It has been too long

It's been almost two months since I posted last. Don't misinterpret this - my life is as entertaining as ever, and I will continue to fail to suitably describe this fact - I haven't posted in a while because it's been too entertaining. Here's a quick bullet list to catch you up:

• Oatmeal, who you may remember from when I had my second most awkward pseudo-kiss ever, and I are now an item (we are dating, I am awkward).
• I moved from one side of the bay bridge to the other. I now live with my old friend Stephen (formerly known as Tiny Dancer) and the Brothers (Thing 1 and Thing A).
• Stephen and my mutual friend Patrick nearly died from firewater and as a result does not enjoy fine booze any longer. As a supportive measure, Stephen and I have both given up drinking as well.
• I was laid off from my excellent job at Movie Rental Location. I will soon be working at Themed Pizza Location. This is a step sideways for me, and acts as a motivator to find another way to earn money. I have seriously considered writing a jingle and living on the royalties for the rest of my life.

I have started changing the fake names I use to more accurately reflect personalities, while at the same time being less ridiculous. I will re-introduce people with their new names as they appear.

Flat Tire and the Mystery of Lawrence Hall

Dear Diary,
Tonight was awesome! My friend Sassafras and I went to Denny's and had delicious apple crisp and some coffee. While we were there we met these two CHP officers who were pretty chill, one even talked to me about his phone (the LG Shine, which he says sucks). Then Sassafras had an awesome idea - we should go to Grizzly Peak in Berkeley, because we haven't been there in like forever.

We went the way I know, which is up University and then up to Lawrence Hall of Science and past to this road that takes you up and up and up, only we never even made it past LHS. We went around a curve and totally ran over a stoner with a knife in his pocket!!! Just kidding, we hit the curb right on this ridiculously sharp part where a chunk fell out of it and popped a tire.

We parked in the parking lot nearby (after hours, luckily, so we didn't get a ticket for being in it without a permit) and I called AAA. The guy asked me if I had a spare but I didn't know where to look so he told me it was in my trunk. I asked Sassafras to help me dig hella shit out to get at the space where the spare was stashed and the guy on the phone busted up laughing. I guess when you're an operator for an insurance company everything's funny because so much shit is boring? Anyway, he told us to wait at the Hall itself so we walked down the hill and chilled (literally, it was cold as balls up that high) on a bench for like fifteen minutes before the tow truck guy showed up. He drove us back to the car and replaced the tire and I told him where we live to make sure we could make it there; he laughed and said "it's gonna be a looooong drive, man. if you go over fifty with this thing it'll heat up and explode." Sassafras and I were equal parts horrified and excited.

When we hit the highway the adventure really began. Sassafras and I have this deal where if I learn to play some random-ass instrument and use it to serenade her with "Hey there Delilah" in Icelandic after having converted to Amish life, she'll marry me, and we had been discussing that until now. When we merged the first thing I noticed was some sort of wall of lights headed toward us and I freaked out until I realized it was a semi truck, who honked as he angrily passed us.

Going all the way from Berkeley to the bridge and beyond is a long ass drive when you're going 45 for fear of your car exploding. We got to the bridge at about 5:20 in the morning and her mom called as we left the toll booth. I guess she's gonna go hang with her today or something, and her mom gets up hella early, so she noticed Sassafras wasn't home yet and got angry. Whatever! Anyway Sassafras is gonna hang with Mog and some other people and then we're gonna meet up later and play 1k Blank Cards so I'm gonna go to sleep. Good night diary!

OAK and the Lively Waiter of Dennyville

Today my friend Sassafras came down from Portland to visit for a few days. When I discovered the impending trip I jumped on the opportunity to give her a ride back from the airport, and thus began tonight's adventures.

The trip to OAK and back had humble beginnings. It was to be me driving out to the airport, picking Sassafras up, and driving back home. Soon afterward I invited HAL, a mutual friend of ours, to come along; Sassafras suggested bringing another friend named Mog as well. Tiny Dancer invited himself the day of, which made a total of four people going and five people coming back. My trunk has a lot of things in it, which meant that we would be riding with luggage in the cab.

