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Hey there, guys, gals, hermapherdytes, trannies, sub-humans and robo-nazis, once again I return with a special delivery of deadjournal. Past couple days have been a rush of strange emotion and lack thereof...it's been happy, it's been desperate, it's been sad, it's been...a time of adjustment. More than anything, it hasn't felt like my life. I'm sure I've got quite a few Lemont friends who can relate to this...it's a feeling of all-around disconnectedness. Disconnected from the environment where I currently reside and disconnected from Lemont as well. I don't exactly feel like I'm fitting anywhere yet...but at the same time, I expected this feeling. Kinga, as far I still know, has been utterly miserable, and there's a part with her where I completely sympathize, but there's a point where I know I must wait things out and meet more people and express my bad-assness more. Meeting people is harder than it seems...I don't really know a good forum, thus far, where I can just immediately meet people and feel accepted and feel like other people have similar goals in wanting to communicate. And oh fucking God, I still haven't approached the guy that lives a couple dorms down from me. He's this tall, reddish-brown haired male, pretty apparently gay...and just this morning he was but 15 feet in front of me as he pranced (almost literally) to his business class. Get this, he listens to a cd player as he walks places as well. I'm pretty sure we're meant to be. Ten bucks says he's listening to something with a house groove.
Recently I've been making more of an attempt to humanize Todd as opposed to villify him...it was kind of hard to not have contempt for him, frankly. He's been loud, and more often than not, he's been neurotic and outlandishly crude...but not in like a funny Elyse-Brannigan-being-racist sort of way, but in a more self-promoting, arrogant sense. When he takes his ritalin or whatever the hell he needs to calm down, he can actually be conversational. An hour or so ago, we both were kicking back in our dorm and reading for homework, and amidst the page turning and the losing interest in the material, we had some semi-flowing dialogue going. Maybe he's got good intentions but they're masked by the times he's strung out in social situations and insists on being the life of some whack-ass party that most sane people wouldn't want to be involved with. Or I hope so.
I think one of my least favorite national pastimes is reading Roman literature until the cows come home. I have a real problem when it comes to assigned reading, and that problem is that as I read, I feel like I'm taking too much time and that I'm disregarding other things and that I'm not absorbing the material enough. When I read on my own (errr...which happens seldomly), I don't even have to think about it, I just read. And I like it. And it's a good thing. And the author and I meet at the top of the mountain and hug and make out. Bottom line, I have trouble with assigned reading, so I sure hope that Roman Literature (a class which assigns a new entire book or play to be read every class) doesn't eat me whole...especially amongst other classes that assign reading as well. I've enjoyed some of the things I've read so far, namely my psychology textbook. And yet we've just begun.
The Writers' Dorm meeting just took place, and I have to say, though she's a strange little thing, I love my RA, Amy. I'm happy that I have a female RA, that just makes more sense to me. She loves Madonna, and I walked into her room to find her listening to the latest Garbage cd, and not only was she listening to it, but she had the drag queen song on. I had a Monica flashback right then...which means that I need therapy. I think about the Lemont people all the time, and thank God I still talk to them. So far, the Iowa people I've met, frankly, don't share senses of humor with me. I bite my lip when wanting to bring up classic gems such as the LHS racist literary magazine "Chinkspot" and I even feel out-of-place swearing like I usually do. Look, fuckers, swearing doesn't make me sound intelligent. I understand that. I also understand that I am a motherfucking bad mamma-jamma, and I must swear a lot of the time. Come on, Iowa. Open me up. And why the hell won't people gossip with me? Is the college world suddenly above that? Eat shit, maturity.
I left my television's remote control in Lemont, so unfortunately, I can't access basic channels like ABC and NBC. All I have are the cable channels, which is nice, but ummm, sometimes I just want to see The Price is Right or Conan O'Brien. I've seen almost two full episodes of Queer Eye while here, and that's kind of like having a basket of jolly ranchers. I just eat it all, you see.
I miss real conversation quite a bit. I think Eric and Feej and the ISUers did a good thing in going to a big college with a bunch of people they knew. That way, you don't feel alone nor do you feel absolutely forced to make conversation with random people. If you meet people, you meet people because you want to. I'm totally jealous. I very much like Maggie, the girl I mentioned in the last entry...picture if you will a redder haired Jeni Reinke with the attitude of Jodi Nye. That's about her. She's a little weirded out by me when I'm, you know...all up in mah street sass, but mostly I think she thinks I'm funny. Score one for Louie V. She could be the first REAL friend I made at Iowa. And the children danced.
Cannot fucking WAIT till Lemont visitors bring their party wagon and traveling circus to Iowa City. Amanda, Sarah, Monica, Katie Erk, maybe Andy, maybe Rachel...maybe former president Gerald Ford or Bigfoot, if they provide gas money. I just think Gerald Ford is funny, let's move on. Oh and here's a random sidenote: in American Pop Music, the lecturer played a "chart-topper" from 1892 and then compared it to the current billboard album chart-topper. This means he played us "Pieces of Me" by Ashlee Simpson. Okay, instructor...you are NOT allowed to play that until Sarah Geoghegan grants you permission, sir...you are not allowed to conjure memories of Lemont car journeys when I'm not prepared. I could start crying or vomiting when you pull shit like that. It's not like I'm posting incriminating pictures of you up on the big screen in front of class, sir. Keep your distance, jackass...and if you even TOUCH "Our Lips Are Sealed", I will touch your kid. Wherever he feels ticklish.
Now that I've exploited my long-hidden pedophile past, I think I'm going to head out. I wish I had a more comfy chair to write this in...anyway, I hope you all are adjusting to your new environments (or maintaining ground in your old ones) like the bad-asses you are. I've still got a couple monologues to work on for my Friday audition...so raise the roof for blindly but boldly soaring into new experience and trail-and-erroring ourselves into the best we can be. We deserve no less. Love you guys so much, and guess what, I'm always available. Ring me up, I'm willing to talk, squawk, and beatbox with anyone who asks. Continue learning and living and loving the skin you're in. We are still ourselves, we always will be.
All the more connected even further away,
Louis.
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