and did some serious damage to the guy's hand. I'm pretty sure that, once again, all of this was started by some little b!tch who overreacted because she wanted to be dramatic. Typical.
Brickley: "Now that's good sh*t. Thats wb sh*t. Thank you, Brothers Kelly, for getting into some wild sh*t and making my day better with the story of it. I totally respect fighting - and nominate both of you for co-wb of the month. I seriously doubt any of you will do anything cooler than that in the next few weeks.
About time something of worth came over the wire. I was really getting tired of text message relationship sagas and Johns relentless blabbering about liquor and jukeboxes."
More Brickley: "It would take two elk tranquilzer darts and one of those poles with a loop on the end to baptize theese nuts.
The only "wild" thing about you b*tches is two rowdy brothers that get in street fights and bang daughters of ex-NFL linemen. And England, who once filled a bong with gasoline. The rest of you are riding on their coat tails and need to think about changing your name to "sad-young-self-centered-emotional-buddies."
Can we use profanity when Davis is on vacation?"
- See? Always thoughtful to the end. That's just how the wild buddies are... I love you guys.
8.02.2005
well, that was fun
It's over... at least for a while. If not ever. I just want to wring out my heart like a wet fucking sponge sometimes.
Not to mention that I blacked out and hit on one of my friends' girlfriends again. God damn it. I think that there was (possibly is) some really serious shit going on in the subconcious portion of my mind. Some issues that lead me to be terribly destructive towards... well, everything. Including myself.
But I'm putting things back in order now. Seriously. Finally opened up and simultaneously ended things with Kristin. She won't let herself feel anything for me, and doesn't want to be reminded that I still care about her. At least that's what she said. I can't believe that my testimonial for her made her feel "uncomfortable." How fucked up is that? The one thing that I thought would make her smile about the whole relationship, the thing that wasn't concerned with any of our problems and just the good things... that's what makes her uncomfortable. It's incredible how quickly good things can turn bad, and vice versa.
And pen pal is out. Should never have been in.
And now George W. Bush wants to teach intelligent design in schools, right alongside evolution. Are you kidding me? Check out the Rude Pundit for details, hilarious details that he made up, but seriously guys. Why don't we also teach astrology alongside astronomy? How about scripture in American Lit.? And then, while we're at it, let's pay the teachers less and cut the budget for federally funded school lunch programs by another 15 percent? And the after-school civic engagement programs too.
What a day. Good thing I came in an hour early so I could hate work an hour more.
Not to mention that I blacked out and hit on one of my friends' girlfriends again. God damn it. I think that there was (possibly is) some really serious shit going on in the subconcious portion of my mind. Some issues that lead me to be terribly destructive towards... well, everything. Including myself.
But I'm putting things back in order now. Seriously. Finally opened up and simultaneously ended things with Kristin. She won't let herself feel anything for me, and doesn't want to be reminded that I still care about her. At least that's what she said. I can't believe that my testimonial for her made her feel "uncomfortable." How fucked up is that? The one thing that I thought would make her smile about the whole relationship, the thing that wasn't concerned with any of our problems and just the good things... that's what makes her uncomfortable. It's incredible how quickly good things can turn bad, and vice versa.
And pen pal is out. Should never have been in.
And now George W. Bush wants to teach intelligent design in schools, right alongside evolution. Are you kidding me? Check out the Rude Pundit for details, hilarious details that he made up, but seriously guys. Why don't we also teach astrology alongside astronomy? How about scripture in American Lit.? And then, while we're at it, let's pay the teachers less and cut the budget for federally funded school lunch programs by another 15 percent? And the after-school civic engagement programs too.
What a day. Good thing I came in an hour early so I could hate work an hour more.
7.21.2005
Decisions, decisions
So, I recovered from my initial outrage after the events of yesterday. That was bad, and I'm sorry for venting all of those frustrations on you guys. In a pretty much overwrought,holier-than-thou attitude. I mean, come on. The girl is obviously doing some maintenance.
At least she didn't break up with me in a text message, a la Sarah (a.k.a. Sarah-bellum, a.k.a. Snakecharmer) breaking up with Coley yesterday. This, my friends, is absolutely hilarious.
