So, a big wow to yesterday.
Feb. 7th, 2004 01:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aruanWe'll just do this chronologically, as there's no bad here and no best place to begin.
The boy made me an outline. He knew I was swamped with assignments this week on top of work and being sick and having a tough time of it, so he made an outline of the book we had a test on today in History of the American Revolution. I didn't actually take him up on it, as I would've felt guilty given that he said this in the middle of a conversation wherein I was drafting the breakup speech, but isn't that so sweet? It's pretty damn sweet.
Which isn't the problem! I need to keep in light the problems, which is his continually sucktastic sense of humor, the fact that we have almost zero in common, his pothead ways, and his utter lack of passion. This whole thing is so doomed, yet I can't muster conviction enough to walk away.
Caught myself up on JC's appearances, the highlights of all the print stuff, and goodness but I couldn't be more proud of that boy's classy eloquence. Also, as others have said, you can't buy this kind of publicity. He should totally be invited to the Grammys and enter the stage to deafening applause.
By some personal best, I got seventy pages of said book read (about a third of it) and wrote a truly kickass, comprehensive, 4-page essay on it. I might rock a lot. After that, I finished a lot "" of French homework and got to class on time, then wrote a paper that normally takes me at least two hours in one and got my car to run it down to the Psychology building.
Having had to park in Orange, I ran down Cardiac Hill, found the main office, ran back up - only to find a parking enforcement officer dutifully jotting down my license plate information. "No, no, no, no, no," I said. "I swear I was just here for two seconds, dropping off a paper." He looks at me, obviously flushed and breathing hard, and says, "Okay," and moves on. Woohoo! Thank you, good sir.
At the mall, I finally got the security tag removed from pants I bought two months ago, saw shirts like "Tough Guys Wear Pink" (black text on hot pink fabric) and "Absolutely Fabulous" (vice-versa), still haven't figured out what musical figure I can pass myself off as sufficiently enough for a costume party.
The boy and I had coffee I've been craving for a week at Starbucks, along with more than two hours' worth of good conversation. Turns out he's not put off by my enthusiasm but doesn't reciprocate the energy of it at all, and see above for the rest. I just don't know if there's any 'there' there, but this was a good occasion to remember that we do play off each other well, but without really clicking, if you know what I mean.
Afterwards I braved the rain to grab the champagne that's been malingering in my room and went to Logan's 21st birthday bash. Which was amazing.
"You're bringing up the class here," Seth says as I walk up. Uh, with a pink pinstriped charcoal blazer, jeans, orange flip-flops and a shirt that reads,"I Kissed the Lead Singer?" Sure. Anyway, RJ was just coming out of his apartment to join to fray so I snagged him for a hug right quick before going inside.
The party was already swinging and the birthday boy was not to be outdone, so after hugging him, too, I took it upon myself to catch up. Now, my mama done did raise me better, but I knew who made the punch as well as its ingredients, and trusted the people in attendance so I partook of the communal vat of Hunch Punch in a timely fashion. It was sort of like a lemony appletini, which meant I was sipping it like water after not having eaten for almost six hours.
You know where this is eventually headed. But for now, I kicked one Chris' ass at Dr. Mario, chatted up George and Seth, and ran into my editor, Kelly in a big, loud squeefest. She'd apparently interviewed Logan over the summer about the RPS (minds out of the wishful gutter, it's the Rock, Paper, Scissors club) and stayed friends with him, but get this - without so much as knowing RJ. I ran into people all night who knew one of them and not the other, and for a pair I called The Twins for a large majority of Senior year, that's just bizarre. Anyway, we chat about her own plans to move to New York with the friend she brought, writing, these parties being practically like a high school reunion for me.
Caught James for a split second sometime during my second Punch refill and Marie Gilbert's entrance, who promptly pulled me out onto the patio with her. I don't smoke, but wow, I've never been that grateful for a cigarette as I was standing out in that hall with her. She's doing well, just came from a date, too, mechanical engineering major (yeah, she's the girl everyone wanted and copied answers from) and thinking about going into the Navy after graduation. She's the second person talking about doing something she wouldn't ordinarily have considered, but taking those few years in-between to bide time before going out into the hopefully less-than-sucktastic job market. Anyway, for not ever really having been good friends, we talked as easily as we always do. She was good to catch up with - I'm really happy with whom I've kept in touch with from high school. I do love these kids so hard and suck profoundly for not hanging out with them more.
