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Alanis Morissette "Spineless" |
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Yo yo, one and all. I'm updating a bit sooner than is my current trend... and I'm already motherfucking tired and done with the whole ordeal of re-acquainting myself with classes. In other words, I hope this entry maintains some humor throughout its duration because I'm in an unpleasant mood... as we all know, if I'm having a big day of Louis-style neuroses, and then I write a DJ entry about it while tired... let's face it, it might not be the most healthily constructive entry. However, I am here, I am dying to talk, and nothing seems too serious when I've got Real World/Road Rules Challenge: The Inferno on in the background. For Christ's sake, Tonya just threw all of Beth's clothes in the pool. Just so glad this show is so intellectually stimulating. Anyway, let's roll.
I just attempted to do my homework for Language & Formal Reasoning only to be soundly defeated because I ended up getting basically the same answer for every question. Might need to re-learn a thing or two. I think some of today's frustration also stems from the typically disorienting task of relocating at Iowa. Though this time coming back didn't feel like as much of a chore, I'm still not too delighted. God, this entry is already like a giant happy basket of puppies and princesses. Alright, it's time for me to be a fucking sport, suck it up, and get realistic. I almost forgot that nothing isn't funny. I did mention that I (with assistance) made the movie Maria Full of Grace basically the same thing as Ace Ventura, didn't I? Stop applauding, I can't hear you through the computer.
The last time I updated I mentioned I had three papers to write for Acting I. Lord was I not joking that time. I got them all done on Thursday and Saturday for a grand total of 24 pages. Meredith Alexander may as well brand into my ass, "I own you." It blew pretty hard that my last night in L-Town was to be spent dissecting the hell out of the Stanislavski book I had to read, but it was really relieving to get it done. However, don't be fooled. That Saturday night I got (can you believe it) bored in the middle of my paper, and I guess I decided I was going to do something drastic about it. Throwing caution and common sense to the wind, I drove on down to PT's house. Yes. Yes, you read that right. PT's never online anymore, so I didn't know when I'd get the chance to "hang out" (we're such good buddies) with him again. So in other words, here comes the most fucked up tidbit from 2005 so far. I arrive at his house, and there's like three cars out in the driveway. Like maybe there's a family party or something. That didn't really stop me, you see. PT's parents were milling around in the driveway, and I pretended I didn't know this was PT's house, so I asked the people there if that's where he lived, and they're like "Oh, yeah, go on inside." I was let in, and then somebody called for PT... and then he finally appears... and so does his girlfriend. Keep in mind this girlfriend is someone I know who doesn't know that I'm "friends" with her boyfriend, even though apparently half of Lemont knows. They call me upstairs, and surprisingly, PT's girlfriend isn't too inquisitive about my random showing-up at her boyfriend's house. PT also had some other friend over as well... and actually he seemed cool. Maybe we can be friends when this shit all blows over. Moving on, we all had to make smalltalk since basically this Louis-PT camaraderie isn't well-known. When I decided this incredible awkwardness/basically-the-most-hysterical-thing-I-could-think-of had to end, PT was all, "I'll walk you to the door." He went by himself and walked me downstairs, and then said, "Hey... if you wanna swing by at like... 2:30..." And I was like "Sure, man." We shook hands, the dirty money had been exchanged, and my night seemed set. I was so... weirded out and oddly proud of myself (yes, yes, this isn't something to be proud of, I know... I'm saying that I was stunned at myself for keeping composure through all of this, ya feel me?). I could only wait.