So, Sarah and Coley have been dating for about about two months or so, sleeping together for maybe half that. Relatively close. He took her to meet the parents, which this guy never-ever does. He met hers. So, a little more than just sleeping together, but not committed or anything. Either way, he's talking to her yesterday while she's at the beach with her friends. He's gotta work, but wants to hang out later and she said great, I'll give you a call later. Ends the phone conversation.
Five minutes later he gets a T9 (that's text message for short, fellow luddites)saying, and I quote: "Coley, I don't want to see you again. It was fun. Bye." A model of austerity and succinct emotional purging. Wait. Was there any emotion involved in that statement? Let's review. Nope. So, Coley thinks it's a joke perpetrated by one of her friends, and understandably so. Calls back a little later, as he's trying to get ready for work, and she answers the phone. Here goes:
"Hello?"
"Sarah?"
"Yeah?"
"It's Coley..."
"Hey."
"So... I got a funny message. Did you send me one?"
"Yeah."
"Ummmm... were you serious?"
"Yeah (toe-tapping in the background, followed by impatient sigh)..."
"Soooo..."
"So what?"
Coley, at this point, just starts laughing. What else can you do?
"Why are you laughing?" she asks, kind of angrily.
"Because that's fucked up...and you're fucked up too!"
Wow. On the brighter side, he's got a story to tell forever, or at least for as long as he's trying to pick up girls. And there's no flip-flopping or wavering allowed, not with that kind of period at the end of the sentence. And he was already cheating (cheating? I think you have to be more serious than they were to call it cheating) on her anyway, last friday actually. One the same couch I was trying, unsuccessfully, to pass out on while battling the dry heaves. Errrgggh... That just makes me nauseous. The sounds of other people kissing have got to be among the worst and most unneccessary sounds that one could possibly hear. Errrgggh...
At least she didn't break up with me in a text message, a la Sarah (a.k.a. Sarah-bellum, a.k.a. Snakecharmer) breaking up with Coley yesterday. This, my friends, is absolutely hilarious.
So, Sarah and Coley have been dating for about about two months or so, sleeping together for maybe half that. Relatively close. He took her to meet the parents, which this guy never-ever does. He met hers. So, a little more than just sleeping together, but not committed or anything. Either way, he's talking to her yesterday while she's at the beach with her friends. He's gotta work, but wants to hang out later and she said great, I'll give you a call later. Ends the phone conversation.
Five minutes later he gets a T9 (that's text message for short, fellow luddites)saying, and I quote: "Coley, I don't want to see you again. It was fun. Bye." A model of austerity and succinct emotional purging. Wait. Was there any emotion involved in that statement? Let's review. Nope. So, Coley thinks it's a joke perpetrated by one of her friends, and understandably so. Calls back a little later, as he's trying to get ready for work, and she answers the phone. Here goes:
"Hello?"
"Sarah?"
"Yeah?"
"It's Coley..."
"Hey."
"So... I got a funny message. Did you send me one?"
"Yeah."
"Ummmm... were you serious?"
"Yeah (toe-tapping in the background, followed by impatient sigh)..."
"Soooo..."
"So what?"
Coley, at this point, just starts laughing. What else can you do?
"Why are you laughing?" she asks, kind of angrily.
"Because that's fucked up...and you're fucked up too!"
Wow. On the brighter side, he's got a story to tell forever, or at least for as long as he's trying to pick up girls. And there's no flip-flopping or wavering allowed, not with that kind of period at the end of the sentence. And he was already cheating (cheating? I think you have to be more serious than they were to call it cheating) on her anyway, last friday actually. One the same couch I was trying, unsuccessfully, to pass out on while battling the dry heaves. Errrgggh... That just makes me nauseous. The sounds of other people kissing have got to be among the worst and most unneccessary sounds that one could possibly hear. Errrgggh...
7.20.2005
Friendster strikes back...
Seriously guys, I'm not really sure how picking up thirdhand information off of friendster became my only way of knowing what's going on in Kristin's life, but it did, and now I have to decide why I'm even keeping up with it. Morbid curiosity? Well, I am curious, but not morbidly so. Not even overly so. Gluttony for punishment? Anyone who knows me knows that that is not even close to the case. Pathetic attachment issues? Those were all settled a long time ago.
