Salsbury Blog Steak

2003-10-16T11:07:00.000-07:00

" . . . He made no complaint whatsoever about the bad reputation he had attracted throughout the world, assured me that he himself was the person most concerned by the destruction of superstition, and admitted to me that as far as his own power was concerned he had been afraid on only one occasion, which was when he had heard a preacher, more subtle than his colleagues, shout out from the pulpit: 'Dearly beloved, never forget, when you hear anyone vaunt the progress of enlightenment, that the Devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist!'"

-Charles Baudelaire 1864

It's been real. Try not to die. I'll leave a light on for you.

-Ameer

2003-10-14T09:53:00.000-07:00

The things my father forgot to teach me before the blood clot did him in

She wore orange socks today, and I could feel myself die a little. That’s all I could think about. Here is this beautiful, tattified girl, wearing orange socks, unknowingly killing me. And she smiled through the whole thing like a kid with one of those big lollipops. Killing me was her lollipop.

I’ve come to the conclusion that girls frighten me. It’s not that I don’t know how to talk to them. They’re people, they have ears, they breath but not through their ears. Talking isn’t a problem. I'm just afraid of them. Not socially, but in a real threat to my life type of way. I could try to rationalize it, maybe see a head shrink person, but I'm content to just live with the fact that, a person whose ass I could easily kick, scares the mother bejebus out of me. If you saw this girl you’d be scared too. Fuck you for judging me. Fuck you for not being me. Maybe you wouldn’t be so scared, then you could have the girl. But if you were me you’d fall over, pee your pants, and mess up the words to the national anthem just like me.

I never learned how to do this. Most people learned how to handle all of this silly crap back when they were 12. One day, after school perhaps, they came home, dirty and confused and starry eyed, and sat down next to good old pops who was sitting, drinking something cool, looking even cooler, watching TV on his favourite chair, because that’s what he did when he had the day off. They said, “dad, there’s this girl in my class who stole my ball at recess and now I hate her. But she makes my penis hard. What’s the deal?” Then dad leaned over and gently, wisely, took them around the shoulder and said, “well son, glad to see you’re not a fag. Time to teach you about the birds and the bees. Go tell your mother to leave for half an hour. We have a lot to cover.” He’d start just like that. Then he go into the part where you stop throwing dirt and stop smiling so much. He’d go into the part where you say something funny and charming and he’d tell you what that thing was, and you’d keep that line with you until you grew old, and you got a chair, and a cold beverage, and a kid who would ask the same questions some day. I imagine he would start just like that. But I didn’t get that. No one ever leaned into me, took me by the shoulder, and told me how it was going to be. Now, at the old ass age of whatever it is I’ll be when I finish writing this, I don’t know what to say. I don’t have that line. I’ll never have that line. I'm stuck at the dirt clods and goofy looks. And that’s not helping anyone. So let this be a lesson to you. If you plan on having kids and dying before you give them a line to use on girls that they like, write it down on a piece of paper, store it in a time capsule, and make sure you tell someone where it is. Otherwise it’s useless, and your kid could end up kind of gay and really goofy like me. Don’t make more me.

2003-10-02T08:27:00.000-07:00

I am currently waiting for a train to pass
I am currently trapped in a cage with a dove, a jelly sandwich, and my last stick of gum.
I am currently running out of ways to avoid you
I am currently away from it all
I am currently down on my luck but up on my hope
I am currently moving like I used to
I am currently forgetting where I am
I am currently digging a hole that I plan to fill when I’m finished just to dig it again
I am currently lost on a highway and ashamed to tell you
I am currently singing to myself in a low voice
I am currently tripping on my shoelaces
I am currently hoping you didn’t see that
I am currently counting the tiles
I am currently flushed out
I am currently in the best shape of my life
I am currently on a mountain in France sipping wine with someone more interesting than me
I am currently luckier than I deserve
I am currently thinking about titties
I am currently thinking about your titties
I am currently telling the truth
I am currently safe
I am currently at war with it
I am currently done

So Im trying something new. Well, it’s a new version of an old thing that was once new but is now old. Renewel. That’s it. Im getting up with the sun. Im falling when I feel gravity. Im doing more things to please the Meezie. And that means doing less. Ive forced myself to cut back on the things that make me move faster and longer than my momentum want me to. I tried to push last semester and I ended up pushed over. My legs were tired, my soul was sold, my dude was ravaged beyond recognition, riddled with friction scars. You know, from the wackin. So this semester I pledge to do it all by doing less of it all. I pledge to become better than you. Take that to heart, because I have.

2003-09-22T23:30:00.000-07:00

So I got to thinkin’. I don’t suppose thinking should be a dangerous thing, but I don’t suppose Im always right in my suppositions. I got to thinking about time and how, no matter who we pay to break all the clocks and kill all the watch makers, we cant stop it. In the end, you just have a lot of blood on your hands and less time to wash it off.

Lately Ive been prone to reflect. These short spurts of nostalgia come and go then come again. Tonight I thought about the past two years and where I was two years ago. Yeah, that makes a lot of no sense, but bear with me (just behind me, looking kind of hungry…get it_). Two years ago I met a girl on a train. I thought she was the coolest person ever. She was new to sac. I haven’t seen her since. Two years ago my cat died. I still have nightmares about his last day on this floating rock. Two years ago I changed the course of my academic journey. I have yet to fully reap the vaginal benefits often bestowed upon scholastic pillars of inspiration such as myself. Two years ago I hung out with Laura Larsen. For all the things I couldn’t stand about her, there were probably twice as many that I could stand. But those things weren’t enough to keep me around. She smelled nice, looked nicer. Bitched a lot. Even still, I wonder if I could have done it all better.

Yup, time is really reaching up and sniffing at my nuts. It feels like it should all be different. But despite all the trappings, all the environmental fixins, I still feel like everything is the sam. Its as though Ive come to that lump of poo in the road that no one has the gumption to step over or walk around. Now Im that guy, standing by that poo, wondering if I do risk that fateful step, will I ever be able to rinse, scrape, and boil away the shit stained failure that could await at the slightest miscue? And, is it better to live a shit-shoe life fully explored, or a chapel clean, poo free, pre-soaked existence? Only time will tell. Time and that poo.

2003-08-17T00:03:00.000-07:00

I’d Rather:
Live than fight
Abstain than settle
Brains than not
Smirk than giggle
Run than fall
Mary-Kate than Ashley
Bungee than parachute
Whisper than roar
Bite than bleed
Mother than father
Cat than brother
Both than neither
Lanky than fat
Robots than science
Brief than boxer
Anywhere than Sacramento
Sacramento than South Carolina
Talk than chat
You than them
Me than you

2003-08-13T01:16:00.000-07:00

"Are we there yet?" and other questions best left unanswered

I’m an awkward kid. It’s really sort of tragic. On the surface, on the scene, I can rock with the big boys of the social scene. (Yeah, that’s a lot of scene for one little sentence.) But when it comes down to it, when it counts, I’m just a quivering ball of awkward Jell-O, chalk full of inappropriate silence and pineapple chunks.

Over the past couple weeks I’ve had to play super me. Uberthompson. The dynamic guy who does dynamic things and says dynamic sentences and eats dynamic toast with dynamic jelly. I’ve done it in front of graduate school recruiters. I’ve done it in front of grocery store clerks. And each time I do it I can feel myself cringe on the inside, u know, down near my cockles. I cringe because it’s all so greasy and odd. Granted, most of my life has been spent in a state of greasy oddness, but when I do the dynamic thing I feel extra-specially so. All of these people think that I’m fantastic, which I am. All of these people think I’m super guy in the pants, which I can be. But what all of those people don’t know is that, at any given moment, I could lean over, and wretch, and puke and die, and that would be ok because at least it would be undynamic. There’s nothing dynamic about puking on someone’s socks. Especially argyle.

2003-07-27T22:39:00.000-07:00

You're a doll. You're a peach. You're everything in between. And I hate you for it.

My favourite flavour of chapstick is cherry. No, I don’t mind that its pink. Yes, I do think it a bit girly to use the stuff. Yes, I also think it a bit girly to use the word “bit”. But that hasn’t stopped me from rubbing that greasy love stick all over my dry meat flaps. MMM. Chap. I couldn’t live without it. And my favourite flavour is cherry.

Lately I’ve been thinking about Laura Larsen. I don’t know why exactly. Perhaps its because I haven’t talked to her for about a year, not since I wrote that hilariously poetic, yet utterly mean faced, piece of genius letter. I said a lot of things in that letter, all of which I meant to some extent. What I’m afraid of, and what I think is plaguing me, is whether she “got it”. I have trouble making sure people “get it”. Most of the time I don’t worry about it. If you don’t get it, then you’re out. Bam. Flam. Glam. Out. But I really wanted Laura to get it. That’s why I took the time and effort to put all of my deepest thoughts about how shallow she is (see what I did there. I juxtaposed deep and shallow. That makes me a literary genius. Raymond Carver, eat your big fat alcoholic heart out.) into a letter. I wanted her to know that she was worth the letter. I wanted her to know that despite my general inability to stomach the very sight of her, let alone be around her much longer, she was worth the letter. But I don’t think she knows that. I don’t think she’ll ever know that.

Looking back on the whole thing, looking back on this year, looking back on these past couple years, I wonder if anyone ever gets it. It doesn’t seem that anyone really understands anything about anything, at least not as much as they let on. U know what that means? That means you’re surrounded by liars. You know that old guy sitting on the bench outside the grocery store, telling old war stories to the security guard who happened by on his lunch break? That old man is a filthy liar. The next time you see him, go up to him and salute him. “You sir, are a dirty liar. I salute you.” That’s what you should say. That way the old man will know you’re on to him. He’ll also know you’re a good soldier, because you are.

2003-07-24T23:06:00.000-07:00

There’s something about my bean that says “push me, go ahead. You know you want to.” And it seems that no one can resist that sweet song. No, that would be wrong. That would be like trying to tell the sun not to shine. “Hey, mr sun. Why don’t you take the day off. Go see a movie. Go to the beach. You can borrow my you-tan lotion. Get it? It’s funny because you’re the sun.” See, it would never happen. So on goes the cycle. The sun will shine, the stars will twinkle, and some bitch, somewhere will shit on my bean then push me.

I liked Shauna. I really did. She was the kind of girl who I could see myself wasting time with. She was pretty…She is pretty. At times she seemed to have her head on straight, unless you count the times when her head was nestled in a fireman’s lap, gently rubbing against his naked junk. By the way, firemen don’t wear pants. Americas heroes, my ass. I remember the first time I met shawna. We played cards, ate cinnamon twists, and laughed about a lot of stuff that wasn’t really that funny. I even got her to say stuff like “womp”, “dome” and “womp on your dome”. We hit it off. We were thick as those guys who steal stuff then hang out together in order to keep the other guys from telling the police about their evil doings. You know, thieves. She used to come by my place and talk about all the stuff that no one really likes to talk about with anyone else. We said things in private. We held hands in public. She even made me cookies and told me she missed me. And I believed it, I believed every word of it. For better or for worse, she became the only girl who could melt me. Even when I pissed her off or she pissed me off, just one little look and I was done. Towel thrown, grinchy heart expanded, arms akimbo, I would fall into her and hold on.

But now I say fuck you. I do so with some regrets. Perhaps not regrets so much as frustrations. I let myself be taken in by another snake oil flim-flam shim-sham bitch. We went from that thick thing to nothing. She doesn’t call me. I rarely call her. When I do, she doesn’t return my calls. My role as the go-to buddy with the peripheral snuggle blue ball benefits has been taken over by a kinder, warmer, gentler, more stable quasi-homosexual, but largely asexual, shill. Who knew there was more than one of me in town. So dear Shawna, I bid you uh-do. Bohn voyahj. I sincerely hope that whatever or whoever fucks you in the future does so swiftly and selfishly.

2003-06-19T01:14:00.000-07:00

One boring girl + one boring town + one pretentious trendy samich – ten dollars = karmic balance.

Tonight Loraine asked me why I don’t like sac. I said that its because this place sucks. What I wanted to say was, “ I hate Sacramento for the same reason that Americans hate Nigeria: It’s full of boring stupid people who piss me off, present company not excluded…whore.” But I didn’t. I played nice Meezie and kept it to myself. It could be because I’m trying on the closed lipped armour of silence and social graces. Or maybe it's because Loraine has a set of redeemers that I really want to touch, and for every complaint I make I take one step further from areolar xanadu.

As you may have guessed from the previous paragraph, I hung out with Loraine tonight. And yes it was by choice. I don’t quite know why I decided to hang out with her. I don’t find her particularly attractive. I don’t find her particularly interesting. Our conversations always start off awkward and end silently. But still, despite my better judgment, I decided that it would be a good idea for me to spend…waste a few hours of my life that I may never get back on a girl that wont appreciate the precious seconds that I could have spent whacking. It’s ironic, really.

There’s a lesson to be learned in all of this, at least for me there is. I’m sure there is. While sitting at the fancy table, in the fancy booth, at the fancy burger joint, pretending to listen to what’s her name, I was hit by an epiphany. When I get bored, or when I decide that I don’t like someone I shut off. I tune out. I zone. I’m a goner. And baby, there aint no turning back. I tried to pump myself up. I gave my dude the old, “if we play this right then we might get to see her redeemers” speech. But it was all for naught. I just couldn’t get myself going. We even went back to her place to watch a movie. There were times when I could’ve lanked my black ass appendage over across her shoulder, but no. Besides, she was a bit of a cold fish and my belly kept making noises.( But back to the lesson.) Even still, a wiser, bolder, more motivated man or Meezie would have at least touched her shoulder and offered a spine tingling back rub. ( I once had a girl tell me that my fingers felt like the grim hands of death scratching at her back as if they were knocking on her bodies door, asking for her soul. Or so I remember. ) Not this Meezie. This one sat and gurgled, and watched a movie and waited for the clock to turn faster and faster until it broke or I ran.

So the lesson here, don’t hang out with people you don’t like. Even if you only like them a little, that means you probably hate them a lot. Indifference is a great substitute for hate. Use it well. Use it often.

2003-06-14T22:41:00.000-07:00

Reflections on my future
There’s something uplifting about the karate kid. Every time I watch it (which is at least twice a week) I get all tingly inside. Sometimes I think that I could have been that guy. I could go from being the pussy in the dumb looking Halloween costume to the guy who’s kickin ass, crane-style at the big tourney. My girlfriend would run at me after my big crane to the face ass whompin of one of those cobra dudes. Then I would look over at mister miyagi, quietly sitting in the corner, quietly brimming with pride. “ I made him,” he’ll say. “ I made that karate chopping bitch you see out there. That was me.” And he’ll try not to cry because no one wants to see that. But afterwards, when the lights are out and the cameras stop rolling, mister miyagi will let it all go, mostly because he has a problem separating reality from dope ass eighties movies. But I'll see him, and I'll hug him just the same. I'll be his Daniel Larusso (yeah, that’s his real name). He’ll be my hawasian. Someday I'll be Meezie Larusso. Guard your face or I'll kick it. But I wont break your ice because that doesn’t happen yet.

2003-06-08T14:08:00.000-07:00

Its Saturday night. Its almost one o clock. This is about the time that people start fucking. Well, maybe not fucking, but theyre getting damn close. Right now, somewhere there’s a young girl in a tight dress and a purple g-string wiggling her ass like a fish as some beefy frat boy shoves his tip into her back. If they were on a bus she might change seats or scream rape. But tonight it’s love. They’ll have a few more drinks. He’ll leave a few more tip marks in her back just above the line of her g string. Then they ll walk outside, hand in hand. Standing against a lightpole, she’ll reach down and grab his shrunken package ( you know from the roids). He’ll back up at first, maybe even get a little angry ( roids make you angry). But then he’ll settle in, unclench his fist, reach up and gently stroke her hair. They ll look deeply, longingly into each others eyes.
“Fuck me.” She’ll say. “Fuck me until I cant feel you or this horrible world. Fuck me and tell me it will be forever.” And he will. He’ll tell her it will be forever, at least as much forever as you can cram into five minutes of awkward foreplay. And while theyre fucking, Im going to finish washing my dishes because my apartment is starting to smell like tuna fish and papaya.

2003-06-03T02:18:00.000-07:00

The ebb and the flow. The push and the pull. The that thing and the other thing that is opposite of that first thing that I wrote earlier in the sentence that you just read because it’s here on the page and this page is for reading.

Ive been sitting around my apartment contemplating life for the better part of a week now, and Ive come to one great conclusion. Poop is always funny. See, told you. Ive also realized that sitting in a big heat box with dirty dishes and the stench of a broken tired soul makes your clothes smell funny even if you Febreeze the holy godless shit out of them. And believe me Ive tried. Anyway, I hope this summer wont be all asscracks and antics, but who’s to say. Maybe I ll become the ultra productive supermeezie that I always try to be over vacation. Im going to read a book. Im going to learn organic chemistry. Im going to get brains again and again and again and again. Yeah, sounds like a plan. Ok me, that’s the goal, now hop to.

2003-05-28T21:03:00.000-07:00

Mediocracity is a state of mind

Lately Ive been thinking about what its like to fall in love. U know, one of those hot sticky romance novel love stories that women jizz nuts for. The kind that they make into two hour dawsons creek specials so Van der beek can show his serious, yet sensitive side to a whole new audience. That’s the kind of love Im talking about. Do do do do.

So far this summer has been fan-fuckin tastic. And I mean that. Last weekend I got to kick it old school with my entire posse which doesn’t happen nearly often enough. By the way, Bitchez d-lux has two new songs coming out. One is about self discovery and one is about rockin nuts. After working on the song, I came back to sac, went to a party and got brains from a cute Italian former gymnast who was a giver (that means she wiped the tip with my j bot tshirt). After we were done we laid there, did a little more making out (after she rinsed) and got our sleep on. In short, best relationship ever….ever.

But sticky love. Butt sticky love. What is it that makes people want to be around people so much that if theyre not around people then people start puking? Do u know how many puking people that is? A lot. That’s how many. Love makes you puke. I think sperm is made of cod liver oil. Don’t drink it. It ll make you puke even more. So why is old Meezie thinking about the love train? I don’t know. Probably because Im bored and lonely. I could use a good set of steady titties in my daily routine, at least until school starts. Then its back to the fields with her. ( I find bitches in fields. I don’t call them “field bitches” because that’s derogatory and too hard to say 5 times fast, which is something I have to do every time I need a new bitch because their ears aren’t so good.) Maybe I’m just in need of change. Yeah, that’s it. Not a girl friend, just change. I can get that from a cashier, so long as I have a dollar (yeah, I’m all about settin myself up for dumb jokes then knockin’ em down all awkward like with my dude nub. Deal with it.)

2003-05-11T23:54:00.000-07:00

I’m feeling plagued. That’s the best way I can describe it. Its like there’s a storm of locusts getting their pillage on in my brain and stomach and I don’t have the strength or desire to stop them. My belly is full of locust shit. That’s pretty sweet.

I used to be afraid of falling down. Not just a little trip, but a great big, publicly witnessed, well attended, uncoordinated, but seemingly choreographed spill. One second, Meezie. The next, a cloud of papers and books mixed with blood…(I keep a big jar of blood in my pockets, because you can never be sure when you’ll need that kind of thing). Until tonight I had nothing to fear but falling.

Tonight, like every night, I was getting my study on. (Yeah, hooray for summer.) I had to go to the library to drop pick up a study guide from a buddy of mine. I ran up the stairs, found where he was sitting, thanked him for the paper, and bid him farewell. As I was walking away I could feel myself lift. Everything was light. My movement was easy and confident. In short, I didn’t feel like myself. I was having a good day, neigh, a good weekend. (yesterday a girl drove past me and whistled and yelled. I’m not sure if she thought I was hot or thought I needed a sandwich and she had an extra one sitting in her car. But I took it as the former and smiled like a schoolgirl.) Today was feeling good.

As I made my way down the stairs I watched my feet. I started to appreciate my Sambas. They’re about a month old and feeling fantastic. My feet looked back at me and winked. I thought about high fiveing them, but decided not to. They were busy helping me walk. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, to the main floor of the library, I noticed a round ass. A round female ass. A somewhat “dumpy in those jeans, but in the right situation could be causin’ palpitations” ass. I looked a little harder. Then it struck me, I knew that ass. That ass belonged to Jenny (firestarter for you bitches in the know. And you know who you are.) I strolled out just past her, not catching her eye. But then I turned and she noticed that I was noticing her trunk junk, so I had to pretend that I just wanted to say ,“Hey, how’s it going”. And that’s what I did.

Our conversation was strained. Mostly the “haven’t seen you for awhile but I'll pretend that you can recap the last six to eight months of your life in the short, albeit awkward, time we have together”. She mentioned something about a project. I complained about chemistry. That was that.

While she was talking, while I was pretending to listen, I started to remember why I liked her in the first place. She’s still as button cute as she was when we first met. She still has the same damn near perfect large B/ small C cups that I suckalated on more than a couple times (4 I think). And she’s still the first girl who ever offered to let me take the plunge into her murky vaginal abyss. That’s right, Meezie coulda had his tang, but he said no. Morals or something like that. I don’t remember anymore. What I do remember is tonight, how her shirt pulled taught against her tatums, how she smiled just because, how she made my apartment smell like someone actually lived there.

I don’t know where it all went wrong. It’s a matter for historians and astronauts, but not Meezies. What I do know is that I kind of regret not being nicer to Jenny. Now I’m sort of left with this big puddle of goop and stank. She’ll never have to deal with me again. I have to deal with me everyday. And everyday a new puddle of goop and a new puddle of stank. I hope I don’t fall into that. My pants aren’t goop-stank resistant.

2003-03-30T19:10:00.000-08:00

I was sitting at home watching that superman show. I forget what its called, but I know its full of angst and titties. I watch it mostly for the angst. I did a lot of running around today, a lot of sweating. The only thing stirring in my belly was the two bowls of pseudo honeycomb cereal that I bought two weeks prior. It’s a good thing I didn’t put the milk in until today. Despite its golden deliciousness and unwavering value, I was still a little on the hungry side. I turned to my fridge but I knew that it had nothing for me. As a last resort I decided to make a trip to the local Safeway. I hopped on my bike, tucked the cuff of my jeans into my sock, and sped off down the road just as fast as my twice-salvaged bike could take me.

There were bugs everywhere. I think I saw a bug riding on the back of another bug like some organic chariot. Or maybe they were fucking. I didn’t have time to stop and find out. Safeway was calling and I was on my way to answer.

The big glowing S on the front of the building told me I was there. I coasted to the bike rack, locked up my piecer, untucked my pants and headed inside. There was a girl at the cash register. She was wearing a green shirt. I couldn’t tell what she was buying. Her basket was blocked by her huge breasts. I think she was buying melons and tampons. I think all women buy melons and tampons. And that’s it.

As not to arouse suspicion, I stopped staring at the girl, stopped staring at her green shirt, and started my shopping experience. I turned right because turning left means you’re gay. Ask anyone. I headed for the bread section because I knew it would take me awhile. Bread is a tough choice. You can’t rush into that sort of thing. Usually when I go to the store I like to have few friends with me just so they can help me pick out bread. Bread by committee. You should try it. I looked at all the packages, and wondered how many tiny sweatshop fingers went into making those fancy packages. They had Oregon bread. I bet Oregon bread wouldn’t sell nearly as much if it were organ bread. Just a thought.

After five minutes of bread searching I couldn’t decide what to buy. Nothing. I gave up and moved on. I wasn’t sure where to go next. That’s when I saw another shirt, with another set of basket blocking distractions. They were in the meat isle. I decided that I needed meat. This girl had a white shirt, white breasts, and a white boyfriend. I admired her coordination. I think they were arguing about the price of chicken. It was hard to tell. I was busy trying to look into her basket. But I knew I didn’t fit into their scheme so I kept my momentum.

I passed the deodorants. I smell ok today. I passed the cleaning products. I’m ok with filth. I passed the frozen food section. I don’t have a girlfriend, a mother, or anyone else who loves me enough to cook for me. I went back to the frozen food section. This food is lonely, cold, and self-contained. I felt at home in this isle. I was mentally thumbing through the packages, when I noticed that the coordinated girl and her male accessory were walking down my isle. They didn’t belong here. They weren’t supposed to be here. They have resources. They have stoves and ovens. They have love. They’re supposed to sit by the fire while things roast in adjacent rooms. Don’t bring your warmth here. You'll melt the food. Go. Just go. I picked up a pizza but put it back. I lifted my feet, fell forward, and continued on.

There was an old man jamming milk into one of the refrigerators. I think he was dying. That’s what happens when you die. You go to grocery stores and shove milk back into anything you can. I don’t even think he knew that he was trying to shove milk at other milk, because if he did he would have laughed. Poor man. Poor milk.

I reached the end of the dairy isle, the last wall of the store, and all I had to show for it was a bag of frozen chicken. It’s a wonder I've lived this long. I decided to give the bread anther shot. On the way there I stopped by the meat section again. There were hotdogs for sale, but only the meat kind. Meat. What’s in a meat hotdog? I'd hate to see the god-awful cluster fuck manufacturing that goes into making a meat hotdog. I picked up a package, and was about to put it down until I realized Barry Bonds was on it. If it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.

I wanted to leave the store but I still needed bread. Even without my committee, I knew that I had to buy it. There’s just no getting around a thing like that. Man cant live by frozen chicken and Barry bonds hotdogs alone. On my way back to the bread section I saw two more sets of basket blockers attached to two more girls. One girl was wearing a blue shirt and a blue skirt. She took things from the shelves and put them into their basket. I took her to be the leader. I made eye contact. She looked at me then smiled like she had someplace to go and I was in her way. I thought about saying hello, but she was already too far gone. No matter, there’s bread to be had. Hot white bitches will only stop you from reaching the important things in life like bread. Good save. I made it back to the bread. I knew it was time for a command decision. I picked whole wheat because it slaps my hunger to the ground like it owed me money. I tossed it in my basket and turned away.

My patience and available basket space were both running low, which meant I was done. I walked to the cashier, avoiding any unnecessary eye contact with any unnecessary basket blockers. (Yes, they do have eyes, and no they aren’t on the nipples.) I put my loot on the conveyor belt, reached for my wallet, and prepared to pay Marie. She was polite, but only as polite as they paid her to be. But that’s good enough for me. I thanked her, wished that she had a good day too, grabbed my vittles, and headed for the door. It was darker, almost night dark. The sign on the front of the building was glowing red. Sometimes I think the S should stand for “Stay away. There’s danger here.”

I got home and took the food from my backpack. I placed it on the counter. I forgot that I bought bananas. Sometimes life’s funny that way.

2003-03-11T01:35:00.000-08:00

I womp for justice like you tasked me to.

Im sick of being funny. Im sick of being a shoulder. Im sick of being a rock. I want to be unstable. I want to be mean. I don’t want to be charming or witty or likeable. I want to be an ass. I want it all to be about me. Fuck you, this is Meezie time. Deal.

Its become increasingly apparent that my junk has a kick me sign attached to it. Id take it off, but Im afraid that would hurt even more than the kickin. Tonight I did some studying. Surprise. I was feeling pretty chipper, confident even. My bean was absorbing things faster than your average bean. I had some girlscout cookies in my backpack. There was no one else around me. In short, I was happy. But then something in me said it was time to go, so I went. When I got home there was a message on my machine.
“Hey ameer this is lorraine. Just wanted to say hi, see how youre doing. Give me a call when you get this.”

For those of you who haven’t been following my tales of degoodalation, Loraine is (another) girl I was into, that is until I saw her on date with a buddy of mine, the same buddy who I told about my secret, burning desire, for loraine. I know, very Dallas. At any rate, Loraine and I are friends…good acquaintances masquerading as friends, so I wasn’t all that surprised that she called. But there was something in me that didn’t want to call back. Call it esp, call it womans intuition, (Im just glad you call it) but something told me that calling her back would be the worst thing I could do. I knew better. My bean knew better. My junk was sore, but had he been sore enough to know better he would have known better. I wish my junk had hands, because he surely would have slapped the phone away from me. But he failed, and I failed, and I called.

“Alo. Quien es?”
(By the way, she has a spanish accent. Maybe its Mexican. Or was it Ecuadorian. Whatever. She talks funny.)
“Hey, this is ameer.”
“Meezie? Whats up”
“did you just call me Meezie?”
“No, I said Im out on the mezzanine taking it easy.”
“Oh, that’s cool. So whats up.”
“Nada. Well, there is one thing. I have some boy problems.”
“Well, Im kind of like a woman. Care to tell me?”
“It all started with this guy I like. His name is blah. Blah blah blah. But blah blah blah blahblah tooty toot root. Humdinger. Slam. Yak yak yak….So what do you think?”
“Maybe he just wants to have sex with you.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then maybe he’s a pussy. Speaking of which, I gizotta gizet gizoing.”
“Ho-k. Adios Meezie.”

