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-=Written at 11:01 a.m. on 2003-02-22=-

So It Is & So It Goes

So we go from one totally awesome night to one that's incredibly SUB PAR. But that's alright, that doesn't mean it wasn't interesting.

I blew out of work at 1:30 (simply because I can and I don't care), and was thinking I would go to the gym. Once geared up, looking fruity in tight spandexy stuff, I think I am too tired to go to the gym. But instead of getting a good rest, I screw it up by popping a Xenadrine first before lounging on my dirty bed. Then Carrey calls, and invites me to the diner.

With Matt on the brain, I change out of workout clothes into something straight out of schoolgirl slut Vogue, page 12, which tells me a burgandy courderoy micromini goes good with a white dress shirt + tight black sweater buttoned only at the cleavage + lavender zip-up outer sweater with hood-like collar. The ensemble looks even better with my highheeled sneakers and white little ankle socks. I wear this to test it out, to see if I'd be comfortable out with Matt in this, and head for the diner.

I'm not that comfortable in it, but figure I'd ask the girls if it looks okay, as I assume they're the only ones who'll see me.

Wrong. Hemmy's at the diner w/3 of his friends, which makes me so unbelieveably nervous I can't even go say hi. I stare at him from afar, and he glances over a lot.

I hear them whisper but think they all are laughing at me.

Ah well, anyway, we eventually end up at 212 (that's the number of the house we hang at). I'm in something much more comfortable, and our friends Tanqueray and Captain Morgan make grand appearances. As does Ward. As does Strangeways, who hates Ward--because Ward wrote him a scathing email. An ugly arguement ensued, interrupting my pool game. Later, I call Hemmy and leave him a voicemail message, seeing if he wants to go to 212. I check my own voicemails and Matt is nowhere to be heard. Not surprising; our bail-out factor on each other is pretty high, so I'm not too disappointed. Maybe I'll invite him to a weekend trip I'll never take up in the Poconos.

We again end up at the diner, and Hemmy's there again, with a superhottie, so I definitely don't say anything to him but feel really goofy and loud.

Somehow Creepy James comes by our table. Carrey isn't in too great of spirits, because Boof is with a redhead at another table. [Note to self: convince self and Carrey that we should both resign our heterosexuality and just claim residency on the isle of Lesbos.] Creepy James is actually quite a good looking guy, but his priorities resemble something of a dismantled rubiks cube: while on a full sports scholarship to college for being an excellent place kicker, he deliberately takes an injury that ruins his knee because he didn't want to play anymore. Next thing you know, he's hanging out VanNorman style, squatting in peoples' garages/sheds/basements and getting Social D tatoos. He's become a proficient drummer and now plays in a band, and makes repeated excursions to Atlantic City--where his newest fame is found: pretty damn decent gambler.

"So Creepy James, how's AC."

"Pretty good. I went last week--"

"You wanna go tonight?" I interrupt. "I got a full tank of gas and just got paid."

Carrey, in the same "What the heck, let's go wreck ourselves" mood, is also game--except she's got 7 months until she's 21. Creepy James and I decide we can't really ensure Carrey will have a good time with us, and that should wait till tomorrow (now t'day) so I can get my car serviced and we're both sober for the 2hr ride. But since it's raining for Noah and the snow's a-melting, we're worried about the Garden State Parkway accidents and flooding. Even worse, CJ has gone to AC only 3xs when it's rained--and lost each time.

We will win the big bucks next Saturday.

I deleted Hemmy's numbers from my cell because whatever I'm looking for isn't to be had there. I'll just keep looking from afar, and be satisfied with that. Besides, when he would say, "Did you know _____ in high school?" I'd answer with something like, "No, but I graduated with his/her older brother/sister." And I'd be reminded of how Boof thinks I should dye my hair because it's got a lot of gray in it. Not even gray: white.

I'll say that while I'm not exactly happy, I'm neither depressed. I'm on that knife-point, tippytoed, and able to fall either way, just trying to enjoy the view from up here. I just don't want to lose my footing when I've already lost so much already.

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