No, I just wanted to keep in touch, stay on the radar, so to speak. Although she seems determined to erase me from her life and I can't even comprehend why. I mean, when we were dating, she would talk to her xbf once a month, maybe a couple times. I'm not even close to that. Trouble is, no kind of satisfactory resolution can come from someone who won't even acknowledge what is or was really going on. All it can be is just telling the sky, or the rain, and accept that there is no response, no answer for the questions I've got. Not now.
Just taking my testimonial off of her profile just absolutely stunned me. It was worse than seeing that she's in a relationship. I mean, I expected that on some level, it was inevitable. But to just delete the most sincere and heartfelt expression of how I feel about her as a person, and a friend... it's kind of the breaking point. I don't know how to not take it so personally. I don't know how else to take it except as a simple message that I'm not a part of her life anymore, and shouldn't try to be.
It hurts beneath my left collarbone, and along my rib cage. There's something up in there that really doesn't like this at all.
So, there's really only one phone call left to make. A quick one. It shouldn't take long for me to say what I have to say. And if what friendster is telling me is correct, then there won't be anything much from her to hear. You don't talk to ghosts.
No, I just wanted to keep in touch, stay on the radar, so to speak. Although she seems determined to erase me from her life and I can't even comprehend why. I mean, when we were dating, she would talk to her xbf once a month, maybe a couple times. I'm not even close to that. Trouble is, no kind of satisfactory resolution can come from someone who won't even acknowledge what is or was really going on. All it can be is just telling the sky, or the rain, and accept that there is no response, no answer for the questions I've got. Not now.
Just taking my testimonial off of her profile just absolutely stunned me. It was worse than seeing that she's in a relationship. I mean, I expected that on some level, it was inevitable. But to just delete the most sincere and heartfelt expression of how I feel about her as a person, and a friend... it's kind of the breaking point. I don't know how to not take it so personally. I don't know how else to take it except as a simple message that I'm not a part of her life anymore, and shouldn't try to be.
It hurts beneath my left collarbone, and along my rib cage. There's something up in there that really doesn't like this at all.
So, there's really only one phone call left to make. A quick one. It shouldn't take long for me to say what I have to say. And if what friendster is telling me is correct, then there won't be anything much from her to hear. You don't talk to ghosts.
7.12.2005
What the Bobby Abreu?
It's been too long, I know. I was never good at keeping a diary as a kid, or a journal as a somewhat older kid. I don't know why I thought I could keep this blog in any kind of resemblance of a current state of affairs. Hence the timely title, because Holy Shit, if you did not see Abreu in the home run derby last night, then you missed something historic and spectacular.
Not to knock on you if you were watching the Lifetime Original Movie, or if you were reading the fifth Harry Potter book in preparation for the sixth to come out on Friday night at Midnight. Or if you were doing anything productive, like paying bills or apologizing to all your friends for the jackassery of last weekend. I just feel bad for you that you missed it. Absolutely crushing the ball.
The last couple weeks have been half past rowdy. Fourth of July weekend was great, as usual. We burned a couple of holes through the dock up at Diamond with some serious mortar shells. I slept not at all. Hit a grand slam in Wiffle Ball at the annual Inwood Wiffle World Series, while getting sunburned and drinking orange hurricane Boone's farm straight from the bottle. Wore clothes.
Faith and I hooked up again. A couple of times. We slept over at her parents' house in the guest room, in a bed with no sheets, only a mattress pad and a dust cover. Not very comfortable, but that didn't matter in the least. Waking up next to her and making the bed together... priceless. Faith is... well, she's one of my oldest friends, and there's always been something there. We were, and continue to be, really bad at timing. It only makes sense that, now, I'm moving to Nashville in four weeks, and things are really good. whatever. If I've picked up anything over the past few hellish months, it's patience. Time will go on, even if you don't want to.