So there it is. I was instantly promoted to uber buddy status, though I suspect Ive been in line for this position for quite awhile. To make matters even more interesting, Loraine suggested that I should be gay. Though I was curious as to her rationale, I simply didn’t have the courage to ask, mostly because I was afraid she might have a strong case. Far be it from me to argue with logic. Hell, maybe she’s right. Im going to turn over a new leaf. No more mild mannered Meezie. From now on I will be Meezie the unstable rage filled homosexual. Then the bitches will make sense. If not, I ll just womp them with my rage.

2003-03-05T01:30:00.000-08:00

A funny thing happened on the way to pushing you down the stairs

Sometimes life throws you bears. Sometimes those bears have lemons in their pockets. Sometimes the lemons get tough but the water under the bridge gets going. And so goes my understanding of life in fifty words or less.

So far school has been skidding ahead at a break neck pace, and I’m being dragged behind the bumper. And brother, it aint all its cracked up to be. I don’t know how long I ll last. I don’t know how long anyone would last in my situation. Scenario: A mild mannered, oddly shaped, quasi British, somewhat effeminate, fellow lanks his way into a class room. He’s been studying all night so he hasn’t had a chance to shave. He’s been locked in a cave of self indulging solitude so he doesn’t know how to talk to people. He’s not wearing pants, so his whole proper British lad thing isn’t working out. He looks around and see’s a bunch of people discussing this and that. More chit shit than substance but what else can you expect on a Monday, that is if it’s Monday. It all runs together. Potato pajama really.

I don’t know how else to describe my days, nights, and everything else in between, except to say that its all starting to suck more than I ever imagined possible. And believe you me, I’ve had a lot of time to do a lot of imagining. The other day I imagined that I was on a spaceship headed to France. The pilot was a large breasted Frenchwoman who only spoke German and a moderate amount of Punjabi. Her face was made of licorice. I ate her face. Her face was delicious. I ate her arms. Her arms were made of muscle, nervous, connective and epithelial tissue. Her arms weren’t that delicious.

If I had my druthers I would never stop dreaming. (I gotta remember where I put those things). Every time I enter the world of the living, the one you fuckers deal with on the daily, it leaves me confused, befuddled, and queasy. Sometimes hungry. Tonight I attempted, for one last time, to mix and mingle with you world. I tried to be an all American Joe blow college guy. I called a girl. Hooray for me. All of my convos with girls go to shit. I think it’s the undiscovered law of thermodynamics or something. I ll check into that. At any rate, this case was to be no different. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’ve known this girl for a while, maybe a year and a half. She’s one of the girls who works at the bookstore in the student union. She’s cute enough, perky boobs and personality to match. I’ve talked to her a few times. We get along. A few weeks ago I ran into her on campus. She mentioned that she had just broken up with her boyfriend of three years. Then she gave me a hug, her number, and instructions to call her. I couldn’t believe it. That never happens to me. It was too good to be true. My loins began to tingle. I looked down and noticed that my dude shit itself then got its seppuku on. I was confused. He had done nothing to bring dishonour to me or my family. But maybe I should’ve taken it as a sign. Maybe I should’ve asked him where he bought those bitchin mini swords.

In all the hustle and grind of academia, I sort of forgot about the girl. Sometimes its difficult trying to become a hardcore mutha G gettin brains nightly. But someone’s gotta do it. Tonight I saw one of her buddies and thought about her body and wondered if anybody was in that body. I called her. She seemed happy enough. We chitted. We chatted . I made a lot of witty remarks. And she laughed. She made a lot of noises. And I pretended to listen. Things were going great. I was on top of the world. Then she pulled the rug right from beneath me.
“ Well, I’m getting kind of tired.”
“Hey, that’s cool. I just wanted to give you a call, you know, let you know I haven’t forgotten about you.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“Hey we should kick it soon.”
*insert awkward silence here
“Yeah, I would but I’m pretty booked right now. I have school and a boyfriend.”
“That’s cool.”
“You can come kick it with us if you want. We might be going to a hockey game next week. There’s a play he wants to go to. If none of that sounds interesting I have a ritual castration pit in my basement that I’ve been dying to try out.”
“I would, but my dude committed seppuku a couple weeks ago. My junk is still in mourning.”
“My condolences… I have a boyfriend. Did I mention that I have a boyfriend…Ass?”
So there it is. A boyfriend. I should’ve listened to reason. From now on I will be reason. I will be the voice of reason that sits on the shoulder of the voice of reason, making me more reasonable still. I don’t do angels. I don’t do devils. I just do logic. And that’s why the bitches love me.

2003-02-12T01:42:00.000-08:00

It's all fun and games until someone fucks the base midget

I'm thinking of changing my name. Ameer just doesn’t seem to fit. It doesn’t have enough kick. No one’s scared of Ameer. Panties don’t moisten at the mention of Ameer. I need something more fitting. Something more virile. Something that will strike fear into the hearts of all that hear it. So far I have it narrowed down to Danger Stud 5000 and Ace Pehniz.

Tonight I was talking to Mickey, a pudgy Mexican girl with a heart of gold and an ass of gristle. Rumor has it that Mickey has taken a liking to old meezie. I suppose there's no accounting for taste. Last semester she left a note for me that read something to like “ hey Ameer you hot chocolate stud muffin. Give me a call so we can make some of those babies that they call that other name for black because that’s what they are.” I saw her the next day and asked her about it. She claimed that she was under the influence of Nyquil and couldn’t be held accountable for anything she said. I'm no lawyer, not unless you count my brains litigation, but I think she had a pretty strong case. I let it go.

Mickey is a nice girl. She laughs a lot, she doesn’t complain, and she can take a lot of ribbing. A real buddy pal type of chick. I like her well enough. But given her pudge status and general lack of attractiveness I’m not all about spoonin’ out her mustard if you know what I mean. Even still, I flirt with her a little. Nothing big, no touchy feely stuff, just harmless male female interaction. (I was going to say “innocuous” instead of harmless because I'm smart as hell. I just typed harmless first. Man, I'm smart as hell.) I know it’s not going anywhere. She knows its not going anywhere. A good time is had by all. At least I thought so.

Tonight I was chatting it up with Mickey. She was sitting down and I was standing behind her, just off to her right. She was saying something about something or the other, I don’t remember what. She started using these hand motions to describe whatever she was yammering about. While she was waving this and that, her hand got dangerously close to my dude.
“Damn, Mickey. You mind to watch you hands. You almost grazed mu jonk.”
“No I didn’t.”
“You calling mu jonk a liar?”
“I wasn’t even close to your jonk.”
“I don’t know, you could be on Nyquil again. You might not be in control of your actions. I don’t need you writing anymore notes.”

Then she caught meezie off guard. Meezie is me. I was caught off guard.
“What if I did touch it?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, what if I wasn’t on Nyquil when I wrote the note? What would you say if I really wanted to touch your junk?”

I looked for some sign of joking, something that said, “just kidding meezie. I'm a fat girl and you’re not into that, so I know you’re not about to bust your spoon out on my punpon Dijon.” But there was nothing.
“Seriously. What if I said I wanted to? What would you say?”
“Quit messing around.”
“I'm serious. We’re both adults.”

But that’s where she was wrong. I'm not even close to being an adult. Not yet. Not when it comes to that. I laughed off her comment, slowly backed away and tried to change the subject.

“Hey, I was looking for this print out. Equilibria and weak acids. Perfect. Man, I should go study this. Hold on, Lueg.”

I grabbed the paper and quickly bowed out with a “late”.

Walking back across the hall, away from Mickey, away from the prospect of hooking up with a nice, albeit pudgy, girl, something dawned on me. I wasn’t wearing pants. Something else dawned on me. I like the way my dude looks naked. I also realized (or should I say realised. Yeah, I'm British.) that I'm not big pimpin. I don’t know if I want to be big pimpin. I think I’ll just medium pimp to some reasonable degree. I'm also going to buy some pants with a clear plastic window on the crotch. I have a beautiful dude.

2003-02-05T02:25:00.000-08:00

Uncle Meezie

I don’t do moments. I don’t like mush. I think all the mush I did have got stepped on a couple years ago. I didn’t mean to step on it, but what are you gonna do. That shit is hard to keep in your pocket. Sooner or later its bound to fall out, and sooner or later you’re bound to step on it. All you can do is buy a new pair of shoes. Love ruins shoes. Get it. Good.

Last week I went grocery shopping. I had about 5 bags full of stuff, nothing nutritious because I don’t do that shit. But real quality stuff. I was walking up stairs to my apartment and I felt the bag shift. No problem, I thought. Shifting happens all the time. That’s what nature does. Constant state of flux, yada yada yada. I reached the landing, about 20 feet from my apartment. All of a sudden one of the bags gave way and I heard a crunch. I looked down and there was a huge red streak across the concrete. The one healthy and delicious thing I bought decided that it had no place in my apartment, let alone my belly, and decided to take a header on someone’s welcome mat. More specifically, it decided to take a header on the welcome mat of this lady that hates me, I mean really fuckin hates me.

I’d like to think that I'm a pretty decent guy. I do things on the level. I'm a bit of a square. I'm pretty plane (get it!?!?). But for some reason this lady hates me. I should mention that this lady is a black lady. I should also mention that I’ve talked to her before, and it was quite possibly the most awkward conversation in recorded history. I remember it like it was a couple months ago, though in reality it happened about three months ago. I was in the laundry room, doin my bimonthly duties. Like most laundry rooms at shitty apartment complexes, this one is about the size of a garage. I saw her in there, tossing in her unmentionables so I thought I’d strike up a conversation, you know, for comedy’s sake.
“So, laundry eh. How’s that workin out?”
“Fine.”
“My name’s Ameer. Hey don’t you go to sac st? I go there.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Man you’re a bitch. It’s a shame we’re both so damned black.”
“I didn’t know you were black.”

Long story short, our laundry room encounter was horrible. So I knew that the moment that sauce hit the ground, all of this woman’s unfounded hate had just founded itself a reason. She came out, laid out the snide remarks. I apologized as well as I could. She made more snide remarks. I apologized some more. She made some snide remarks, then left. I'm not sure, but I think she may have called me an uncle tom. Even if she didn’t say it, she meant it. I know she meant it. I can see it in her eyes. Every time I pass her she says it with her stare. That, “Look at that sell out cracker wanna be ass ‘glit trying to get his science on. He’s not all that and a bag of Doritos. I've had Doritos. He’s not better than those.”

So I'm not popular with the black lady down the hall. That’s ok. This is black history month. Maybe we’ll make amends. If not, I'll just send her a valentine, attach a box of white chocolate, and tell her to blow it out her bulbous ass.

2003-01-31T01:14:00.000-08:00

If these jimmies aint cold jimmies I dont know which jimmies is

She knows Ricky’s. I can’t compete with a Ricky let alone Ricky’s, no one can. That’s why they keep making them. They’re like rock. Unless you’re paper, brother, you aint beatin shit. Fucking worthless scissors.

It was a sunny afternoon. I had lost track of time, but that always happens when I play tennis so I didn’t think it odd. I was just happy to be running again. The courts seemed nicer than usual. I ran to pick up a ball and saw a buddy of mine from DVC. We played on the tennis team together. I passed by his court, but I didn’t say anything because that’s the way tennis is played, complete silence, without exception. I walked outside to get a drink of water and this vaguely familiar blonde girl came bounding at me. She had huge boobs. I’m a huge boob fan, and also a fan of huge boobs, so you can imagine how happy I was to see her and her huge boobs.
“Hey,” she said, “I don’t remember your name, but you look really familiar.”
“Ameer.” I said.
“Whatever. I’m going to go play tennis against the wall. When you’re done we should go make out.”
“Sweet.”

I turned around and my world collapsed. When I opened my eyes, I realized that I had fallen asleep in my lab book. I left a face print in the carbonless paper. My legs felt like two brown fuzzy logs of uncoordinated stupid. I woke up, standing in a pile of some cold shit. And it was only Wednesday.

But back to Ricky. Fuck Ricky. If my name were Ricky I’d have the common decency to change it. Save Ricky Henderson, I haven’t met one that I’ve liked. But Sandra likes a Ricky. Did I mention this is about a girl? Did I really have to? Dumon…figure it out. Joe, help him. Dayv, hug someone. I heard her talking about this and that. Their conversation had a flow to it. It was so…real.
“Hey, give me a call when you get home.”
“Yeah, its cool.”
“Ok, later.”
Whenever meezie gets an “ok later” it means bad things, really bad things. It means that later may never come, and if it does, and if I'm ready for it , I mean truly ready for it, it’s never as good as I hoped. I think it was Ghandi who said that the journey is it’s own reward. Apparently he was also on a pun strike too. Sitting and waiting for things to happen, for shit to hit the fan, carom off the walls, and land, still-steaming, in your lap, is not the best way to approach anything, especially pun. Passive resistance my ass.

One of these days I'm going to be a genius, an artist, an athlete, and a fantastic lover. And on that day I too will be a Ricky. Feel free to hate me, I will.

2003-01-15T03:48:00.000-08:00

A funny thing happened on the way to a full moon OR A day in the life of a spiritual butcher: a love story

I’m starting to think that there’s no such thing as an awkward pause, just necessary silence. A time in a conversation for the void of ideas to sit and simmer and let itself be know. I have nothing to say and I’m ok with that. You have nothing to say, I’m ok with that. You should be too. Lets deal with it. Lets move on. Lets get the rhythm of the hands (I miss sesame street.)

Tonight I hung out with…M. No, no clever name. This one doesn’t get a clever name, not yet. But I cant give out her real name for fear that one of the two people who read this might tell two friends and they ll tell two friends and so on and so on. You’ve seen the commercial. You know what I mean.

At any rate, I hung out with M. She called me…. Ok I called her but still, there was a conversation, I was a party to it, that’s all that matters. She was bored, lonely, and bored. She asked if I wanted to come over. I said yes. A story as old as time. She told me she didn’t have cable. I wept. In order to avoid a night of long stares and strained conversations, I stopped by the local Blockbuster to pick up a few flicks.

One of the things I like about M is that she’s kind of new to everything. You might even call her sheltered. Ok, she’s a super sheltered church girl. But there’s something almost charming about her naïveté. ( yeah, I'm all about fancy words with symbols and shit). She’s kind of like a sponge, except that instead of dunking her in water and rubbing her on stuff, I just let…make her watch weird movies. I tell her about stuff she’s never thought about. In short, I’m doing my best to rape the idealistic virtue out of her head and replace it with a rotten, festering cynical tumor.

“Hello, my name is Ameer. I cause cancer”

While browsing through the video store I came across one of my favorite, albeit nonsensical, movies, Gummo. There’s no real plot. But what it lacks in story line it more than makes up for in gritty imagery and gut wrenching honesty. In the interest of virtue raping I decided to make M watch it. This was to be her ass first, head long, balls out dive into a sea of unfamiliarity and shaven retards.

Long boring story short, she didn’t like the movie. She kept asking me where it was going. I told her to focus on the images and not the story. She wanted to know what was wrong with the people and where their parents were. I told her that the people were poor white trash, but interesting poor white trash who were most likely born from pods. Pod trash. She asked me something else. I told her I’d stop the movie.

As I rode home the wind ripped past my ears. The street was dead. The sidewalks were empty. I could here my own breathing. I looked at a pothole and wept silently to myself. Tomorrow I’m going to find the deeper meaning in a jar of mayonnaise.

2003-01-10T00:02:00.000-08:00

There are few things in life that lack appeal and inspire disgust like a food trap. I don’t know whether it’s the sight of wet former morsels of goodness all gathered in a little clump of ick or the lack of recognizable smells, but that thing has always bothered me. Call me a quiter, but that’s the main reason I don’t do dishes.

Id like to think of sacramento as a sort of cosmic food trap. All of the used up, wet, sloppy morsels sort of end up here. They sit, they ferment, and they smell llike angry tuna and fear. And I think Im slowly becoming one of them.

Today I was a sacramento shut in. Today I only left my house to get my mail. Today I wore the same clothes I wore yesterday and the same clothes I’ll likely wear tomorrow. I think Im about to go funkin insane from the general lack of stuff to do. The funny thing is that I have an ass load of things I should be doing. You might be saying to yourself, “Meezie, just get on that shit. It’s just as easy as waking up before dinner, showering, and moving.” Well, for some reason I cant seem to get myself going anymore. At least not recently. Maybe its because I still cant get to bed before 5. Maybe its because my dreams are getting weirder and weirder. Last nights trip down subconscious thought lane included a drunken asian chick, a woman in a turtle neck walking her pit bull, and a bowling alley…I think. I had half a mind to write the shit down after I woke up, but then I realized that I could spend that time sleeping. You see my dilemma.

Now the sun is down. Its been down for a few hours now. I’ll most likely be awake to greet it when it decides to wake it’s lazy ass up. You know, for such a big hot ball, it has a lot of problems getting motivated. Fuckin sun. Fuckin sac. I need a shower.

2003-01-09T02:33:00.000-08:00

Im sitting in my apartment with nothing to do but stare at my walls. This place, this wonderfully cold simple place, has been called boring and ugly and downright unlivable. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Theres not much to do in sac when youre not busy. During the semester I had no choice but to buckle down, knuckle up, grin and bear it. But now I think the bear smells me and he thinks Im delicious. That ll teach me to rub “people fixins” all over my body. The chaos has ended and now Im back here. Here to collect my thoughts, write them down, put them in lists, add hilarious stuff after them, and hope that no one reads them.

Before I get too mushy or pseudo-intellectual Id like to offer a brief rundown of my last 20 or so weeks: got up, brushed my teeth, made out with a fat girl, went to class, studied, looked at fish, went to class, cried, wacked, cried, made out with a boring girl, faked my way through meetings, looked at fish, vomited internally because I was surrounded by sacramentucky retards, studied, didn’t blog…In exactly that order.

Despite microsoft words disdain for that last sentence ( put it through a grammar check, I fuckin dare you) that’s about as accurate and as vivid a retelling as Im ever going to give. Yes, the last few months have been a non-stop tornado of cluster fucks and near misses. Everyday I hoped that it would all end and everyday I cursed karma for making me such a fucking genius. Why must I be so damn cool? That’s one for the ages.

Now Im here with nothing to do. My inspirato has all run down the drain of something something. Still not good at metaphors. Sorry. Anyway, I ll see you when I see you, whoever you are. Just don’t step on my carpet with those fucking shoes. Didn’t your mother learn you right!?!? Someone get me a fucking napkin.

2002-11-17T02:38:00.000-08:00

There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not the problem. It’s them; they’re the problem. That’s the only possible answer. This happens too often to be a coincidence.

Tonight I went out with Vagina. For all three of you who have been following along at home, you ll remember that Vagina is the black girl from the tennis team that may or may not like me or hate me. Its often hard to tell as she never calls me back. Usually our meetings are random, meaningful exchanges of cordial greetings and inquiries. But aside from the “how’s your” this and the “what’s going on with your” that’s, we don’t talk much. After tonight I think I understand…appreciate why.

A couple of days ago Vagina called me up out of the blue. We talked for a bit then the conversation hit a wall. She asked me if I was into parties. I said not really. She asked if I was into dancing. Not really. She asked if I wanted to go to a party with dancing and crowds and black people in big crowds that will look at you funny if you don’t dance and look at you even funnier if you talk like some ethiopian-british bastard clone. Yes, I would love to. Saturday night, that would be fantastic.

I've been feeling shitty all week. Cold, coughing, aching, sneezing, so you can rest medicine left me chilled, horse, sore, and sticky. (Yeah lets see you make a better Nyquil reference. Fuckhead) Maybe that was karma’s way of saying, “Meezie, take it easy. This is your chance to rest. Just let the sick get all up in you and do you some favors.” But karma’s fucked me in the past, is fucking me in the present, and will fuck me in the future, so I paid her no mind. I kept up all of my activities. School like a mother. Tennis like a fucker. Meezie fo sho. So when Saturday came along with its promises of cooter and hijinks I leapt at it like a frat guy at a free roofies stand.

(Aside: Tall lanky white guy, around 6’9” is running down a path. He’s too fast and too awkward to notice the crippled midget in the motorized wheel chair. He runs into her, she pokes him in the eye, they kiss, fall in love, and have beautiful babies.)

So vagina picks me up around 945. She’s far too hot to be in the meezie pad, but I’m not one to question my own good fortune so I let it slide. The party was only 3 blocks from my house, but it took us 15 minutes to find it. Win Win. When we finally got there a uniformed military person was directing traffic into an open concrete field that was probably used for interning Japanese people but now served as a parking lot with no visible spaces. But in we went. The lot was relatively empty, yet it took us five minutes to park.
“Just park there.”
“Ok…wait, we might get trapped.”
“Then park there.”
“But my car might get scratched”
“Then park there”
“But there’s a leaf there.”
“Vagina…can I call you vagina?”
“Sure.”
“Vagina, it’s a good thing you’re hot.”

The room was wall to wall darkies. Black skin rubbed off onto black skin, making each one blacker still. It was like a reverse Klan meeting. Instead of entering the fray, we sat off to the side on a faux wood table that must have been used to torture the aforementioned Asians. And there we sat for the next two hours. It’s just as well. Had I made my way to the dance floor I would’ve quickly been exposed as the undercover cracker. But there’s part of me that really wanted to be out there on that floor, doing those dances, moving those moves. The release of movement fueled by alcohol, catalyzed by cooter.

(Aside: Blind guy butt fucking a retard with a Cod. Think about it)

Not being one to let sitting get the best of me, I did some talking. Big mistake.
“So Ameer, why don’t you have a girlfriend.”
“School I guess.”
“That’s a good answer, I suppose. But…what I’m getting at is…how do I say this….hmm…WHATS WRONG WITH YOOOOOUUUU?!?”
“ I don’t know, Vagina. I just don’t know.”

“When I fall in love I want it to be a surprise. I want love to kind of sneak up on me and take hold of me when I don’t expect it.”
“You mean like a ninja.”
“Uh…ok.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have very feminine features?”
“Not tonight.”
“You should be a woman for Halloween.”
“Why is that?”
“You have the kind of eyebrows that most women would kill for.”
“Um…thanks”
"and bug eyes."
"I..."
"and bitch lips."

Long depressing story short, Meezie didn’t get the coot. More importantly, meezie don’t want the coot, at least not that one. Is it so much to ask for one quality girl. I want a girl that’s smart, interesting, funny, humble, inquisitive, and knows how to build a time machine with a dinosaur trap so we can go back in time and scare the shit out of Abe Lincoln right before he gets shot. Honest my ass.

2002-10-19T22:49:00.000-07:00

Every time I think that karma has kicked just as hard as she can, she finds another gear. Another boot to the back for old meezie. Tonight I was getting my study on with a buddy of mine. We were at the student union, deeply entrenched in the finer points of biology. Time seemed to fly. Time waited for me. And it was perfect. I felt like I could go forever. But then 8 o’clock came, and with it went my sanity. The manager of the union came by and informed us that we had to leave. “The union is closed,” he said, casting us out into that good night.

Not wanting to let our focused rhythm go to waste, we decided to head for the nearest coffee shop. So down the road we headed. When we got there it was painfully obvious that we were still in Sacramento as the place was full. Yeah, the only thing to do on a Saturday night in sac is sit in a fucking book store, drink over priced coffee, and wonder when you’re going to die. Unfortunately there weren’t enough tables, so we decided to go to the next best k-hole, Starbucks.

As we pulled up to the ‘bucks, I saw my dude run away. He left me a note that read, “ Dear meezie, I cant go in there. There’s something bad in there. You don’t want to be there. I can’t be there right now. You’re on your own. I’m taking your dignity and hope for the future with me, as you won’t soon need either one. You Trusted friend, Dude.”

I read the note, starring at the piece of paper for the better part of five minutes. “I cant be there”, I thought. “What does that mean?” No matter, there was studying to be done and god damn it, I was gonna do it! I got out of the car, walked across the street and stepped into the bucks. It was then that I understood the ramifications of my dude’s note.

A familiar face greeted me; it was another buddy of mine from school. I’d like to think of him as a confidant, someone worthy of inner circle status. Hell, I even told him about my interest in Lorraine. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw him sitting with her, both of them in fancy duds, enjoying a steaming latte topped with a generous helping of “fuck you meezie. You weren’t supposed to be here.”

“Hey, how’s it going guys” I mustered through my sanbo grin
“Not bad. We just got back from the Cirque De Soleil.” He said, shaking my hand like he was running for office.
“It was awesome. I had a great time.” She said, smiling at him.
“Hey, that’s fantastic. I’m gonna go over here and read my calculus book and pretend that I didn’t hear that and I didn’t see you and that I’m in Bermuda with a large breasted sorority pledge.”

I looked for a seat as far from them as possible, but the only thing available was the table next to theirs. They sat there for an hour, laughing, sharing, enjoying. I sat there for an hour, pretending not to hear him ask about her roommates and her job and her family and her hobbies. I sat there for an hour pretending not to see her touch his leg with her foot, or toss her hair, or take off her glasses as she giggled at his witty yet insightful comments.

Eventually they took off, but it didn’t matter. My head was still with them. I starred at my book. Numbers ran into signs. Words turned into echoes of laughter that should have been aimed at me.

Tonight I was back in high school. I was that same insecure, poorly dressed, bundle of nervousness that balked on the Melissa Brown situation. I sat in my chair, in that Starbucks, but I was tethered to the past by my own inaction. In high school I was bested by a jock. In college I was bested by a genius. In life, I’ve been bested by my own self-doubt. I'd like to think that someday I’ll be David to that Goliath or that persistent little engine to that mountain. But for now I have no stone, no sling, and I throw like a girl. For now I’m at the bottom of the hill, cursing at myself for not being “that guy”.

2002-10-09T21:29:00.000-07:00

My heart is heavy, my soul is tired, and my j Bot t-shirt smells like meat. And, if I had it to do over again I would.

I've done a lot of stupid things to get girls to like me. When the girl in the bookstore with the ridiculous waste line and a flare for the dramatic asked me to "take a look" at her paper I did. Two hours, three pencils, and one pile of dignity later I had turned five pages of semi-not unstupid word salad into a passably beautiful rhetorical masterpiece.

When Jessica asked me to go to a roundtable discussion on womyns issues I did. Being the only man in a room full of bearded feminists isn’t nearly as sweet as it sounds. They served tofu and Luna bars. I had a cheeseburger in my backpack but I was afraid to eat it. I let it sit until the greasy mass made its way through the fabric and burned delicious holes in my back. I thought about eating my back.

I once knew a girl named Andy Williams who mentioned that her name was the same as the country star Andy Williams but she didn’t own an Andy Williams cd. I went to her play, Andy Williams cd and rose in hand. We went to a party and she ignored me for an hour, then she told me that she had a boyfriend in Michigan and that my hands felt like the cold fingers of death coming to deliver its grim message of despair. Tonight was one of those.

Loraine isn't the kind of girl that you would pick out of a crowd. She's cute but nothing to write home about. But once you get a chance to talk to her you're hooked. She's like crack with breasts and a cheery disposition. For the past couple days Loraine and I have had a chance to hang out and get to know each other. Nothing too special, but quality. I normally try to remain distant, not to get involved with anyone on any sort of personal level, but I have to say that I've started to develop a "thing" for Loraine. Yeah, funk that. I think that she might have a little thing for me too. So you can understand why, when she asked me to go salsa dancing, I said yes. But you shouldn’t.

There are some things that you should know about Meezie. 1) For a dark chocolate Nubian god, I have little to no rhythm. 2) Next to Bot, Im the lankiest guy I know. 3) When I get around girls any coordination that I do have oozes out of places that I don’t like to discuss and forms puddles of god knows what wherever I move.

Despite my rhythm, lank, and puddles, I went dancing. I showed up, made an ass of myself in front of complete strangers, got sweaty, got bored, got ignored, and I'm certain that I've learned nothing except that someone in my family fucked a cousin and passed me some retard genes. I'm not the lord of the dance. I am, however, the rightful heir to the throne of Retardia, loved for my ability to make some no sense. I need a shower.

2002-09-28T00:00:00.000-07:00

The best laid plans are the ones that arent laid at all. Tonight I planned to run game on a fatty in hopes of getting brains. No go. When I started school I hoped to graduate in 4 years with a fancy degree, a dope job and a trophy wife that may or may not have been born yet. No go. At this point Im just happy that things happen. Happenstance.