I bicycled to work today, and I got off at six - four hours before landing. I walked home uphill because I am far too lazy to bike upward, arriving home at approximately 6:45 (I stayed and chatted with some co-workers after I clocked out for the day). I promptly went to my bedroom, turned on the overhead fan, stripped all excess clothing off and laid in the breeze for a while before beginning to doze off. At this point I set my alarm clock for 8:20, because I was to meet everyone at 8:30 and head off.

I awoke to the alarm's buzzing at 8:25 and stepped outside to discover Tiny Dancer and his friend Dasher waiting.

Dexter: "Is Dasher coming too?"
Tiny Dancer: "Nah, he's just dropping me off. Let's go!"

We spent about ten minutes smoking and discussing silly policies at my workplace before leaving. As we drove, I noticed my phone blinking and discovered several text messages and missed phone calls, and a new voicemail, all from HAL; when we arrived at Mog's house we were informed that HAL had been waiting for about twenty minutes. I hugged her and commented on her fancy dress, and when Mog wandered out we set out on our journey.

On the way to OAK, Sassafras called and said her flight had been delayed. Already late and appreciating the relief from hurry, upon our arrival in Oakland we detoured to the Panda Express near the airport and arrived just as they closed; luckily, just as we left the building and began to plot out a new distraction Sassafras called to say she had arrived. We went to the airport and circled the terminal, making faces at the other cars, while Sassafras got her baggage. We picked her up and swung bottles of cider around outside the car to scare people who might think they were wine as we left.

Arriving back at Mog's residence, a plan was formed: Split into two cars for comfort reasons, meet at the Denny's in Cordelia and drag Medium Dancer, Tiny Dancer's brother, along. The girls piled into HAL's car and called a Boys vs. Girls race to Denny's; Mog ran inside to grab her iPod and I, being the poor sport I am, immediately sped off. We arrived in time for a cigarette before the ladies caught up, and we all went inside. Medium Dancer arrived with a friend a few minutes later, just as our waiter appeared.

I have dealt with this particular waiter before, and he is absolutely insane; according to his long, one-sided conversations with me he has been to jail several times and has a particularly colorful past. Regardless of the truth behind his claims I want nothing to do with him and rarely go to this particular Denny's as a result. Tonight he decided to hit on Sassafras, Mog and HAL constantly, which was a hilarious change of pace. After dinner we enjoyed several rounds of Zombie Fluxx and then went our separate ways.

Party Hard!

During your reading of this post, I humbly request that you play Andrew W.K.'s masterpiece "Party Hard" in order to enhance the experience and put you into my mindset. If you don't already have it, you should go purchase (PURCHASE) it because it's pretty kickass.



The past week has been essentially one big party. I'm not one for parties because I prefer a quiet night of lonely drinking, crying, and more drinking followed by long trips to god-knows-where on busy freeways, but one of my younger pals graduated this year and decided to have an "epic summer" before he went to school so I obliged his begging and showed up for one night. I figured i could tolerate a single night of normal social behavior, and so at 9 PM last Tuesday I arrived at his home with two 40's of piss beer and some "girly shit," so named because it has a flavor other than urine and alcohol.



The night started off well. I sat out back with a few of my compadrés and discussed a variety of philosophical subjects, including organized religion, the lovely young women in the hot tub nearby, and the scourge of the Earth known as Marijuana. Soon after the Devil's Lettuce came up someone remembered the stash of said evil greens they had with them, and we called upon the ZigZag Master to roll a Marijuana Cigarette. I did not partake in the festivities because of my previous encounter with Satan's Smokes, but i did get a chance to show a few people the Light - that is, the magic of clove cigarettes. The rest of Night 1, as well as Nights 2 through 4, went similarly; booze, occasionally some other drugs, and plenty of cigs, but nothing special other than that everyone was working off of minimal sleep because many of us had jobs to interfere with our precious sleeping time between each Night and the parties tended to go from 8 PM until sunrise.



Night 5 introduced me to another house, because we were forced to relocate due to noise complaints and the arrival back home of the owners of House 1. Here there was no hot tub and thus no bikinis; there were, however, several guitars, a large amp, a huge TV, two hookahs, lots and lots of good beer, and bros to initiate Beer Pong.



Having missed this particular form of entertainment as a student, I did not know what the hell was going on when I arrived the first night and there were red cups set up bowling pin style on either end of the large table. I inquired as to the reason for this and was introduced to a variety of insults I had never heard before in response. Eventually I gathered enough information to discern the purpose of the layout and wandered out back to see who else had survived until now.



