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Kelis "Blindfold Me" |
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Land, ho, bitches. Welcome back to Iowa. That’s right, put your overalls back on.
Lordy. I’m all flustered. I think I tried to update three times over break, but at every chance I opted to watch my Project Runway DVD or Queer as Folk. Or I opted to participate in the real world. Which was so stupid of me, because who even lives there anymore? There’s too much Facebook for such trivialities.
But I’m back. I don’t prefer to start the entry this way, but a lot of break was pretty awful. Christmas, friends, and trips aside, my family was devastated in a big way. I don’t quite know if I should say anything about it, but whatever. My older brother overdosed on prescription pills, and my dad had to break into his room to find him pale, groggy, and nearly unresponsive. I called 911, my brother Mark gathered all the empty prescription bottles, and Jim went off to the hospital. It was horrifying -- one of the worst experiences my family has endured. Also, it was my mom’s birthday. I called her cell phone, and she picked up just as she entered Lincoln Park Zoo with Greg.
Fucking awful. Jim had been dropping hints that he’d felt isolated, but it’s so hard to communicate with him. You can’t just invite him to play a board game, because he immediately responds with a grunt and, “No thanks,” like you’re an idiot. But then he can be deliriously happy and almost overly social – but he never connects. This situation made me realize how much I’m not like Jim and how much I feel he doesn’t want to know me (and my brothers, for that matter). However, he’s in a terrible place right now, and although I suck at leveling with Jim (sarcastic jibes with him aside), I wish I could help with him more. As I see it, he can’t picture working his way out of his entry-level job, and he’s fed up with having a lack of close friends. And that’s justified, I think. Still, I can’t say I’ve ever felt like many of Jim’s friends connect with him at all. More so, I don’t even like some of them. I do really like Dan Morand and a couple others, but still, they’re from totally different boats than Jim. It’s not like me and Elyse or Rachel or Jessica or Kimmie or Sarah, who all pack he same sorts of crazy and outlook. Also, Jim’s so damn smart: where the hell are the super-smart friends he needs? I don’t know. I’m being judgmental about it, I guess, but Jim’s a worthwhile person (and friend, I believe), and I hope there’s more people for him out there that can just get it. Because this is a matter of gets-it. Where’s Kiki to intervene?
Plus, my Aunt Sandy suffered four brain aneurysms on Dec. 23 (which nearly derailed my plans for Elyse’s Christmas Eve-Eve party. Imagine that!), and though Sandy’s recovering in Joliet with my godmother, things aren’t looking bright. The woman has smoked 50 packs a day since the fucking fifties, and now it’s finally taking a massive toll. This is a particularly touchy topic for me since Sandy was always the person who took care of me when my mom and dad were away. She helped raise me, a lot. I suppose this was all inevitable, but at least she’s functioning adequately for now. Tiffany’s marriage seems to be crumbling too. Anyway, winter break = heartbreaker.
But then came the good stuff. The day Jim went to the hospital to get his stomach pumped, I hung out with Sarah for awhile and eventually Rachel and Lauren. My bitches were representing big time, and it ruled. Rachel, Lauren, and I were in a cinematic mood that night, so we rented the historical epic John Tucker Must Die. Word: there is not a hotter man than Jesse Metcalfe. I fucking hate how hot he is. It hurts. I hate that he knows he’s hot, and it only makes him hotter. I’d stage a protest, but I’m too busy plastering Jesse Metcalfe all over my desktop.
Also, here comes the shocker of the next ten millenniums: winter RA training was a joke. And a day-long. And filled with lectures. I suppose some of the information was valuable, but man… I could’ve stood for one more day of Scrabble with Gloria. Once amid the Jim chaos when we played, she declared she never wanted to play again because “it was no fun anymore.” I nearly thought she had lost her religion. Too bad she’s just a pussy who hates losing. A day later she perked up, beat me, and started reading the Scrabble dictionary for fun again. After Christmas, our family visited St. Louis for some annual holiday party festivities, and Scrabble shenanigans nearly broke us apart. In one particular showdown, my mom flipped shit because she challenged someone’s seven-letter word and it was real. And I called my grandpa a coward for waxing condescending about the word’s legitimacy and not challenging. I honestly called him a coward. Because it’s a board game, after all, and peoples' feelings should be hurt. I’m pretty sure I won though, so I don’t remember any guilt.
And then New Years happened. Sweet-effing-New Years. Is Dick Clark dead yet? I feel like the version of Dick Clark on television is the work of a taxidermist. And a talented puppeteer. Anyway, it’s weird to realize I’ve spent the past two New Years at the University of Chicago, but the party was really tremendous. Monica, Rachel, Katie Erk, Brad, a bunch of his Stanford friends, and I all gathered at Monica’s apartment, jumped from party to party, collecting liquor and acquaintances as we pranced. After the clock struck midnight, I really outdid myself with about fourteen drunk phone calls. The lamest of them went to Phil, who, despite understanding that I was trashed, went on about his sob-story New Years for a fucking fortnight. I handed him over to Monica, and I think he straightened out with her. As far as Phil and “straight” goes. Especially since Monica has the unmatched ability to strike fear into the hearts of the stupid. In other words: Phil shit himself.
