Ceremonies
The only reason I wanted Chicago to get the Olympics was that the shooting competition was slated to take place in Waterman. I know a ton of people from that town who'd have loved to light their cigarettes off an official Olympic torch. Can you just imagine Nate conducting the official closing ceremonies (as someone does every night) at the Annex?
As the lights come on and you get a good look at who you've been talking shit to for the last hour Nate says, "You don't have to go to your home countries but you can't stay here."
'Twas not to be...but what a wonderful dream.
Maybe Oprah can throw her weight behind bringing the 2020 games to DeKalb.
Hopefully our president's shovel ready renewal schemes...er, projects will have all the proper, load-bearing shit reinforced by then.
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Sunday October 1st Woke Up This Morning
Actually I went to sleep and woke up this morning. That’s a lot to do in such a short time period. I’d say it was a very productive morning.
I should’ve gone right back to bed.
What is stupid about the whole situation is I went to sleep at like 6am, not because I was partying or screwing or fretting about how to make my next million.
The next million I make will be my first.
No. I stayed up until 6am looking for a stupid Nintendo game. Once I found it I decided I didn’t want to play it. But I was pretty proud of the fact that I found it in the messy den of iniquity Chris and I call home. If cleanliness is next to Godliness we won’t have any deities hanging out here.
Back to my exciting evening, which was in fact yesterday evening.
I turned the keyboard on and off for an hour while I smoked cigarettes.
That was certainly time well spent.
No Bear game until tomorrow. The Eagles? Randall Cunningham off to a fast start (he does everything fast)…Monday Nite? In front of people I said the Bears were going to lose. I picked the Bears to lose for the first time in four friggin’ years and I’ve been racked with guilt over it.
Yeah, I’m extremely rational and level-headed like that.
Went to John Parker’s to drink some nice beer and forget more pressing matters (*i.e. foreign & domestic oil prices) and whether or not pretty little red-haired girls like me back.
Miss D came back to town later in the day and we had a great night.
If I keep drinking so much beer in the afternoon before these rendezvous I’m gonna exceed the weight limit.
After D and I were done with whatever we were doing it struck me that I never got E`{`’s number after our hopefully less than Platonic walk thing.
I think it was less than Platonic. Walking occurred at the peripatetic school. That’s Aristotle right?
I’ll never learn.
Ok, so I didn’t get E`{`’s number.
Just fucking swell.
I spend almost seven hours with that kid and I don’t take a minute to get those all important digits? Shit, if I planned it out I could’ve asked her for one digit per hour and gotten the job done.
Sure it would’ve been weird but it also would be better than this.
I stopped thinking about how I didn’t get E`{`’s number after our night at the East Lagoon and instead took a walk with D around the West Lagoon.
Yeah I know I’m a regular lagoon hopper.
But I am a lucky bastard. I’m not going to be able to do shit like this for the rest of my life, however long that is.
Say I live ten more years and have some sort of normal job. There’s no way I’ll be able to stay up all night going from lagoon to lagoon with whoever I choose. I’m tired all the time now and I barely work 20 hours some weeks. I guess if I were to become a full on coke-head I could and should (if I am worthy of the name “coke-head”) stay up all night and run around bodies of water aimlessly. But even if my coke-head dreams were to come true, my focus would most likely be on the coke and not on finding cute, smart and fun girls to spend time with me.
Besides, nobody loves a coke-head.
Now forget normal job or my sad dream of becoming a working man with a drug habit.
Let’s say my job in ten years is ROCK STAR. I’m such a paranoid prick that even though I will probably be able to stay up all night any night I want, I won’t be able to completely trust the girls who spend those nights with me. I know that any girl who spends time with me now isn’t interested in image or prestige unless they’re into drinky-smokey-druggy-shady guys.
Also if my job is ROCK STAR, there’s no question that my side gig will be coke-head and as I’ve clearly established…
…nobody loves a coke-head.
I could be married in ten years. If I know me, I’ll probably be married in the next five years to someone I haven’t met yet. I’ll marry for love but ten years from now I’ll be the only one still in love.
Anybody who could love me at 30 has bigger problems than I do now and nobody alive has bigger problems than I do now.
This is beginning to sound like a geometric proof, but wait because I haven’t finished making shit up.
The only possible person who could love me at 30 would be 10 or younger at that time and that’s just sick and wrong.
Unless.
Unless I got you know who pregnant with one of our last sex with the ex encounters. The kid would be about 10 when I was 30 and there’s nothing wrong w/ a kid loving their dad. Now that I think of it, any and all sex with the ex-capades were contingent upon dirty, sinful business only being done on her tummy or her backside. I am nothing if not a gentleman and always mindful to respect the wishes of any lady who chooses to copulate with me.
Emily Post would be proud.
The point is, it’ll be a miracle if there is someone to love me when I am 30.
Miracles are possible, but counting on them is stupid.
The bigger point is I am happy now, lagoon hopping with two nice gals. I have something to look forward to every day, at least in the short term.
/so long as the lagoons don’t dry up.
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Monday October 2 We Could Make History or Not
Like the kid in the 5 Man Electrical Band song, I did not sleep at all last night. About 3:30am Miss D decided she had to interrupt our talk and go back to her own bed or there would be roommate repercussions. Being a gentleman I threw on a faded Maiden t-shirt (stolen from someone's ex-boyfriend) and red Bermudas w/ yellow triangles down both sides.