Here I found several of my favorite people: Chauvinistic Pig, the small man with a misleading nickname; Drunken Moocher, the tall man with a perfectly accurate pseudonym; Cam, the guy who was throwing the shindig; and Andross, the only guy I have ever successfully talked automotive specs with. We enjoyed the hookahs for about half an hour before Doppelganger poked his head outside and informed us that a) beer pong would be getting started soon, b) he was already drunk and would be teaming up with Cam regardless of Cam's opinion on the matter and c) But I'm a Cheerleader had arrived and was looking very hot.



We all filed back in, and I beheld But I'm a Cheerleader (hereafter known as BIC) for the first time. My first thought was that perhaps Jay Leno had had an illegitimate daughter, but I withheld my opinion and instead watched in wonder as drunken youths tossed ping-pong balls at cups of beer in between bouts of arguing about house rules, global rules, and who would be cleaning the carpet.



Suddenly I found myself dragged into playing the game. Nervous, I took a ball and steeled myself; I focused on the cup, ignoring the taunts and hand-waving, and let loose. I missed. I missed the next time as well, but the third time I sank the shot. By the end of the game I was buzzed, and I played a few more rounds before the end of the night.



Night 6 was much like the previous night, except that I had grown used to BIC's chin and found myself treating her almost like a human being. At one point Drunken Moocher dragged me outside under the guise of a cigarette break and informed me that he had dibs on BIC, so I needed to back off; I laughed and informed him that I was not interested ("she's only 17! I do have some semblance of humanity!" "What about Eileen? She's 16!" "I never touched her and you know it!" and so on) and went back inside. Shortly thereafter I found myself awoken in the wee hours of the morning in an uncomfortable chair with no memory of sitting down there, much less falling asleep, and a parrot nibbling on my ear.



Night 7 was supposedly quite enjoyable; I did not go, because I am not that hardcore, but I found myself restless and looking for adventure at around 11 so I called a few friends in an attempt to get some sort of gathering going. All seemed hopeless when no one was free until I called my good friend Oatmeal, who revealed that she was hanging with HAL and they were both down to do something. I suggested coffee and poker, and so we soon found ourselves at Denny's with a deck of cards and some snacks. Upon pulling the cards from my pocket HAL broke the news that she didn't know how to play poker, and Oatmeal admitted to not knowing either. I suggested a series of alternatives, including Go Fish, Egyptian Ratscrew, and War; in the end we decided on Bullshit.



There are two main types of Bullshit. In one, you must play cards in a certain order; the first player puts down aces, the second twos, and so on. This version is terrible in my opinion because you should never be forced to bullshit. In the other, you can play any type of card regardless of what the previous player put down; This makes the game much more fun to play for everyone and after trying both HAL and I agreed on te second type being superior. Oatmeal insisted we play the first type occasionally, but it wasn't too bad because a good poker face and the other players forgetting to count cards makes it easy to lie your way to victory.



At one point a group of teen pseudopunks came in and sat behind us and began mocking Oatmeal's genuine-punk attire. We ignored them until they all left and one came back in, introduced herself as "Chaos," and asked of she could join our game. Oatmeal and HAL agreed, and I had no issue with it, so we added a player to our party. After two games Oatmeal decided to go have a cigarette and Chaos went with her; Oatmeal came back without her and immediately said, "I don't like her, thank god her friend had to throw up. They're finally gone."



Oatmeal and I took a cigarette break about 45 minutes later. She grabbed my clove and took a hit of it along with her Camel, blowing it out her nose and claiming it was "badass." It reminded me of a story from Viva Pinata, which I recounted: When I was outside, shortly before my encounter with the stoner's magical mystery pipe, a gentleman and his girlfriend were sitting perhaps ten feet away talking to Rex Racer. The gentleman turned to me and asked if he could hit my cigarette; I let him and watched a very strange thing occur. He inhaled, leaned down and kissed his girlfriend, and she blew the smoke out of her nose. Oatmeal informed me that this was called shotgunning and after some weird looks insisted that we try it. The second most awkward pseudokiss ever followed and I decided never to do it again - I felt awkward breathing into someone else's mouth for reasons not medical. (side note: if certain people requested this, I would oblige, but all of those people either don't smoke or have recently quit.)