I drove up to Chicago last weekend to see Keith and also Faith. Keith made probably the best salmon I've ever had, and then we went to the bar he works at, which I used to work at, although they've hired dozens of new people and it's kind of surreal to hang out there. Lots of drinks. Faith was having a crisis and called me to talk it over. It's...she's... worried, I guess, we all should be, but the lifestyle which we live is heavily predicated on drinking and dancing and laughing and trying to have as much fun as possible. Which can be a problem. But I mean seriously, when else are we going to be able to enjoy this amount of freedom and irresposibility? Irresponsibility being one of those things that I enjoy immensely.
Not to knock on you if you were watching the Lifetime Original Movie, or if you were reading the fifth Harry Potter book in preparation for the sixth to come out on Friday night at Midnight. Or if you were doing anything productive, like paying bills or apologizing to all your friends for the jackassery of last weekend. I just feel bad for you that you missed it. Absolutely crushing the ball.
The last couple weeks have been half past rowdy. Fourth of July weekend was great, as usual. We burned a couple of holes through the dock up at Diamond with some serious mortar shells. I slept not at all. Hit a grand slam in Wiffle Ball at the annual Inwood Wiffle World Series, while getting sunburned and drinking orange hurricane Boone's farm straight from the bottle. Wore clothes.
Faith and I hooked up again. A couple of times. We slept over at her parents' house in the guest room, in a bed with no sheets, only a mattress pad and a dust cover. Not very comfortable, but that didn't matter in the least. Waking up next to her and making the bed together... priceless. Faith is... well, she's one of my oldest friends, and there's always been something there. We were, and continue to be, really bad at timing. It only makes sense that, now, I'm moving to Nashville in four weeks, and things are really good. whatever. If I've picked up anything over the past few hellish months, it's patience. Time will go on, even if you don't want to.
I drove up to Chicago last weekend to see Keith and also Faith. Keith made probably the best salmon I've ever had, and then we went to the bar he works at, which I used to work at, although they've hired dozens of new people and it's kind of surreal to hang out there. Lots of drinks. Faith was having a crisis and called me to talk it over. It's...she's... worried, I guess, we all should be, but the lifestyle which we live is heavily predicated on drinking and dancing and laughing and trying to have as much fun as possible. Which can be a problem. But I mean seriously, when else are we going to be able to enjoy this amount of freedom and irresposibility? Irresponsibility being one of those things that I enjoy immensely.
6.22.2005
Left
So exhausted today... mentally and emotionally. I expect the clamor to die down soon, as the days pass and the nights get shorter. Rough couple of days though, besides the torpor of the office casting a hazy glare over everything else. Hard to think clearly, write clearly. And then there's pen pal.
Pen pal has a real name: Nicole Wojkiewicz. She and I met randomly one night at Corby's about a month and a half ago. Coley told me to go to where these two girls were standing at the jukebox and figure out if we needed to hijack their song selections with a boatload of play-nows. I went over and stood behind them for a second, feeling... well, a little buzzed to be sure, but confident besides. And then I saw that they were playing Bob Seger. Or trying to.
Jukeboxes are officially the easiest places to talk to a member of the fairer sex without seeming creepy. I mean, if you're creepy, you're just going to come across as creepy, but if you're not, then the jukebox's presence has a calming, decreeping effect on everyone. The interactiveness of it all, the choosing, the being forced to listen to what everyone else picks... it's a community event. Either way, I started talking to them, focusing on the one with her hand at the screen. Kind of cute...y'know, whatever. I told them Bob Seger sucked. Which he does. Night Moves? Against the Wind? Who pays a dollar to listen to that crap?
When the other girl said something about how the music we were listening to at the moment was suicidal and depressing (all songs that we had chosen as a group, and not depressing at all (unless you count flaming lips and basement jaxx as depressing)) and they wanted to put on some happy music, I turned to her to laugh. And she was beautiful, in a casual,offhand kind of way. Glasses, ponytail. I laughed anyway, and so did she, and I went to tell the boys about how our music was depressing, and maybe it might have been. Who knows? I get depressed by really happy stuff sometimes. Kittens. Love.
So anyway, I noticed that they didn't choose "play now" with the Seger track, and I felt kind of bad for interrupting and ruining their whole deal. I mean, you just do not hear your track if you put it on after eleven o'clock and don't press "play now." So, I put it on for them. The Seger song.
