Tuesday, June 25, 2002

too many phone calls while i tried to write this

Option #1: Leave my room door open, which allows for a little more circulation with the effects of cross-ventilation, but not even that much more circulation. But any amount is a godsend. Take it where you can get it, as they say.

Option #2: Keep my door closed, so I can sit around in my room in my underwear and be even cooler.

The heat in our room is so oppresive. I know a couple entries ago, I went on and on about the benefits of heat, but I take it all back, every last word. I am tired of sweating all day. My ass sweats probably just as much as my forehead, which by the way, sweats an insane amount, meaning that my underwear is usually damp with warm sweat, which is not very pleasant, and so, I'd rather keep my door closed so that that way it is just sweat on my skin, instead of sweat soaking my clothes.

However much fun it is to sit around in my room naked, it is also occasionally problematic, since for some reason people have been knocking on my door these past couple days, which has not really happened at all since I've been here. But now that I just want to sit around naked in my room, in our little sweat lodge, people decide that they want to come talk to me, which requires awkward stretches of time while I hurriedly get dressed so I can answer the door or the phone. I have found that it is better to just sit around in underwear, because I don't mind answering the door in underwear and it gets rid of those weird waits they have to do until I answer the door.

Underwear also serves another beneficial purpose. It prevents me from masturbating all day. Yesterday, I was of course just sitting around naked in the heat reading, when I decided to masturbate since I was already naked and I had nothing else to do. And luckily, I got up and bolted the door before I did, because right as I was getting really into masturbating, knock knock knock [noise of the door handle turning but not opening because of the bolt]. I was very embarrased, and thought that it was Bonnie coming back from hanging out with her family, so I quickly tried to look presentable, tossed through all the clothes on our floor, looking desperatly for a pair of shorts, put on a pair and then unlocked and opened the door to see an empty hall. I heard someone call my name and come back down the hall towards my room, and was about to apoligize to Bonnie, and then of course, who is it? None other than the heartthrob of Babcock House, our one sort of friend in the house, Shannon. He asks real hurriedly, "What are you doing?" I stutter trying to think of something that would explain why it took me so long to get the door and why I am just in this little pair of shorts, "Um, um, um - just reading stuff and playing on the internet." He so knew I was jacking off, I could tell, and then he said, "Can you drive me somewhere?" And I told them that I just had to get dressed and he said that he'd meet me in the parking lot. Very very embarrasing, and by the time I finally got down to the parking lot, he told me not to worry about it, that he found someone else to drive him, since they knew the Madison streets better. As soon as I got back to my room, I just gasped with embarrasment and hit my hand against the couch in a sad attempt to somehow physically express my state of shock.

Then today, after I got out of the shower, I just sat around naked for like an hour, drying off, and reading the news on the internet. I thought about masturbating but decided I should start getting dressed so I could go apply for some jobs today. And so, I put on a pair of underwear and then "Rebel, Rebel" came on the Bowie CD that I was listening to, and I got totally distracted from getting dressed, becoming way to into singing along with Bowie the second I heard, "You got your mother in a whirl / She's not sure if you're a boy or a girl." Knock, knock, knock. I open up the door, still in my silly underwear, and yes, it is Heartthrob USA again, Shannon, and this time he is shirtless. And, I felt like such a little boy looking into this mirror of how I wish my chest looked, like I was eleven again in front of the full-length mirrors in my parent's bedroom before they got home from work, shirtless and doing some Hulk Hogan arm thingys to show off the pythons that I had in my daydreams.

[Joel just right now knocked on my door to tell me I had a phone call and Bonnie did to, and I answered the door again in my underwear and Joel gave me a very puzzled look like he couldn't understand that I am just wearing underwear cause it is goddman hot up in this Babcock house. The call for me was Niki and the other one was scary Elton John Boy calling for Bonnie who will be mentioned later in this entry.]

A span of seriously of fifteen seconds occured after I wrote that, before the phone rang again, and it was Nora, who I haven't talked to in forever and it was so nice to talk to her, but while I was on the phone with her, scary Elton John Boy, who from now on will be referred simply as Scary Boy called back twice and hung up. All this phone activity has made me decide to just continue wearing shorts so I don't have to scurry to get dressed everytime that goddamn phone rings.

Okay anyways, there have been far too many interruptions during this thingy, so I am going to just forgo any attempts to make some sort of transition between whatever I was talking about and what I want to talk about now: last night. Always a good topic when you run out of things to talk about, and an even better one when something actually occured during said "last night." Like so many stories, this one will also start out with that modern version of "once upon a time," the ubiquitous "Last night...," showing all too vividly the collapse of historical concerns, how we don't care what happened during some vague time, we need a defined temporal setting, and one that is not too far back, something that happened recently, whatever the hell that means.