And so I went home and wrote more of my big Stan paper for Acting, when suddenly my cell-phone went a ringy-ding-dinging. Turned out it was Joe D. Yes, that Joe D. I'd called him on Friday, leaving him a message with something along the lines of "Hey, how about we be adults, we're not assholes, whatever, bye." Don't think he could've called at a more inopportune time. He said he was coming home from a college visit, and I was like "oh" and before anything else could be said, he was like "GOTTA GO BYE" which meant that his dad was coming or something. An hour later, like at 12:30, he called back. I don't have any intention of revealing the specifics of what we talked about in the conversation, but I will say it was basically a mirror-reflection of what our entire relationship was as whole from beginning to end. It started out with a lot of... mutual divulging of personal information (for whatever reason), then we joked around, and then before long, something shut down in Joe, and he decided he was going to be impossible. It wasn't a matter of just disagreeing, it was that he would disagree and then make a point of saying that he "didn't have to agree" with me. He was doing what he did best... finding the smallest things that twist my gut and using them against me successfully enough that I would get too frustrated to continue wherever I left off... all in an attempt to rationalize his decisions. I don't mean to badmouth Joe, for real... but I really did my best to be cordial and respectful, even friendly throughout the whole thing, and I made that known. For it to turn to shambles was not my intention, and after awhile it was quite clear that was his intention. And honestly, by this point, that's understandable; I do see where he's coming from. Also, this whole convo managed to last around... two and a half hours, at least. Near the last half hour, it was pretty agonizing. Somehow we'd contorted the conversation to get to a point where we were saying back and forth "Well I guess this is goodbye forever!" and sitting through long silences where everything felt so heavy and so stressful that we barely even knew what to say to each other. I tried to end the monotony earlier by saying, "Look, I have to get to PT's house" and then Joe said back, "Going to PT's? That doesn't sound like you! Isn't this more important?" I complied... and the scheduled 2:30 visit to PT never happened. My conversation with Joe ended at 3 AM... and I guess we have the same status with each other that we did before I even called him up in the first place. Imagine that. I was so tense during the conversation 1) because of the subject matter, and 2) because I was determined to get to PT's house. Basically your suspicions as a reader are confirmed: I am a sexually frustrated fuck-up when it comes to some things. Namely all this shit. After I hung up the phone at 3, I realized I hadn't eaten since my quick trip to Subway with Sarah, so my stomach was empty, queasy, and riled from all the previous events. Of course I threw up (it's my fucking mantra). I then took a shower, and the night was topped off by a scorching rectal spasm. You remember when I had those? Like way back in '03-'04? Yeah, well in recent months they've been back with a vengance. Happy spring break! I think it's time for another check-up about all that. Good God. Anyway, moving on...
I did not mean to write that last paragraph to cast any blame off myself for anything that has gone wrong in the past. I made my share of patented, idiotic moves during the conversation... I got reactive, made low blows, was disrespectfully outspoken occasionally... but I did apologize for some of that. Perhaps I should've apologized more. If I haven't made it clear, I know I am as issue-filled as anyone (plus more, frankly). I know I'm jealous, obsessive (that one's key), bored with my current college life, sexually frustrated (not impotent... just to clear that up...), sometimes at the mercy of my ego, pessimistic about future relationships, and basically unable to deal with a lot of things. I do a great job at giving myself therapy, if I do say so myself... I mean look at this journal. It's a fucking hottie. I think I'm also great at keeping personal with the right people, especially Rachel, Alyssa, the princesses, etc... but I would be lying if I said I was entirely in control of all (or any) of my issues. I am my mother's son, and though there is so much-- SO MUCH to embrace about that, it also means I am inwardly intense and occasionally anxious to the point of almost-no-return. It's humor and friendship and productivity and catharsis that remain key during this portion of my life. I seriously consider sometimes if I have done anything in the past school year at Iowa that has had a profound, emotional impact on me. I do love my classes, and I do love my friends here... but I am letting myself miss out on so much more, I think (and fear). Though I don't feel that my choice for college was one I spent enough time on, there is definitely an Iowa City scene... one of which I need to buck up and take in. I need to get Alicia's ass back into my life too. Backtracking now... what I'm getting at is I think I tried to contact Joe again for a few reasons... one, the inevitable emotional rollercoater seemed like something to do... two, the ego validation of being able to... I don't know... get him "on my side" again would've been relieving (kind of similar for my reason in randomly going over to PT's), and three... I miss having someone know the whole me and loving the whole me in truly intimate fashion... which is such bullshit, because I let all my friends in on the whole me, and they reciprocate just as much. I think it's different when it's someone I at some point decided was the person who would be my the validation of my self-love. Just incredible to think how I've autonomously given out "roles" to people like Joe over the years. I suppose I was calling him to see if he would play the part again. Hahaha, I guess I'll have to start a new round of auditions soon.
Gloria was none-too-pleased with my decision to call him. She was all about getting me a counselor and the whole forty yards. To quote, "Aren't you supposed to tell someone when you want to call him?" Let me say right now that admitting all this is about the hardest thing for me, because I would do anything to get over this fucking impasse in my life but a part of me is kicking and screaming for the past. Anyway, I agreed with my mom about her suggestion but protested because it just seems like hell to have to (grunt) GO OVER all of this shit again with someone new. Glo reminded me that trained professionals deal with things like this all the time, and frankly, she would know. I'm thinking about it. The other day I also called Rachel about this, explained the whole fucking thing, namely the PT situation, and I asked her a couple questions about my current disposition. I said, "Alright... do you think the PT thing is unhealthy?" She paused and replied, "I wouldn't say it's healthy." The fact that I even had to ask her at all was kind of conclusion enough for me. So let me make my pledge right here... I'm trying to never talk to PT again. That's my new pledge. With PT... it's fucking time to cut my losses (winnings?) and go on to real things. I'm not saying this challenge is easy... today alone I felt compelled to go and IM him. But it's funny (and here comes far too much information about myself), the drive to hook up with PT goes away after I just jack off. Good God, Louis, what a novel idea. Welcome to the new millennium. Speaking of which, I found a friend of mine's livejournal, and he says in it that he jacks off twice a day. I wonder what the going rate for masturbation is nowadays... because I thought that seemed like a bit much. Hmmm. Maybe I should take a poll ("and shove it up your ass"... thank you, Madonna in Truth or Dare). I don't claim to be a prude or anything... I mean I definitely have a sort of schedule for the jacking off, but man, twice a day? Whatever floats your boat, I guess. Just... don't chafe yourselves, alright, guys? You can cut yourself that way.
