05.16.2002 -> 05.19.2002 - It Was So Much Easier When I Was Cruel

There's something about knowing the weekend is just around the corner that really keeps a fella from wanting to hang himself. As a matter of fact, I felt downright chipper on Thursday, which is not like me at all. Surprisingly, it ain't that bad.

My attitude change certainly helped me get through work, but I think being smiley and positive took way too much energy. I lasted about thirty seconds after arriving home before I smiled coyly at my bed and cooed, "hey, sweet thang. It's about time we get reacquainted, don't you think?" Naptime is the best time, y'all.

SinceThursday marks the beginning of our weekend, Jackson and I tried to think of something to do with our evening after I arose from my power sleep. We decided to check out a new place for tapioca drinks. Since the weather was nice, I suggested we walk. My nap must have made me slightly delerious, because I can't remember ever having suggested that we walk instead of drive anywhere. Still, the mild exercise did us good, as did having a mouthful of balls.

On Friday morning, Jackson tapped on my door to wake me up. We had appointment to go check out a house, and he said he'd get me up on time to go. Since he was a little late, I had about seven minutes to shower and make myself look unlike a transient so the realator wouldn't immediately disqualify us due to their strict "no bums" policy. Somehow, I got it done in time and we left to pick up Alyssa before heading out to East Davis.

When we got to the house, I thought Jackson's description of it as "ugly" was unfair. I expected it to have a lawn tall enough to hide a Trans-am, peeling paint and dilapidated house furniture in the driveway. You know, like the house I lived in last year. It's a normal, older suburban home with a well-kept lawn. It was a pleasant surprise. The house seemed great. It has a huge backyard, a fireplace and a huge living room. Everything looked good until I saw the room I'd be staying in. The house's owners decided to convert half of the two car garage into a bedroom, creating a space big enough to hold either my bed or my furniture, but not both. In fact, I dont recall seeing a closet in there. Obviously, this soured my opinion of the place. I spend a lot of time secluded in my room, and I could imagine myself being cosmically unhappy in such a tiny space. I don't really care to have a considerable rent increase to live in a walk-in closet with delusions of grandeur.

Alyssa and Jackson really liked the place, so I felt bad when I voiced my disappointment. I understand why they would be upset with me-- the vacancy rate in Davis is less than one percent and we've waited too long to secure housing for ourselves-- but I'm sure listening to me bitch for twelve months and seeing my naked ass as I run from my room to the hall closet to get clothes would be worse in the long run. I just hope we can find something better, otherwise, my unwillingness to sacrifice now might see us looking for a four bedroom cardboard box in two months.

After we finished viewing the house, we dropped Alyssa off on campus and went to enjoy some sushi. I'm still off my game, as I only ate about nine plates before I felt too sick to go on. I think I need to give it a rest for about a month when I'll be able to represent fatties across the globe and eat a proper amount of sushi at the all-you-can-eat buffet. Jackson weighs roughly as much as a pair of my pants, yet he ate more than me. This will not stand. I will train and eventually return triumphant.

From there, I went out to Sacramento to celebrate Haircut Friday. Now, the main reason I continue to drive all the way out there for a haircut is that the woman massages my head. I saw that she had some sort of massage thing set up on a cot, and when I asked her about it, she asked me if I wanted to use it. I said, "of course," and waited for her to finish chopping my locks before I went at it.

I thought it was some sort of Shiatsu machine, so I started to rest my neck on it before she told me that my ankles went in the machine. She instructed me to drink a glass of water, lay down, put my ankles in the cups and take a nap for about a half hour. Everything sounded swell until she turned the thing on. It gyrated my ankles, causing my whole body to churn in kind of a subdued epileptic seizure motion, making napping completely impossible. It took about twenty minutes to come around to the wonders of the machine, and when it finally stopped ten minutes later, I felt a wonderful sensation either from the gyration or from the roofies she slipped into my water. Either way, it's well worth the drive to get a haircut and massage therapy. So what if I get a little molested. I can just look the other way. It's worth it.

That night, I went to see Rodzilla and Mr. Bestfriendinthewholewideworld play before heading out to a party where I couldn't really enjoy myself, mostly because I'm a total social retard, but also partially because I didn't feel like being a third wheel to Mr. Bestfriendinthewholewideworld and his girlfriend. I guess the former has a lot to do with my displeasure in the latter, though, so I guess I don't really have a reason to complain.

You'd think someone had just offered to pay me to sex up all the ladies on People Magazine's Hottest 25 under 25 list if you had seen me jumping around all giddy like on Saturday morning, but that, unfortunately, was not the case. No, my exuberance stemmed from the fact that I had just taken my last penicillin tablet and I had thus broken free from my oppressive schedule. I celebrated by putting new tires on the Shaggin' Wagon and waiting until the evening when I could once again consume me some liquor.

See, just before I got sick, I bought two bottles of wine, and because I haven't been able to drink for the past three and a half weeks, they've been sitting on the shelf mocking me. I took one of them on Saturday night and put her down as punishment.

Since we knew of nothing else going on, Jackson and I decided to go check out the independent film festival on campus. While it did get us out of the apartment for a while, it probably was only marginally better than walking around downtown and asking people to punch us in the 'taint. The movie was that bad, and no amount of heckling could make it entertaining enough to sit through the entire ninety minutes of digitally filmed schlock.

We spent the rest of the evening watching Will Farrell's last episode of Saturday Night Live and complaining, because that's my one true talent. It was nice to fall asleep knowing I didn't have to wake up at six and scurry into the kitchen to choke down a pill. Sleeping straight through to eight o'clock is much better. When did I forget how to sleep in?

I might as well have slept the whole day away, because all the meaningful things I accomplished took roughly thirty minutes out of my schedule. Item one on the agenda was to trek out to Target to purchase some razor blades so that I don't look like I fell chin first in some dirt. While there, some girl walked by tittering and said to her friends "he looks like Jack from The Osbournes." That's the fourth time this has happened. Next person gets stabbed in the neck unless they want to give me money for being tubby and wearing glasses.

When I got home, I planned on going back to the film festival to see Jane White is Sick and Twisted, but I got caught up trying to get myself a ticket to see Elvis Costello on Wednesday. I thought I had waited too long, but about two minutes after I posted on a message board asking if anyone had a single ticket for me, I had an e-mail in my inbox with an offer. I immediately made a phone call and arranged to drive out to Concord to pick up my tenth row center ticket at face value. It wasn't until that point in time that I really had a reason to justify Thursday's pleasant mood. I think my disposition is just a few days ahead of its time.

With all that excitement, I ended up falling asleep at approximately nine o'clock. It's nice to be able to do that again. Hopefully I'll be less cranky this week for it.

But what's the fun in that?

-- Jeffy