I went back inside for yet more punch (though, to be fair, I only had three cupfuls in three hours, which would've been fine if I drank with intent more than a few times a year and had eaten, but by the time I claimed the last of the Punch, I'd reached the height of my wastedness and dancing sounded like just about the best idea ever. And while I remember dancing to Milkshake with Kelly, Hey Ya with RJ (I'm always surprised how well the right amount of alcohol lubricates the joints - I haven't felt that fluid in forever and just as an aside, I'd like to take a moment and recommend that boy's skillz), I cannot for the life of me remember the song George and I got kind of rather freaky to. [ETA: Move Your Feet! Yes, yes it was. I remember the five-time beat in the chorus. Heh.] Excellent fun all around.
However, three songs of fairly intense dancing and still having only drunk Punch for the past three hours, I was understandably feeling a bit lightheaded. Had the presence of mind to fix myself a glass of water and found James again, dragging him downstairs to chill in a windy alcove of the complex and breathe a little. George joined us, too, and we all talked, though I couldn't for the life of me tell you about what - I was too busy reassuring myself I wasn't in fact moving. George got me some more water at his place (it's plumb convenient they all live in this tiny little complex together) and we stood out on his patio talking some more. I was doing better with the water but moving still wasn't entirely advisable, so I commandeered their sofa. After a 45-minute nap and some Ritz Chips (fantastic stuff, FYI) I was good as new. Found RJ with a couple of people out on the patio and proceeded to have one of the more surreal conversations of my life about the virtue of boxer briefs over boxers, gay men's appreciation for women's breasts, assuring that slutdom is perfectly acceptable if one is safe, among other things I've either repressed or am better off not trying too hard to remember.
By that time, things had mostly wound down (it being past four in the morning), so I bid farewells and mostly fell into bed. Mmm, definitely more often.
I fucking love Beetlejuice. Michael Keaton, man. As for the rest of the day, there's time enough to write essays, watch Emerald Cove and three weeks of Angel and Smallville, plus good times with Miranda and Jon. *stretches luxuriously*
The boy made me an outline. He knew I was swamped with assignments this week on top of work and being sick and having a tough time of it, so he made an outline of the book we had a test on today in History of the American Revolution. I didn't actually take him up on it, as I would've felt guilty given that he said this in the middle of a conversation wherein I was drafting the breakup speech, but isn't that so sweet? It's pretty damn sweet.
Which isn't the problem! I need to keep in light the problems, which is his continually sucktastic sense of humor, the fact that we have almost zero in common, his pothead ways, and his utter lack of passion. This whole thing is so doomed, yet I can't muster conviction enough to walk away.
Caught myself up on JC's appearances, the highlights of all the print stuff, and goodness but I couldn't be more proud of that boy's classy eloquence. Also, as others have said, you can't buy this kind of publicity. He should totally be invited to the Grammys and enter the stage to deafening applause.
By some personal best, I got seventy pages of said book read (about a third of it) and wrote a truly kickass, comprehensive, 4-page essay on it. I might rock a lot. After that, I finished a lot "" of French homework and got to class on time, then wrote a paper that normally takes me at least two hours in one and got my car to run it down to the Psychology building.
Having had to park in Orange, I ran down Cardiac Hill, found the main office, ran back up - only to find a parking enforcement officer dutifully jotting down my license plate information. "No, no, no, no, no," I said. "I swear I was just here for two seconds, dropping off a paper." He looks at me, obviously flushed and breathing hard, and says, "Okay," and moves on. Woohoo! Thank you, good sir.
At the mall, I finally got the security tag removed from pants I bought two months ago, saw shirts like "Tough Guys Wear Pink" (black text on hot pink fabric) and "Absolutely Fabulous" (vice-versa), still haven't figured out what musical figure I can pass myself off as sufficiently enough for a costume party.
The boy and I had coffee I've been craving for a week at Starbucks, along with more than two hours' worth of good conversation. Turns out he's not put off by my enthusiasm but doesn't reciprocate the energy of it at all, and see above for the rest. I just don't know if there's any 'there' there, but this was a good occasion to remember that we do play off each other well, but without really clicking, if you know what I mean.