Once again Im confronted with the harsh reality of solitude. It’s a Friday night. Im young. I have a penis. The perfect recipe for some good a-doin’s and such. But that’s not to be. For this is the land of meezie. Here, the lakes are filled with lotion. Here the crickets sing country western. Here fat girls are worth their weight in gold and gold is worth its weight in fat girls. And I am here, here without a jacket or a compass, here cold and lost and lonely. I don’t mean to belabor the point, but come on. This is getting ridiculous. I mean, what the hell?

It has been said that, on paper, Meezie is a cooter magnet, but off paper it’s a whole other story. I wish I could live in paper. I bet the weekends there are much nicer. I bet that they never have tests. I bet that they don’t have any silly “statutes” to stand in the way of love, young, nubile, love.

2002-09-21T21:28:00.000-07:00

Herb and The Hole: A tribute

Just another study night. Another day. Another book. Something in the air told me that tonight would be different. Perhaps it was the toner and loose-leaf vapor. Either way, I knew something was different, and that something had to change.

"Dude, fuck the library. Lets go study someplace else." I said

"Like where?" replied Matt.

"I don't know. Somewhere with people and windows."

"Lets hit up some third street action. I hear that normal people go there."

Normally it wasn't our practice to fraternize with the normals, at least not while we were engaged in deep academic inquiry. But this was tonight. Tonight was different. Tonight we were going to be around people. We packed our bags, waved goodbye to all of our light sensitive brothers, and made our way into the world.

It was all I thought it would be. Cold, scary, confusing. All my fears were assuaged once I saw the blinking lights dance against the night sky. Green means stop. Red means go. Yellow means a baby died. We sped through traffic like a hot knife through something soft and sensitive to high temperatures. One more left turn and I saw it, in all of its oft-duplicated glory.

"Barnes & Nobles? People actually study here?" I inquired.

"That's what I hear. Lets give it a shot. It can't be that bad. We'll drink a little coffee, watch a lot of tail, and maybe get to some reading. The Danes call it hijinks." Matt gurgled.

" Would you stop gurgling? I can't hear a thing you're saying." I said

"I said, that's what I ...Let's just go inside."

We pushed through the double glass barrier, two particles diffusing across a membrane, hoping that the concentration of genius on the inside was enough to outweigh the madness. The bottom floor was full of the usual new bestseller this, and bargain barrel that. But we weren't here for the books. We were here for the normalcy. And that could only be found upstairs, at the top of the escalator, in a modified mini, yet terribly quaint Starbucks.

After making our way up the escalator we crossed the neo-art deco floor, taking special care to notice the stains.

" I didn't know you were allowed to pee in Starbucks."

"Starbucks, no. Barnes & Noble, yes."

There's something to be said for conformity. It's comfortable. It's inviting, and if you could bottle it, brew it, label and sell it for a ridiculously high price you could have your own Starbucks. But we weren't there for a hot cup of comfort. We were there to feel normal and ogle boobies.

"That girl is kind of cute." I said

"Which one, the fat one?" he said

"No the one with the huge breasts."

"Breasts, huh. I hear those are all the rage in France."

"What about that one?"

"Meh, she's kind of cute in a 'I've just been run through by fiddy drunken frat boys and all I got was this lousy t-shirt and a free bottle of roofies' kind of way. Not really my...holy cock. Look over there." Matt said, motioning over my left shoulder.

Not wanting to seem too obvious I didn't look right away. I picked up my pencil, and twirled it in my fingers. Ticonderoga No.2. Letting it drop to the floor, I slowly pivoted to my left. Then I saw her. She was here. She was alone. And she was beautiful. Her dress was cute, but modest. Her face had an exotic simplicity. Perfect without a hint of pretension, which made her more perfect still. I reeled back around and starred at Matt.

"Holy burning...that girl is amazing." I said

"Seriously. It's like if Leticia Casta, Margaret Thatcher, and a dictionary had a threesome and made a baby, and that baby was born, and that baby grew up and moved to LA, and that baby wanted a cup of coffee, and that baby chose Barnes & Nobles for that cup of coffee, that would be that baby!" Matt gurgled in an excited haze.

"What? You really ought to work on that gurgling thing. It's starting to put a strain on our relationship. But that's a whole other issue. Do you think I should talk to her?" I asked my life long companion

"Dude. I don't think you have a choice." He said.

"I can't just go up there for no reason. I gotta have an in." I said

"Ok, check this out. I'll go over and post up at the table next to her. You wait a couple minutes and come on over. Ask her if you can borrow her sugar or something. Then from there, just throw on the old D charm. It's a sure bet." he exclaimed before breaking into a celebratory jig.

"That's some mighty fine jigging, but save it for later. We have to work your plan." I said.

So off across the art-deco substrate he strode, planting himself squarely, self-assuredly, at the table next to hers.

A couple minutes passed. It was just enough time for me to muster up enough sac to pull off this cockamamie scheme. I felt like B.A. Barrackus, waiting for the old guy with a cigar to say "I love it when a plane comes together." I packed my bags, rubbed my dude three times for good luck, and prepared to follow Matt's path to my exquisitely understated destiny. As I was walking I heard what appeared to be a voice begging my attention.

"Excuse me...Sir. Pardon me. Over here." said the decidedly Asian man in a decidedly Asian manner.

"Yeah, hey. What's going on?" I replied with the most basic courtesy.

"I have horrible how you say, intestinal gasticular problems in my stankified regions. Please do not take my flatulence as a sign of disrespect. I am sure your family is worthy of honor. My name is Herb."

"....H...uh..Hey. How's it...going." I said

"I am new to your country and I am interested in laptops. Your bag looks like it would be good for a laptop. Where can I get your bag?"

"Well, I think there are a bunch of places around here that carry this type of thing. Anywhere I guess."

"Thank you kind American sir. Why does your bag say PeopleSoft? Have you heard of Microsoft? They are huge in my country. The Mr. Bill Gates is a very kind man. He is a very strong and handsome man. If I were a gay man, I would love to make out with The Mr. Bill Gates. Have you heard of The Mr. Bill Gates?"

"Yeah. Microsoft is big here. Too. Hey, listen. It's been great talking with you but..."

"Your country is overcrowded. How can you people live like this. There are so many people in America. Why don't you spread out. Everything is so so big. So so crowded."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Matt walking towards us. His step was lively. His step was urgent.

"Hey, I was waiting over there for like ten minutes, what's the hold up?" asked Matt

"Oh, sorry. I was just talking to..."

"I'm sorry if I break wind in your presence. You see, I was born with a malady of the lower gastrointestinal region which causes unexpected flatulence. I mean no disrespect to your ancestors, and I hope your first child is a masculine child. My name is Herb."

"The names Matt. Nice to meet you." Matt said, before noticing Herb's t-shirt. It was white with red sleeves, and across the chest was the word Kobayashi. "Hey, cool shirt. Kobayashi. Like that Kevin Spacey movie."

"Kevin who? Kobayashi was my fathers name." said Herb

"My mistake." replied Matt

"He's dead." said Herb

"Oh...I...sorry to hear that."

"He died on the long journey to your America milk and honey land."

"Did he die on the boat?"

"Boat? We took a plane. He had fish, got bad food poisoning and died in-flight."

"Harsh," Matt said before turning to me, " we really ought to get going."

"Good call. It was good to meet you, Herb."

We shook Herb's hand and made our way back to the table. As we turned to face our destination I noticed something was wrong. Something was missing. She was gone.

"Dude, where did she..." I stuttered

"Funkin. you missed your chance, man. Some pimply Star Trek convention reject came out of nowhere and started talking to her. Five minutes later I heard them say something about going somewhere more private. You could've been that guy. You were supposed to be that guy. Why weren't you that guy?"

"I...I just don't know. Maybe... Perhaps...Fuck."

"Well said. Time to study."

I was stunned, shaken at my very core. My hopes, dashed against the rocks of fate. I could feel a deep disdain for Asians building inside me. But I knew Asians weren't at fault. The only one I had to blame was karma. That wicked bitch preyed on my courteous nature. The very thing that would have made her want me is the very thing that kept me from her. All of my genuine goodguyness and my general love of humanity, wasted on a dude. Wasted on a Herb. All of my flick and flare for spontaneous conversation poured into the wrong container. I spent the rest of the night replaying conversations we never had, kicking myself for not making the move sooner, lamenting that fact that I let Herb stand in my way.

She looked like a Michelle.

2002-09-14T21:11:00.000-07:00

The air reeked of perfume and mascara. I knew I was in for it, but down the stairs I crept, one foot in front of the other, making sure not to trip over my clumsy toes. When I reached the bottom I found myself in some sort of Hitchcockian nightmare. There they were. Everywhere. Perched, waiting for a reason to strike. Two hundred girls, all doing their best impersonation of each other. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, I avoided eye contact like a hoe avoids a left hook. But it was no use. There were just too many of them. A sea of faded denim and perky breasts, and me without my canoe. I waded as long as I could, ordered my Chinese food, “to go please.” And got the hell out of there faster than virgin climax.

Safely back at my table, with my books, I looked down on them from my perch. I looked at the way they moved in unison, a herd of velociraptors chasing conformity, hunting acceptance. And I felt good. I felt like a man, nay, a god…a really big god…with fangs and a hovercraft. But I knew it was all a lie. I knew those girls had the best of me. If I were to go down there and engage them in conversation I would wilt. I would shrivel. I would wither under their hot, bright lights. And they would win.

So for now I’m no god. I’m a weed, gritty and resilient, in the middle of a rose bush. They’re as pretty as they are fragile. By fragile I mean they have huge breasts. Really huge. I guess we both win.

2002-09-13T20:49:00.000-07:00

Look, Ma' ! No hands! Why does god hate me?

I've always wanted to be old and respected so people would have to call me Mr. T. And that would be sweet.

I’m tired but I can’t sleep. I want to study but nothing is open. Life is waiting, outside my door, for me to dive into it, swim and splash in it, but I’m at the water’s edge. And I don’t know how to swim. I’m also deathly afraid of water. People drown in that shit. Witches use it for potions. I don’t want to align myself with witches. I have enough trouble with the black thing.

Two weeks of school in the books. Only fifteen more to go. I can do it… I think. My only hope is that the seven thirty (yes that’s 7:30 am) class wont suck the energy and inspirato from my already limp and overtaxed think bean. Lucky for me there are just enough cute girls in the class to keep things interesting.

Writing this, I realize that I have nothing left in the tank. At least not now, not tonight. I can’t think straight. I can’t see straight. And I think I’m behind already. I am happy, but I think its all fake. It’s the kind of “I just stepped in a pile of bear poo but I’m just gonna pretend that it’s a bag of brown marshmallows” happiness. As much as I love the ‘mallows, I think it important to embrace reality, if only to feel the warmth of the poo. Time to motivate. Time to explore. Time to gizo.

2002-09-11T23:52:00.000-07:00

Reason # 43523512655 why I love white bitches

Cali4niagirl313 [11:47 PM]: i am living it up
Cali4niagirl313 [11:47 PM]: and loving it
DamonDemer [11:48 PM]: you should be a gangster rapper
Cali4niagirl313 [11:48 PM]: uh hu nighga
Cali4niagirl313 [11:48 PM]: *nigga

2002-09-07T22:35:00.000-07:00

Feeling uninspired. Think I'll start a fire. School is back in session, and with it, all of my normal insignificant hurdles. Girls, grades, g-finding stuff to do on the weekend besides studying and tetrising until my fingers are so callused and my brain is so fried that I can barely muster enough strength to wrestle the problem from my chapped dude.

For a Saturday, I’m feeling rather liberated. It’s been a week since I sent LL the infamous letter (if you don’t know what I’m talking about then I probably didn’t send you a copy. If you do know what I’m talking about, how about a potato for justice. If you want to know what I’m talking about, feel free to get your email on and I'll send that shit directly. Tally ho disco.) and wouldn’t you know it, I haven’t heard from her. I suppose being confronted, point blank, by the meezie gun of absolute truth can make anyone a little shy. I did see her on campus though, but just in passing. She noticed me, then she did her best to try not to notice me as I passed mere inches from here horribly corrupted aura. And yes, I meant breasts.

There’s something about this semester that just screams promise. I just know that I’m on the verge of something big. Really big. Swoll girl arm big. (yeah, I know, cheap shot. Fuck you.) This could be my chance to make some solid headway, not just in the world of academia but in the world of earth world world. I’m gonna go out and make you proud, mama. Your little boy is gonna be a little man. I’m gonna be a little man with big dreams and little feet and big feats. But mostly the little feet thing. I can see the mountaintop. And it is good. I can see the forest for the trees, the buzzing for the bees, and the something else which I cant think of just off hand but which I’m sure you can fill in either now or at your leisure. Everything is coming up roses. My path is paved with gold, and you can take that to the bank. The money bank for gold money!

2002-08-30T03:36:00.000-07:00

2:27

I had a dream that I couldn’t sleep.
I was lying there, tossing and turning in bed but it was nothing doing, so I did the next best thing: reached for the porn. Just then I heard a rustling in the next room. It was my mom. She was waking up. Even in a dream, getting caught by your mom is still really harsh, so that kinda put the kibosh on that plan. A little bit frustrated and a lot sleepy I did the next next best thing; I packed my bags and got ready to get on a train. It was a spur of the moment decision and I didn’t really have time to pack. Lucky for me the train station was right outside my house. I heard the train approaching. I grabbed whatever I could. Then I thought that I might have to go somewhere fancy. I grabbed a dress shirt. Then I remembered that I might stay longer. I grabbed extra t-shirts.

All my packing took a too long and I missed my train. No matter, on to the second next next best thing. I decided to take a jog. I was already wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and running shoes so I didn’t have to change. Out I went. Eventually I ended up at a building. I walked inside a room. There was a guy tied to a chair, his face was pale white, like it was covered in clown make up. Behind him was a sinister looking guy with a meat cleaver to clown face mans throat. Standing next to meat cleaver guy was Scooby Doo. He wasn’t tied up, but he did seem pretty scared. The room was empty save the chair and a few scattered boxes. The windows were either busted or boarded up. I looked out the window. Across the way stood a team of sharp shooters. One of them screamed, “Get out of the way. I can’t get a clean shot.”

I assumed he was talking to me so I backed up. I told clown face man to move his head away from meat cleaver man so they could get a clear shot. Meat cleaver man, hearing all this, replied, “It doesn’t matter. You can’t kill me.” The sharp shooters took aim, and fired. The first shot grazed the back of his head. The second shot nailed him square in the dome. But neither of them worked. He just stood there, laughing and waving his meat cleaver, yelling, “You can’t kill me.”

This freaked me out. I decided that I had had enough and that I should take the situation into my own hands. With a little bit of misdirection I was able to distract meat cleaver man long enough to get his cleaver out of his hand and free clown face man. Then I took the cleaver and started waving it all threatening like. None of this seemed to phase meat cleaver man as he egged me on.
“Go ahead. Give it your best shot. You can’t kill me.”

I took one swipe at his throat. I broke the skin. He laughed. I swiped him across the face. It broke the skin. He laughed. I was starting to see a pattern. I tossed the cleaver, pushed meat cleaver man to the ground, and freed clown face man. Then, just like that, clown face man, Scooby Doo, and me were off and running. Lucky for us meat cleaver man, for all his invincibility, was fat, pudgy, and incredibly slow.

We all ducked into a church. I could hear meat cleaver man's clumsy footsteps trailing us, slowly but steadily. Clown face man, Scooby Doo, and I split up. I bolted through the halls and ducked into a side room. Just as I did, I saw meat cleaver man pass by. I ran upstairs. There was an exit. I took it. To my surprise, I found Scooby Doo standing outside, waiting around with a dumb look on his face. I was pissed, but I didn’t have time to deal with it. “Fuckin stupid dog.” I thought to myself.

I took off running up the street, which gradually turned into a hill, which gradually turned into a hill in my old neighborhood. At some point I lost my left shoe. I also managed to change into baggy jeans and short sleeve T-shirt with one sleeve missing.

When I reached the top of the hill, I looked around to see where I was. I ended up in some fancy neighborhood in Sacramento; at least I thought it was Sacramento. I was lost but, by instinct, my feet took me home. When I got there I was distressed. Not because of what had happened, but because I had a stalker. She was a girl. She was a cute girl. She was a crazy cute girl who wanted me and wouldn’t stop until she had me. I think she wanted me to go to her birthday party because she left me a bunch of invitations. I couldn’t deal with that shit. I took off running back to that same fancy Sacramento neighborhood. I looked up and I saw a big white helicopter following me, then it disappeared. I crossed the street and kept running, but now I was wearing a bright red shirt and black shorts.

Since this neighborhood was extra fancy it didn’t have sidewalks. I had to run in the street. I passed by an older lady in a red Mercedes. She pulled up next to me and said, “ Hey, superman. What’s the rush.” I stuck out my arms, and made motor noises with my mouth. In my world superman has a motor.

The older lady pulled over. She knew me. I knew her. She was an author. I told her what was going on.
“Hey, mind if I come inside your place? I got this crazy chick chasing me.”
“Sure. Come on in. Let me check my mail first.”
The older lady went to check her mail. When she tried to open her mailbox she struggled. It was stuck. I was worried that the crazy chick was coming. Everything started to shake. I went over and helped her with the mailbox. We finally got it open. She reached in and pulled out a small stack of yellow papers. They were invitations to the crazy girl’s birthday party. She had already been to my friend’s house. She knew where I was. I could almost feel her laughing at me, off in some not so distant hiding spot, watching and waiting. I sat on the hill and cried. Then I woke up.

And you wonder why I never sleep.

2002-08-29T00:54:00.000-07:00

Ennui for a Meezie

Alcohol makes me sleepy. Beer is alcohol. I had a beer. Therefore, I am sleepy.

I think I may have regained my faith in humanity. More importantly, I've regained my faith in human titties. As it turns out, not all girls are inherently evil. Who’dve thunk it? Maybe they are evil. I don’t know. What I do know is that I hung out with Shara Perkins tonight. What I also know is that Shara has way more interesting juice in her toes than LL has in her entire ridiculously beautiful body.

I was supposed to head out to the Ez and kick it old school with my posse. But, as karma would have it, things turned into a logistical nightmare. And with Dan pussin out on me (man I wish I knew that guy better.) meezie was doomed to spend this holiest of days at home.

Not being one to let a shitty evening stay shitty, I decided to call Shara. Just then my dude woke up and puked on itself. We both had a laugh. I changed pants, dialed the number, and braced myself for disappointment. One ring, two rings, real voice. REAL VOICE. I wasn’t ready for that. For the last few months, Shara's voice mail and I have been carrying on like curious schoolboys in the ball shed. But this time it was Shara, on the other end of the line, in the tongue retarding flesh.

“Hello.”
“Shara!?!”
“Yeah. Ameer, is that you.”
“Baahflitskin.”
“I think you have a wrong num…”
“…BAAHFLITSKIN!”
“If this is Ameer, do you still want to hang out?”
“Me…you…time…now…see… come soon…FIRE BAD.”
“Ok, I'll see you in a few.”

For one reason or the other Shara wasn’t all about pickin me up from the meezie pad, which is just as well since I haven’t had a chance to do any post birthday celebration bathtub cleanin. (yeah, I wacked in it, but the tears are the toughest stains to clean.) So onto the bus I hopped, making sure I didn’t miss my stop. The seats on the bus are blue because it helps suppress the stench of urine and depression.

When I got to her house she was watchin American Idol. It was an hour long, and I got there halfway through it… Divide the three, carry, the one, subtract for good measure, and you get half an hour of my life that I'll never get back. No matter, all I had to look forward to at home was an empty box of licorice and tub full of problem. Eventually we left her apartment, which for the record is at least as small and shitty as mine. Advantage meezie. We ended up at a British style pub. Lucky for me I was wearing my British jacket.

I ordered real beer. I didn’t bruise my pride. We had a conversation. She didn’t bruise my pride. We talked about radio head. She didn’t piss me off. Sounds like a keeper. But, as luck would have it, I won’t have time to cultivate this one. I ll be too busy with my stuff, she’ll be consumed by hers. We’ll chat, small talk mostly. We’ll mention “hanging out”, but it will be no more than an idea to be volleyed in the court of what-ifs. Game, set, match, Karma.

2002-08-27T23:15:00.000-07:00

No, Tim. Fuck You.

Tonight Im gonna masturbate and think of what might have been. What would tomorrow be like if I had friends here? How many calls would wake me in the morning to wish me glad tidings on my day? But alas, tomorrow Im gonna masturbate into my bathtub and cry. Im gonna cry until it hurts. Then Im gonna wack away the pain. Happy birthday to you.

School starts in a few days and I don’t seem to mind. Im looking forward to sticking my nose back on the grind stone, getting my feet wet in the academic waters, and ogling boobies. I ran out of metaphors, but I think boobies speaks for itself and the human condition. There are some things Im gonna miss about summer. I really cant get enough free time. Slurpees always taste better when you can drink them while sitting in a pool of your own carefree poo. As much as I hate girls…all girls…Im gonna miss the time I spent trying to get them to give me brains. Its funny how much you can learn about yourself when youre forced to sit, night after night, in your two room apartment, staring at the Britney Spears poster on the wall, the one you drew pubes on. I drew pubes on a Britney Spears poster. I thought I was clever. Now I know that Im a genius.

Another year in the books. Another year about to start. Another semester about to start. When will it end? Probably never. Why do I do it? Because that’s the way its supposed to be. Whats that smell? That’s death. He’s at my door with a pointy party hat, a cake and a card : “Best wishes, Meezie. I’ll see you in about 90 years. And don’t try to kill yourself in the face because I already thought of that. By the way, you got problem on your head.”

Bitches Should Know Better
Shara Perkins. last week I gave her a call to see what she was up to. Ive been trying unsuccessfully, to get her on the phone all summer. Hell, this misadventure stretches back to the spring semester, but I like to hit the reset button on my failures when the seasons change, u know, for symbolism. I called her last week. She was watching "American Idol" so u can imagine how hard it was for me to compete.

"So, Shara, what have you been up to?"
"Oh you know, this and that. HOW COULD YOU VOTE HER OFF? SHE WAS BRILLIANT."
"I...I guess I was just in a bad mood. Maybe I just hate asians."

After about five minutes of phone shenanigans I got fed up and told her that Id call back when she was better equiped to handle social interaction. Then she said, " Hey, so did you want to hang out?"

"Yeah. Im down. What day is good for you?"
"How about next tuesday?"
"Thats dope. My birthday is that wednesday"...

We left it like that. Needless to say, I was shitting myself. Id like to think it was out of sheer joy but I part of me knows that I just love to shit myself.

Fast forward to today. I was on the bus after work. As we pulled up to the university, my stop, I see Shara walking up to the bus. She lives around where I just came from so I assumed she was going home. Not one to let coincidences go to waste I seized the opportunity. I made sure to spot her first. I gave her a hug. She gave me a hug. I asked if we were still gonna hang out today. She gave me the "uh" face. Never has there been a look so full of equivocation. How many broken promises have been written in the wrinkles of her nose?

"Do you still want to hang out tonight?"
"I..uh...my bus is leaving."
"Yeah..I'll call you."

So off she went, onto her bus and out of her promise. Walking home I had to laugh. Karma had seen fit to fuck me again. Just gettin in that one last pre birthday jab.

Ignoring my better judgment and what was left of my masculine pride, I called her. She didnt call back. I went out and played tennis. When I got back there was a message on my machine.
"Hey, I tried to call earlier, but the phone just kept ringing. Maybe we'll hang out tomorrow."

Happy Birthday, Dear Meezie. Happy birthday to yoooooouuuuu.

2002-08-23T00:14:00.000-07:00

Karma, you freaky bitch. Touche. Touche indeed.

It’s funny how you miss the little things. All the time you spent together, just being together. The long rides, so close and comfortable, no words exchanged, just knowing touches. But now I have to wonder will there ever be another who will let me put my balls on their seat?

I had just finished taking care of some errands on campus. U know the usual financial aid this and chit chat that. Afterwards I got some lunch in the union. Things were going well, too well. It was as though life had finally reached its most extreme medium and I was about to coast home on a cloud of indifferent numbness.

After all of my hijinks I was ready to leave. While walking to the bike parking area, I was struck by a strange tingling. I looked down and realized that my legs had fallen asleep and I wasn’t moving at all, but lying on the ground making snow angels in the concrete. Slightly embarrassed, but happy about the concrete angel, I got up and headed towards my bike. I glanced over to get that first peak of my steed, standing so tall and so proud above all the other shitty k-mart bikes. Then another sensation hit me. I checked to make sure I wasn’t lying down again. Standing…check. After some soul searching I realized what the sensation was. It was anger, fear, doubt, dude-shit, disbelief, and licorice. ( I bought some licorice earlier in the day. It must’ve lodged itself in my back, you know, while I was making angels). My bike was gone. My fuckin bike was gone.

MY
FUCKIN
BIKE
GOT
FUCKIN
STOLE
AS
FUCK
!!!!

The walk home never seemed so long. I never really noticed how far away my house is from campus. I was full of anger. I was full of confusion. I was full of pee. Had it not been for the licorice, I’m pretty sure I would’ve snapped. When I finally got home I just couldn’t cope anymore, so I did the next best thing. I took a nap. Life goes a lot smoother when you’re unconscious. I had a dream that someone stole my bike. It was the concrete angel…I never should have made him. Right before I woke up my dude shit itself on the inside.

Twice in one year. Ain’t that some cold as bullshit. I think the saddest part of this whole thing is that I get my bike stolen more then I get brains. Maybe I should put a lock on my junk. It might not help but couldn’t hurt.

2002-08-15T02:04:00.000-07:00

The second she called I could feel my ass tingle. And I knew it was over. I knew that my night was about to take a turn for the absolute worst. But, despite my better judgment, I picked up the phone, made nice, and accepted an invite to go see some shitty band play their shitty songs.

This time was to be different. This time I knew that I had a goal. Make out with extreme prejudice. Kamikaze. Napoleon. Just do it. I figured I owed myself this last chance to give it all, my last “hoo-rah fuck you” to LL, my dudes last chance at sexual redemption. He’s been such a trooper throughout this whole process, and I thank him for it. My thoughts and prayers are with him always.

We got to the bar and the shitty band was playing some shitty songs, but not even their shitty song. It was a shitty Dayv Matthew's song (that’s how I spell Dayv because that makes it good. If he can’t be with me in person at least I know he’s there in spirit, tae kwon doing the fuck out of LL’s stupid bean.) My love for Mr. Matthews has faded, and my love for cover bands never was. So imagine my joy when I got both in one big ball of 30 minutes I’ll never get back.

After we left the bar we headed to LL’s place. I looked at my dude and had planned to say something, but his glance said it all, “Meezie, this is the night.”

To my surprise, LL has a new roomy. To the world’s horror, she’s at least as dysfunctional as LL, if not more so. And that makes me sad for me for the future. After sitting around with her roomy, we made our way to her living room, while the roomy got her sleep on in my point of utter failure. (Perhaps I didn’t frame that sentence very well, and since I don’t censor my thoughts I’m just gonna tell u that the roomy slept in LL's bed. Let’s move on.)

In the living room, the conversation bounced between sex and the ex, sex and the ex. It was more than a brotha could take. LL kept going on about how she’s been all tense because she hasn’t had any in the past month and a half. Whether or not it was meant as such, I took this as my cue to get a little closer. A little rub here, a drawn out stare there, and next thing you know I’m awkwardly sprawled across her in prime pouncing position. But for all her talk she gave me a, “No, you cant do me tonight.”

I’m all about girls feeling safe. When they say no they mean no. But that’s for girls. This is LL. She always tells me, though I never ask, that she likes guys to be forceful, to really take charge and overpower her. My dude remembered this and acted accordingly. He had a contingency worked out.

“Meezie, listen up and listen good.”
“Fo sho. Lay it on me, dude.”
“Tonight we’re going balls deep and walls tight.”
“Don’t you mean walls deep and balls tight?”
“And you wonder why you never get to put me anywhere good.”
“Sorry. Go on.”
“Ok, Meezie. You gotta fall back on your mainstay. Go for where the neck is. Then go for where the ear is. After that…
“GO FOR WHERE THE BOOBIES IS!?!!?”
“I see my work here is done. Now put me in something disgusting.!”

So a-neck kissing I a-went. She let me. Then I worked my way to the ear. She let me. Then I worked my way to the face for some quality make out. She turned her head. I tried again. She turned again. I tried one last time. She turned one last time with a, “ I can’t make out with you. I don’t think of you in that way.”

In that way

“Dude, did you hear that cold ass bullshit!!??!? What am I supposed to do now?”
“Sorry, Meezie. You’re on your on. I can’t be there right now.”
“But I…
“…I just can’t be there.”