Last night, Bonnie and I met up with Dave and went for drinks at Paradise, this bar that played super loud rock n' roll, some of it really good (Rolling Stones and NIN (shut-up, I still like NIN, you snot)) and some of it not so really good (Rage and songs I have no idea who they're sung by). [God, I think this is the worst entry ever, I keep on getting sidetracked by the phone. I actually just talked to Dave on the phone, and I am getting sort of tired of writing this entry, so the rest is going to be brief.] We could hardly hear each other talk because the music was so loud, but we managed to carry on a fun conversation regardless, and drank a couple pitchers of beer, and ate some cheese curds. I talked to some sketchy boy who told me some long story about going down on his girlfriend, and how she'll never let him make her cum, because she has some sort of issues that I never fully grasped. But anyways, he said that he needed to hear girls scream when he had sex with them, and how he's frustrated by her not cumming and screaming. And on and on, except he was a lot more graphic and had the cutest smile on his face the whole while, and I was seriously getting a boner listening to him talk so dirty. I love talking to totally random people about their lifes, bars are so fun in this respect.

We decided to try a different bar, hopefully one where we could talk more. We went next door to the Shamrock, but got turned away because Bonnie's a silly girl and forgot her ID at home. Then we went to the Rainbow Ro [I kid you not, another phone interuption. This time it was Niki babbling drunkenly about something or other.] om, where I met Tommy, who kept on hitting on me, and trying to convince me to come to Club-5 with him. He was pretty cute though, and so I flirted back with him, which was pretty fun. The Rainbow Room was my fantasy bar last night, it was what I always hoped they would be like, you know the "Cheers" vision of bars that everyone has, "where everybody knows your name." Everyone called the bartender by his name, Jeff. And everyone was so friendly and not exclusive at all and talked to everyone, which was really nice to see in a gay bar of all places. The three of us got up to put some tunes on the jukebox and put on the most non-gay music we could find on the jukebox (Johnny Cash, Violent Femmes, and Prince and Fleetwood Mac (who may still be sort of gay music, but compared to the other stuff on the jukebox, it was hetero as it could get)). We put on Elton John's "Benny and the Jets," because that is definitly in my top five favorite songs ever (Bonnie can testify - because of my love and repetition of this song, she hates it so much). While this was playing, Scary Boy, some short, chubby guy, told all of us how he played with Elton John and all these wild lies about himself. We were listening to him, unlike probably anyone else, and he sort of took a liking to Bonnie, so somehow we got him to buy us drinks. He would eventually buy us three rounds of drinks, but we definitly had to pay for it later, listening to his insane lies about how he used to be a stripper and how he had a sheet of acid, and just all sorts of bogus boasting.

A couple songs after Elton John, "Landslide" came on, another one of my choices and Tommy came up to me again and asked again if I'd come to Club-5 with him. I was sort of getting aroused by Tommy, because he is young and thin and Lindsey. Tommy was so Lindsey Montanna in so many respects. He reminded me so much of her, because he talked the same way in that really crude but funny manner, and had the same "Oh my gawd" facial expressions. [Scary Boy just called again and tried me to get him to tell him where this house was located. Scary.] So yeah, I haven't had sex in forever and seriously sort of wanted to go home with Tommy but didn't want to be real trashy, getting with someone I've known for five minutes, so I needed an excues to justify being a slut. I told him if he could tell me who sings this song, then I'll go with you. Now remember this is fucking "Landslide," probably one of the easiest songs in the world do identify, but he kept guessing all these completely wrong people, sort of to my dismay, since I was hoping he knew something about music, but even more so, because I sort of wanted to go with him. Yeah, I know I'm such an idiot about some things. Thanks for the reminder. But, he gave me his number before he left and I told him I'd go out with him tonight, but I forgot to call, and I'll call him after I finish writing this, but I'm sure he'll already be gone by then.

People, I really need to get off the computer, I have been writing this stupid entry forever. Quick wrap-up: We for some reason gave Scary Boy our phone number because we were drizzityunk and really wanted to score some acid from him, which in retrospect now, I realize he probably did not have. He followed us as we walking. We stopped at a corner to say good-bye to him, Bonnie gave him a hug which turned into him making out with her. Dave thoughtfully rescued Bonnie by grabbing her and telling her we had to go, but Scary Boy followed us and kept talking to us and walking with us, all the while saying, "I'm not following you or nothing, I live this way." Even though, we literally kept on turning back and forth down the street trying to get away from him. We finally took off running, but he ran too. But, then real randomly he just stopped following us once we got near State Street. But, this boy is so scary, and if he calls one more time, I'm going to verbally kick his ass through the phone line - I just really hope none of the other Babcock boys pick up the phone and answer his seemingly innocous questions: Is this a rooming house? What type of house is this? So, where is it located? --- Bonnie ofically has a stalker.

We jumped around in the fountain in front of the library. I pushed Bonnie down into the water. Some random girl, jokingly yelled at me, and said she was going to kick my ass. I challenged her to wrestle, egging her on, and she came in the fountain and we had a splashing match. Fun times. God, I've been writing this forever, type to bring it to a close. We walked Dave home, ending up drinking in front of [Bonnie just called and I was less than cordial, cause I am getting goddamn motherfucking tired of talking on that phone. If one more person calls tonight, I am going to kick some motherfucking ass.] his dorm. Till really late and yada yada yada, I am getting the fuck offline.

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