What else... Friday night I ended up chilling on the homefront with Rachel and, cool-ly enough, Mike Sherry. He brought his little quiet date Barb over, and they were a hoot and a holler (to quote Kiki Abba, my fave Lit of Rome Superstar sister). Mark had his buddy Jarrett over, and if you ask me, Jarrett is pretty high-fiveable. My little brother Greg hung around too... I guess he wanted to take a night off from his usual barhopping and zookeeping. We all took it easy, laughing it up and watching some fucking college basketball game on TV. I just can't connect to college basketball unless I can be ensured that one of the players is a convicted rapist (come back to us, Pierre Pierce! You just did it because you loved her out of control!).
On the ride back to Iowa, Gloria mentioned this to me: recently she was mentioning to Mark in passing that she has to start thinking about how she's going to be taking care of Greg and how he'll be living after high school. Mark kept doing whatever he was doing, but then he replied... nonchalantly but seriously... "He's going to live with me." I'm not gonna lie; when mom told me that, I cried, right there in the car. When I told Alyssa about it, she about cried too. I think there's a part to my brother Mark that he doesn't really show me... rather, I don't think I bring it out in him. I think he considers me the sort of... older, more "metro" (my favorite term! ::kills self::) brother who's always out doing things like hitting the mall and making fun of people that teach Driver's Ed... and I also think he thinks I've got some kind of dreadfully weird secret life that I keep from the family but only talk about with people like Rachel. The biggest dreadful secret I have is the PT thing, but I bet Mark's even heard shit about that by now. Let's face it, if someone granted Ryan Shadden tolerable enough to know about the PT thing, then it's probably gotten everywhere. Anyway, I think Mark is a really caring guy, and I have the feeling he could be a teacher or coach of something someday. He'd not only be the "cool" teacher, but he'd be the teacher that people looked up to. Word.
Upon arrival at Iowa, I had dinner at the Hamburg Inn with Gloria, and we followed that with a stop at Starbucks. Every time she drops me off at school, I start crying after she drives off. Something about having to say goodbye to Mommy always makes me upset. I know my mom sees herself in me a LOT of the time, and I know she talks to me more in-depth than she does most people. And God do we love to bitch to each other. Mom has all this beef with the liturgical department at St. Pats, and she does love all those people, but sometimes it's like... come ON, Diane Hoermann, we all know your hair isn't naturally RAVEN BLACK, and also if you obligate me to do one more church event with you and the minions, I may just have to start PROCLAIMIN' the Word of Louis to you, lector-style. It won't be pretty, Diane. And Father Mike can't hold me back.
Acting was fun today except that we're still going over people's action-objective exercises from, that's right, TWO MONTHS AGO. I'd comment more on Felisa's activity if she hadn't performed it on fucking like February 12th! I heart Meredith so much (the propaganda must be working on me), but I'm not too fond of her method of organization. Not to mention I'm totally jealous of Danielle in my class because she gets just about stellar comments on everything she does. I do think Meredith likes me, but... ahhh, ego shit once again. In considering all of the PT/Joe/anything bullshit, I even said out loud to myself in the shower after the phone conversation... "Imagine there's no ego"... singing it like it was part of the John Lennon song (I know you're still getting over how COOL I am!), not even thinking about it. God, how much would I be getting done if I wasn't so sad when my ego wasn't getting fed? What if I never felt that going-for-it with PT meant that I was still "getting action" and therefore I was "very cool" and "way desirable"? What if I didn't go through internal chaos at the mention of Joe's name? What if just... you know... living in the moment and being receptive of new things to come was good enough? It's about time I start speaking about things like that with "when"s instead of "if"s.
