2002-11-18 - 10:13 p.m.

Hmmmmm. I'm tired. This entry, my Spirit of '76 if you will, was originally going to be an unasked for rebuttal of my last entry. And by that I mean an absence of doom and gloom. Which my last entry seemed to have in spades. Spades I say. This one was going to be all unicorns and flowers. Flowers and unicorns. But now I'm not in a unicorn and flowery mood. But don't worry, I had a lot of shit I wrote down for that entry, so it will probably pop up in some form in the near future. Don't worry, I'll alert you faithful readers with something like "This is the reanimated husk of the 'Unicorns and Flowers' entry I was going to write a while back." You know, for the records and all. . .

It's Monday night. I didn't get to see Harry Potter this last weekend. Was too busy. Everyone else and their brother (literally) got to see the motherfucker. But not me. Oh no, not me. Sold Out on Friday, had to work and throw myself to the party volcano on Saturday, and there was no one to go with on Sunday. Yeah - so that was annoying.

I have such a big paper due for my Shakespeare class tomorrow morning and I haven't even started it yet. God I fucking suck. Why can I only work under pressure? Stupid Othello. Stupid King Lear.

Damn it, that pizza and barq's keeps repeatin' on me. Oh well, I knew what I was getting in to as soon as I stepped up to the Italian plate at Roman Delight.

Yeah, I had a bunch of things I wanted to cover and now I can't remember any of them. I got my haircut. For the first time since right before the Road Trip. It was loooong. Over my ears and starting to get in my eyes long. Now it's short. Oh so very short. It was shorter than I wanted it. Seriously Clyde, I don't think it's been this short since my days at Sentinel. Ha, Ha. I just went to the Sentinel website and it's all loving, and worship, and jesus fish and shit. Man, that is such a cover. They make it sound like it is one big Kumbaya-fest. Well, ok, we *did* sing Kumbaya. That much is true. But you'd think it was a fucking seminary school the way they describe it on the website. Man, I'd like to think there's some acreage in heaven that has an exact replica of Sentinel. Sentinel was different for everyone. I think Ben got something different out of it than I did, and I think Jeff got something different than both of us. There's very few times in my life that if I could relive them I wouldn't change a thing. My seven years at Sentinel is one of those times. Oh Hobby House how you opened my eyes to the world. So yeah, my hair is really fucking short. Seriously, it's really fucking short.

[Hobby House: the United Nations of Love]

Yeah, so the world is against me finishing this entry as well as going to bed early. And do I really fucking need the sleep. The pathetic Pats game pushed Alias to 12:30, and then I stayed up and watched an old episode of E.R. after that. I couldn't help it! It was the one where Carter and Lucy got stabbed! And Abby was running around being all Abby-like! So yeah, first Satan had Rick call me and tell me all about all the things I didn't get to see by missing Harry Potter. And then McLaughlin called and he, like the many other who thought I was one call away from the suicide hotline after my last entry, was concerned. I assured him it was just the usual temporary, but ever-increasing lapse of sanity. He went for it. He's still not sure if he's going to be able to come home from Twenty Nine Palms for the holidays. One thing he did know is that his sister, Kate, is now engaged. Oh my! And even the nebulous entity known as Maribeth McManos creeped back out of the crypt of time to haunt our conversation!

Did I mention anything about Jeff's birthday party on Saturday? About how Ben, Jimbo, Rich and I went over there to meet up with the usual Spaceian suspects? And how it was a crazy ice-storm all the while? And all the tension in the latter half of the night? Did I mention any of that? No - I didn't? Good. There's a reason for that.

Did I ever share that Ben and I got a private screening of Punch Drunk Love when we were home two weekends ago? Well, we did. It was good. We both liked it quite a bit. And Utah played a villainous role. And I don't think I need to tell any of you how true to real life that is. We shook our fists at the screen and hissed every time Utah was on screen. Mormons fuck me once, shame on them. Mormons fuck me twice, shame on me. I can't believe I even presumed above that I'd be going to heaven. Fuck, I'm 3rd to last in line to heaven with Helen Hunt and Kirstie Alley bringing up the rear.

So yeah, Jimbo leaves for his little trip to California this week. Boy, everyone has gold rush fever. I don't point fingers. Even I was a '49-er a few months ago. I wonder if all the kids in Cali are like, "What is it with all our fucking friends that are so god damend fascinated with fucking New Hampshire?" Well, that's assuming they swear every 2.7 seconds like me. But you get the point.

So I get home from work tonight. A long day, and then a night at work that mostly consisted of recapping Brooke on what happened on Alias and fighting with Kate about who got to build the store's new tree house display {sample dialogue: Z: "Kate, I believe the directions explicitly say 'Please read no further if you have ovaries', so. . . you know - hand them over." K: "Fuck. You." Z: "Ovaries" K: "Again. Fuck. You."}. So yeah, I get home from work tonight. And I find a bunch of our shit in boxes. Ugh. I start having panic attacks. I have never had a positive move. Ever. EVER. Now, I know what all my army brat friends are gonna say. That they moved 16 times growing up and had to keep switching schools and wah, wah, wah. Well, I don't have any army brat friends so I don't give a fuck. '87, '98, '00, '01, and now '02. I so don't want to do this but at the same time I realize it's for the best. And I know that Ben and everyone else is all excited about the house and that I've stayed relatively silent about it. Well, you don't need to know me for more than 2 minutes to know that ain't a good sign. I don't know. I know people think I'm selfish, and I don't care, I AM selfish. I'm a fucking - excuse me, I was raised as a fucking only child. Of course I'm fucking selfish. Ok, now I think I'm having another panic attack. This is SO not what I was supposed to do tonight. Now I'm not even gonna get six hours of sleep after the 3 1/2 I got last night. So shit is being gradually taken off the walls and each night that I come home the boxes are piled higher and higher. I'm so sick of re-acclimating. Fuck. I'm done talking about this for now. Argh.

I was gonna build this up as a big story, but most of you know about it now anyway so here it is: Last week, on the SAME FUCKING DAY, I ran into Sarah Landow AND Ellen Shaw. Landow was on campus and Ellen came into the Wallakers. I called Mad Dog like four times to tell him of the sighting of the girl who tried to end his life in middle school with a math compass but the fucker never answered his damn cell phone. And Ellen came into the store like I said. And I'm already going to hell, so I'm not gonna elaborate on it here. But needless to say, SOMEONE is short a pair of lemon slice earings.

I promise, I promise, someday soon - Unicorns and Flowers. Unicorns and Flowers.

Justin tells me that in reality, I am no Psycho Killer. I say, maybe not, but that doesn't change the fact that my bed's on fire.

It's been real,

Shorty McBuzzcut

ps -

Z: "But seriously . . . O.N.N.A."

K: "What?!"

Z: "Ovaries Need Not Apply to build tree-houses."

K: "But seriously . . . Fuck. You."

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