Busted and disgusted, I let my thinkin’ brain take over. He’d been sitting idly by, watching my dude fumble at the command. Now it was his turn to do some work. Off went his social filter, the dam wall between me absolute and, unbending, honesty.

“You sure do a lot of talking, but you never say anything interesting.”

“Wow, you’re really shallow.”

“This magazine is made for stupid people. I feel almost insulted by its presence. But, you know, feel free to keep reading. You wouldn’t want to miss a make-up tip.”

“It’s not that I want to make out with you, but since you’re there I figured why not.”

“That ex boyfriend of your's is a pussy.”

Not bad, but I was still a failure, the little engine that couldn’t. I let myself down, I let my dude down, I let America down. I spent the ride home licking my battle wounds and reassuring my dude that the war was finally over. Time to chalk this one up to failure. Maybe I learned something, maybe I didn’t. Maybe there is a way to get to LL, but I don’t have the strength, patience, or desire to find it. Maybe you could try.

(916) 765-177(any number but eight. There, Im covered). Call…often. Tell her America's collective penis is calling and it wants the brains it died fighting for.

2002-08-14T01:46:00.000-07:00

I BLOG FOR JOE!!

I think I’m finished. I think its time for me to pack my bags, stamp my ticket, and stand in line, waiting for the conductor’s “all aboard” so I can hop the last coal train out of this rat infested poo hole that is Sacramento. Being in this place brings me down. I lose my inspirato. It steals my inspirato. Living in Sacramento is like making out with your dad, sure it’s kind of sweet at first, but after the first five minutes you realize that he died over ten years ago, and that you have officially crossed the boundaries of good natured hijinks and fallen, dude first, into a big pile of homosexual necrophilia shenanigans.

Whenever life gets too hairy I pack my bindle and run off to Martinez. There’s nothing particularly special about it, save the oil refineries and mild Klan activity, but it’s better than sac. And I know people there. That’s the only thing that keeps me going back. That and the free food at Dumons house. My time out there is spent doin all of the things that I miss out here, namely drinking shitty beer and talking to silly white bitches. For a few days, I’m as carefree as a chick riding horse back down a beach in the middle of a summer’s eve. I don’t even need wings to protect me. No drama, no hassle, no bitches… Two out of three ain’t bad. But now I’m back here in sac, rolling in a stack of my own self-pity, waiting for school to start.

Sometimes I wish I were back in kindergarten. All I had to worry about was soggy sandwiches.

2002-08-09T00:37:00.000-07:00

I want to be famous. Backstreet boy famous. I want a stadium full of underage white girls to scream my name in unison. I want their parents to love me for my non-threatening smile and my curly blonde hair. I want to be compared to Bobby Sherman, but with more moxy, and lord knows I have it. I want to be quaint and kitsch and rugged all at the same time. I want my shoes to match my belt and my socks to match my eyes.

Tonight I decided to buy licorice. It’s much more convenient than companionship and sometimes you can catch it on sale. While walking through the aisles, I came upon a herd of teenage girls, giggling their carefree giggles, walking around in their tiny shorts, oblivious to what gravity and time have planned for their ridiculously taut bodies. For some reason I became really irritated. I just couldn’t stomach being around them. Then I began to hate them. I hated them for their abercrombie strut. I hated them for their youth. I hated them for their naïveté. I hated them because I never was them. They were your typical cheerleader types. Everyone signed their yearbook, but they only signed a few, and even then it was an innocuous, “Have a great summer, see you next year.”

I’ve run into a lot of girls like this (fuckin Berean buddies. I should’ve let that dumb bitch choke on her vomit.) and I hate them all just the same. They represent everything that I couldn’t stand in high school, and everything that I can’t stand about college. The popularity contest never stops, it just changes desks, gets a shinier name plate, and a sexier secretary.

2002-08-05T04:55:00.000-07:00

I still haven’t invented time machine soda. I've had this whole summer but I haven’t gotten around to the one thing that could revolutionize the human experience. Stuck on a bad date? About to get run over by a truck? Black? Just one sip from my wonderful soda and POOF POP SWIG ZIG! Everything is coming up dope.

I had nothing to do tonight and no one to do it with. While frumpin around my apartment, waiting for the weekend to trample what was left of my soul, I got a phone call. It was the call I was hoping would never come because I knew that I wouldn’t have the strength to let my voice mail take the brunt of the inevitable mental torment. LL. Fuck that bitches.

There are a great many things that I have learned to resist, none of which start with the letter "breast", so when LL called I knew that my evening was shot. Right from the moment she picked me up I had the sinking, tingling spidy sense that shit was gonna get worse before it got any better.

She likes coconut, dots her “I” ‘s with a heart, and I hate her. But this is meezie, this is Sacramento, and this is my medium nadir so we hung out. The entire night wasn’t a complete bust. While driving around we actually found (Dayv, I thought of you) a jazz open mic jam session thingy. Some of the guys were talented. Some of them were fat autistic kids with meaty ham hands. All in all it was adequate, but great for a Sunday night in sac.

After the jazz place LL wanted to get donuts. Part of me was with her, mainly the part of me that loves donuts. But there was another, more accurate, less tolerant, part of me that was looking for an eject button underneath the passengers seat. Despite my efforts I couldn’t find the button before we got to Safeway, so I decided to cut my losses and buy donuts. We walked through the store. She talked. I pretended to pay attention, but there’s just something about her that makes me not want to listen.
“What kind of donut should I get?”
“Huh?”
“Are you spacing out over there?”
“What?”
“Nothing. We should get some grapes.”
“Ranal grapes!?!”

Donuts in hand we headed towards her house for a night full of half-assed flirting and thwarted sexual advances. Then it was more talking. I wouldn’t mind the talking so much if it were about different subjects. But all she does is babble on about her ex boy toy. Every time I see her it’s the same thing. I’ve developed ways to avoid the barrage. Some might call it day sleeping, but I call it silent love. Tonight I ate grapes and played with a wind chime.
“James and I are in a transition phase right now.”
Ching Chime Chomp
“I feel like we don’t connect anymore. It’s like he pushes me away, while at the same time pulling him closer to himself.”
Ching Chime Chomp
“Why doesn’t he want to be with me? I have the total package. I’m cute, I’m smart, and I have a great personality.”
“Maybe he’s not into conceited, misguided, clingy bitches…I mean, Ching Chime Chomp.”

You may ask, “Meezie, why are you still hanging out with this girl?”
Simple: Simon and Garfunkel, Led Zeppelin, Bone Thugz n Harmony, Weezer, and Mazzy Star. Did I mention that, whenever I end up over there, I’ve been helping myself to consolation prizes? Five CD’s. Five salvaged evenings. Beat that. I’m pretty sure that tonight was one of the last times I'll see LL, at least for awhile. School starts in a few weeks, and once I get back into the daily hustle and unending bustle, there will be few moments available for late night hijinks with a worthless tease. Besides, I already have all of her good CD’s.

2002-08-02T01:00:00.000-07:00

Time is funny. And it has a way of catching up to you. Death, Taxes, and time. Everyone has to deal with it. It waits for no man. It keeps ticking away. It fits inside a box. You can eat it. Sometimes it smells like playdough.

Tomorrow I have to go to work. As most of you know, at least those of you in my target audience, I work with old people. Really old people, some approaching the century mark. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live that long. How much has the world changed? Why do black people get to vote? Are they ever gonna put a man on the moon…for good? Are fat girls really just two normal size siamese twins connected at the everything? But I digress. What Im most concerned about is aging, and as luck would have it time and aging go hand in wrinkly smelly hand. There are times when I feel horrible for the old people, if you can call them that. Society hates them, their families can barely handle them, they get treated like children and they pee a lot…a lot. So whats the point in going on that long? Whats the point in letting time steal your youth, your vigor, your essence, your jwah do veev? Don’t get me wrong, Im not suggesting that we go and start lopping off old heads, although Im not unagainst it. All Im suggesting is that we give old people a place where they can go to be appreciated, somewhere to spend their golden years untarnished by modern society. We should give them an island…with dinosaurs. Maybe some helicopters. They gotta get around.

2002-07-30T00:22:00.000-07:00

The Nadir: From Dope to Suck in 3.231534523 Seconds

South carochina was horrible. The best part was that I could actually pinpoint the moment my zenith ended and my nadir came crashing on my poor little bean. There’s just something about the south that takes it out of me. The heat, the humidity, the confederate flags; I don’t know why anyone bothers living there. It has all the appeal of warm orange juice.

There are a great many things I could sit here and bitch about. My Jeckle and Hyde gran mater, my backcountry relatives, etc and so on. But I don’t want to think about it because that would be almost as bad as reliving it. And meezie is all about suppression. Sufficed to say, I did a lot of fake hugging, said a lot of fake “I love you’s” and did my best not to laugh when Uncle Oh God said a prayer before the big family banquet.
“We are here oh god today oh god to partake oh god of this meal oh god.”
“ Could you oh god pass me oh god the salt oh god so that oh god I may oh god use it oh god on my food oh god.”

Believe it or not, I’m actually happy to be back in sac. It’s no San Diego, my point of cosmic dopeness, but at least it’s not the south. Sacramento is very…medium. It’s like a luke-warm bath with Colin Powell. And that’s just how I like it. Maybe my emphasis has been all wrong. Perhaps I shouldn’t strive for ultimate happiness. Maybe my happiness comes in avoiding sadness. Forfeit the zenith to avoid the nadir. It’s like cosmic bartering. And I’m pretty sure it’ll never work.

2002-07-26T13:25:00.000-07:00

What a difference a day makes

The Zenith: I like this place and willingly would waste my time in it.

It's always good to get out of sac. Its even better when I get to go on an all expense paid trip to San Diego to visit a prestigious medical school. And that’s what the meezums was doin. And that made me happy…taffy happy. The days leading up to the trip were as dope as I could ask for. Thursday, I was selected to participate in a focus group. I had to take some time off work to go so, bonus there. I got to the focus group thing and they were like "well I don’t think we're gonna need all of you so you three can go home. By the way, we're also gonna pay you for doing nothing." As one of the chosen three I took my money, grinned my goofiest, and waltzed out the door fiddy bones richer. Later that day my mom treated me to lunch. Mo free. Mo delicious. Mo better.

On Friday I wacked. I think I also got a girls number. It was great.

On Saturday I had to work. Normally that means I'll be ass deep in dead skin and diapers. But seeing as though I was approaching my zenith, my day went smooth as hell. I spent the first two hours eating chimichangas and donuts. The next couple hours was movie time. After that I rocked the shit out of those old people with some quality Elvis and Beatles songs. I don’t suppose it's too difficult to rock old people to shit, but still it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy in the cockles, wherever those are.

On Sunday I packed up all my junk and waited for my fellow schoolin' brotha to come pick me up. I was expecting him to roll up in a circa 1970 pre-Geo hooptie. When I got outside there was a hot blonde in a new black mustang to take us to the airport. And you know how I love white bitches.

The plane trip to San Diego was rather uneventful, which is exactly what I was looking for. We got to SD in about an hour or so. Our first night there was pretty mundane. We met up with our contact, Natalie, a first year med student. She is without a doubt one of the coolest people I've met in the last couple years. Smart, funny, easy going, caring, ambitious, yada, yada, yada. Lets just say she was cool. Yeah, I like that. She took us over to her house where they were having a bbq. Mo free food. She had like fiddy roommates, all of whom were nice enough. There were also a few girls visiting from UCLA. I think they were there for a few weeks, I don’t know. One of the girls was super dope in that kinda outlandishly remarkable sort of way. She takes a lot of random classes like Hebrew, Russian lit, comparative religion in ancient Babylonia. All sorts of neat stuff.

On Monday we met with the director of the post baccalaureate program. She gave us a bunch of info, words of wisdom, and all that good stuff. I got a chance to feel really important because I was visiting the med school and meeting with even more important people. It was great. Tuesday we met with someone in the admissions office, another doctor, another person who made us feel way more important than we really were. Monday and Tuesday evening, we went to a couple of free clinics in downtown SD. We got to do rounds with some of the first and fourth year med students. I even got to present a case to the attending physician. Sometimes I forget how important my genius mind is to the betterment of humanity, but then I listen to myself talk and realize that I am your savior.

After my jaunt through the world of rigorous academia and inflated self-importance, I was ready to get on a plane and head to south carochina. Wait, I resigned myself to the fact that I had to head to south carochina. While waiting in the airport for my flight to the deepest darkest (that means black people) south, I noticed a really hot girl sitting next to a lady in her 40's. I put two and two together and made eggs. I also figured that oldie was mommie to hottie. I decided I didn’t care. I sat down across from the pair and staked my claim. As I glanced over at the hottie I noticed that she was noticin me. I'm not really good at catching that sort of thing but I was feelin vibes like a mama jamma. Apparently karma had lost its stronghold on my soul, because when oldie got up, hottie didn’t follow.
"They're not together", my wang screamed in a voice at once panicked and elated.
"Dude, we have about 4 hours to kill, let's do this." I whispered as not to draw attention to myself or my dude.

When they called her boarding row, I got up too, making a point to stand next to her.
"So where are you headed?" I crooned in a voice so smooth it would make Barry White weak in the knees.
She smiled and said, "South Carolina."
"Dope, I'm going there too."
We chatted for another thirty seconds or so. As we made our way through the tunnel, and onto the plane she turned to me and said (no joke, Linda. This really happened.) ," You should see if you can change seats." MOGAY DAMN!!!

After a little finaglin and a lot of lying, I convinced the flight attendant to let her sit next to me. We got to chatting, and it turns out that she wasn’t a native south carochinan, but a Hawaii girl stuck in SC. She was reading a Cosmo magazine, some article about sex. Sensing my opportunity, I chimed in, "You shouldn’t be reading this shit. What do you know about stuff like that? You're one of those good girls, I can tell."
"Yeah right." She challenged.
"Oh yeah, what's the freakiest thing you’ve ever done?"

I really don’t know where I got the idea or the balls to ask this of a girl I just met, but something just came over me. I was going for it, lock stock and fuckin barrel of hijinks. She proceeded to list a resume that included, but wasn’t limited to: fucking on a football field after a game, surfing naked, skinny dipping, taking E, and (my favorite) fuckin some dude in the bathroom of an airplane. Yeah, I know. She asked me the freakiest thing I've ever done. As you may well know, Meezie isn't super experienced in the ways of the vagina. And I wasn’t about to tell her that I once gave a girl a back full of chub just before ninja gamin' myself a quick feel of some tatty. So I lied.

"The freakiest thing? Well, one time I was in the library with these three girls. It was starting to get late so the first two left. I was there with the other girl, one thing led to another and we started fuckin in the library. We had to keep it quiet because people kept passing by."

Now, I wouldn’t really consider that a lie so much as a creative truth. Fact of the matter is that I've thought about fucking some girl in the library, I just haven't had the chance. I love truth.

One hour turned into two. We talked, and started to get a little closer in the physical sense. I had my hand on her leg, she had hers on mine. Then karma stepped in and hooked a brotha up.
"You're 21, right?"
"Fo sho."
"You wanna buy me a beer?"
"How old are you?"
"I ll be 18 in a couple months."
"How about this. I ll order myself a beer and if it happens to disappear while I'm not looking, that would be ok."
"Ok."
"Mogay."

She drank the beer, and I tried not to look while she was doing it. About ten minutes after she finished getting her drink on, we were sitting there looking out the window. The captain said that we were over Wichita, but I don’t know how he could tell as there was nothing below us but green and brown. I pointed that out to hottie, and she said, "Where's Wichita?"
"I don’t know." I replied, hoping she would catch my subtle sarcasm.

I leaned back into my chair, expecting to fly over Wichita with little fan fair. Just then, hottie leans over and kisses me. Not being one to turned down free white bitches , I kissed her back. And before you knew it we were making out on the plane. To make matters even mo better, we were sitting in one of those three seat rows, and the guy next to us was wide-awake. I'm pretty sure he knew that I just met her, seeing as though he saw us shake hands when we first sat down. I'm also pretty sure he saw me pull my beer hijinks. At this point I didn’t care. I was making out with a hot-bodied freak. Luckily the rest of the people in the surrounding seats were fast asleep. After a few minutes we stopped and started talking about Wichita again. But there was something in my that wanted more. During an awkward lull in our conversation, I reached up, pulled her face close to me, and we started making out again. It was dope. This girl was a fuckin pro at make out. She was doin shit with her tongue that they only teach in freaky hoed out porn college ( there are three of those in SC.) Again, we went at it for a few minutes, then we stopped. Another pause, another silence , another reach and another quality make out. I was gamin like a fuckin pro, mostly because I'm down like that. I'm so glad I brought my WWDD bracelet.

After making out, we sat around, chatted, talked about how boring the plane was, this and that. When we arrived in Charlotte she gave me a hug and said," well my flight is over that way. It was good to meet you."
"Good to meet you too."
As she walked towards her terminal I knew that I had reached my zenith. Things could only get worse. 1, 2, 3.231534523…

2002-07-22T22:56:00.000-07:00

Feels good to be known. You walk into a room chalked full of people, energy oozing from the vents, you give a hardy "what up bitches" and everyone responds with "what up meezie". Maybe its not like that for you, but this is my world, my dream, and my blog so fuck you. Anyway, Im here at UCSD lovin life, hatin sac even more than normal. No time to post right now,as there are hijinks to be had. late.

2002-07-20T01:37:00.000-07:00

The week is speeding by without event, and I suppose that’s a good thing. But theres another part of me that wants action. I want to be in a rodeo. I want to snort dirt and fall and break something and be covered in sweat. I want to live. Theres not much living to be done in Sacramento unless you count the…nothing. Ick.

I really don’t have much reason to complain. Next week I’m getting out of this poop forsaken funk hole and taking a little jaunt down San Diego way, where the bitches flow like water and the Mexicans are downright authentic.

Ive never been described as intense before. That is, I never would have described myself as intense. Deep, perhaps; introspective, sure; genius, fo sho; clumsy, given. Just not intense. Tonight whilst chatting with my mum, she said that I can sometimes be too “intense”. After a little bit of thought I figured Id take her bait and delve a little deeper. She said that sometimes I have a tendency to take things really seriously, almost too seriously. And when people screw me over I hold it against them for a long time. Ok, fair enough. But that’s only because when it comes down to it, bitches should know better. I don’t know what that means but rest assured it can be applied to any situation.
“Pardon me ma’am, but could you back up? You’re standing in my bubble of personal safety space.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”
“Bitches should know better.”
Or
“If the spirit is something intangible and without definition, and heaven is someplace where the spirit goes, then how is it possible to define what heaven is?”
“Bitches should know better, professor.”
Man that shit is universal.

She said I was even intense as a kid. Can you imagine, a young scowly, introspective, peanut headed meezie off on the swings worrying about all of the worlds deep and pressing issues like where does chocolate milk come from and how does circle circle dot dot boost your immune system long enough to fight off koodies?

I guess I ll have to find balance. I have to find the intense laid back me. Jaded but not doomed, comfortable but not complacent, crispy but not fried.

2002-07-18T02:35:00.000-07:00

A baby dies, a mountain cries, and I still can't spell "transcendentalism"

The last few days have been good. Scary good. “I’m waiting for the ball to drop, the shit to hit the fan, and karma to pop out of my closet, yell ‘surprise’ and jump snap mule kick me in the dude” good. And I don’t know what to do. Over the course of the past two days I’ve made fifty bucks for doing nothing, got a tennis date with a hot Russian chick (she called me), made plans to hang out with a Brazilian exchange student (even hotter than the Russian) who speaks English as well as I get laid, got a confirmed for a research position, had lunch with my mom (free), and ate some skittles. Now if that’s not a week I don’t know what is.

I am at my zenith, but for every zenith theres a nadir. For every season turn, turn, turn. I think all of this new found prosperity is just setting me up for my trip to south carochina. Theres something about the south that just rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s that south carochinans fought to keep the confederate flag flying high and proud atop their capitol building. Maybe it’s the blood boiling heat. Maybe it’s my backcountry relatives. Maybe it’s the waffle house… Wait, I love waffle house. Where else, besides Denny’s, can you get a plate of over cooked eggs, undercooked sausage, and spit in pancakes served to you by a waitress named Greta Lynn at 3 in the morning? If you’re willing to risk the lynchin, I suppose south carochina isn’t that bad a place to be.

I’m on a rollercoaster. No, not one of those cool love rollercoasters (do do do do). I’m on one of those philosophical rollercoasters. What am I doing here? Why can’t I stay marginally happy? Is there anyway to change my circumstances? Are skittles just little candy coated versions of starbursts? These questions are like mental herpes: they burn, you can never get rid of them, but if you don’t take valtrex they might kill you so it’s worth the risk of sexual side effects, bleeding ulcers, and/ or headaches. It doesn’t help that I’m in sac all the time. Perhaps it’s just my superior yet modest genius talking, but I don’t think anyone around here thinks about that kind of stuff. At least not any of these damned college kids. They seem so content to take classes, play football, and date rape their lives away. Granted, I do like the hijinks, but theres more to life. There has to be.

So here it is. I resolve to do something. What that something is, I’m not sure yet. But it will involve a lot of doing (metaphorical and hopefully physical…metaphorical), a little bit of sweating, a lot of crying, and stealing. A lot of stealing.

2002-07-13T00:06:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamt about Jenny. It was, in more ways than one, weirdly refreshing. Jenny was the “it” girl back in eighth grade, at least she was for me. She was smart, class president I think. She was nerdy cool. She was all the things that I still search for. She also didn’t like me. Yeah, even back then karma was out to get me.

I was chillin at home, maybe I was near a park or maybe I was looking out into my backyard. There were two people outside, both of whom looked familiar. One was decidedly cute, the other decidedly Asian. I didn’t really recognize the cute one but the Asian one was really familiar. I turned to my friend (I guess he was my friend as we were both sitting in what was my kitchen) and said, “ Dude, I think that’s fat Sonja!”
To which my friend replied, “You mean from the song!?!”
Theres a song called “Fat Sonja”. It’s a classic if Ive ever heard one.
It turns out that the girl wasn’t fat Sonja, just some pudgy Asian chick. It also turns out that the other girl was no one I knew, just another girl. But, being the social animal I am I invited these girls in for some hijinks. They brought themselves and about fiddy other friends, which was dope as hell. One of the friends was Jenny. My Jenny. The Jenny.

“Jenny, is that you?”
“Ameer, oh my gosh. How have you been?”
“Great. I used to have the biggest crush on you.”
“I used to have a huge crush on you too.”

We chatted for awhile and eventually things started to get a little sexual, and a little more dope. We got to making out and I was like, “wow, I can’t believe Im making out with Jenny.”
Just then my dad walked in, but it wasn’t my real dad. It was Will Farell. He brought us a plate of graham crackers. What a wonderful dad. Even still, The parental interruption was enough to throw off my rhythm so we decided a change of location was in order. First we tried the living room, but there were people watching TV. Next we tried the backyard/ park but there were already people getting their groove on. Then we tried a bedroom but there was some little girl sleeping in it. We finally decided to make out in the kitchen. Things were going well until my mom walked in. My mom was either Connie Chung , Lucy Lui or some other highly respectable Asian. Who knows. Either way, that’s about where things ended, and I woke up in a pool of my own disappointing sweat.

Its funny how nostalgic journeys just kind of sneak up on you. Flights of fancy best reserved for some Lifetime movie of the week, or better yet an after school special. All day long Ive been trying to shake the thought of jenny. Shes stuck in my head, this picture of innocent perfection. Im stuck in my shell, this example of genetics, karma and robot science run horrible amuck. Im glad I had the dream. Im glad I knew Jenny. I wonder if shes ever thought of me?

I wonder.

2002-07-09T01:04:00.000-07:00

Someday...

I want to live in a house with a really handsome carpet.

I want a two-car garage, 2.436423 kids, a dog named spot, and a second wife named Judy.

I want a martini lunch, a brandy dinner, and a mistress with a cosmetology degree.

I want to be loved in a way only a woman can love a man who has too much money to spend, too much time on his hands, and no desire to move if only to prevent bed sores.

I want to sleep so long that my hair smells like rotten milk.

I want a girl to fuck me for my genius.

I want a girl to leave me for trying too hard.

I want to be afraid of the dark again.

I want to be missed by someone who doesn’t know me.

I want to be forgotten by someone I just met.

I want a jetpack.

I want a jetpack.

I want a fucking jetpack.

2002-07-08T01:04:00.000-07:00

Back to sacramentucky. Back to my ramen reality. Going back to the bay is always great; it’s time for me to think back to hijinks had and look forward to more of the same. The food taste better, the air is sweeter, the tatums are larger and just as inaccessible. But now I’M back here. Time for me to sit back in my own cheese juice and funk it up oaf style in my apartment until I have to go dry some junk at the old farm. Ahyuck.

Whenever I come back from the bay I have a bit of a let down. I can feel it coming just as soon as the coal train reaches suisuin and prepares to speed off to Davis. First theres a little tingle in the back of my throat. Next I get a little dizzy. Then I hear a bell. After that an angel gets his wings, and karma knows that its time to kick her game into overdrive for some prime meezie funkin. And funk she does.

Knowing what I know about what karma knows that I know, I decided that I should call Laura Larsen. You know, for kicks, to give karma a little more ammo to marsh up in my belly. Nothing really interesting happened, although we did hang out. We re gonna go get drunk tomorrow. It should be sweet, if not incredibly bloggable.

This summer is about to hit its nadir. In less than 20 days, I ll be balls deep in country-fried, corn-fed, southern yokels. The best part is that I’m related to all of them. IM going to…. I got suckered into going to… I got guilted into going to south carochina for a family reunion. I’m not really a big fan of my relatives, and I’m quite sure they wont shed a tear for the meezums when I’m staring back at them through six feet of disturbed earth. Nonetheless, I call these people family, and they do the same. The last time I went there I got heat for, “ speaking proper.” I can’t even begin to describe what it’s like to walk into a room full of people who share a heepin' spoon full of your genes, but not an ounce of your genius, inspirato, or all around dopeness. But into the lion’s den I will go, clad in chainmail, buried in a book, swinging my sword, lopping off heads, and taking names. As my grandmother always said, “ Meezie, if you cant beat them womp them with a sword, and if that sword is too heavy use a gun to kill them in the face. You do know how to use a gun, don’t you grandson? Speaking of guns, I don’t think you’ve been eating right? Don’t you have some nice young lady to feed you and cook for you and do you? You know you are of age, right? Right? RIGHT!?! RI… Look what you done done. You done give you grandma palpitations. Fetch me my angina medicine.”

2002-06-19T02:13:00.000-07:00

Melissa brown. Ow.wow. ow.
I was chattin with my ex social advisor tonight, u know, nothing too deep. Just “school” this, “work” that, and “I wish these funkin americans werent so uptight with their kiddie porn laws because Ive got a lot of really good ideas” the other. Then it happened. That beautiful rat bastard mentioned her…Melissa brown. Wow. I havent thought about that name for almost two years. The last time I thought about it I did my fair share of a-weepin and a- wackin. But then I was better. Now this. Maybe I should explain.

It’s senior year of high school. Im just about the same meezie, minus my smelly apartment and love of ramen. I never really hung out with the cool kids because they were all about Friday night drinkin, Saturday morning date rapin, and Sunday morning footballin. I didn’t really hang out with the “alternative” kids because they were too busy looking like each other but not looking like the cool kids. I was just me, no one to take notice of, at least not for the usual high school reasons.

One day Im walking through the hall and I notice this tall, leggy, goddess. There was just something about her that screamed, “You should notice me just because.” And I did. But being the shy bundle of pants-crapping, teeth chattering, nerves that I am, I decided it would be best for all of us (me, my Levis, the janitor and my dentist) if I dont look at her. So down my eyes went. As I prepared to pass her, I hear a “Hi”. I look up and there she is, her “Hi” aimed, point blank, at my confused grin. Time to kick it in to Don Funkin Juan mode.
“Huh?”
“Hi.”
“Huh. UHHHUUH!!”
“My names Melissa. What’s yours”
“HUH A HYUCK UHHHHH A HYUCK.”
“Well, I gotta go to class now. Maybe I ll see you around.”
“That would be quite splendid. Perhaps we could meet again in a similar fashion. But until then, I bid you good ‘morrow.”

So that was it. She just started talking to me. Every time I passed her, the same little drill. But try as I might, I never got passed the incidental hallway chitchat. Then one day all hell broke loose. I was just standing around with my handful of cronies discussing the best way to influence Middle Eastern politics while allowing them to maintain complete political autonomy. Or were we talking about boobies? Somewhere in between there. All of a sudden I fell this arm kind of loop underneath mine. It’s none other than…you guessed it, Pat Sajack. We chatted for a bit, he gave me some lovely parting gifts, then made his way to the parking lot. I was feeling pretty good about life ( at least the home edition of life) when another, much prettier, arm snaked its way under mine. This time it was Melissa.
“Hi.”
“HUH AHYUCK!!!”
“Can I talk to you for a second.”
“I …I..I…AHYUCK.”
“Stomp once for no, twice for yes”
stomp stomp
“Hey, I was wondering. Do you want to go to the junior prom with me?”
stomp stomp
“Cool. I think it’ll be fun.”