The worst part about feeling... obsessive or at the mercy of my ego is I wonder just how much it's taking away from me enjoying the things I love. For instance, today I went to a meeting for journalism majors, and I was so lost upon first arriving because I didn't know what to expect... but then once I had the sheet in front of me of all the KICKASS classes I can take (Arts reporting, magazine journalism, Mass Media and Society), I honestly about CRIED. I've really done a lot of crying in this entry, haven't I? I just couldn't believe how much I loved all of these classes. And the most reassuring thing of all was hearing the big, wonderful black woman who was running the show just say, "The thing we focus most on is teaching you to simply write well. If you can do that, you will get jobs." And it was just like... I CAN FUCKING DO THAT! I have to set up an adviser meeting sometime in the very near future to get my plan lined up. Also, I have to at least find the application for The Daily Iowan so that I can sign up already. Woooo, so THAT'S something to honestly look forward to... not to mention that Rachel is dropping by a week from tomorrow (I mean today... I've been writing this for a long time). She and I have a No Shame skit to prepare, and basically a lot of boogeying to do as well. I'm a little disappointed at what I accomplished over spring break because I didn't get to hang out with Elyse or Katie Erk, two compadres I could stand to catch up with beaucoup. And I still have to have an honest-to-God, sit-down, full-out Sex & The City viewing with Elyse where we can finally duke it out about Miranda being tolerable. I feel fucking bad about not hanging out with her. I only hung out with Corey once as well... and Andy once. Glad I got to see Feej as much as I did, and Rachel too, of course. Rachel and I dropped off my applications at the mall, and hopefully I'll be getting called back from some retail-working bitches who were impressed by my signature purple shirt and salacious catwalk. Hahahaha, just picture me salaciously walking... into someplace like Panera. Or better yet the Lemont Wendy's: "Hey, little lady... sure I'll have some undercooked fries... and your phone number ::cue shiny grin with sound effect::." I need money so bad, y'all, I don't even know what I'll do if none of these jobs work out. If any of y'all need to be babysat, I am more than willing to pin you to the ground with my ass for full-time during the summer. I'll do anything... FOR LOVE (but I WON'T DO THAT). Best stupid Meat Loaf song fucking ever. That's right, come fight me about it.
I tempered my inward intensity today with Alanis Morissette's So-Called Chaos which I've already preached to you enough about. All about "Doth I Protest Too Much" today... and "Spineless"... love the songs that directly own up to misconceptions. For instance, the subject of this entry is from "Spineless". It typifies what I hope to do in this journal and anywhere else in life I can find the right forum. I need to get out every facet of my fuck-up ways not only for the sake of doing what I think most everyone should do (in other words, walking my talk), but also because if I don't get all my sick-ass ya-yas out, then how easy is it to forget my own perspective on all the bullshit when I'm in the middle of being bombarded (bombarding myself) with it? I know you all know my reasons for writing all this, but it's good to review every so often. There will be a quiz later, fuckers. This is really one of those nights where I could write forever (figuratively) because I've again risen from what seemed like a dreadful series of events only to realize "Oh my God, I'm still Louis after it's all over, and not only that, I have not forgotten how to work it." Which reminds me, I am all about Missy Elliott's "I'm Really Hot". It's got nothing to it, but I love it definitely. Also, does anyone know why I've listened to the song "That Don't Impress Me Much" by Shania Twain upwards of seven times today? I found the song online and just... didn't get sick of it. I kept picturing the badass video. I think I'm most like the guy with the fancy car. We all know I pour all my money into my sweet-ass ride (Laser, that souped-up monster he is).
But now I must depart. Man, I really went DJ apeshit this time around, didn't I? I've had relatively shorter entries lately anyway, and I'm sure college and its insistence on homework will soon be catching up with me. It was definitely fun DJing this mother out in the meantime. I'm gonna close by quoting a really underrated Madonna song called "Drowned World/Substitute For Love". The main line of the chorus is, "Should I wait for you, my substitute for love?" And she's actually talking about fame and the pure pomposity of being the biggest thing on earth with all the ego validation she could ever want. And now, as a fucking GROWN-UP, it's time for me to decide to not wait up for the little-kid games and thrills that used to tide me over momentarily before I got lonely or unsatisfied again. It's time for love to be my focus, and as I've said over and over again, I love you all so, SO much. You couldn't be more loved, more appreciated... and to my best friends and family members, I learn to appreciate you and honor you more and more each day; I love the shit out of you all, and you all crack me up tenfold. I've got a-ways to go before I'm officially settled in this skin, and I know y'all will be laughing it up all the way there with me. Let's take it all to Starbucks.
I'm with you all more now than ever, when it's good, when it's bad, when it's unbearable. I'm there, and so are you.
We're looking pretty good, Tiger, xoxo,
Louis.
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