Afterwards I braved the rain to grab the champagne that's been malingering in my room and went to Logan's 21st birthday bash. Which was amazing.
"You're bringing up the class here," Seth says as I walk up. Uh, with a pink pinstriped charcoal blazer, jeans, orange flip-flops and a shirt that reads,"I Kissed the Lead Singer?" Sure. Anyway, RJ was just coming out of his apartment to join to fray so I snagged him for a hug right quick before going inside.
The party was already swinging and the birthday boy was not to be outdone, so after hugging him, too, I took it upon myself to catch up. Now, my mama done did raise me better, but I knew who made the punch as well as its ingredients, and trusted the people in attendance so I partook of the communal vat of Hunch Punch in a timely fashion. It was sort of like a lemony appletini, which meant I was sipping it like water after not having eaten for almost six hours.
You know where this is eventually headed. But for now, I kicked one Chris' ass at Dr. Mario, chatted up George and Seth, and ran into my editor, Kelly in a big, loud squeefest. She'd apparently interviewed Logan over the summer about the RPS (minds out of the wishful gutter, it's the Rock, Paper, Scissors club) and stayed friends with him, but get this - without so much as knowing RJ. I ran into people all night who knew one of them and not the other, and for a pair I called The Twins for a large majority of Senior year, that's just bizarre. Anyway, we chat about her own plans to move to New York with the friend she brought, writing, these parties being practically like a high school reunion for me.
Caught James for a split second sometime during my second Punch refill and Marie Gilbert's entrance, who promptly pulled me out onto the patio with her. I don't smoke, but wow, I've never been that grateful for a cigarette as I was standing out in that hall with her. She's doing well, just came from a date, too, mechanical engineering major (yeah, she's the girl everyone wanted and copied answers from) and thinking about going into the Navy after graduation. She's the second person talking about doing something she wouldn't ordinarily have considered, but taking those few years in-between to bide time before going out into the hopefully less-than-sucktastic job market. Anyway, for not ever really having been good friends, we talked as easily as we always do. She was good to catch up with - I'm really happy with whom I've kept in touch with from high school. I do love these kids so hard and suck profoundly for not hanging out with them more.
I went back inside for yet more punch (though, to be fair, I only had three cupfuls in three hours, which would've been fine if I drank with intent more than a few times a year and had eaten, but by the time I claimed the last of the Punch, I'd reached the height of my wastedness and dancing sounded like just about the best idea ever. And while I remember dancing to Milkshake with Kelly, Hey Ya with RJ (I'm always surprised how well the right amount of alcohol lubricates the joints - I haven't felt that fluid in forever and just as an aside, I'd like to take a moment and recommend that boy's skillz), I cannot for the life of me remember the song George and I got kind of rather freaky to. [ETA: Move Your Feet! Yes, yes it was. I remember the five-time beat in the chorus. Heh.] Excellent fun all around.
However, three songs of fairly intense dancing and still having only drunk Punch for the past three hours, I was understandably feeling a bit lightheaded. Had the presence of mind to fix myself a glass of water and found James again, dragging him downstairs to chill in a windy alcove of the complex and breathe a little. George joined us, too, and we all talked, though I couldn't for the life of me tell you about what - I was too busy reassuring myself I wasn't in fact moving. George got me some more water at his place (it's plumb convenient they all live in this tiny little complex together) and we stood out on his patio talking some more. I was doing better with the water but moving still wasn't entirely advisable, so I commandeered their sofa. After a 45-minute nap and some Ritz Chips (fantastic stuff, FYI) I was good as new. Found RJ with a couple of people out on the patio and proceeded to have one of the more surreal conversations of my life about the virtue of boxer briefs over boxers, gay men's appreciation for women's breasts, assuring that slutdom is perfectly acceptable if one is safe, among other things I've either repressed or am better off not trying too hard to remember.
By that time, things had mostly wound down (it being past four in the morning), so I bid farewells and mostly fell into bed. Mmm, definitely more often.
I fucking love Beetlejuice. Michael Keaton, man. As for the rest of the day, there's time enough to write essays, watch Emerald Cove and three weeks of Angel and Smallville, plus good times with Miranda and Jon. *stretches luxuriously*