I know, I know. Sell out. But shit, the girl was cute. Later on, I made my way over to where she sat and somehow managed a conversation. It got better. She seemed interested, and gave me the strangest personality quiz ever. Favorite color, disney movie, do I eat jello with a fork or a spoon? All important, sure, but what? So, needless to elaborate on, I was intrigued. Even more so when I went to ask Nicole for her number at the end of the night, and before I could get the words out of my mouth, she said to me, "I'd give you my number, but I think it'd be more fun if you have to figure it out for yourself."
Riiight...
Pen pal has a real name: Nicole Wojkiewicz. She and I met randomly one night at Corby's about a month and a half ago. Coley told me to go to where these two girls were standing at the jukebox and figure out if we needed to hijack their song selections with a boatload of play-nows. I went over and stood behind them for a second, feeling... well, a little buzzed to be sure, but confident besides. And then I saw that they were playing Bob Seger. Or trying to.
Jukeboxes are officially the easiest places to talk to a member of the fairer sex without seeming creepy. I mean, if you're creepy, you're just going to come across as creepy, but if you're not, then the jukebox's presence has a calming, decreeping effect on everyone. The interactiveness of it all, the choosing, the being forced to listen to what everyone else picks... it's a community event. Either way, I started talking to them, focusing on the one with her hand at the screen. Kind of cute...y'know, whatever. I told them Bob Seger sucked. Which he does. Night Moves? Against the Wind? Who pays a dollar to listen to that crap?
When the other girl said something about how the music we were listening to at the moment was suicidal and depressing (all songs that we had chosen as a group, and not depressing at all (unless you count flaming lips and basement jaxx as depressing)) and they wanted to put on some happy music, I turned to her to laugh. And she was beautiful, in a casual,offhand kind of way. Glasses, ponytail. I laughed anyway, and so did she, and I went to tell the boys about how our music was depressing, and maybe it might have been. Who knows? I get depressed by really happy stuff sometimes. Kittens. Love.
So anyway, I noticed that they didn't choose "play now" with the Seger track, and I felt kind of bad for interrupting and ruining their whole deal. I mean, you just do not hear your track if you put it on after eleven o'clock and don't press "play now." So, I put it on for them. The Seger song.
I know, I know. Sell out. But shit, the girl was cute. Later on, I made my way over to where she sat and somehow managed a conversation. It got better. She seemed interested, and gave me the strangest personality quiz ever. Favorite color, disney movie, do I eat jello with a fork or a spoon? All important, sure, but what? So, needless to elaborate on, I was intrigued. Even more so when I went to ask Nicole for her number at the end of the night, and before I could get the words out of my mouth, she said to me, "I'd give you my number, but I think it'd be more fun if you have to figure it out for yourself."
Riiight...
6.21.2005
Speaking ill of the dead
Long hiatus notwithstanding... a lot has been going on. Some good, some heart-achingly bad. If that's even a word.
First of all, the family trip to montana was all types of fun. The fishing wasn't so great, but the weather (aside from a freak hail storm) was spectacular. If you ever get the chance to float down the smith river... take it. With us were a couple New Yorkers, Bill and Billy. Father and son. 70 and 50, respectively. Billy ripped rigs like a champ the whole time, and not those loser-town light cigarettes either. Reds.
I was able to really clear my head out there, get some things set, y'know? And then, when I got back yesterday, I thought I'd check out my friendster page and see if anyone updated their profiles or anything. It's not like anyone ever does, but it's the OCD that counts. Except for, this time, someone had changed their profile. Kristin, my ex-girlfriend of three months... the LOML. All that shit. She had recently changed her profile to state that she was now "in a relationship."
My heart stopped. Literally. It felt rather odd. When my father came in the room, holding a letter from the IRS, and handed it to me, I realized how badly my hands were shaking. He told me not to worry, lots of people get letters from the IRS. I just kind of smiled weakly at him and said, "oh....yeah. sure."
Finding out that K was seeing someone in the most impersonal way possible... not so great. Realizing that there was actually somebody else, and that I wasn't just being paranoid... priceless. I realize that this holds no context for you, so I'll get into the backstory at some point. It's a good one. Either way, the weight of the past three months, the careening emotional boxcar ride, the worst parts are over. She said she still wants to be great friends, and I told her that we're gonna have to be friends first. How, I'm not sure.