It is a long standing policy of mine to always have a pair of thrown-on shorts always ready to throw on preventing me from ever having to wear cut-offs.
Walked D back to her room. As she closed the door I could hear her roomie shriek, “Where the Hell have you been?”
Nothing like having a mother at college.
I never made it back to my room, “never” not being wholly accurate, but suitable here.
On my way through the lobby I saw Scottie K sitting cross-legged on one of the smoking section couches. She was wearing her over sized Huskie red & black sweats. She’d been up all night studying and was now relaxing. Her Huskie red lipstick-lips kissed out blue-grey smoke that lazily rolled upwards through her looping, black curls.
Where did all this description come from?
First E`{`’s “red, curly/wirey hair” and now this piss-poor travesty of a description.
Piss-poor travesty. I’m not even sure if that’s redundant or just stupid.
Women are the finest thing ever. Some dipshit Christian friend of mine once said that women were the crown of creation or god’s masterpiece or some shit like that.
That’s the smartest thing that dipshit ever tried to say.
But I can single-handedly undo all the good that dipshit’s nonexistent god did by describing women poorly.
Who am I kidding? I can’t cheapen women with my prose. Nothing I could ever hope to be or achieve will match what they are. I don't like women telling me what to do and one will not tell me what to do ever ever again, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate them, their beauty and their character.
I’m just sorry for myself that I can’t do these girls justice here there or where I want to do them justice.
I’m going to try to do justice to our conversation because it was sweet and somewhat worth remembering. Ok, she was sweet and by the end I made a fool of myself. But maybe I didn’t make a fool of myself since Scottie knows me and is friends with my friends. And my friends have come to expect some foolish behavior from me.
So the conversation…
Me: “Hey Smokey the Bear. Why are you up so late?”
Scottie: “We have Halizer’s quiz tomorrow.”
Me: “Sure. That’s why I’m up so late.”
Scottie: “What is the name of our class?”
Me: “Post-Renaissance Spain.”
Scottie: “Ok so you remember the name of our class. What else do you know?”
Scottie got to show off for me as she talked at me about regionalism, the connection between geography and Spanish political history and said something about the differences in the caste system between new and old world Spain. Her showing off was helping me to bone up for our quiz and I am nothing if not grateful.
Me: “Wanna smoke?”
Scottie: “Hell yeah I do. Time to relax. Bring it to my room. I’ll wait there.”
She was waiting and I didn’t forget anything. We only smoked a little and sat on the top bunk next to each other, backs against the wall. It was hard for her to get comfortable. She had taken off her red & black sweatshirt off before I got to the room. All she had on was a loose tank top and it left her shoulders exposed. Bare shoulders get extra cold against these dorm walls.
Now the next part is big and stupid. I insinuated that Scottie was big and might be lonely, and that means, of course, I am stupid.
Me: “This is true whether we're this way or not...”
Scottie: “The truth is probably still true no matter what shape you’re in eddie.”
She called me eddie.
Me, oblivious: “I love when girls like you wear sweats.”
Uh oh
Scottie: “What the fuck does that mean ed?”
Oh shit
Me: “I just mean. I don’t know.”
Scottie: “Big girls. You mean you love when big girls where sweats? Fat girls? Fat girls who will let you get in their pants because you barely get them high with your nasty, leftover, bottom of the bag weed?”
Ok, I’m trying to remember everything she said, but I was a little up in the clouds and it was very late. She probably tore into me much better than this. Scottie was smart and could be nasty. That’s part of what made her so attractive.
Me: “Come on I just thought ‘We’re lonely here, together’ and you know?”
Scottie: “Yeah? I have a boyfriend at home.”
Me: “Oh. That’s why I never see you going out with anyone.”
Scottie: “And you assumed it was fat, lonely me waiting every night for you to what?”
Me: “Just, you know. Put my hands on you. You’re cold. Give you a massage.”
Scottie: “A massage? Then why talk about my sweats?”
Fair question
Me: “Look Scottie, I’m sorry. I’m high and a little horny. You were being nice to me and I’m a jerk.”
Scottie: “Damn right you’re the jerk.”
Me: “Sorry.”
Scottie: “Not every one just waits around for a chance to screw, or massage or whatever you were trying to do here.”
Me: “I know.”
Scottie: “Are you going to just keep saying ‘I know’? You’re not even going to try and defend yourself?
Me: “What’s there to defend?”
I left and, obviously, we didn’t do it. This isn’t tv where people get mad one minute and the next they are all over each other. This is my life. When people are mad they are fucking mad and I just have to deal with it until they are not mad.
It all sort of worked out for me anyhow, although I would’ve loved even to just help Scottie get off. Our talk helped me pull a 90% or something like that on the quiz.
Glad I bumped into Scottie.
Insert “bumped” joke here.
Insert “insert” joke here.
Insert “here” joke there.
I need to think less about fucking and more about sleeping.
Ran into Karla and she was up even later than me, although technically I guess I was still up. She seemed more active than me at this late hour. In my defense I found leisure with Scottie hence my nigh-relaxed state. Did I just say "nigh"? What am I a horse?
High as a horse on my high horse.
We smoked a bunch of cigarettes and listened to the Alarm. I've never been a big fan of that band. I always thought, 'Well these guys'll do until some interesting music comes back'
I'm still waiting.