I was never much of a prom, ball, dance, cotillion, box social, kind of guy. I didn’t go to my junior prom, and had no plans to attend the senior shindig. All that shaking, drinking, and sexual exploration…just not my scene. But who am I to turn down an offer like that. So I accepted.

We went. We had a blast. I wore a tuxedo and really uncomfortable shoes. She wore a frilly dress. She smelled like flowers, intrigue, and Chanel No. 5.

I always took her to be a bit of a goody goody. Always did her homework, only did a couple months in juvie, u know the kind. After the evening of nostalgia worthy hijinks I didn’t expect anything. Didn’t get anything either, just a hug goodbye and a promise for future meetings.

After that night I was all about this girl. Smart, funny, outgoing, interesting, athletic, and willing to talk to me. Imagine that. I would call her up and we would chat for what seemed like days. We had chemistry. We had common ground. She had pretty. I had…she had pretty. Maybe that’s where things went wrong. Did you think that things weren’t gonna go wrong? Poor bastard.

My senior shindig was on the horizon. Prior to our outing, I hadn’t even entertained the idea of going. But now things were different. Now I had a girl who was interested in the meezums. Now I had a girl who probably wouldn’t say no. I mustered some courage, picked up the phone, beep boop bop boop beep bop boop, and tried to tame destiny.
“Is Melissa home?”
“Uh…She’s in the shower.”
Apparently destiny was in the shower and would call me back later. No problem. A couple days later I called back but this time destiny was out for a jog. Everyday I would call back, and everyday destiny was nowhere to be found. Finally I got her on the phone.
“Hello destiny. This is Meezie. Im calling to seize you.”
“This is Melissa. And don’t you mean tame?”
“That’s what I meant.”
“yeah, that’s cool…Anyway, Im about to take a shower.”
“You must be very clean.”
“Hygiene is important.”
“I see.”
“Plus it’s a good excuse to not talk to you… but mostly the hygiene thing.”

Funk. It happened. I guess I waited too long. I guess I let the coals of romance fizzle out into embers of platonic craptitude. “No big deal.” I thought, “ I can always reheat them bitches.”

A couple days after our little shower dialogue, I saw Melissa in the hallways, the same hallways where we had first met, but now she was joined by a semi swoll, semi autistic, drinkin, rapin, footballin, cool kid named (and I kid you not) Bubba. BUBBA. “No big deal,” I thought “ theyre probably just friends. I could totally still get her. She might still be down to hit up some prom action with the old meezums.”

Then Bubba asked her to the prom. “No bid deal. I could still slip in there, its not like theyre gonna go get drunk at prom and then have awkward, mind-blowin, cherry-poppin, pooter relations in a sleazy lake side cabin. She’s a nice girl.”

Then I saw them making out in the hall. “No big deal. I cant feel my legs because there’s a brain dead troglodyte sticking his tongue down the throat of the girl I someday hope to call Mrs. Thompson or at least Mrs. Thompson’s really hot friend who comes over for threesomes.”

Heart broken, leg wobbled, teary eyed, and grief stricken, I laid down on a bench and waited for the carnage to stop.

Ive moved on to other disasters since then, but none so grand. She was my second to last great crush, but it was by far the stickiest. The wounds have healed, but the scars remain. Every time I think about her Im forced to relive the whole bloody massacre over. Save the minor nicks and dings that mark most high school personalities, Melissa was amazing. A few years at a fancy school, a little bit of living, and (probably a lot) of semi petty sex, and I'm sure that the girl is a fuckin dynamo, which makes karma that much more hilarious.

Hi, my name is Ameer Thompson and I’m a Melissa Brown Nostalgiaholic. It’s been one year, seven months and 5 days since my last memory.

2002-06-14T18:40:00.000-07:00

I knew this day would come. It comes every week, and every week I dread it just the same. It’s Friday. Yes Friday. That nasty little quasi-weekendish whore of a day. During the semester I hated this day because I was too busy studying to go out and enjoy it. Now I don’t really have any excuses, except that Im a socially inept loser. That’s not an excuse so much as a (hopefully) treatable disorder. So there it is, my life is a disease. The cause: weekends and general nerd related hijinks. The symptoms: spontaneous flights of masturbatory fancy, cold sweats, dry mouth, wet palms, closed curtains, open mind, slack jaw, vomiting, spitting, coughy, sneezy, achy, dopey, bashful, doc, and weeping. Lots of weeping. Mostly the weeping thing. Yeah, I ll be crying myself to sleep tonight after a long, fruitless, sedating, mercy wack. I ll lay there staring at my crotch, my dude slung across my stomach like a punch drunk prize fighter leaning against the ropes waiting for his corner to throw in the clean up towel. And yes, there’s just as much blood.

In an attempt to beat the Fridays I consulted my “to do” list, a crudely constructed list of chicks I want to at least hang out with, if not defile, during the summer. There are seven chicks on the list: Fatty White, Vagina, Bookstore Bitties, Choco Bookstore Bitties ( yeah, I know. That’s almost like co planar cross bucket cancellation. Don’t worry, they don’t know eachother), Boobies, Cindlebean, and Indian Beauty II.

I called Fatty White a couple of days ago but I think she was watching tv or eating or something. She said she would call me back. Funk. I called her again tonight and I got her voice mail. That’s what I get for funkin with a chunky white bitch (just for the record, Im not usually down with that but Ive made an exception this time because Ive been trying to get this chick since high school. She used to be popular. I used to be a nerd. Four years and 20 pounds later, she’s fat and unpopular and Im…well, Im still a nerd but Ive come to grips with it.) Strike one.

Next I called Vagina. We’ve hung out a few times this summer, each time more platonically sterile than the last. The last time I talked to her she asked me, when I call her voice mail, “Not to make your messages so specific. I don’t want my roommates all in my business.” Ok, that could mean one of two things. 1) She’s all about my gizzards and she doesn’t want her roommates givin her heat for trying to hook up with this big, studly, rich, short, swoll, piece of Asian meat. 2) She’s down to drag me out at a moments notice to leer at her body as it prances around a tennis court, but anything outside of that would make her chuckle, then vomit, then chuckle about the vomit, then punch me in the face. My money is on the latter, or is that the former. I don’t know. Whichever one doesn’t get me brains.

I called Bookstore Bitties earlier in the week, and was again put on hold. I called back today but spent my time competing with some kiddies in the background.
“What up hoe. Whats crackin in your neck of the fuckin woods.”
“Nuthin, how about you? Do you want to watch ‘Barnie’ or ‘The Rug Rats Do Dallas’?”
“I…Rug Rats, please.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you. There are some kids over here.”
“Oh, that’s cool. You doing some babysitting?”
“DON’T PEE ON THAT. DON’T PEE ON THAT.”
“How did you know I was…”
“Sorry, my boyfriends kid just peed on something. Can I call you back?”
“Yeah, I should be ar…”
“WHAT DID I JUST SAY ABOUT THE PEE!?! DID YOU THINK I WAS KIDDING!?! I DON’T KID ABOUT PEE!!! DAMMIT!!!WHO WOULD KID ABOUT PEE!?!’
“I let you take care of the pee.”

whew

Next up, Boobies. Ok, Im just gonna let u know that Boobies is SHARA PERKINS. Check this shit out and tell me if karma isn’t having her way with me sleazy Appalachian biker bar broom closet style. Last week someone searched google for “Shara Perkins”. Wouldn’t you know it, sure-bet obannon popped up. Wouldn’t you also know it, there was a link to all of the posts I did about Shara. Here’s my guess. Scenario: It’s 3:15 p.m. SP is sitting at her desk, sifting through a stack of papers, wishing her autistically slow day would take off it’s protective bicycle helmet and let the next seizure womp its head on the 5 o’ clock concrete. With nothing to do she decides to hop on the old information superhighway and get her google on. Out of curiosity she types in her name to see if she has infact become famous, or at least been published on some sleazy, sassy, hot, young, all real, all nude, free three day trial webcam. S-H-A-R-A (space) P-E-R-K-I-N-S. Enter. There it is, staring at her in all of its self centered glory, “Salsbury Blogsteak.” Click. “And there was another set of boobies, but this set of boobies belonged to none other than SHARA PERKINS…Posted by Ameer is a genius.” Shocked, appauled, stammered, sickened, she vows not to speak to me until the trial.

Call it luck, call it karma, call it what you will, but Cindlebean, Choco Bookstore bitties, and Indian Beauty II are all out of town. But there’s always Saturday.

2002-06-08T23:32:00.000-07:00

There are only so many things u can do when an old man pees on your shoe. 1) Get upset, 2) Laugh it off 3) pretend it never happened 4) wipe your shoe on his pants because he’s practically numb from the waste down, besides, he already smells like Depends and dead skin anyway. Who’s gonna notice?

I hope:
I never get too old to wack
Before I die, I will own a jetpack filled with candy and porn
My junk never turns into a flap
I’ll never forget where I am every five minutes
Tall, dark and awkward will become a trend
Boobies, just because
I never meet another hot girl with a horrible personality
I never meet another homely girl with a great personality
Robot science will always be the science of making robots.
Robots never learn to make other robots
I will always be able to laugh at myself, because let’s face it, I’m hilarious to me.

Tonight is windier than usual. Maybe it’s one of those really neat cosmic metaphors for the winds of change sweeping across the desolate tundra, carrying the upswept masses to Xanadu. Maybe it’s just windy. Either way, I’m still stuck at home rolling maddy mo fatty solo on yet another Saturday night. If it weren’t for the grilled Safeway brand processed cheese food sandwiches and teriakyi chicken ramen percolating in my belly Id probably be a little pissy, maybe even bitter. Butt alas, I’m fine. So what if I’m not out at some bar spittin my mad game. I’m too busy perfecting my theories (a spicy blend of eastern ninja game philosophy and classic western bucket theory). If I were to use my game now, Id probably end up having sloppy butt relations with a waitress named Greta who has two kids, a trailer, and a boyfriend on deathrow for raping puppies who were licking babies while frolicking on rainbows and dreams. And meezie just don’t need that kind of pressure. So for now I ll just sit in my computer chair, take advantage of myself, do some reading, and wait for summer to end.

2002-06-06T22:56:00.000-07:00

My virginity is hanging on by a thread. At least in theory. Im not sure how much longer I can keep up with the whole celibacy gig. Its been a nice ride but Im getting sick of crying myself to sleep because I’m lying in a pool of my own meezie-induced man juice. Its high time I dipped my dude in some stanky, but that means Im gonna need some stanky for the dippin. There’s the rub. I’m at the point where logic and libido wrestle to a draw, but givin the right circumstances libido might pull the big upset. A real cubs winning the pennant type of deal if I’ve ever seen one.

As much as I enjoy seeing sex on videos, computers, playing cards, buses, bubble gum wrappers, baby bottles, etc, I don’t know if I’m ready to do it. It. Couldn’t they have picked a better word to describe “it”? Sure, theres “fucking”, but that’s a bit crude. “Doing the deed” sounds far too legal. “Bumpin uglies” is a little degrading , albeit hilarious. I’m thinking of something more along the lines of a Saturday morning cartoon meets Harvard med. Maybe something like, fibbin in the cock pot.

Summer is a time for young men to sew their wild oaf oats. Am I so different? Am I to be left out of the summer boobie fest for yet another year? I don’t think so. Will I build up the courage and rationale to finally go a’fibbin in the cock pot? Maybe. Will I wack…a lot? Yeah.

2002-05-31T22:31:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I forget how boring life can be. Without the daily grind of school to keep me occupied I’ve turned into a genuine bum. And I think I’m ok with it. 2 weeks ago it was class, class, study, study, puke, study, study, eat, sleep…maybe. Now I don’t go to bed until 4 and I don’t get up until 10. The rest of my day is spent in a masturbatory whirlwind. I’ve thought about picking up a book but those things are fucking heavy. Whose idea was it to include pages, anyway. What were they thinking?

Now that summer is all up in my junk, I have time to focus on the important things. By important I mean me and by things I mean stickin my dude in all of the moist sticky places Ive been reading about. I’m officially on a quest to become more social. I’m tired of being a bucket theorist. It s to put this shit to practice. Time to take off my lab coat and start sampling the coochies of America. I’m gonna miss my lab coat.

I’m off to an ok start. Before school got out I got a couple of digits. Things are looking up. But knowing me and knowing karma and knowing that karma knows that I know me I wouldn’t get your hopes up. That is unless your hope is for a long-winded somewhat depressing, mildly not unhilarious blog entry. Then I’d say shoot for the stars. Don’t believe me? Fine, check this. I already spent the night at LL’s house this summer. I’ve only been out of school a week and I’m back on that train. Here’s a little thing I wrote while not sleeping on her floor.

I cant sleep next to another person. It’s impossible. All I do is lie awake for hours lamenting the fact that there’s a big sticky microwave with hair all up in my lankin room. And don’t get me started on the platonic sleep over. I mean, honestly. At least when you’re doing a chick you can take solace in the happiness of your dude. Sure the sleeping arrangement sucks, but that’s the price you pay for boobies. Quid pro quo caveat emptor carpe vagina.

2002-05-20T09:40:00.000-07:00

Still super busy with finals. One down, three to go. Wont have much creative juice for blogging. Here are some AIM hijinks to keep u going. Peace out, natches. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

OohberRhompson: the computer lab is almost empty. out of 20 seats she
plopped down next to me. Then she just started asking
me questions, u know the normal get to know you stuff.
Keep in mind that I was minding my own non morbidly
obese business. She just kept on talking and talking.
Luckily I had starburst. But even that backfired. I
pulled out that pack and she was like "can I have
one". Normally Id be like funk dat, but even Im not
dumb enough to deny a fatty her midday treats. I
handed her the pack so she could get her eat on. And
wouldnt u know it , the fat bitch took 2.
OohberRhompson: thats some cold shit
FlowmanBojangles: LOL
FlowmanBojangles: that's harsh
FlowmanBojangles: what a bad day you're having
OohberRhompson: seriously
FlowmanBojangles: so how did you finangle your way out of
that one?
OoberRhompson: she finally left
FlowmanBojangles: i like it..
OohberRhompson: I didnt bother to ask her name as I
didnt give a fuck
FlowmanBojangles: fair enough

2002-05-16T21:02:00.000-07:00

The school year is winding down and so am I. I havent had much time to live. Not much to blog about. I hope you fuckers can find something else to do for the next couple of days or so because my hijink bus is still en route. Here's to unbusy living.

2002-05-13T21:51:00.000-07:00

Im surrounded. Lost in a sea of feminine junk. I dont know what to do. I dont know how to do it. What I do know is that a brotha is about to jump snap mule kick someone in the teeth if he doesnt get his brains.

2002-05-09T03:53:00.000-07:00

So Im sitting at home watching something nerdy on PBS, genetics something or the other, when the phone rings.
“What up fuckin bitches.”
“Hello?”
“This is the meez dog. Whats crakalakin!?!”
“It’s LAURA.”
“Oh damn. Whats goin on?”
“I cant believe youre up this late. I feel like shit and I need someone to cry to. You down?”
“Do fish love anal?”
“I…”
“Be there in ten.”

I slap on a clean…the cleanest….the only shirt I havent spooed on, pop some wrigleys, smother my stank pits in right guards finest, and hop on my bike faster than you can say “ I cant believe Im about to waste another evening with a girl whos just going to use me for my love of logic. Yeah, this is a good idea.”

On my ride, logic hits me. What the hell am I doing? Im not going to get anything out of this trip. This is gonna be “Jason X” "Dude, Wheres my car?", and "Crazy Beautiful" all rolled into one big ball of 2 hours of my life that I ll never get back. But then genius took over. He told me I had to do it, if only for blog’s sake. By the way, genius is a guy. He lives in New Jersey.

I get to her house, punch in the gate code, and mosy up her steps. She greets me with this awkwardly long hug that screams needy. She held on so long she dented my skin. Afraid she might accidentally rub off some of my black, I break our platonic bond and make my way across her living room. We walk to her room and she flops into bed. A sassy spaghetti string top and a little initiative are all that stand between me and 32 inches of C cup. By the way, she has C cup.

Immediately she launches into her problems. Immediately I put on my “everything is gonna be alright now that mutha funkin meezums is in the house” cape. I got it for halloween back in kindergarten. Still fits. We chat for awhile…she chats for awhile. I listen for awhile, cape gently flapping in the breeze. I brought a fan. It came with the cape. She tells me all her boy problems, all her school problems that stem from her boy problems, all her parent problems that stem from school problems that stem from boy problems. This goes on ad nauseam until we’re on terra firma per diem.

Eventually we start chitting the chat. Instead of sitting idly by, I roll over and start to give her a massage. My dude chimes in, “If youre not gonna get me any brains at least you better put hands someplace ungodly.” My dude, always lookin out for humanity. This goes on for the better part of fideen minutes. Hands tired, dude strangely satisfied because of his altruistic gesture, I roll off her back and lay down next to her.
“that was nice. Thanx.”
“don’t worry about it, white bitch. It’s what I do.”
“Youre really good at…what did you say?”
“I said, Theo Fleury's about tight fits. That’s just a shoe.”
“Oh, ok. That’s cool.”
“Damn skippy, deaf white bitch.”
I lay there tracing figure eights around the freckles on her back. All of a sudden I notice something. I have a mild chub. Then I notice something else, Laura is really cute when shes depressed. Maybe it’s just that she ditches the façade (which she pronounces fass aid) for a while. Maybe it’s that I just dig taking care of people. Maybe it’s that I love white bitches. Either way, she was looking cute.

I look at the clock and see that it’s late.
“Fuck, deaf cute white bitch. Its late as hell.”
“Yeah. What did you say?”
“ I said, four deer cut while Bill ate lettuce bells.”
“Youre right, it is late as hell. I should get to sleep.”

One more awkwardly long buddy wrap and I was on my way. Peddling home I notice an old man who had no shoes, then I laugh. Life’s funny that way.

2002-05-05T12:50:00.000-07:00

Part I : The Incredible Lightness of Being a Squirrel: an ode to onomatopoeia

So Im heading out to play some tennis this morning. Im running late per usual, luckily my fancy new trek has far more functioning gears than poor old scott. Click click kclick. Third gear dealy, fourth gear dealy. Click clack clunk. I have 21 speeds and Im using them all. ZOOM through the traffic light. WOOOSH around the corner. KAZAAAM past the arboretum. Im making great time but I cant slow down. No time for all this thinking. Just gotta peddle. Keep on keepin on.

I round the corner just before the tennis courts. It leads to a walkway. To the left is the gym, to the right a field. Ive seen boobies on the field before but today there were none. Today I only saw squirrels. Two of them. I hate squirrels. There are more squirrels at sac st than there are cock blocking meat heads, and that’s a lot. My bean starts to thinkin, “ I bet I have fuzz on me.”

Then it thinks, “ I really should be killin the funk out of some squirrels.”

This isnt the first time Ive entertained thoughts of cold-blooded squirrelicide. But Ive never acted on it. Today was to be no different.

“You dirty fuckin squirrels,” I scream “ youre lucky Im such a fucking squirrelmanitarian.”

I chuckle, and keep on peddling. The squirrels are giving me the evil eye but they havent moved. Then all of a sudden, just as Im about to pass them, the first squirrel darts across the path. FAFLAMBO.

“Youre a fast little fucker. But be more careful next time, my furry nemesis. I almost ended your squirrannical reign of terror.”

I peddle once more, still delivering my warning to the first fuzzy bitch. Then, with even less warning the second squirrel darts out across the path. SQU-SQUIRREL!!! S-SNAP!!! I catch the second squirrel, no doubt a loyal sentinel in the corrupt squirrelocracy, right beneath my front tire. I have way too much momentum so I keep on a-ridin’.

“Did I just s-snap a fucking squirrel? Man that’s some cold shit.”

Being the squirrelmanitarian I am, I turn around and head back to the scene of the crime. There was no sign of my woodland victim. My best guess is that I broke his neck, but he was so hopped up on squirreloin and squirrelcaine that he kept going. Conscience clear, I get back on my bike and head for the tennis courts.

Today I became a man. I learned one of life’s many immutable truths: squirrels are squishy.

Part II: Boring Shite from my Evening With SLLD (mostly for Foofernoofin)

Our quasi-pseudo-demi-faux date went ok. She picked me up around 10 or so. Its kind of nice having the girl drive, especially since I dont have I car. I told her she could ride on my handle bars, but she slapped me. Then I explained that by "handle bars" I meant my bicycle. Then she just cried and said, " You make me sad for me for you for not having a ride for us."

When we got to the movie, I tried to pull the old "I ll pay for it" thing, but she just wasnt having it. Another sign that she didnt want to give the impression that this was a date. Since Im all about not paying for shit anyway, I let it go. She handed me ten bucks for her ticket. It was $8.75. I kept the change. That ought to learn her.

The movie was horrible. Horrible. But it was scary. She gets freaked at scary movies. (I should mention that she was wearing a sweet little shirt, no so low that she looked slutty but low enough to give me a half-chub.) Everytime someone got killed she jumped and held onto me. Lets see: six murders times two boobies per murder...thats 12 boobies on my shoulder over the course of a hour and a half. Not bad for $8.75

The movie ended around 12 midnight. I was a little on the hungry side so we headed to Denny's. Its the only thing open in sac. Fuck i hate that place. While walking through the Dennys parking lot we did some talking. Nothing big, just the same old idle chitshit that marked the rest of the evening.

"Do you ever get out during the weekends?"
"Hell yeah. Im all about getting my party on."
"Whatever."
"It's true. They used to call me Mr. Party. Well, that was back when my name was Ameer Party-Thompson. I got it changed awhile back. It fits better on business cards."
"Ok."

We sat down and ordered our crap. More chitshit. Blah blah blah. More half chub. Mindwack mindwack mindwack. Then her phone rang.
"Hola. pero bustamante gorgio de la hoya pindeho cocina bye bye."
My spanish isnt that great.

"What was that all about?"
"That was a friend of mine. She said shes having a party at her house."
"Dope. We should check it out."
"Ok. Maybe."

Food food food. Convo convo convo. Chub chub chub.

We got the check and headed out. Just before we get to her car she chimes in.

"Hey, do you mind if we skip the party? I have to work really early tomorrow."
"Yeah, thats cool. Where do you work."
"I work for hallmark's 'really bad spur of the moment excuses to ditch the fuck out of some poor lonely black guy' division."
"Thats... cool. Your work must be very fulfilling."
"I do gods work."

She drove to my house,and we said our goodbyes.
"What a sweet girl," I thought to myself as she did celebratory donuts in my cul da sac. "She does gods work."

2002-05-04T03:22:00.000-07:00

Life is kind of like a game of tetris. There are different people, all of various shapes and colors. Those who are good at tetris can make things happen. The rest of us just stack a bunch of people on top of eachother and wait for someone to say “game over” so you can put your name and quote in the high score table.

Tonight I stepped out of my normal ubernerd role and ventured out on the town with a spicy little latin dish (SLLD). Earlier in the week we made plans to go to the movies. You know, just hang out. Kind of like a date but with out all of the icky butt sex.

Per usual my apartment was a mess and I wasn’t looking much better. Yada yada yada, I got ready, she picked me up, and we headed to the movies. We were supposed to see some flick (I forget which one but who cares) but we ended up watching “Jason X”. They really shouldve called it “Youre never gonna get this hour-and a half back”. Did you know that future chicks are all gonna be hot as hell? All of em. And theyre all down. Best part is that you don’t even have to be a smooth talker because everyone talks in catch phrases and onliners. Man, Im getting too old for this shit.

I had this really weird dream the other night. I was in a building somewhere. It may have been school. A friend of mine, or at least someone who appeared to be my friend told me about a big porn sale. As you well know Im a man who loves his porn. My friend and I headed down to the porn shop to take advantage of the big porn sale. As we got closer to the shop there were a bunch of signs advertising the sale.
“Everything must go.”
“Most porn ever.”
“You want porn, we got porn!”
We followed the signs and eventually found the shop. It turns out that in order to get into the porn shop you had to cut through the adjacent donut shop. We went into the porn shop and I started browsing. It looked like tower records with clean up socks. It was beautiful. While looking around, I noticed someone who looked familiar. At first it looked like my neighbor chick. As I approached she started to shrink and turn black. By the time I got to her, my neighbor chick had transformed into my mom.
“Ameer! What are you doing in a place like this?”
“What the… I thought this was the donut shop.”
With that I high tailed it out the door and back to the donut shop. I looked back and my mom had turned back into neighbor bitties.

Not being one to waste an opportunity, I decided to buy some donuts. I guess I knew one of the guys who worked there because he was super nice to me. He gave me a bunch of free donuts in a brown grocery bag. If that’s not enough, he said that the porno shop had a bunch of stuff that they were giving away. He grabbed a arm full of posters, videos, magazines, etc and stuck them in the bag along with the donuts.
“Here, you take this!”
“Thank you!”
You should always thank people when they give u free porn.
Bag o’ Spankunition in hand, I headed for the door. Just I was leaving someone else came in. It was some guy from my calculus class. He looked just the way he does in real life except that he was wearing a long white skirt and one of those Muslim hats.
“Hey Ameer, hows it going?”
“Not bad.”
“Is that a bag full of porn”
“And donuts!”
“Sweet.”
“What are you up to?”
“Im here for the porn sale.”
“If you have a chance u should try some of these donuts. Theyre fuckin delicious.”

2002-04-25T21:57:00.000-07:00

today one of my school chums came out to a girl. Ok, let me clarify. He came out in the “I think Im in love with you or at least deeply in like with you” sense of the phrase. I told him he should write a letter. He said that would be the cowards way out. I wouldve gone with the letter. He said he had to tell her. I said he should wait. He said that was the cowards way out. I wouldve waited. From what I understand she was cool with it. As far as I know theyre romping through a thicket of semi requited hebee jeebees as we speak…as I type. Whatever. My point is, go that guy for havin the brass nuggs to crap out his intentions.

I once had a girl that I wanted to come out to. My last great infatuation. Her name was JESSICA. I suppose her name is still jessica. Oh well. She was a quiet one. Kinda shy, pensive, smart as hell. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that she was ten pounds of “Good gawd” in a five pound bag. Intellect and boobies to match. How quaint. I shouldve known that it wouldn’t work. But try I did.

My clumsy courtship dragged on for the better part of two months. One day during the summer I stopped by her house and dropped off soup when she was sick. Let me back up. One 100 degree summer day I biked from Walnut Creek to Concord then to butt fuck Clayton then back to Pleasant Hill all on my shitty little “would be 21 speeds if the other 19 of them hadnt crapped out on me” Scott. I miss that bike. But I digress. Back to the coming out.

One night towards the end of summer I was chilling in my room. I was living with three dudes at the time. Crazy Bill was all about being 43 and crazy. Steve was all about being an asian man who loved his asian porn. I loved him for his love of asian but mostly for his love of porn. Then there was Jeff. Im not gonna talk about Jeff. Anyway, everyone was gone for the night leaving me to stew in my own bodily cheese funk. (Sometimes I regreted rubbing cheese on my naked body. Usually it was on a hot day. Its like wearing a fuckin nacho.) My fuzzy bean a’fuzzin, my imagination running wild, I let my thoughts drift to “what ifs”. What if I called her? What if she came over? What if she was all about me too? What if I stopped rubbing cheese on my naked body? Earlier in the week I had a pow wow with Dumon. We devised operation “Pony Up” I don’t remember all the details but I think it had something do with a steering wheel. At any rate, his little talk motivated me enough to stop running what ifs and to start running some mad game.

After a little bit of planning and a lot more asian porn I placed the call.
“Hey, its ameer.”
“Whats up.”
“Not much. What are u doing tonight?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Do u wanna come over and watch ‘Shaft’?”
“Ok. Be there in a bit”
“Dope.”
A sac full of ponies, a heart full of anticipation, and a bean full of scenarios I got ready for my rendezvouz with destiny. I mean jessica. They sound so much alike. Run to the store to grab some food. Girls don’t like ramen. Funk. What do girls like?….Peaches!!! Girls don’t like ramen juice. What do girls drink? Fuck it, just get the bitch some Sobe.

Materials in hand I mounted Scott and raced back home. Jessica showed up about half an hour later. Simple hair, indie glasses, an eager smile. Sometimes I miss that.

