Not much of a party...

Hey my humps,

Tonight was supposed to be our "Welcome to Muncie Robby!" celebratory party. We got enough alcohol to fuel the city of Lyon, France for twenty minutes. I had high expectations for this party. People actually did show up and had some fun. However, by the end of the night, shit turned from fun to dramatic.

I was really hoping that I'd get to have some fun with my friend (Insert Female Name Here) in the form of the "naughty bad" variety. For a few minutes, I was very optimistic that this would be the case. However, after she went to this party 4 and a half blocks away, she promptly fell asleep on my roommate's floor. Without so much as a "goodnight Nate-o, I hope you don't mind but I'm going to fall asleep next to this complete stranger on Robby's floor." Let alone a kiss or anything. Needless to say, I'm kinda mad after all that, which is the main explanation why I'm both awake and NOT drunk.

Of course, this wasn't the extent of the drama. Robby and Carrie ended up getting into some drama. Involuntary I'm sure, but it still happened. If this is going to be the theme of the year, then I seriously plan on putting a ban on drama in my fucking apartment. I went an entire semester last year with little to no drama. Now, only two weeks into the new year, I've had a fucking "dramastock" or "dramagate" occur in the realm of the past few hours. NOT FUCKING COOL!!!

So I'm pretty sure there aren't going to be any pre-planned parties at my place ever again. If tonight's debacle was any indication, they don't seem to go well in an apartment setting. Impromptu parties could always happen of course, so don't go thinkin' I'm not having drinkfests over here. I mean, drinking does happen to be the source of and solution to all of life's problems. So, thanks alcohol.

I've completely lost where the hell I was going with this entry. I'm pretty mad right now, but I've been able to keep my composure enough to not curse every other word.

The saving grace to all this had better be a Colts win tomorrow. If they lose, then this will officially be the worst weekend ever. More on that later.

Right now, I really just feel like rambling about nothing. I'm in no mood for sleep. I suppose I'm really just being stubborn... thinking (Insert Female Name Here)'s fine ass will stroll in and we can cuddle in my comfy bed. But, she instead felt the urge to sleep on the freaking floor. I dunno where that comes from. Given the choice between bed and floor, I'd be taking bed any given Sunday.

I have A LOT OF BEER to drink tomorrow. I have absolutely no idea what I'm gonna do with the stuff I don't drink. It's really quite sad that we bought all this beer thinking it was going to be a blowout. Meanwhile, a good two and a half cases worth of Miller and Coors light sit in tepid water and ice slowly losing their beer goodness. It's a fucking shame. Actually, I think I'm going to go get one. Hang on.

(Pops open a Miller Lite)

Ah, that's better. Now I feel like I'm doing something productive time two. Drinking a beer and writing (bitching is probably a better word) in my journal. Ah, what an exciting life I live.

Ok, I suppose I might as well keep on bitching. This night might as well go on forever. There's absolutely no way a hot chick is going to stroll in here and fuck my brains out. I would seriously delete this ENTIRE entry if that shit happened.

(Waits exactly one minute)

Nope... nothing!

WTF is wrong with my life? I mean, I feel like a god damned monk. Except I'm not celebate by choice.

Just a little action is all I ask! All my friends say they're gonna hook me up. So, let's count up how many times this has happened... exactly ZERO TIMES.


Ok, I should really quit typing in this thing... but I'm slowly getting madder and madder as I type. It's almost liberating in a way because I fucking know people are gonna read this thing. Especially some of the people whom I've talked about. Well you know what? It's all good. I hate bitching in person, so I might as well bitch in typed format. I seem to be articulating my rage a whole lot better in the medium. So let's just roll with it.

The other thing keeping me going right now is my music. Nothing else in my life is as steady as my music (excepy my sex life, or lack thereof). It's great. I have one of the most eclectic mixes of music you may have ever heard in your life. Shit you probably have never heard of some of the stuff i have, or you have and are ashamed to admit that you like it. I'm not ashamed of this shit. For example, the music playing right now is Lionel Richie's "Dancin' on the Ceiling". I bet half of you don't even have that shit anywhere NEAR your collection. Well guess what? I GOT IT! How you like me now?!?!

Jesus, I can't believe I'm bragging about Lionel Richie. I mean, his daughter is a coke whore for Christ's sake.

Anyways, I'm almost convinced that anyone reading this has gone ahead and skipped down to the Honorable Mentions portion of the entry. I don't blame them really. I lost a grip on this train wreck a LONG time ago. Thing is, I'm also convinced that I can keep writing for at least another twenty minutes.

Yep, it's about ten after 4am right now. I'm almost afraid to stop typing. Like, if I stopped typing, the bomb that sits underneath my computer would blow up. Then Keanau Reeves has to jump on my computer chair yelling at me to keep the words per minute above fifty. And nobody can get off the computer or Dennis Hopper will remote detonate the sumbitch.

That was actually the movie "Speed" for those of you who haven't seen it. Instead of a computer though, it's a bus. And instead of me, it's Sandra Bullock.

I just let one go. Holy crap that thing could gag a maggot. Whew... I blame all the beer I drank earlier in the evening. I mean, for some reason beer makes your farts smell like the most vile thing ever produced in the known universe. Like... God-esque farting. Divine poot poots.

I've only killed ten minutes. WTF? And yet, still no sign of the hot chick I mentioned earlier.

Am I a hopeless romantic? Am I so inept that I keep thinking the right woman is out there for me? Maybe so... and I'm just about ready to accept that fact and go join the seminary.

I mean, being a priest probably wouldn't be so bad. I'd get to drink wine every Sunday. I'd also get to hear everyone's deepest secrets and stuff. AND have the power to forgive them! THAT WOULD BE FUCKING AWESOME!!

The guy would be like: "Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I cheated on my wife with my secretary."

Me: "Oh really? Was she any good?"

Guy: "Umm... does that matter?''

Me: "Maybe... did she have big hooters?"

Guy: "Father?"

Me: "Oh I'm sorry... I meant 'breasts', did she have big 'breasts'?"

Guy: "Oh Father, I really just want to get back into our lord's good graces. What shall you have me do?"

Me: "Oh fine... three 'Hail Mary's' and two buckets of KFC extra crispy. And you best bring back some cole slaw. Or else I'll go ahead and tell God about the time you threw a dog into the river just because it looked at you funny."

Guy: "Oh thank you Father! Thank you!"


Wow... is it just me, or did that get really weird really fast? I doubt it's just me. I creeped myself out with that one.

So I couldn't be a priest. It would help a whole hell of a lot if I actually believed in some sort of god. But, alas, I don't. Could that be my punishment for not getting any?

No, of course not. I'm sure there are many atheiests/agnostics out there that get laid on a regular/semi-regular basis.

Ok, we're almost at the twenty minute mark. I'd be willing to bet BIG money that this is my longest fucking entry of all time. Maybe the most random as well. It started off as major bitching, then evolved into some sort of bastardization on the form of randomness with smatterings of bitching strewn about.

Well... that would be all the time I alotted for myself. Have a pleasant Sunday everyone. GO COLTS.

~Nate-O

PS: For those of you waiting for an H.M. section... it ain't gonna happen. Sorry.