insomniac express
2002-02-20 - 4:18 a.m.
Got plastered last night...it was all over my face. Nikki helped; actually, she got me plastered while I laid belly-up on her floor...and then we did it all over again. Tomorrow, if I have enough spare time, we�re gonna take the two plaster-o�-paris masks and make...masks.
�United we stand alone, divided we stand in company.�-except from the non-existant novella ��Server Cannot be Found�: The Story of One Man�s Life�
On the Upside: Just received a letter from the activity-organization department, asking me to join their squad: �You have been selected for this program because we believe that you have the qualities of a student leader.�
On the Downside: I was just starting to think to loose motivation in my other activities, having come to Cliffs of Challenge (TM) in nearly every one, simultaneously.
New error message, this one from Adobe Reader. �There was an error processing a page. Creation of rasterizer port failed.� Mostly I just like the word. Rasterizer.
Step-father had another bronchial asthma attack, out of work for another week, and finally quit smoking. Earth-shaking. If my mother quit too, this information would be earth-shattering.
�Pun after pun, they sat, and not a smile was cracked. It wasn�t that they weren�t funny, but that it was all the same sort of intellectual humor. And if a person was the one telling the pun, they weren�t socially permitted to laugh. The resulting resistance that was built up against laughter hindered laughing in itself, and no one was sure if their friends were rolling their eyes and checking their watches, or really enjoyed the joke...� �Edward Noodlehead, in the non-existent book �The Death of Laughter�
Growing up, I frequently mixed up the terms �acoustic� and �autistic�. For some reason, it made sense to me that all musically inclined people were also a bit slow and easily amused. And then I fount out that I wasn�t musically inclined, and it threw my correlation entirely into wack.
Guy charged me 5$ for a coke. Thought I was buying cigarettes for some reason, and didn�t even card me, even after while walked into the store, I made a sarcastic proclamation that the �WE CARD� sign on the door was a big surprise. Not sure if that sentence is entirely straight. Not all sentences need be.
Made the mistake today of talking to someone in the same manner that I talk to Lucy online. And that just doesn�t. Or rather, it didn�t. Got into an argument about life being more than a string of outlet stores with a fancy movie theatre at the end...and gave up. This place is draining me.
New hobby: Withholding comments. You should try it sumtime.
Stumbled onto a diary tonight, razzzmatazzz.diaryland.com, and for a second, or just sixty of �em, I thought that it might be the same person that stopped writing razzmatazz.diaryland.com...because you can never have enough writers in your life.
Again, writing so that I won�t forget. I had the pleasure last week to hear Ball�s Impenetrable Plan To Get Women (TM). Oddly enough, I think the whole impenetrable plan was based on scoring penetrations. It starts with �first, go to a strip club�, and ends with �of course, you have to have an apartment� with little bits of 3-inch cockiness* mixed with �of course, you have to be at least 22� in-between. Somewhere in the middle the plan involved mentioning asking the lap-dancer if she�s into sadomasochistic lifestyle, which supposedly shows your confidence in sexual knowledge. And really, the point of all of this was that I re-realized that I really appreciate the ability of humans to be mentally diverse, and have all their own little wacked-out theories to tell other people late at night.
On writing obituaries.
�Hey dad, let�s pretend for a second that your wife is dead.�
�Okay...oh, I like this game.�
For this assignment, I did a little more research than I had to, interviewing Father about the information for Step-mother�s obituary and then asking her. The differences in details were remarkably slight, although when I questioned them about services they were looking at totally different clouds in the sky. Father wanted Step-mother cremated (after embalming and visitation, of course) and divided three ways to be buried with all of her husbands, and Step-mother �don�t give a shit� about what happens to her, as long as she�s cremated and buried with her current/last husband. I originally typed a bit of detail about the car spontaneously bursting into flames, but decided it wasn�t appropriate for this assignment...I�ll throw it back in when I give her a copy...I�m putting this in my diary because it�s one of those things that a person just needs to mention before their ears pop off the sides of their head like a Mr Potato(TM). And after all, that�s what this business is all about: the story. Funeral biz and writing biz alike. Interchangeable?
Toilet in the hall flooded my room toady. This place is starting to get to me.
*there is a clear difference between the mannerisms of 3-inch cockiness and 7-inch cockiness, which will not, and really shouldn�t need to be, explained here.