I opened the door and she gave me a hug. I could almost taste the potential. When we got inside I sat on a chair and she sat on a couch…on the other side of the room. I guess the potential was just some starburst residue because all I got the rest of the night were the buddy vibes. Mad buddy vibes. After the movie was over we started chatting.
“Hey, u wanna hear this song I wrote?”
“Sure. Whats it called.”
“Its called ‘Para Ella’ .”
It was really called “Hooray for Puntang II” but that’s not important. The important part was that she liked it. After I played she clapped, made some small talk, checked her watch, and found an excuse to leave.
“ Its getting late and my dog has an appointment at the Russian embassy in North Eastern Madagascar tomorrow. He’s negotiating a treaty for the Buddhists.”
“Arent they already, u know…at peace?”
“You calling me a liar.”
“Im just saying.”
“Fucker.”
Ok, maybe that didn’t happen. But our ending was just as awkward. We said our good byes. She wrapped me in a familiar buddy embrace. I thought about telling her about all of the scenarios that were rattlin’ through my bean. But then I thought better of it.

The next day she emailed me. I don’t remember the exact contents, although I think I still have the damn thing. The jist was “thanx for the soup. thanx for the song. Im not down with dating apolitical skinny-ass pussies. Maybe u should move to Madagascar. I hear theyre hiring .”

And that’s why I wouldve taken the cowards way out.

2002-04-22T02:04:00.000-07:00

This entry is dedicated to dirty heart breaking whores. You dumb bitches wouldn’t recognize real genius if it busted your gina. Moo.

This weekend was pretty sweet. I skipped work on Saturday because I was too sick to be around the olds. I wasn’t sick enough to miss the old study train. And study I did. By a show of hands how many of you were in a little room from 2:30 until 11:00 on Saturday? Yeah, Im all about having a good time. Or something like that. But on to the more exciting stuff.

Today was a day like most others. Played some tennis, got my eat on, started doing my dishes, realized that doing dishes sucks Mussolini’s left testicle, stopped doing my dishes, got my bio study on for 5 and a half hours. Instead of hiding away in my sweet little cubby I decided to venture out into the world of the normals and study in the union with some classmates. Big mistake.

During one of my study breaks I went down to the student store to pick up some essentials. Muffin, cough drops, and licorice in tow I started back to my study buddies. Just before I reached the stairs I heard a voice.
“Ameer.”
“Huh?”
“Do you have a second?”
“Ok.”
It was Firestarter. She had a couple of questions about financial aide or something else that I wasn’t qualified to answer. But that didn’t stop me. We chatted for a bit, but I cut it short.
“Hey, what time do you get off?”
“10.”
“I ll stop by after Im done studying.” (smile, try not to stare at her breasts, don’t think about where your hands have been)
“Cool.”
Study, study, study. Say final farewells to fellow bio geniuses, and back to the races. With a pocket full of hope and jelly (brotha gets a little hungry from time to time) I headed back to the table where Id seen Firestarter a couple hours prior. As I was a’scufflin and a’ scuttlin towards her I noticed that there was another set of boobies sitting next to her. Ok damn! Im all about those. But then I noticed something funny. Not “ha ha” funny, more like “karmas finna donkey fuck me until my ears bleed” funny. Not being one to let karma get me down I trudged ahead. As it turns out that extra set of boobies belonged to none other than SHARA PERKINS. Fuck. SP and Firestarter within 3 feet of eachother. That’s what we bucket theorist call Co planar cross bucket cancellation. You never cross your buckets. Ever. Recognizing the situation I acted swiftly. I decided to be cordial to the former bucket and focus all of my hands on the prospective bucket. Im such a good scientist.

For the past week Ive had this mildly nasty coughing, hacking, sniffle, lung quato thing going on. Not fun at all. SP picked up on it pretty quickly. Maybe it was because I coughed up my first born son onto her Cosmo. That ll teach her to get beauty tips for the summer. My conversation with SP started off with a familiar sterility.
“Hows school going?”
“Not bad. How are your classes coming?”
“Lots of homework.”
“Me too.”
If only it had stayed that way I wouldn’t have the venom to blog. Keep reading. Im not sure how it came up but we started talking about me. Im not a big fan of talking about me. U never wouldve guessed it from this blog but usually the subject of me makes me a little queasy.
“You really should go to the health center about that cough.”
“Im not down with those guys.”
“I think it would be a good idea. Youre looking pretty haggard.”
“Ok.”
“Youre looking really skinny lately.”
“Ok.”
"Almost girl skinny."
So there it is, I look skinny. It’s not as though there was some point in the past where I was all buff and junk. She was comparing my former Ethiopianesque frame to my current Ethiopian on heroin look. Not good. If this wasn’t punishment enough I decided to ask Firestarter for a second opinion.Like mother telling her son his favorite puppy had been crushed by a tractor, she reluctantly offered a confirming nod. With nothing left in the clever comeback tank I continued towards the doors, my a’shufflin far less animated. What else do u expect from a skinny, haggard, nerd.

2002-04-20T01:24:00.000-07:00

Failure, renewal, and cough drops. The world has been spinning out of control. I think its time for me to get off. They say theres some conflict or something like that going on somewhere or the other. Then they mentioned something about markets crashing into planes that were carrying babies to sick Ethopians or something like that. I wasn’t really paying attenition. My point is that my world is spinning out of control. All that petty current event stuff aside, my week has been full of turmoil. Real turmoil. I should be on the fucking news. Al Roker my ass.

Pop quiz, Hot shot. You have nothing to do on a Friday night. You have a penis and nothing to stick it in save a teddy bear and a latex glove. Do you A) Resign yourself to the boredom B) Sleep away the pain C) Defile the teddy bear or D) Call up a dumb fuckin hoe? If you’ve been keeping up with my circle of self destruction you know that I picked D. Long story short I called LAURA. Still hate her. Still havent done her. Still not worth fretting over so I wont.

Ive done a lot of failing in the past couple weeks. I mean, a lot. Usually I take lifes little speed udulations (is sac the only city with these pretentious speed decreasers? Cant we just call a spade a spade, and a bump a bump. You’d think a place with more mullets per capita than Biloxi, Mississippi would be a little less snooty. But I digress. That’s why I used parentheses. Funk Im so organized.) and turn them into something less undulatified. But two quizes, one test, and three girls later I think the failure has gotten to me. Just too many chinks in the armor. Dirty armor chinks. So whats a boy to do. I can feel the funk forming further…sorry…sometimes alliteration is just too good to pass up. Where was I? Oh yeah, what to do about my failure induced slump of a stupor. Don’t know. But Im sick of writing so Im gonna go wack.

I have a couple of mildly interesting stories but my core audience has already heard them. If you really want to hear/ read em u can email me. This weekend will be full of bloggable hijinks. Or something like that.

2002-04-12T22:01:00.000-07:00

Sometimes life has a way of being hilarious. Fuckin hilarious. Today was one of those days when common sense told me not to get up. Not being one to listen to my own advise I did anyway. Ive been paying for it ever since. I was up until 4 last night “studying” for a chem test. When I set my alarm for 8:30 I realized that 4 and a half hours of sleep might work for an air traffic controller but it’s just not good enough for Johnny Come Collegeman. But set it I did. Imagine my surprise when the sun pried open my fleshy lids FIDEEN FUCKING MINUTES BEFORE MY ALARM WAS SUPPOSED TO GO OFF!!! Fuck. Lets do this.

I got to school and waisted no time in failing my chem test. Im all about efficiency. Ok, one failure isnt that bad, just gotta rebound. Instead of catching a couple of winks or getting my chill on I opted to study for my calculus for 2 hours. Yeah, I failed that bitch. Im also all about good idea’s. Damn.

No time to fret over this second defeat, have to jet to tennis club to watch really hot girl play in really short clothes. I watch her match. She won convincingly. Time for the congratulatory sweaty hug. I told you Im all about good ideas. Just before my walking legs send my to my milk chocolate camel toe destiny, I feel a woosh around my dude. It’s the wind from the swooping jackass who has taken my rightful spot at the throne of boobie. If that’s not bad enough, it turns out that I know the guy. He’s a jackass. He’s in my bio class. Have u ever met one of those guys whos so cocky that u just wanna punch his dad in the face for not spending the extra fifty cents for the condoms with spermicide? Not being one to take defeat standing up, I made brief eye contact with my would-be conquest, turned tail, pissed my pants, mounted upon my steed and broke the hell out like I had the chicken pox.

No time to mourn this loss, gotta go to school and mold young scientific minds. I rush to school, sweat-yellowed shirt and all, and make it just in time. 4 o clock, sweet. Things are looking up. Yeah, not really. I waited for half an hour twiddling my thumbs, pondering the best places to wack on campus. Finally someone showed up. Of all the hot ass nubile taut-bodied freshmen the only girl to show is a bloody base midget. Wonderful. It’s a good thing I brought my frump to english dictionary.
“Photosynthesis blah blah blah.”
“I don’t get it.”
“PHOTOSYNTHESIS!!!BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!”
“I don’t get it.”
“I fucking hate you. Dirty base midget… Can I roll you down the street?”
“I was wondering when you would ask.”

After 2 hours of lecturing I was ready for a night of hijinks. Damn. I was supposed to hang out with heather tonight but she lost her purse that had her license and $150 bones American. It seems that my karmic radius has claimed another unsuspecting victim.

Morning shitty, afternoon discouraging, evening shot. What’s a man to do? Ah, the icing on the cherry on near the zenith atop the peak. Time to call LAURA LARSEN. Ok, pop quiz. Do you really think this is going to get any better, you poor stupid fool? I ll keep you posted.

2002-04-12T02:08:00.000-07:00

I live in my own filth. Im ok with it. Its what I do. Im not ok with people knowing that I live in my own filth. Wait. Im ok with people knowing that I live in my own filth, just not cute people with boobies. Girls wont give you brains if you live in filth. I know this. I havent gotten brains. Theres a correlation.

This weekend there could be upwards of 5 different girls passing through the meezie lair. Not all of them are coming by to give me brains, but one can hope. What’s certain is that none of them will give me brains if my apartment doesn’t get clean. Fast. So tonight I scrub for future generations. Tonight I wash the grime of the just. Down on my knees begging the gods of grout to forgive me for my neglect. I shall forsake you no longer. You have been forsooken long enough. If I have forsooked you in the past please forgive those transgressions as well.

Cleanliness is next to godliness. Godliness is next to friendliness. Friendliness is next to nakedness. Nakedness is next to pure hijink filled funkalation. I think u see where Im going with this. Heres to clean living.

2002-04-08T01:58:00.000-07:00

Be careful not to spill your seventh day drink offering or your blood will asphyxiate.
I was at work yesterday just having a normal day. Around 3 o’clock one of the ladies starts getting all loopy. Apparently her family has taken her off her medication. she starts doing shit like knocking on doors that are already open, talking to herself, etc. Then she starts having auditory hallucinations, you know hearing voices and shit. At one point she called over one of the workers and told them that she had a message for me. After my co worker chick got the message she came over and told me. "Be careful not to spill your seventh day drink offering or your blood will asphyxiate". Now, ordinarily something like that would be written of with a chuckle and a punch to the face. Yeah, I punch old people for sport. But this time was different. I was supposed to have coffee (a drink offering) with SHARA PERKINS on Sunday ( the seventh day). Call it coincidence, call it what you will, but it started to freak me out. Seventh day drink offering. Ok that had to mean coffee, or at least had to be a reference to going out for coffee. Don’t spill it. Did she mean that I should spill my coffee? That would make sense. If I spilled my coffee on SP she would hate me and never talk to me, thus leaving me with blue balls ( asphyxiated blood) . I consulted a couple of people including my ex social advisor. He suggested that the asphyxia thing might be a metaphor. Like, if I spilled my coffee my blood line would cease to be. Hmmm, makes sense. Either way, I had made up my mind. That coffee was about to get the kung fu death gripping of it’s short delicious life.

Fast forward to today. Just wakin up in the morning gotta thank god, I don’t know but today seems kinda…wait. Never mind. I was supposed to meet SP at 2 but that got a little delayed because my early morning tennis session went a touch longer than expected. No matter, coffee with SP at 230 is just as delicious as coffee with SP at 200. So I get home, hop in the shower and get ready to take off. All of a sudden it dawned on me. Maybe my social advisor stumbled onto some extra genius. Maybe the whole message was all about metaphor. That old lady didn’t literally mean don’t spill your drink. She meant, “don’t fuck up this day”. Get it, spill. Clever old bitch. I ll miss you when youre dead. My new mission was clear, make sure that everything runs as smoothly as a wang prepped for jigi enjoyment.

Shower with soap, not just blind faith. Shave, meh. I look more sophisticated with grizzle. Cologne, don’t got. Time, don’t got. Just go. I run out of my house but have to run back because I forgot my bike lock. Fuck. 2:15. Bike lock, check. Go. Fuck, forgot my chapstick. Don’t wanna keep licking my lips like a retarded porn star for the better part of 2 hours. Gotta get it. Fuck 2:20. Run back, get the chapstick and a something to dab my sweaty brow. Good call me. Don’t spill this. 2:22. Fuck. Ok, go. Finally on the road. On the way to SP’s apartment I passed a church. Every week they post a new inspirational quote. This weeks gem o goodness: In every bulb, a flower. In every seed, a tree. Potential. I get it. That’s another sign. First Karmas great grandmother gives me the 411 now this. Fuck. Don’t spill

With a little bit of peddling and a lot of sweating I got to SP a little after 230.
“Hey, Shara. Its me.”
“Hey. I ll buzz you in”
I get inside, she gives me a hug, I give her one back, then she tells me shes working on a table. Ok. She was putting together some table, from kmart I think. Anyway, she finished that and we went out for coffee, which ended up turning into Jamba Juice. Note to anyone who wishes to preserve their masculine aura. Don’t order anything called “Orange Berry Blitz” or anything from jamba juice for that matter. That was the manliest thing on the menu next to the Mango Madness. We get our silly juice, make fun of the names, then go outside to enjoy the sun. Our talk was small, our chat was chit. (like how I mix tenses fron one sentence to the next. Genius.)Nothing to write home about. She laughed at my jokes. I tried not to talk as fast as I normally do. Things went…well? Pretty good day, huh. Well, fuck you. Read on if you have the strength.

Our day ended after we went back to her apartment and assembled chairs. 4 of them. They came with the table. Now I don’t claim to be all in tune and shit with the ladies but Im pretty sure Bob Villa doesn’t exactly moisten…vaginas. But like any good carpenter I started to put things together. Sunday afternoon meeting, sterile convo, no physical contact save the awkward greeting hug, emasculating beverages, arts and crafts. Fuck. Im just the big fluffy, gay, hermaph, teddy bear. Don’t worry about me. “Down there” is confusing and foreign to me. And I aim to keep it that way. Im no threat to her gina. Spill.

Five o clock rolled around. Tired, beaten, emasculated, asphyxiated, I decided to take my leave. One more sterile buddy hug and I was gone. No more signs pointing to potential opportunities. Well, not unless you count “Try Our Fresh Baked Bread”.

2002-04-05T23:03:00.000-08:00

The happiest day of my life was when I realized that I had back pockets. Can you imagine, pockets right next to my ass. Someplace for me to stick my hands when Im leaning against the wall giving off my “Jimmy crack corn and I don’t give an ass” vibe. Yeah, back pockets.

So Im branching off. After 10% inspiration 100 % perspiration and 23.5% wackalation Ive decided to cast out my hands and see if they land in any buckets. Wouldn’t u know it, they did. Last year I met this girl named SHARA PERKINS (get used to this name. If things go well you ll be seeing it a lot more). Shes smart, witty, ambitious, insightful, and not at all pretentious. Oh yeah, shes also so hot that it should be considered shenanigans. I met her through a friend…kinda. One night during my first semester at Sac I walked into a coffee shop. I noticed a group of girls sitting at a table, one of which I knew ( I think she may have been an orientation leader or something silly like that. For the sake of the story lets just go with that.) . Since I had nothing better to do and because I love the scent of fresh ground columobian goodness mixed with lycra spandex, I decided to go up and say “hey”.
“Hey”
“Hey. Ameer, right? The guy who hated orientation”
“Yeah.”
“This is my friend Shara”
“Hey, Shara, nice to meet you. Orientation sucked.”
“Well, young man, maybe you wouldve liked it if we were more bitchy”
“Uh…I gotta go.”
And that’s how it started. I left the café defeated, digusted, irritated, and thirsty because Id spent my time getting snatched at by a really cute girl with a really funked up disposition. But Im not one to take defeat lying down in a pool of my own spoo. The next time I saw her I walked up and said, “Hey, youre the girl that hates me. Right on.” And that’s it. Then I would walk away. Everytime I saw her , the same drill. Before she could chime in or search for an apology, “Hey, youre the girl that hates me. Right on.” After about two months I finally stopped which turned out to be one of the better decisions Ive made.

SHARA PERKINS and I are going out for coffee this Sunday. Call me an optimist but Im pretty sure that “coffee” is just a clever euphemism for sloppy pooter sex. But that remains to be seen. For now Im just gonna go about my business, sip some bean, make some small talk, stick my hands in my back pockets, and try not to say anything too stupid.

2002-04-02T01:14:00.000-08:00

Jenny was a nice enough girl. If she werent so stupid or if I werent so mean, maybe we couldve been a couple. You know, like an honest to goodness boyfriend-girlfriend thing. I don’t even know why I thought about that. Theres something about riding your bike to blockbuster at midnight that gets the old bean a’churnin. She was sweet enough, I suppose. But she annoyed the hell out of me. She was like styrofoam fingernails on a chalkboard during a test of the emergency broadcast system.

I don’t think that I could have ever dated janet. As much as I liked her, as much as I still like her, we really wouldn’t have worked as a cohesive unit. She’s earthy and sensitive. Im a semi gruff city bloke. At some point I know that I woulda slipped and made an off colour remark about autistic volleyball and she wouldve flipped a gizzard. It’s not my fault Im so hilarious to me. It’s not her fault she doesn’t appreciate my brand of humor. Its just one of those things. Not good, not bad, just is.

There are times when I would love to know what its like to have that one person who cares about you enough to hold you close when times are tough. That one person who cares enough to put your penis in their mouth and not call it assault. Maybe I was never meant to find that someone. Sometimes I think that every girl I meet already has it in their mind that we’re gonna be nothing more than friends. If it werent for the inspirational words of men like Samuel R. Oofie I don’t think I would have the courage to go on.

2002-04-01T01:52:00.000-08:00

Desperation is a funny thing. It can make u do things that u normally would never even dream of. Stupid things. Things that would make Christopher Revees stand up and take notice. I almost did one of those things tonight. Ok, I did one of those things tonight but it didn’t quite work out. I was bored. I was horny. I was lonely. Whats the worst possible thing I could do for my fragile psyche? My options were clear:
1) Molly-womp my dude with a rusty hammer
2) Drink a bottle of boot lacquer
3) Call Laura Larsen
Try as I might I couldn’t find my hammer. And wouldn’t u know it, I just ran out of boot lacquer. Just one option left, and believe u me I was not looking forward to it. But Im all about sticking to game plans. Away I dialed. (916) 564-6804. One ring. Nothing. Two rings nothing. Three rings. Still nothing. Then I felt it. A breeze pierced my window, wafted through my abode, and settled on my shoulder. In a voice so faint it could have only come from a cherub, the words “What would Dumon do?” nestled themselves deep within my soul. It was then I realized that Dumon would hang the funk up and never call that dirty bitch as long as his dude was still in working order. I decided I would do the same. Problem solved.

But now Im left with another, if only a smaller, problem. What the funk am I supposed to do about my drought? My doing years are fading fast. Doing years are a lot like riding a bicycle, if u never learn you ll fall and hurt yourself and if you do it too much your junk goes numb and you get all bow legged. Happy riding.

2002-03-29T02:13:00.000-08:00

Beautiful people pee in the dark
Time for rest, relaxation, socialization, introspection, circumlocution, and all that good stuff. Spring break couldn’t have come any sooner. One more day of classes, one more test, one more unapproachable umblie, and I was likely to jolly stomp half the campus back to the stone age. But spring break came and rescued me from myself.

Instead of sitting around my apartment for the better part of two weeks waiting to get back on my academic hamster wheel I decided that I would take a little trip to LA. One Dumon, two buses, six cars, two planes and nine cups of coffee later and my trip was complete. In between all of the travel there was time to just chill. Time to sit back and take it all in. Time to romp with famous boobies.

Our first night in town we headed to some trendy sports bar place. Not bad if youre into alcohol, scattered ass, and racist chicken sandwiches. We ate, we chatted, we tried to collect the scattered ass into easy to manage buckets. There was this uber dope hostess chick. U know, one of those girls who was born wearing a push up bra and hooker boots. She’s so hot she wont even give herself the time of day. She gave me change for a twenty. Our first baby is due in Smarch. It’ll be half whore and half downtrodden by the oppressive hand of whity. Later we stopped by a couple of the UCLA hot spots. As it turns out the most of the really hot college chicks had headed for the hills. All that was left were the girls who looked like hot rocks covered with some sticky nickels. Oh well, it was fun to mess with em, especially the really big ones. So big. So so big.

Not much else went on in LA. Well, nothing Im at liberty to mention. Just a lot of chill time with Dumon, Hole, and Holes cute roomies.

We flew back at “who the fuck gets up this early besides the easter bunny on her period” O’clock in the morning. My social advisor was kind enough to pick us up from the airport. Im so glad I fired him

2002-03-19T03:09:00.000-08:00

Ive always imagined myself eating carrots. Somehow, someway my perfect life would include me eating carrots. Just me sitting on my couch, watching the world spin 'round, eating a bag of carrots. Im not quite sure why. Maybe its because rabbits eat carrots. When was the last time u saw a malcontent rabbit? Never, that’s when. They romp, they fuck, and they eat carrots. I think that’s something we can all relate to.

Lately my path has been pretty far from Xanadu. School, school, sleep, school, eat (maybe), wack, repeat. Its almost too much. I think my head is gonna explode. Wait, I think I might kill someone and I know my head is gonna explode. (We science majors like to be all precise and shit with our words. )

Example, on Saturday ( that’s the weekend) I worked until mid afternoon then it was on to ye old study mill. I think we started at 9. Maybe it was 10. I cant be sure. The whole evening is kind of a blur. What I do remember is that we finished somewhere around 2. Have u ever been so tired that you cant feel your face? I have. That night I was beyond ready to sleep. However, the red bull and 2 No Doz had other plans. Two hours and one mercy wack later I found rest. Then my phone rang. I looked at the clock, he looked back at me. Our eyes locked on eachother for a silent moment. Then he laughed as the number “8:10” flew off his face. Time for more studying. Deodorant, sip from the water bottle, a little profanity for good measure and I was out the mother fucking bitch ass titty damn poop door. Studied from 8-12, again from 5-8. Im not sure what the young people do with their free time but it cant be near as fun as that.

Just a few more years. A little more thankless toil. A little more dedication. Is it all worth it? I guess that depends on how you feel about carrots.

2002-03-16T02:04:00.000-08:00

Stuck at home with nothing to do and no one to do it with. Tonight its just me, tetris, and Tom Waits chillin at the old pc playground. Damn.

This week has been rather adventurless. A whole lot of studying and not a lot of hijinking makes for little to blog about. Karmas been kind. Girls have been around but not close enough to futz with the meezie bean. All in all I have no complaints, qualms, reactions, inquiries, muffins, etc. Its too bad about the muffins though. Those fuckers are delicious. However, not being one to let life float by without at least getting some neck kissin, I did my best to collect what I could when I could. Over the past week Ive been privy to some more universal truths. Here they are. Enjoy.

If you were born a fuck up, and you lived as a fuck up you will die a fuck up. Theres no use fighting it. That’s just the way it is.

Young people are bitches.

Ramen tastes best straight from the pot.

Asian people have no feet. Mexicans smell like apple cider. Gay people cant memorize the third sentence of the preamble to the constitution. Darkies hate crackers. Whitey hates blackies. Neither of them can play hopscotch due to their abnormal skeletal structure.

Tetris is fuckin sweet.

I rhyme with orange.

Women are just as confused by vaginas as men; they just hide it better.

Anything worth doing is worth doing out of spite.

Dennis is a genius.

When masturbation gets boring it helps to imagine that you have a buddy with you. That way you have someone to talk to while you’re sinning.

2002-03-09T01:24:00.000-08:00

And on the fifth day he rested. Kinda…Today was short and fulfulling. Class, school, yada, yoda…But that’s not what Im here to talk about. ( Bloggers note: this could get long and ugly. If you are faint of heart, frail of will, pregnant or plan on becoming pregnant stop reading. For the love of all that is holy and sweet stop here.)

Sometimes I have to remind myself how to do things : tie my shoe, wipe my ass, dry old peoples junk, etc. Tonight I had to remind myself why I hate LAURA LARSEN (LL). Yeah, I buckled and called her back tonight. Its not as though I had shit else to do. We chatted for a bit. Actually I said some words, she stopped listening, then she said some words. I stopped listening.,It didn’t matter. She kept on a’sayin and I kept on a’ not listening to her blab about some shit I couldn’t give half a soggy bag of fuck about. Now that’s what I call a system. At some point she asked if I wanted to go hang out with her, run some “errands” at the mall, then go to a club later on. Normally common sense would step in and shiv me in the eye . I think he was still in the middle of widdling his shank because I didn’t get that stinging sensation that I rely on to let me know that Im about 5 seconds away from being 10 seconds after having made a horrible decion.
“Sure, why not.”
“Cool, I ll pick you up in ten minutes”
Funk. Time to create a pretty meezie. Shit, shower, shave. What to do about the breath? Ah! Gum. Theres a reason god invented wrigleys. Who am I to go against his divine chewy wisdom?

So LL picks me up in her ultra white trash-sheik camaro. Something tells me that life is about to get a little more hilarious.

It turns out that LL’s “errands” included spending money she didn’t have on stuff she didn’t need to impress people she doesn’t know. I made a special point of telling her this, though I fear my words were drowned out by the chinging of the cash register. Whatever, at least I made sense to me. And isnt that what really matters? We walked around looking at this and that until her will power and my patience met a happy medium. Then it was time to gizo. As we were pulling out of the parking lot something caught my eye. It was like a beacon in the night. A red, dusty, fancy beacon. What did I see? It was a circa 1990’s Nissan 300z…WWDD. From that point on I knew everything would be dope as hell. Need more evidence? Our next stop was starbucks for some tasty fuckin bean. I don’t think Ive ever had stronger bean. Even after adding the special meezie blend of herbs and spices (round ‘bout fiddy teaspoons of sugar, a quarter gallon of half and half (don’t do the math on that. I didn’t. Just enjoy the deliciousness and the parentheses), and a starburst for good measure.)

Back at LL’s place more hijinks were abrewin. With my new found confidence firmly planted in the dome files I decided to have some fun. She said she had to get ready. In girl language that means they have to spend 30 minutes to do what most normal humans could do in 5. By the way, I don’t count girls as normal humans. Nothing personal. In LL language that means Im gonna spend 45 minutes sitting in a chair while she undresses in front of me. Waste of time, sure. Gain of boobies, kinda. Half chub for the meezums, yup. Not being one to let hijinks go to waste I attempted to maximize this rare boobortunity. LL whipped out a camera and said she wanted me to take a pic of her…wearing a bra. Mogay, damn!
“Sure, I love boobies.”
Sometimes Im amazed at how articulate I am. I snapped a few shots of her in some beige number. I snapped a quick pic of my “wall to wall kid in a candy store full of porn and GI Joe” grin. I snapped a pic of her in mid bra swap.
“Did you just take a picture of me naked?”
“Nope.”
Thank you, Dumon.
At 1030 we hit the club. Par-ty down. Clubs have never really been my scene. The music is far too loud. The people are far too beautiful. The whole thing is far too un-me. But I have to learn how to have fun so I pranced around with the best of them. If you ever find yourself faced with a possible club encounter, run. If running doesn’t work then wet your pants. That should make the running easier, if not a little warmer. You know, because of the pee. If all else fails learn to dance. You reallly only need one move; a half cocked, drunken, horny, desperate, uncoordinated, unwavering, quasi, demi, psuedo, shimmy shuffle. Don’t worry about keeping up with the music, it never changes. Ever. I looked around at all of the beautiful people doing their beautiful dances with their beautiful partners. Apparently dance clubs are an amazing forum for latent female homosexual desires. And meezie is all about bitches kissing. I shimmied. I shuffled. I stumbled. I smiled. I tried to wet myself but came up empty. I went back to the shuffle.

In conclusion, though its not really linked to anything Ive said so far, I still hate LL. She’s still the same self-centered, superficial, condescending, judgmental, manipulative natch that I remember. She still has C cup. And that’s something we can all be proud of as Americans.
By the way, thanx for reading this far. Treat…Treat…Treat…Treat.