But I also gabbed with Kimmie, Sarah, my editor Meghan, Elyse, Jessica (who spent 12:00 a.m. at WAL-MART), Kiki, Kristin Lang, a bed-ridden Lauren Neybert, Andy Phillips, and Brent from Galesburg. A fine consortium of hos. There were a bunch of weird moments later in the night on New Years (as per usual), cemented by the terrific duo of Brad’s home friends: one asked another to head-butt him, and she fucking obliged! He had two black eyes! I hid with Katie in a bed, and we held onto each other like two kids with abusive parents. Oh no, Dad found the whiskey!
Random: at the mall today with Jessica, and fellow RAs Shauna, Jim, and Alan, I ran into Josh Anderson, that guy from Media & Health I hooked up with in October. He accidentally called me a few days ago (or something? How do you accidentally call someone?) and we talked for awhile. He got a fucking car for Christmas. I can’t even imagine asking Lee Virtel for a car for Christmas. He’d be all, “Bitch, let’s get you some braces and call it a day.” Also, he has what he calls a guaranteed internship with MTV’s Logo network because he has a fucking Matthew Shepard scholarship. Another point for self-proclaimed Captain Insane-o. Anyway, again, random.
Near the end of break, I gathered my Dixie Chicks live album, overnight clothes, and unparalleled sense of direction for a trip to Galesburg. Andy has pleaded for me to visit for fucking years, and God love him, but I also wanted to visit Brent. I usually just talk to him online where we spend plenty of time exacting our next sassy retort, so I needed for him to know in person that I was sassier. So alright, I flawlessly navigate I-55, I-80, and I-74 – I arrive in Galesburg, passing a gorgeous Hy-Vee and Casey’s General Store, and I get to Brent’s. And who was there but Devin! Miss him so. He’s living in Chicago now, where he effing belongs. But anyway. Brent’s friends were very inviting and made sure porn was showing when I arrived in the house. It felt like love. Brent explained it was his night to make dinner, so he threw noodles, squash, and turkey-bacon in a frying pan. And bam, deliciousness! I couldn’t complain – I ate the whole thing like it was whipped cream on Jesse Metcalfe. Sigh, what a nice meal, better get to making out. So we did that. And I have to say, it was great. It was one of those effortless, relaxed, marathon ventures where you’re halfway between fucking and sleeping until 2050 – and I mean that in a good way. I do have to say, I really like Brent. I find him quite upstanding, pleasant, and intelligent -- and he’s a firm gets-it. Although he’s reserved and passive (which I tell him every chance I get), he responds to vulgarity and sarcasm -- my two favorite things -- with equal sharpness. I told him I could see developing our relationship, which seemed like a rational reaction to how surprisingly casual, comfortable, and (dare I say) tender the intimacy was, and unfortunately, I don’t think he sees it the same way. I was thrown off. I asked for his take on things the next day, and he said, while on top of me, “I like you. If and when we meet, we should do this again. I can’t see myself falling in love with you. Like I don’t think I could ever run off with you.” WOAH. Alright, first things first, is this West Side Story? Is there a place for us, Maria? When we run off? But also, okay, I never said I was in love with Brent, and I also never implied that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him (Big WTF, for real). So I guess he thought it was just fooling around, and I think that sucks. Also, I think Rachel made a good point about this when she said, “That’s like me telling Lauren, ‘We’re good friends. But we’ll never be best friends.’” Like, what’s the point of saying that? I didn’t respond negatively at the time, though I must’ve been visibly surprised, since he then replied, “Was that too direct?” But it wasn’t – it was his deciding the fate of our friendship, on top of me, and that feeling like a needless insult. Whatever, I guess. Granted, Brent does live a hundred miles away or something, so this situation is sort of out-of-sight-out-of-mind. I’m not pissed, and I still like talking to him a lot, and frankly, I wouldn’t object to messing around with him again, but I’m just confused. I hope I don’t open a can of worms by writing about it here. I guess I never really thought the whole thing out until I wrote it down –‘cuz shit happens in the DJ, am I right? Five years and running. OMG, it’s seriously five years. Frankly, it’s about time. How is Go Ask Alice only five years ago? Samson Sando needs to be in his fucking sixties by now. Jenniffer J. Thusing needs to be immortalized in statue over the LHS parking garage. And so does Katie Erk’s burlap dress.
And word: I just bought Kelis’ Kelis Was Here off iTunes because I love life. Who else rocks like Kelis? Who owns their ho-ness more? I figured if I’m going to become a Kelis disciple, I better start memorizing her gospel’s crazy beats now. MmmmMMMM. Nas’ best talent remains picking wives.
I return to editing tomorrow, and I don’t think I’m that stressed about it. Unfortunately, I have to be up before 10 a.m. to help out with RA stuff, so off I go. One of my residents and his boyfriend just came in here, and can I say, I fucking love them. They’re so like… wide-eyed and cute together. And they’re funny and not Iowa-wild-farmchild bitches. So appreciated.
Love you guys, thanks for reading, annnnnd Kelis was here.
Xoxo,
Louis
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