First of all, the family trip to montana was all types of fun. The fishing wasn't so great, but the weather (aside from a freak hail storm) was spectacular. If you ever get the chance to float down the smith river... take it. With us were a couple New Yorkers, Bill and Billy. Father and son. 70 and 50, respectively. Billy ripped rigs like a champ the whole time, and not those loser-town light cigarettes either. Reds.
I was able to really clear my head out there, get some things set, y'know? And then, when I got back yesterday, I thought I'd check out my friendster page and see if anyone updated their profiles or anything. It's not like anyone ever does, but it's the OCD that counts. Except for, this time, someone had changed their profile. Kristin, my ex-girlfriend of three months... the LOML. All that shit. She had recently changed her profile to state that she was now "in a relationship."
My heart stopped. Literally. It felt rather odd. When my father came in the room, holding a letter from the IRS, and handed it to me, I realized how badly my hands were shaking. He told me not to worry, lots of people get letters from the IRS. I just kind of smiled weakly at him and said, "oh....yeah. sure."
Finding out that K was seeing someone in the most impersonal way possible... not so great. Realizing that there was actually somebody else, and that I wasn't just being paranoid... priceless. I realize that this holds no context for you, so I'll get into the backstory at some point. It's a good one. Either way, the weight of the past three months, the careening emotional boxcar ride, the worst parts are over. She said she still wants to be great friends, and I told her that we're gonna have to be friends first. How, I'm not sure.
6.10.2005
e-mail of the day...
This will more than likely be a regular section... So many e-mails and so little time to do any actual work. The first one is from Chris Brickley:
First of all, my fancy ride has 131,000 miles on it and is dirty and dented, inside and out. And the paint job is trashed from a run-in I had a few years back with a young Rave. Rave and a character who will remain nameless got me blazed and tried to drink me to death. I puked out the window for the whole ride home and also let loose on my basement couch and took half of a piss on the tv in my room. The next morning I had to power spray the vomit off my car on the way to work and took a good deal of paint off in the process. I also threw up at work and lied to everyone at Meridian, and left early.
We'll see what happens tonight - sometimes the unchecked collar-popping that goes on in your circle is a little intimidating.
First of all, my fancy ride has 131,000 miles on it and is dirty and dented, inside and out. And the paint job is trashed from a run-in I had a few years back with a young Rave. Rave and a character who will remain nameless got me blazed and tried to drink me to death. I puked out the window for the whole ride home and also let loose on my basement couch and took half of a piss on the tv in my room. The next morning I had to power spray the vomit off my car on the way to work and took a good deal of paint off in the process. I also threw up at work and lied to everyone at Meridian, and left early.
We'll see what happens tonight - sometimes the unchecked collar-popping that goes on in your circle is a little intimidating.
Don't say shit
Allllllllllllright...
If there's anything that I learned tonight... well, I learned two things. First. When someone tells you (and it helps if this someone is a super hot chick who may or may not dance professionally (not like that) for a living) that her friend who is coming out to the bar to meet up is the black you...? Well then. Take some serious notes. Because, for some reason, if the black you (and this could be anyone who is not black, especially if you have a pretty severe alcohol problem, as I do) actually shows up at the bar, you could learn a few things. Such as:
1. How to wear a hat (like the hat could be smokin' cigarettes and why the fuck would it matter?)
2. How not to speak coherent english
okay, two. Two is a number.
The other thing I learned: Don't spread gossip. Amongst even your closest friends. They are out to get you.
If there's anything that I learned tonight... well, I learned two things. First. When someone tells you (and it helps if this someone is a super hot chick who may or may not dance professionally (not like that) for a living) that her friend who is coming out to the bar to meet up is the black you...? Well then. Take some serious notes. Because, for some reason, if the black you (and this could be anyone who is not black, especially if you have a pretty severe alcohol problem, as I do) actually shows up at the bar, you could learn a few things. Such as:
1. How to wear a hat (like the hat could be smokin' cigarettes and why the fuck would it matter?)
2. How not to speak coherent english
okay, two. Two is a number.
The other thing I learned: Don't spread gossip. Amongst even your closest friends. They are out to get you.
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