2002-03-06T23:17:00.000-08:00

Karma, you tricky bitch. What will u think of next? Ive spent the last three months lamenting my lack of sweet sweet boobification. And now this. The last 24 hours have been full of more promise than I couldve dreamed possible. Last night I chatted with JANET on the phone. Me. I held a conversation. It was amazing. I only stuttered a couple of times. I was in rare form. Tonight I studied chemistry for an hour with a butter head. After I left I went to the student store to get some meezie fuel. The girl at the store (whose name I have yet to learn) asked if I actually had stuff to buy or if I just came there to visit her. I said I was just there for the company. She smiled. I smiled, then I left. Correct me if Im wrong but Im pretty sure that’s what the young people call flirting. Later on I studied more chemistry with some more boobies; large breasted, tongue ringed, latina boobies that don’t believe in relationships. We did more chumin than learnin. I tried not to let on that I was all about frolicking in her dewy pun nectar but I don’t think I was very convincing. She asked if I had a girlfriend. “Nope”. I asked if she had a boyfriend. “Nope”. Dope. It’s about time karma started doin me some favors. Im not getting my hopes up though. Karma is just fumkin with me.
“Don’t be so cynical, Meezie. Maybe this will all work out.”
Fuck you. Keep reading and you ll see that karma really is out to get me. But he fucked up this time. Ive always said that too much foreshadowing is a bad thing.

After my semi-long (round about 8 hours of goodness instead of 11 or 12) day of studious jonk I decided to call it a night. Back to the homestead I fled. I open the door, put down my back pack, flop my pimp ass ride against the wall, and proceed to watch some tv. It was then that something caught my eye. Something strange is going on in my room. Theres a blinking light. It’s green. Could it be!?! Holy ass, I have a message. Someone called me. (This is where the shit hits the griddle.)

“Ameer, you are a freak. This is Laura. Dude, where the hell have you been? You have not called me back. I miss you. Call me back, I want to talk to you. I want to find out what the hell is going on in your life. Ok? Bye.”

Yikes…So there it is. Luscious Laura Larsen. I havent talked to her for months, not since I sent her a link to the entry I wrote about her. I just assumed she read it , got the hint, and didn’t have the courage or the perfectly sculpted umblies to confront me. Ok, she has the umblies to do it but certainly not the courage. That would take some brass nuggs. Im not real sure what goes on “down there” but I don’t think most of them have those.

Ah, the bitter sweet sweetness of sweet sweet irony. The girl I hate most is the one that wants to hang out with me. The girl I hate most is the one that’s dying to talk to me. The girl I hate most is really hot. Karma, you hilariously dirty whore of a bitch. Is this what our relationship has come to? At first it was kind of amusing in that sort of big brother/ school bully/ emasculating shenanigans kind of way. But now, I think you’ve crossed a line. This shit isnt even funny. You couldve at least been more subtle. I mean honestly, LAURA? That’s not even clever. That’s …that’s some cold shit.

What’s a man to do? Call? Don’t call? Wait then call? Put on my wackin clogs, do a little jig, then do my self a favor and pretend the whole thing never happened? Any suggestions?

2002-03-04T00:27:00.000-08:00

Tonights entry is brought to u courtesy of butt bread, the red headed bastard stepchild of the baked goods world. Nobody loves you until it they need someplace to spread their jelly, but I ll love u forever. Today was a rollercoaster. Not of those cool Great America rollercoasters, more like the half ass safety first rollercoaster that they have for the kids who arent quite “this tall to ride”. I played tennis. That was good. I ate waffles. That was good. The waffles made more dirty dishes. That was bad. My sink is like an evolutionary petri dish. Im about 2 forks away from Australopithecus afarensis. Oh well. Like I always say, “when life throws u lemons, mush them bitches up and eat them with some butt bread".

All in all, today was a win win. Talked to some old friends, found out one had a kid, yada yada. Nothing else new to report.

While burrowing through my room I stumbled on an old ledger book that I was using as a temporary journal type thing. This was written one night while I was trying to get my grizzle on the floppy side with LAURA (Don’t worry, I don’t know what that means either. Just read) but then she fell asleep.

Holy boobie! Well, Meezie, you’ve done it again. Happy b day to me. Im sitting here writing this on the heels of a botched seduction attempt by LAURA. It’s kind of too bad because I was ready to give in this time. Oh well, someone had to be Ameer. Who beter than me to carry this friendly torch of tangless mediocrity? Im so good I puts bitches to sleep. That really ought to be on a t shirt. Really. I cant decide whether I should stay or just break the hell out like I had the chicken pox. If it were up to the wang ( and it usually is) I would stay here, wake her up, and proceed to throw my mack down. If it were up to masculine pride ( and lets be honest, he’s failed me in the past) I would bounce. Most likely Ill find some happy medium where all parts of me are equally placated. Or not.

2002-03-02T02:20:00.000-08:00

Is there such thing as a male biological clock, because I think mine just went off. Its that time of year again. Sex is in the air, boobies are on the brain, but none of it is in my funk filled apartment. A girl once told me that you have to practice having fun. That would require leaving my apartment. That would get me closer to the sexy air. That would get the boobies off of my brain and onto my mind ( subtle distinction between mind and brain. Im not sure what it is but Im sure you ll figure it out.)

Tonight I decided to leave my apartment. Ok, I decided to leave my apartment to go study but it’s a start. On my way to my secondary hermit cave I saw a big flashing red billboard which proclaimed “Tonite at 7 mens basketball”. Hmm. Mens basketball equals social event. Social event equals boobies. Boobies equal fun. I have to practice having fun therefore I should go to the basketball game. So I did... boy did I ever.

Im not sure if youre familiar with college athletic events but they tend to turn into frenetic cluster fucks of sorority chicks, swoll frat boys, and miscellaneous drunkards. U can see why I was so drawn. I walked up, purchased my ticket, and dove head first into the insanity. The first thing that struck me was the shear number of people. A sea of numb faces.
“Lets go!!! Sac State!!!”
It was surreal. Im not sure what was going on but for one reason or another there were about 12 different mascots there. Despite my blackness I wouldn’t really consider myself a basketball expert. I do however know that each team gets like one of those things. Maybe two if you win a lot. But not 12. There was a bee, a viking, something that looked like a jelly bean but turned out to be a drop of blood, something that looked like a drop of blood but turned out to be a jelly bean, and of course the obligatory injun complete with ponytails and goofy perma-grin. I sat kind of off to the side as not to draw attention to myself, which turned out to be the worst thing I couldve done. I ended up kinda half mushed on a side rail, begging for air. It wasn’t that bad at first but after awhile life became far too claustrophobic for comfort. My pulse quickened, my breathing became irregular. I was experiencing social anxiety. Yipes, I thought I was immune to that sort of thing. Not being one for panic, I rode it out, chalked it up to irrational fear, and went on enjoying the mascots.

Speaking of mascots, there shouldve been a mascot for mild erections because I had one for the better part of the first half. My initial hypothesis was right; boobies go where the fun is. I go where the boobies is. Its not like it matters. I wouldn’t know what to do if I those fuckers came with an instruction manual ( and they really should.) I mean, honestly. How does one go about getting laid? How do u make it to the “Mind if I stick my penis inside your vagina? I think youll find it amusing” stage in a conversation. Another one of lifes great mysteries, I suppose. Kinda like that kid and the owl with the lolipop except that I don’t know any owls, at least none that I respect enough to call “Mr. Owl”. Aint no punk ass bird gonna make me call him “Mr.”

2002-03-01T01:32:00.000-08:00

Putting all of your eggs in one basket is a lot like wacking into a tube of cinammon rolls. Sure its great when it works out but if something goes wrong u just end up with a sticky dude and some odd tasting pastry. This semester I shoved all of my energy (creative, athletic, sexual, etc) into school and I have yet to reap the benefits. So far Ive pulled some mildly mediocre B's and the occasional heart wrenching C. Yeah, fuck that. Luckily the C's have been kind enough to keep their filthy paws off of the important stuff. But I fear my luck will soon change. As a matter of fact I know its gonna change. Its gonna happen in about 9 hours. I have a test. My first chem midterm of the semester. I. Know. Nothing. I sat for hours starin at old midterms hoping that my fuzzy bean would somehow absorb it, any of it. But no. Once again karma has seen fit to fuck me over. Come to think of it, I cant blame karma for this one. I only have one bitch ass bitch to blame for this soon to be horrific failure, me. Thats right, me. And I cant even begin to explain how much that sucks. This was supposed to be my golden semester. Well, as golden as a semester spent in a little room doing homework and dreaming about the boobie nectar you cant sip, the friends u dont have, and the hijinks youre not in, can be (my thats a lot of commas. feel free to read that sentence again for clarity because Im sure as hell not about to go back and try to fix it.) I suppose thats just how it goes sometimes. Nothing left to do but take it like a man; a scared, confused, hungry, stupid, little man. Dizamn.

Id like to take this time to thank the natches of sac st., and all natches for that matter, for having such good boobies. The weather is getting warmer. The skirts are getting shorter. The tops are getting lower. My blood pressure is getting higher. Now that we've gotten past that pesky black history month hump, its high time we instituted something worthwhile. With this in mind I hereby declare the month of March "National Boobie Harvest Month". So go forth and harvest boobies. Time to break out the old boobie slappin gloves and do gods work.

2002-02-27T00:02:00.000-08:00

Im so tired I cant feel my legs. Mind fuzzy, body beaten, soul clammy. And its not even wednesday yet.
I accidentally let the real me out today. I was chatting with this chick whos a science major and somehow the real me came out. The social, sarcastic, hilarious me. Well at least I amuse me. Im not sure how it happend. Im not sure why it happend, but it happend. One minute I was just sitting around making myself as invisible as possible, before u know it I was yelling at her for pouring out soda because on scale from 1-10 10 being the lowest, five being the highest, 1 being right in the middle soda scores a 3.5 and that makes it too delicious to waste. Like i said, I amuse me. She was confused but not put off. I imagine she faced the same internal struggle most girl face when talking to me, "should I run, should I kiss him, will I ever be able to forget this, if a train leaves new mexico at 3:42 heading for detroit how long will it take...whats that thing in his hand, I really think I should be running." At any rate, I let myself be me which was...weird.

In other even less important news, I called JANET a couple days ago. It may have been yesterday, I dont know. Either way, she hasnt called back. Now dont get me wrong, shes still on solid spank bank status and there she will stay for as long as my custom contoured pleasure claw will fit around my dude. Im not shooting for some long conversation. I actually called to ask her something silly about diapers, denture cream or the like. But I have to say that Im at least a tad irked (man, I am so fucking british) that she hasnt called back. Then I got to thinkin, what if shes totally on to what was my secret little crush on her? What if she found out and shes not calling because she wants to avoid me? Ok, I can deal with that. I would avoid me too if I could but whenever I try things just get messy (shaving cream, bandaids, 3 month old dolphin, purple jumpsuit, a box of ribbed condoms, chant " being me makes me sad for me for dumon" 5 times during a full moon.) Then I got to thinkin some more, why am I wasting all of my brain juice on dumb thinkin. I have homework. Then I thought about puppies. Then I thought, what if JANET found out about my formerly secret little crush via my formerly secret little blog? Do u realize what that would mean!?! The very thing that I used to get over JANET was the thing that was driving her away in the first place (well, that and my omnipresent cheesy musk)! EUREKA! VIOLA! SPOO! It was karma all along. Its not like karmic hilarity is a rarity in the life of meezie. In the words of socrates, "It's real common like titties on a white bitch. Speaking of white bitches, which one of u hoes is finna get a brotha some brains!?!"

2002-02-25T19:33:00.000-08:00

Its been awhile since Ive had fun. Real fun. Real knock down drag out hijinks. I don’t get those in sac and I think its starting to get to me. I think I hate most of the people I know out here. Ok, maybe hate isnt the right word. I don’t get along with any of the people I know out here. Wait, that’s not it either. Funk. What im getting at is that all of the sac people I know are little more than casual aquaintances that I tolerate. Tolerate. I don’t want to have to tolerate people. But that’s where I am. As for the rest of the people, they just irritate me. Im sure there are a few exceptions here and there but on the whole I can say that I don’t like sac people. Maybe I should stop calling them sac people. That’s ten pounds of genius in a five pound sac. Get it.
Its time for me to have fun. Ive almost forgotten whats its like to authentically enjoy someones company, and that’s not where I want to be. Ideally Id like to be on Boobie- Ferrari-Licorice Island. since I just made that up I don’t suppose I can actually go there. That wont stop me from booking charter boats full of fools who want to visit my island. I can charge 50 bones a head. I ll be rich by december. Damn tetris gives me good ideas sometimes.

In other news, it seems that either 1) Karma was in the bathroom and didn’t notice me having a good day. 2) karma is on Central time or 3) Karmas sense of humor is just that fucked up. Today was a moderatly good day: Played tennis, wacked, watched tv. The weather was good. I was feeling not horrible. All in all, good beans. Tonight I went to the student union to do some homework and who should I see but JENNY. Yup, the firestarter. We got to chatting again. I stopped paying attention again. Then she said something about needing help on a paper. Immediatley my wang hopped into action. I told her that I would help her. She said it was due in the morning. I said I could help her tonight. We made plans to meet at 10 in the science building. Sweet. After I left there I went to get pizza. It was there that I ran into Sandra. Let me clarify, tall, leggy, boobliefied, russian, tennis playing, Sandra. Yeah, funkin sweet. We got to chatting. I got her number. She said she was down for some tennis. I said I was down for seeing her sweet tall, leggy, boobliefied, russian, ass in a short tennis skirt. Well, I thought it anyway. (This is where the story gets shitty. For those of you looking for the happy ending stop reading here. I ll even give u something to chew on.) Sandra, Jenny, and I had a threesome. The end. (now you can sleep tonight on your warm fluffy pillow of happy ignorance. Ok, time for the real ending.) Anyway, so Im in the study room getting my read on until 10. As Im heading downstairs back into the cold scary world to meet firestarter I notice a car slowly pulling up as if it were looking for someone. I figured, “Meh, as long as theyre not here to kill me. Whatever.” Just then I see JENNY approaching, looking like a kid that just got caught with gay porn under his mattress, pleased but a little awkward because his pants are around his ankles and is dude is covered in the better part of a bottle of his moms best imported wrinkle remover. The first words from here mouth, “sorry I made u come out here. Calvin is in my english class and hes gonna help me.” Funk. I just nodded, said it was cool, and walked off without mentioning the fact that this calvin fellow is most likely a flippin jackass that couldn’t write his way into an awkward hand job let alone help her chum out an essay one night style.

The moral of this story is never trust girls. Always listen to your penis, he has your best interest in mind. The same goes for women and their…whatever it is u people pee from.

2002-02-23T21:59:00.000-08:00

Ive written you in journals. I sang you in songs. I painted you in pictures. For all my effort I have nothing to show but wasted paper, a scratchy throat, and a dirty brush. This is where it ends. This is our last go around. This is my hoorah-fuck you to the silly femmes and their silly games. I don’t know how to play so I quit. Im taking my ball and Im going home. Time for retirement. Im gonna buy myself a little farm with a white picket fence and a Labrador retriever. I ll spend all of my days waxing philosophical about how things couldve been different only to come to the conclusion that they couldn’t have.

This is for you. For all of the girls, women, chicks, and occasional dirty bitch. I say farewell to you. Now say it back to me. I left my self esteem, confidence, and Mortal Kombat at your house. Kindly put them in a box marked “fuck you” and send them to 5901 Self Pity ln. Sacramento,ca 95819. (Postage due if you like.) That’s my old address but the landlord will forward it. Im moving onto grayer pastures and youre not invited. Ive choked on your indiffernce for too long All I wanted was a sweet booblie-filled embrace. I want you to know that’s this is about you and not about me. In closing, fuck you for being so pretty. Fuck you for smelling so good. Fuck you for being so intriguing. Fuck you for being you...at least until monday.

2002-02-23T17:08:00.000-08:00

R.I.P. Foolish Hope
(July 2001-February 2002)
Foolish Hope was survived by his long time companions Optimism, Confidence, and Compensatory Masturbation. So it goes.

So its official, no more pining over JANET. I tried and failed. She never answered my email. I saw her at work. She didnt mention the email. The best part, about half way through the afternoon she said, " I have to go check my email." Funk. That means even if she hadnt gotten to the fucker last week she wouldve seen it today. But nothing. Thats some cold shit. Its just as well. Shes into burly jocks. Im a scrawny academic. She wants a guy that can bite a goat in twain and smelt copper with his bare hands. Im afraid of spiders.Oh well, time for a new plan. First Im gonna fire my fuckin social advisor for putting such stupid fuckin thoughts into my fuckin head. Dirty fucker. Be out of the building by 12:00. Next, Im gonna eat some chinese food because its delicious. Finally, Im gonna relegate JANET to spank bank status. Theres no sense in letting these shenaningans go to waste.

2002-02-22T01:33:00.000-08:00

Like a massage from a large breasted asian man, this week has been long and eerily gratifying. I havent had much time to blog. I havent had much excess brain space. All of its filled with pig anatomy and histology info. Thats what exams will do to u. Ive spent an average of 11 hours a day on campus this week. One day I was there for 13 hours straight. Sufficed to say when I get caught up in something I stay caught up in it. So, yeah. For all two of you who have been sitting patinently, anxiously awaiting an update here it is. I hope youre fuckin happy. Sorry, science makes the brain do crazy things. Angry things. Yesterday I kicked a puppy in the face for wrecklessly eyeballin me. Someones gotta teach him respect. May as well be meezie.

Earlier I decided to finally listen to my social advisor and attempt to make contact with people. Human people. Human female people. I finally ponied up enough sac to email JANET. In the email I gave a kind of half cocked, open ended invite for a night on the town. My exact words were:
How was your trip? You kind of gave me the 2 minute random meeting version but I want to hear more. I want details. I want to see pictures. I want to know what its like to sip little umbrella drinks by the beach while being held by a guy whos name u think is Paco, maybe Miguel but youre not sure because your spanish is as good as his english and you can barely string together enough words to order your tasty little beverage. Thats the mexico I want to hear about. And hear about it I shall. Which brings me to another point. We dont get to chat much. I realized that on saturday. Its always work work work. We really ought to go hang out and do some real chatting. One on one. Mano a mano. Toe to toe. A battle to the death but with less death and more beer.

Why do I still have a copy this email , u ask. Well, it turns out that even when communicating via an impersonal medium like the internet I still have the uncanny ability to come off as a socially inept fuck up. Its a gift. In order to minimize the inevitable awkwardness of my email I had a girl proof it first. You'd think that after writing umpteen blog entries I could finally spread my wings, cut the cord, toe the line, and do this shite by myself. Someday.

It seems that for once my blazing insecurity is completely justified as she has yet to respond to my invite. Oh well. That just leaves more time for quiet introspection. Im hoping to reach Nirvana by saturday afternoon. Wait, I have to work on saturday. Ok, Nirvana by sunday. Scouts honor.

2002-02-18T20:44:00.000-08:00

I am:
too tall for my own good
a lover, not a fighter and not much of one at that
sexy when Im angry
even sexier when Im nauseous
smarmier than youre average bear
not studying
scared of the future
secretive about the past
black as hell
easily bored
just as easily amused
nervous around pretty girls
clinically autistic around smart girls
stranded in a city that sounds like a scrotum
about to end this
a dirty liar
an underdog
horny as a dog
a skittlephile
starburstoholic
a breast man
still not studying

2002-02-16T19:34:00.000-08:00

Tetris has jogged free yet some more insight. Here it is. I was walking through the Student union today on my way to the library and who should I see but JANET. There was some big to do chinese new year celebration going on and I guess she was working some booth. I dont know. At any rate she was there. The person I least expected to see was there. I of course was in my saturday best : scuzzy old shrunken sweater, fuzz filled hair, showerless body, hairy face...u know for catchin more fuzz. She had just gotten back from her trip to mexico and was looking quite tan. Well as tan as a blonde pale chick can get. Ok, she was mostly red but thats not the point. Fucker. The point is that I saw her there. In a crowd that was easily 1000 strong I saw her. Pure coincidence? Most likely. Karmas way of tickling my sac just for shits and giggles before it clips me with its razor tipped teeth of truth? Ok, I ll give you that one. Either way, a clippin is better than nothing. And thats what I got.

I approached her. She smiled. Then she gave me this great big "Im glad to see you, its been too long. Youre like a sister to me. A big awkward, fuzzy faced, sister." hug. Then she smiled some more. Then she hugged some more. Normally I wouldve kind of backed off if only to save my dignity but since Ive been coming up short in the human contact department I played along. There must have been at least 4 or 5 seperate hugs. One more and I think I get a free drink with purchase. ( note to self: next time u see janet bring punch card that entitles holder to free brains). What else...oh yeah. She kept rubbing my grizzle. I told her that if Id known she was gonna be there Id have shaved. My sarcasm didnt seem to put a chink in her happy armor. (note to self: find alternative word for "chink" to describe a dent for use during chinese new year. Maybe "dent")

So the point of this little foray into my day of activity? Im not sure there was one. But hows this, all of the warm fuzzies that pop up when I see JANET popped up again today. Ive been tryin, and succeding, to push those sassy little bitches to the side in the interest of maximum productivity. All of my hard work, all of my blood, sweat, and tears (wacking so much that my dude bleeds is hard work that makes me sweat and cry) down the drain. Out the window. Time to start at phase one, step A. I gotta go buy a head band, a pair of steal toe boots, some bandaids and a box of tissue.

2002-02-15T01:51:00.000-08:00

File this one under "genius". From the sac st police log:

Thursday, Feb. 7

INCIDENT EXPOSURE

9:20 a.m. University Union – A woman with brown hair wearing glasses found masturbating in the area; report was taken.

I am very tired. I have to get up tomorrow and go to the math lab to figure out what the funk Im doing. I hate the math lab. Its full of snooty math people who wouldnt know what daylight was if it shived them in the face. Whenever I go there for help I leave more confused than when I started. We ll see how it goes. May jebus help us all.

Tomorrow is friday. I dread fridays for the same reason girls dread menstration. They always leave me bloody, bloated, tired, and irritable. But theres no commercial for me. No awkward black guy riding a horse through a field of dew covered daisy's. No heart to heart conversation between two guys strolling along a beach. They should make friday tampons. Fripons. Patent pending. I had planned on getting out tomorrow but I might have to shoot those plans in the face. I have two fatty midterms next week. Bio lecture and bio lab. The material should overlap, but it doesnt. I should know this stuff by now, but I dont. To skip a day of studying at this point would be tantamount to academic firestarting. And I cant afford the bandages. So I ll take sit in a chair, take out my books, look at them, pretend that Im "getting it", curse my prof for saying "if I wrote it on the board you should know it", lay my head on the table, weep until Im dry, get a glass of water, weep some more, drink some more water, and pee my pants because my tear ducts are all worn out. Now thats what I call shenanigans (not to be confused with hijinks. Never confuse them with hijinks.) Maybe I ll get out next week. Whatever.

2002-02-13T23:36:00.000-08:00

As most of you well know this is black history month. To commemorate this occassion one of the black sororities had a ladies night where eligible black bachelors were auctioned off to the highest bidder. Auctioning off black people. Isnt that what got us into this mess in the first place? In keeping with that spirit I offer you a couple of my favorite politically incorrect jokes. Enjoy.

Q: How many feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Two. One to install the light and one to steady the ladder so her friend doesnt fall and hurt herself.

A black guy, white guy, and an asian guy are sitting in a bar.
White guy: Have you guys seen Pearl Harbor?
Asian guy: No, not as such but I hear the special effects are outstanding.
Black guy: Ive seen it. The special effects are the films saving grace. I felt the love story was a bit tacked on.
White guy: I see your point. Mind to pass the pretzels...darky.

Q: What time is it when an elephant sits on a fence?
A: TIME TO GIZO!

Anyway. Tomorrow is valentines day. Youre probably expecting me to compose some long, involved rant about why I hate this day. Well, Chocko, Im not gonna. I have better things to do with my time...Ok, not really. But if I were someone else in my similar situation I would have something better to do with my time. So if we look at the aggregate amount of free time divided by...who am I kidding. I cant do math. But on to more pressing issues.

Boobies. Big boobies. Small boobies. In between boobies. ( Expect nothing pithy or insightful. Im far too full of dread and peanut butter. Maybe tomorrow) Theres lots of em around. Now, u might be saying to yourself, " why does this guy love boobies so much?" I often ask myself the same question. The answer: because theyre good. And isnt that what really matters. For some reason there has been a massive influx of boobies on campus, not that Im complaining. Ok, yeah, I am complaining. Im gonna complain because I dont get to touch them.Im like an Somalian in a burger king, so much sweet nurioushment but I cant have it because my tatterd rags dont have pockets (I wonder where they keep their wallets. No wonder theyre poor. )Im flustered, angry, hungry, and skinny. For the last few days Ive been so horny that I cant even smell straight. But this too shall pass.

I can feel myself pulling further and further away from society. Its getting scary. The more I do what I do the less connected I feel to everyone ( have to stop typing for a second. theres a weird smell that needs investigating. I think its poo and lysterine. Maybe its cigarettes and chocolate milk. Either way.) As much as I enjoy human contact I find that Im shying away from it more and more. My awkward conversations are getting even more awkwarderer. My patience stick has dwindled to a twig. My something has done something else. What Im getting at is that...well Im not sure what Im getting at. What I do know is that if I ever hope to achieve the title of "Boobie Wrangler Laureat" Im gonna have to get more social. But it cant stop there . I have to engage in geniune human contact with authentic people who actually interest me. Seems pretty simple, right. Well, u dont dont live in sac. Consider yourself lucky. All the interesting people are stuffed in a cake and fed to the tigers. At least the cake is delicious.

2002-02-12T01:40:00.000-08:00

Today was normal. Class, study, sleep, pretend to study so everyone thinks Im smarter than I really am. Tomorrow will be more of the same. Maybe I ll actually get something out of one of my late night study romps this week. Just maybe. Tomorrow afternoon Im supposed to meet this girl from my bio class to go over our lab project. Her name is Mantelope, at least I think that’s her name. It might be something like Monludi but honestly, which one would u rather have? Besides Mantelope just kind of rolls off the tongue like a small section of balled up melon.

Since Im on the subject of interesting people, I think I ll mention LINDA. She just jumped on the meezie blog train a little while ago. She threatened to read through my archives, and I think she might actually do it. At first I was kind of ( I was something. Im not sure what. Maybe after reading the rest of this sentence u can fill in the proper adjective.) I felt kind of bad for her. I mean my life is pretty boring and shitty. My blog is full of the worst of my filthy self centerdness that I work so hard to closet on a daily basis. All in all, my life is a generally depressing bit of pap. So I got to thinkin, dizamn if she finds my life interesting what does that say about her. She could very well be one of those chicks with a bunch of cats that lives in a shack behind safeway. But then it hit me, Im completely wrong as is often the case. LINDA is most likely more happy then I could ever be, at least for now. She has time to read stuff, she has friends, she has a boyfriend, she has a life. Kudos to her for being awesome. Then something else hit me, my life must be like some sort of ancient roman coliseum. Im like the guy they throw to the lions. My misery is entertainment. All of the crap that goes on in my head makes others feel better because they know that no matter how fucked up they get they ll never sink to my level. They ll never become the statistically anomalous nut job that I sometimes come off as. And that makes me feel good. Seriously. The way I figure it this is a place for me to work out my crap. If people can see my crap and see that theyre all gravy I can honestly say I feel good. Yeah, I know. That sounds like more crap I ll have to deal with. Whatever.

I saw JENNY the other day. I havent really talked to her since last semester. We had a brief thing last year. It meant a whole lot of nothing. Even still, a fling that means a whole lot of nothing can leave both parties feeling a little awkward afterwards. Every time I see her I cant help but think, “Hey, I had my hand in your vagina. You had your hand on my penis.” Anyway, we chatted for a bit. I made some small talk about school. She made some small talk about something else ( Im not quite sure what as I stopped paying attention after the first few sentences.) At some point she mentioned going to a bar to see a band and drink some beer. I still wasn’t really paying attention but my penis had the wherewithal to ask for her number. At first she looked a little puzzled. I don’t blame her. She seemed a little put off by the fact that my penis asked for her number, but pleasantly surprised by the fact that he could master the rules of english grammar and syntax let alone hold a pen.

