02.09.2002 - Slothfest 2K2

When I woke up this morning, I thought to myself, "I could either be productive and write a column or do some laundry or I could just sit in my pajamas and eat grilled cheese sandwiches all day." Nine hours later, I found myself sprawled out on the couch dusting sourdough bread crumbs off my flannel pants. Productivity is totally overrated.

This Saturday was a far cry from the last when I was in a city with no clocks, which is good, because you can drink before noon and nobody will accuse you of being an alcoholic since nobody knows what time it is anyway. Life would be much better if there were no clocks, scantily clad girls with free drinks and dim lighting everywhere.

Today, there was no debauchery. There was just me lazing around with my hoodie pulled over my head participating in some bizarre experiment wherein I see exactly how greasy I can get before I finally give up and take a shower.

I took sloth, my favorite of the seven deadlies, to a new level, as the only remotely active thing I did was flip channels on the clicker. This brought me to an awful edited for television version of Swingers. Networks of the world, I implore you, don't try to edit a movie where the word "fuck" is used more often than astroglide on the set of Stop, My Ass Is On Fire IV so that it's palpable to old geezers in the bible belt. They won't watch it anyway. You're ruining my favorite movies for me.

Eventually, though, I had to bathe, as my fellow columnist, Jeremy Abramson, a.k.a. Grandpa 'Tang Wrangler, threw a party this evening. I didn't shower until nine o'clock this evening.

If you could possibly want to do it with me more right now, your head would explode. I'm sure of it.

I got cleaned up, tried to calm Jackson down from his comic book high and headed on over to Jeremy's house.

Now, several things kept me from enjoying this party as much as I should have. First of all, my job situation still nagged me. Thinking about fellating strange men for rent money in the event that I lose my job kind of kept me from living in the moment. Also, I knew pretty much everyone at the party, and I just didn't have much to say to any of them.

I did, however, meet a lovely girl by the name of Millie. Jeremy gave her my screenname after she IMed him because of his column. It turns out that she worked on a movie with a good friend of mine from high school. I made several comments about how I would make clumsy advances towards her at the party. However, since I was feeling completely antisocial, I barely said more than "hello" to her. Because I'm lame, I apologized for not being friendlier to her over AIM when I got home. Since I know she reads it, I said something about how I would gush about her in the diary, to which she replied, "that would make my whole week, or make my hole weak."

Since that was probably the funniest thing I've heard in weeks, I'll gush away.

Oh Millie, you so fine. You so fine you blow my mind. Hey Millie *clap clap clap*.

And this, folks, is a lesson on how to be pathetic. I should charge for this.

-- Jeffy