2002-02-10T02:42:00.000-08:00

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night. One day youre gonna come by here and you ll see an entry done on a friday or a saturday thats so uplifting and inspriational that it makes u want to go out and find a cure for cancer. But today is not one of those days. This is one of those saturdays that I sat around my apartment after a long day of sitting around work. This is one of those saturdays that I contemplated ordering pay per view porn, buying a 1lb bag of licorice, curling up in a ball in the corner of my room, and wacking until monday morning. But alas, porn costs about 8 bucks, licorice about 2. And Im really not interested in spending that kind of money.

Nothing terribly interesting has happend in the last few days. I went to the doctor. He told me to take some medicine. I went to school. They told me to do homework. I went to work. They told me someone died. (Im not sad. Its not like it was unexpected. She was 94. By that age I dont think anything is unexpected.) But thats about it. Now all thats left to do is wait for monday. Gotta stay motivated until monday. Maybe I ll do homework. Ok, maybe I ll look at what I have to do for homework. Whatever.

Janets in mexico. She left yesterday. She didnt go to work today because shes in mexico. What the funk is that all about. I missed a med school conference at Stanford a couple of weeks ago so that stupid place would run like a greased up sundial ( we dont have electricity in sac.) and she has the funkin nerve to ditch us for mexico. Funk. I suppose Im one to talk. This summer I told them that I had jury duty but then took off for some LA hijinks. But still, shes a girl. And as is my usual policy when dealing with the fairer sex she has to deal with a double standard. Its ok for me to run of to LA for boobie slappin and drunken romps but its not ok for her to frolic in san guadalapexichilupe or wherever the funk she went. Maybe Im just pissed because shes having fun and Im not. Ok, given. What pisses me off even more (and for those of u who wish to stop reading here feel free to do so. I feel some rantin coming on.) is that she forgot about me. I know , thats some pretty selfish thinking, right? Well fuck u. I havent even told u the whole story. Despite this girls golden blonde, American Eagle modelesque perfection, she has this nasty habit of forgetting about people, namely meezie. Although in her defense, I am pretty easy to forget. I often try to forget that Im me. But thats a whole other entry. My point, oh, she forgets meezie. For example ( and believe u me there are a couple) this summer a co worker and I were...assisting a gentleman in the restroom when we heard a fire alarm. We figured no big deal its just a drill. If its for real someone will come get us. Fast forward about fideen minutes my coworker and I are helping the gentlemen back to the room only to find the place empty. Everyone is out on the patio. Apparently it was a real alarm. Also apparently Janet was in charge of the head count. Even more also apparently no one bothered to try and find our burned yet delicious corpses. The best part of this whole little deal, everyone on the patio had spent the better part of fideen minutes cursing my name for not being out there. And u know how old people and crabby lady coworkers can curse. To make a long story even longer Janet overlooked me. Its not the first time. It wont be the last. Why am I writing this? Who's to say. Why are u reading this? Dont ask me. Even I wouldnt want to read about me. Oh well, someone had to be Ameer. The moral of this story? Dont have one. All I can say it that it sucks to be forgotten. It sucks even worse to be forgotten by someone you kind of care about....ew. That stinks of sentiment. Back that up. It sucks to be forgotten by a girl you wants to get all up in. Beer. Football. Manhood saved.

2002-02-07T00:39:00.000-08:00

Warning: tonight I may feel the need to mount my philosophical high horse. It may get ugly. I should also note that Im writing under the influence of Lenny Kravitz which may make this entry extra fuckin groovy with a touch of retro charm.

Instead of doing the whole study til you burst thing tonight I decided to take a bit of a break and be around people. Normal people. Since its black history month there are a bunch of different forums, lectures, events,etc going on all over campus. Tonight there was a forum called "Black Love: Are you available?". Now I dont know about you, but the idea of a room full of hot black chicks just seems a little too intruiging to pass up. So I decided to go if only to pop my head in for a spell. When I got there I was greeted by a hot black chick. Sweet. She said she liked my voice. Funkin sweet. Im sorry to say that was the highlight of the evening. I wasnt sitting in there for more than five minutes before someone decided to point out one of my many uncle-tomish foibles.
"That nigga thinks he's white"
Im pretty sure I wasnt supposed to hear that but I did. Whatever. Its not the first time its been said. Its not the last time it'll be said. One of the things that I have to deal with is living my life in a constant gray haze. I dont think I can accurately describe what its like to stick out in a room full of people that all loosely resemble you. Whats worse is that theyve all used this resemblence to establish a bond. There's a commonality that I dont share, and thats kind of scary. I dont know if scary is the right word. More like disheartening. Maybe just sticky. Either way, I was out of place. And it sucked.

As the night wore on the discussion took different twists and turns. I sat in my seat taking in as much as I could, occasionally making not threatening googly eyes at one of the hot black chicks. Then the conversation turned to interracial dating. (Ok, sweet. I love white bitches.) This is where things got ugly. If you werent aware, interracial dating is generally frowned upon in the black community. Black women feel disrespected, overlooked, underappreciated,etc when they see an eligible black gent frolicing with a fine slice of white meat. I however dont feel that way. On the contrary, Im all for it. But opinions are like assholes, theyre all stained with shit and they look funny when u draw them on a chalk board. What bothered me most was why the people there objected to interracial dating. Here are a few of the points that stuck out (as close as I can remember them anyway):
"I dont think I would ever put myself in the kind of position where I would get that close to a white person, let alone date them."
"White people cant relate to who we are."
"If you date white people its like saying you dont love yourself or your race."
"We're already losing our black men to drugs, jail, homosexuality,etc. Now we're losing them to white girls".

There were some equally compelling arguments for interracial dating:

"It dont matter, just as long as she has big titties"
"I date a filipino but its cool because he has nigga tendencies"

Ok, where to begin. For starters, I dont think that just because two people share a skin colour there is some automatic bond. What theyre assuming is that all black people have shared experiences, common interests, ancestory, culture all working for them. Thats such crappy logic that it makes my jonk sizzle. Skin is just skin. You can be black and have nothing to do with "black culture". A black chick from Uganda is different from a black chick from sacramento just like a black chick from Bel Aire is different from a black chick from compton. Race is just a social classification that whity uses to tear people apart.

As for the people who were down with interracial dating because their partner had "nigga tendencies" ( I can only assume she meant he acts black) Im almost saddend. They assume that "blackness" has a distinct set of characteristics (ie, speech patterns, dress, huge wang) that sets it apart from "whitness". To them acting black is chiznillin with the biznitches, poppin caps, rollin wit da homies, and smiznokin on a fatty blunt before you have to gizo. They equate being black with doing all of the things that most societies would consider deviant, unacceptable, and wasteful. They would classify whitness as being all a book worm, speaking proper english, listening to classical music, etc. These are all things that most societies would consider worthwhile pursuits. Im not surprised when white people assume this, just a little bit annoyed. When black people embrace these stereotypes Im not surprised but sadend. Theyve let society tell them that they should act like this. Fit this mold otherwise youre not going to be accepted. It just so happens that the latter mold is the one that gets you places in life while the former just...well it does something. Im not sure what. I think Im white, remember.

As for that comment that black men are being lost to jail, drugs, homosexuality and jonk... Ok, I can see the jail and drugs thing, but homosexuality. C'mon. A gay black male isnt by any means lost. Perhaps they meant that he's not available to the general girly population. Even still, that just added a little icing on my pissed off cake. I was about to point out that some of the most pivotal figures in the civil rights movement were homosexuals but I kept it to myself. Besides, I dont think many of them have heard of Bayard Rustin ( led the first march on washington movement. was slated to lead the second one but because he was a gay socialist they handed the reins over to MLK. The rest is history.) and I didnt feel like giving a history lesson.

I warned you. You deserve a treat for reading this far. Hell, how about two.

2002-02-06T00:27:00.000-08:00

9:00-10:15- Zoology Lecture
10:30-11:45- Zoology lab
12:00-2:00- Lab assistant, General bio
4:00-7:00-Zoology lab (review for histology lab practical)
7:00-7:30-billiards in the student union
7:30-9:00- Zoology study session
9:30-11:00- Chemistry and Calculus homework
Ive had a very long day. The worst part is that I didnt even get to take care of all the stuff that I wanted to take care of . I still have lecture notes to go over, problems to solve, and I...I ....I....whew. Its a shame that chicks dont dig genius because, damn. The way Im taxin my brain u think it would get me some brains. But oh well.

Last night I was in the study room chatting with a fellow in my same boat, just a little ahead of me. He's been to all the confrences, lectures, etc tellin fools how to get into med school. He told me that medical schools dont want people that study 24-7 and have no life. They want well rounded people. Just when I was starting to widdle my personality into a nice rigid pointy shiv he has to drop this on me. Funk. Now what am I supposed to do? I suppose I could use my personality and shank him, but what does that really solve? Nothing. Maybe its just time to pull back. Im not sure if I can though. Its only a week into the semester and I already feel as though Im playing catch-up. But Im not sure why. Maybe its because theres a freshman kid in my chem class that annoys the hell out of me (neo-metal tshirts, talks through his teeth, answers rhetorical questions) mostly because he's better at quantitative science than I may ever be. Fuck that guy. Well, that was less than interesting.

I logged onto my blog earlier today to bask in my literary genius and to read the comments others left about my literary genius. There was your standard tetris vs. tetra blocks argument ( I fuckin hate you for fuckin making me fuckin download that fuckin dirty fuckin game. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!) . But something was amiss. Something wasnt right. There was a comment left by Ameer. But not me. At first I thought someone was having me on, but then I read the comment. It turns out that theres another ameer on the net. Not only that but this ameer also has a blog. Im not sure how interesting it is as I have not had a chance to read it, but Im pretty sure its chalked full of vitamin Genius. I added him to my link section dealy. Check out his jonk and share in our experience. I also added a couple of other links to blogs with substance and character, if youre into that sort of thing.

Oh yeah, I should mention this now lest I forget. Remember how I was all like feelin bad and shit about kinda downin on neighbor bitties? Yeah, funk dat. She has once again embarked on her "Chap my black ass blue" crusade. And I must say its in full swing. Scenario: Meezie is strollin through the campus just smarming around when who should he see but neighbor bitties. They chat. She says something stupid. He ignores it but files it under "Im much smarter and cooler than this girl". As is his standard practice he starts downin on sac st. Just another normal day in Meezievania. A couple days later neighbor bitties says "why were u so mean the other day" to which he remarks "Im always this mean. You just pick different times to notice because youre a girl." to which she remarks "Youre just in a bad mood." to which he remarks "Youre just fat."
Ok, it didnt go down quite like that but u get the general idea.At any rate I feel vindicated in my previous admonishment ( holy ass Im smart). Perhaps I wasnt meant to hang out with "people". Perhaps Im not "tolerant of the stupids". Perhaps "I cant stand to be bothered by ridiculous people that rant on like whinny babies about nothing and expect others to read about it".

And the moral of this entry: just because it's longer doesnt mean it's better. Dont judge a book by its cover. Dont judge a man by his possesions. Dont judge me for my toddler wang.

2002-02-02T23:01:00.000-08:00

Its saturday night again. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly this day comes and how slow it is to end. At least I have tetris to get me through the rough spots. (my high score is 127 lines starting on level ten...bitches).

For some reason or the other tetris seems to set the old bean to thinkin. Maybe its the pretty shapes. Maybe its the pretty colors. Maybe its the radiation from my monitor funkin with my tumor. Whatever the reason, I got to thinkin again tonight.

Regret. I dont often regret things. I dont often shower. On occasion I ll do both. Tonight I got to regreting the things I havent done and the opportunities I may have missed. The chances to make significant connections with people if only I hadnt been so introverted and kinda snooty. Eventually my thoughts drifted to the girl I met on the train late last year. Caroline, I think. I regret the fact that I got so caught up in the excitment and drowsiness of the evening that I only gave her my email address (as per my normal stranger procedure) instead of my home phone. I regret that I was too shy to ask for her info eventhough she wouldve gladly given it to me. Now Im sitting in a computer chain at 11 on a saturday night. I could be romping through a field of interesting stimulation but instead Im here. Alone. Yeah, kinda depressing when u stop and think about it. But then again, so is playing tetris.

Believe it or not I sometimes regret the fact that I couldnt find that scrap of good in LAURA. She was nice enough I suppose. She was literate, kinda smart, And you know, boobies. All the makings of a good person. But I just couldnt connect on any sort of significant level. I dont think it was my fault, not completely. Its hard to connect with someone that only thinks about themselves. She shouldve spent more time thinking about me. Good thing I think about me enough for all of us.

Someday I suppose that I ll regret not connecting with neighbor bitties. Theres definite potential for some sort of friendship there. I dont think I ll pursue it though. She seems hell bent on annoying the black off me. And if that plan fails she'll just use me. Dirty bitch. Thats what she ll call me, her Dirty Bitch. Maybe I should start showering.

Epilogue:
After finishing this entry I went downstairs to check my mail. On my way back I saw neighbor bitties leaving her apartment. She gave me a plate of cookies, a kiss on the cheek, looked me in the eye, and said " It's good to see you." Yeah, someone feels like an ass.

2002-02-02T01:57:00.000-08:00

Theres not much to tell. This week was full of school. I didnt do much mingling. Im a social animal but Im hibernating. I met one new girl. Her name is Laura. Its not her fault. Even still. I hate that name. She was cool at first. She got annoying. I dont really talk to her. Its only been a week. It'll get better.

I cant think of anything creative, hilarious, insightful, whatever to say. Instead Im going to compose a series of haiku. Some may be hilarious. Some will be as stupid as a glass of dumb juice ( case in point). maybe in the course of writing I ll think of something to write about, in which case I ll break away and dispense with some free form genius. Until then, enjoy.

Wacking in my sink
would not be nearly as tough
if I had a stool

Sometimes my face hurts
from yelling at the mirror
for laughing at me

In the winter months
Fridays arent nearly this cold
here in this gina

I stay awake nights
laying in my pee stained bed
with no excuses
Man, I have to work tomorrow. Im leaving here at 7:50. Its 2 now. Im so fucked. But thats ok. I figure Im already going into work with a couple of chips on my shoulder anyway. Chip one) I was supposed to go to some dope as pre med/ med student confrence at Stanford this weekend. I was going to go for free. FREE. Instead I have to work. Tomorrow is groundhog day, I think. At any rate I ll be singing groundhog songs. I hate singing. (Wait, thats another chip. Im gonna be so tasty tomorrow.) At least I can take solace in the fact that my vocal impotence will be all but forgotten soon afterwards. Hooray for alzhiemers. Well, in this case anyway...Chip two) I have to see Janet. This isnt a bad thing. Im actually looking forward to it. But Im still kind of caught up on the whole shaven vs. unshaven thing. Dont get me wrong, on a scale of 1 - " I could normally give a flying fuck and this case, for what its worth is really no exception" Id have to place this closer to the latter. Where my delicious cornchip comes into play is ...(I cant think of a way to fix this sentence so Im just gonna end it with a period and start over.) I havent shaved. I dont want her to think that Im doing it just to gain pooter points. Thats not my goal. Fact of the matter is that Im a lazy fucker who didnt have the "get up and take life by the jonk" juice flowing through my veins this week. I get up 10 minutes before I have to leave for class. I dont have time for shavin. My bean gets fuzzy. Im ok with it. My bean is ok with it. But I dont want her to think that I think that she thinks that Im doing this because she thinks that I think that....whew. I wont have time for morning grooming. I ll be scruffy. She ll see me. I ll see me. The olds will see me. The olds will forget me. We ll make small talk. My penis is small. We could talk about that. The room will fall silent. The olds will be appauled. The olds will forget my small penis. She ll try to forget my small penis. I ll forget where I am. I ll order an ice cream cone because theyre delicious.

2002-01-31T23:56:00.000-08:00

Ive got an itch that needs some scratchin./ I need to do some boobie slappin/ won't someone hear my refrain/ and give this man some brains?

Argh. Its been almost a year. Almost a year since Ive felt the sweet caress of a warm willing boobie. Ok, there were a few here and there but nothing to write home about. Im talking knock down, drag out, fist pumpin, rump shakin, lamp breakin, widow makin funkalation.

I dont think Im really even looking for the sexual part of it, although...dope if I do. Im more looking for the companionship part. ( not to be confused with relationship, because, funk dat.) I was walking through campus the other day looking at clouds, getting lost, finding myself, staring at some ladies. It was then that I realized something. It was horrifying, as the truth often is. What did I realize? This is going to be my worst semester since I started college,not in the academic sense but socially. With my fatty mo fatty course load, my lab monkey duties, and my penchant for needlessly long study sessions there will be scant few hours left in the day for doing what college students do. I like to think of myself as an asthmatic snorkeler. I had a hard time breathin before, now youre makin me do it through a fuckin tube. It might not kill me but I ll definitely be winded as all hell. And watching tv doesnt help. Girls are going wild. Mates playing. Spring is breaking. Mardi is as gras as it ever was. Its enough to make a guy go funkin ape, and not even a tasty ape like Grape Ape. More like Ranal Ape. And believe you me, I ll be cleanin poo.

2002-01-29T19:54:00.000-08:00

So Im sittin here playing tetris, just getting my lazy on before a night of study. Then it hits me. A minor epiphany. And its about ( yeah, you guessed it. Thats why I have this blog, to get rid of the petty shite in my head. If it werent for this thing Id walk around all day wasting my genius brain power on this and lifes many other trivialities (is that even a word?( should I really be using all of these parentheses?)).) girls.

My face is starting to itch. The reason my face is starting to itch is because I havent shaved for a couple of days. The reason I havent shaved for a couple of days is because a girl I'm mildly interested in told me she liked scruffy guys. Hold up. Thats such an unmeezie like thing to do. This is me. Im the guy who does things to spite girls . Im the guy who once went two weeks without shaving because LAURA said she didnt like stubble. Im supposed to take one for the team. But then it hit me ( this is the epiphany I was talking about. Im not sure if you remember it. Either way, moving on) isnt not shaving to displease a girl just as bad as shaving to please a girl? They both stem from the same murky region in my poo stained psyche. By the way, I poo in my psyche. So damn, what the funk? right? Who am I to let these stupid bitches tell me how to act. Fuck these stupid hoes...Then I was hit with another epiphany: its not them at all. This is a total meezie issue. ("Man you got issues in your tissues."- Socrates) Apparently my general bitterness towards the world is extra spicy when it comes to girls, hence my "bitch, fuck, hoe" laden diatribe ( thats two big college words in a row. Someone are gooder than you at sayin stuff.I think its me).

My solution, simple. Just do stuff that makes the meezie happy. Self improvement. I could start by not pooing in my psyhe. It'll be tough. The seats have little heaters in them and they have a great selection of magazines. Theres a great article on canadian fly fishing in this months issue of Field & Stream. Its a definite must read.

2002-01-28T23:44:00.000-08:00

Back to school. Vacation was good, but now its over. Like all good things it too came to an end. I ll miss you vacation. Your careless ways. The way the wind swept through your hair. The way we would sit for hours staring into each others eyes, me caressing your silky hair, you caressing my silky jonk. I'll love you forever, vacation. Maybe we'll meet again in the spring.

The other night while trying to grab some sleep I was hit by a rock. Then I was hit by a streak of genius :find out who threw that fuckin rock. But then I was hit with another even more brillianter streak of genius. Slogans for my school. It occured to me that Sac st. doesnt have a motto, a saying, a slogan, a mantra, axiom, maxim, etc. Nothing like that. Surely a school of its calibre deserves something. Here are a couple. Enjoy.

"Our degrees may be toilet paper, but at least they're two-ply!"

"Come for the food, stay for eight years."

"Sac st: The Harvard of Sacramento county"

"Sac st.: We put the 'Sub' in 'Sub- par educational standards'. "

2002-01-26T23:26:00.000-08:00

Here's to making it a blockbuster night. Saturday, its like friday but with out all the hype and junk. Its a day to relax, to reflect. It's a day to go out and make a day a day and a night a night. (Man, this is going nowhere.I dont even know why youre still reading this. Oh well, your loss.)

I didnt much today. Went to work. Sang some songs. Hung out with JANET. (click it, use it. I dare you.) Mmmm. Something strange happend though. Something that kind of caught me off gaurd. We were sitting around talking about this that and the other. Where I work, conversations take on a necessary plasticity. One minute youre talking about making paper plate holdy dealies, when all of a sudden you find yourself knee deep in a discussion on the merits of farm living in circa 1940 Jamestown, RI. Anyway, we somehow got to talking about my bean. I figured no big deal. Small bean, small conversation. But JANET made some comment about my newly shaven bean. It wasnt clever. It wasnt bitting. It was just kind of a blunt "I dont like when guys have shaved heads and no facial hair." Hmm. Ok, I can kind of see her point. I do tend to look like a nubile young lad sans face pubes. Normally something like that would roll off me like nothing. I wouldnt even think twice about it. But this time it kind of stuck. And it was then that I realized my Supermanesque inviciblity has a kryptonite: really cute/ interesting girls opinions. Fortunately, much like kryptonite not many cute/ interesting girls can be found on this planet.

Ive been really...(antsy, anxious, irritable, angry, hungry, sticky,bloated) lately. Best I can figure its all the pent up stuff thats doing it to me. Sexual frustration, creative frustration, and nervous energy make for a bitter cocktail. And I just chugged that bitch in one fell belly filling swoop. It doesnt help that I spend all day in my apartment. Life tends to get a little hairy when youre only human contact is old "Eight is Enough" re-runs.

2002-01-25T22:21:00.000-08:00

Look mommy, it's a talking door mat! Gotta say Im feeling a little defeated. A little something I like to call the "fridays" has hit me, and hit me hard. For those of u not familiar with this condition, count yourself lucky, for even knowing about it can bring u down. I think I first contracted the fridays during my Bolivian safari. I was bitten by a large hairy parasite type thing. Ive been this way ever since. How do u know if you have the fridays? Symptoms include but are not limited to: nausea, dizzyness, complacency, nervouness, emotional instability, the Willies, the heebegeebes, spontaneous erectile explosion (SEE), Body Odor Opertion Balancing Inefficiency of the Extremities (BOOBIE), and death. There is no known cure for the fridays. Once you have them youre fucked. See you in hell.

2002-01-25T01:28:00.000-08:00

I am not Long Pham. I wish I were, but Im not. He used to have my phone number. He forgot to tell his family, friends and etc that he changed his number. He's a popular guy. People like to call him at 5am and ramble on about this and that. Most of them dont speak english. Dont get me wrong, Im not some dirty pig headed american that thinks everyone should speak english. It would just make it easier for me to communicate that Long no longer (that was horrible) lives at this number, just me. I try to keep them on the line as long...for as extended a period as possible because, well lets be honest, I have no one else to talke to. I wonder what it would be like to be that popular? I am not Long Pham.

Ah, that was refreshing.Lets see, whats on my mind this fine morning. Oh yeah, school. I start classes in a few days. I gotta say that Im ready to go back. I had my fun, had my hijinks, now its time to return to the temple of learn. I cant wait to be surrounded by brainy sorority girls, insightful jocks, and the inquisitive "barely eligible to matriculate" others (yeah, I said matriculate. That shows Im smart and superior.) If nothing else, school will give me something to do with my time. Vacation has taught me something. When Im not in school Im a complete fuckin loser. Seriously. I dont go out. I watch ALOT of tv. No one calls me. I wack like it was going out of season. Sometimes I even steal. Maybe its a function of my major. Maybe its a function of my nature. Either way u slice it, thats one sad lonely Meezie. But there's a bright side to this solitude ( there has to be). When I have stuff to do I get it done. No distractions. No bothers. No friends. Wait, that sounds like whining. Ok, new resolution. Im going to get out at least once a week....a month...a semster. Something like that. I might even meet a girl. Hey, fuck you. It could happen.

I had this weird dream last night. In the first part I was driving around somewhere, actually I was riding in the passengers seat. Homer Simpson was driving. He asked me what I would consider a well rounded person. I pulled out a pie and started talking about percentages. It was apple, I think. In the next part I was at home, lying in bed. I looked at my ceiling and saw an interdimensional porthole. This girl popped out of it, well most of her. She was kind of hanging halfway out of it. We got to chatting. She was black, pretty face, bulgy fish eyes. They were bulging out of the sockets. She may or may not have had hair. Anyway, she asked me if I knew what her turn ons were. I said "no". She said "silly boys", fell out of the porthole onto my bed and proceeded to make hot monkey love to me. The last part of my dream is a bit sketchy but it involved a bunch of brightly colored monster trucks and an oversized novelty Raiders beer bottle. And you wonder why Im so reluctant to go to sleep.

2002-01-23T02:08:00.000-08:00

Apathy, thy name is Meezie.
I'll give you my heart/ if I get yours in return/ Everybody gets a chance/ now it is my turn
Some crappy boy band song? No. Some equally crappy Celine Dionesque dribble? Wrong, sucka. Thats pure 100% Meezie. Yeah, I know its cheesy but when your target audience are females 80 years and over u can take some artistic license. The hardest part about writing this song ( I also have a couple others that would make the average man vomit but the average 80 year old woman moist in the pants, not that they need help with pants moisture. They pee. In their pants. I clean the chair.) was pretending that I had some silly feelings for an even sillier girl.
{Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Boy likes girl. Girl doesnt find boy disgusting. Boy calls girl. Girl reluctantly answers. Boy studders. Girl pretends to listen. Boy realizes that shes not listening. Girl admits she wasnt listening. Boy is ok with it because he needs the company. Girl steals boys credit card number. Boy goes to girls house to kill her. Girl is with another girl. Boy walks in on girl with another girl and reconsiders killing.}
Im far too jaded to do anything like that. I ve been kicked in the crotch so much by unrequited infatuation that my dude has a callous. At least I think its a callous. Anyway, to tie this all back to my brilliant opening line which Im too lazy to go back and erase, Ive stopped caring about the boy girl thing. Dont get me wrong, Im still down for brains. Always have been, always will be. I just cant bring myself to fall face first, ass backwards, shit outta luck in like with a girl. Its such a waste of time.

Oh yeah, I was supposed to hang out with the bookstore girl but she flaked. It was her birthday. I got her a card. Im not a big fan of cards (excepts dayvs dope ass christmas cards). I gave her a condolence card. It said "Im here for you in your time of sorrow". I hope she liked it. Im not a big fan of cards.

Speaking of wasting time ( Im such a silky smooth segue man.)I spent almost 2 hours trying to buy books today. I ll spare u the spicy details. Heres the nitty gritty: Ordered online, went to pick them up, stood in long queue ( HELLO!! IM BRITISH!!! I HAVE TO EAT A BROWNIE!!!), stood in wrong queue, got in right one, books werent ready. Splendid.

2002-01-22T01:28:00.000-08:00

Same day, different shit. Or something like that. I cant be sure but I think Im stuck in some sort of slacker loop. Go to bed around 4am. Get up around 10. Watch tv for a couple of hours. Take a nap. Do myself a favor. Take another nap. Eat breakfast. Watch the Simpsons. Check my email. Erase the spam. Keep the...no one emails me. Take another nap. Get my internet on. Watch more tv. Recount my day via blog. Do myself another favor. Glare at my phone for never ringing. Glare at my wang for being lonely. Watch more tv. Go to bed.

While holed up in my hermit cave Ive had time to do some thinking. Life. Democracy. Teen pregnancy. Time travel. A better mouse trap. I think about anything and everything. Today whilst getting my think on I somehow got onto the subject of the future. Not the flying car, robocop, cyberboobie future; but the future of Meezie. What will become of me. When will I become me? I sometimes forget that by the time all of you bitches have graduated college and started families I ll just be finishing school. Hoo-funkin-ray for higher education. What scares me most about this whole ordeal is the uncertainty of it all. What if by some stroke of karmic genius I dont get into med school? That means I ll have spent six or seven years of my life getting a degree that I ll likely never use. Sure there are other options for a guy with a bio degree. Plenty infact. I could: get my masters, become a male prostitute,get a job building more delicious babies. Point is theres stuff for me to do. But do I really want to do them? No. Thats would be like dating a fat girl with a great personality. Sure shes not bad but thats really not what you were aiming for and now all of your friends make fun of you and you cant go to the movies because she always wants you to smuggle twinkies in your ass because the war has driven snack prices sky high. Fuckin Bin Laden. Fuckin Hostess.

In other more exciting news I had another headache today. Its hard to say how long it lasted, maybe an hour or so. The second one was a little worse but I didnt vomit. Almost, but not quite. The other day I tilted my head back and I got dizzy. I think Its time for me to see a doctor. I ll look at him, he ll look at me. We ll both realize that we've chosen the lonliest, longest, lonliest possible career paths. He'll hold me. I ll hold him. The nurse will walk in. He'll hold her. I ll hold her. She ll touch my dude. I ll feel good about my dude, but bad about my head because the doctor was too busy getting his hug on to cure my black ass.