Eventually 3 AM came around and we decided to leave. I shared awkward hugs with HAL and Oatmeal, and we parted ways.

ViVa PiNaTa!!

Friday night was one of wonder and magic. So there's no confusion, I should note that I will be breaking from the time frame I usually plan on using to better describe the delights of the night. Also of note is a more oft-used tool of mine, the random and often needless changing of names and minutia.

It all began at 9:45am. I awoke to my friend Amy coming to my door fifteen minutes before we had planned on meeting, leading me to dress hurriedly and grab a wet shirt from the washer for later wearin'. I stuck my shirt in the window of the vehicle to dry, and we picked up three other folks to join us in our merrymaking:

• T.J. the flamboyant homosexual young man
• Eileen the intellectual raver
• Thomas P. Quicksilver the madman

Upon gathering all of our fellows we departed for regions southern, specifically the lovely Californian city of Santa Cruz. We made haste for the town, as we had plans for every minute of the adventure; our single stop along the way was at a ridiculously fancy McDonald's with a fountain inside for brunch.

As we enjoyed our southern-style chicken sammiches, I remarked that the fountain was often used as a wishing well; as it seemed befitting of the locale, we replaced the usual offering of currency with an offering of delicious Freedom Fries. Soon afterward we were on the road again, me wearing a bucket hat and aviator sunglasses and making Fear and Loathing jokes to fit the apparel.

We soon arrived at our temporary home, and quickly leapt into the pool. Suddenly, a vicious monster bumblebee landed in the water and, thinking quickly, I saved its life. Sadly it did not grant me wishes of give me a gift in thanks, but I know it was grateful because it did not ravage anyone on its way out of the area. We eventually got bored of the water and left for greener pastures - that is, Pacific Street.

T.J. insisted on shopping for dresses and panties in every overpriced clothing outlet we came across, and I insisted on shopping for coffee in every café we encountered. Amy insisted on nothing in particular, Eileen shopped for shiny things and Thomas P. Quicksilver shopped for backpacks.

Eventually, the time came for the main event, a rave called Viva Pinata! It was themed around a game for the XBOX 360 of the same name, and so we wore sombreros, light-up necklaces shaped like cacti and chili pepperi, and other vaguely related items. We returned to the apartment to collect these appurtenances, picking up Rex Racer the Boyfriend of Amy along the way. Pizza and beer was had, and merry we were; prepared for the night's events, we set off toward the final destination of the night.

We arrived at the venue and spouted 4chan memes until they took our tickets (half an hour late!) and then grouped on the floor. Thomas P. Quicksilver left as he is wont to do, finding all sorts of mysteries to entertain his madman mind.

Before I continue, there's something you should know about me that will make the reasons for me being where I am in the next segment more clear. I despise large groups of people; I prefer to spend my time with somewhere between zero and seven other folks, not five hundred.

I found myself eventually outside, dejected and alone save T.J. and Random Stoner Named Stabby. T.J. was enjoying the wall, ground, air, cigarettes and various fabrics because he had taken an ecstasy tablet; he was thus not much for conversation. Aptly-Named Stabby offered to share his pipe with me, and I consented. The night quickly became a world of wonder for me.

I took three hits of the devil's lettuce and found myself surrounded by zombies, a wall that seemed to call out for my love, and T.J. I also discovered after perhaps two minutes that I was not breathing, and spent the next fifteen unable to do anything because it would distract me from my constantly making sure I was still inhaling and exhaling normally.

Eileen appeared shortly after I calmed down, and introduced T.J. and me to her friend Glasscock. They chatted for several minutes while I had a psychic discussion with the smoke currently enveloping much of California, and we all went inside. At this point Rex Racer found me and showed me dance moves. I am told that I would slowly turn away from him during this show, forcing him to move to stay in my field of view; by my perception he moved and so I followed him, but I am hesitant to trust my judgement at that point. I am also told that I at one point watched his hypnotic feet through the full-wall mirror we were next to during this period.

Eventually Rex got bored of me ("REX I AM WHAT THE FUCK HIGH PLEASE DON'T LEAVE," I apparently did not actually scream to him) so I found myself alone. I wandered the crowd the rest of the night, marveling at the lights and sounds until I was wrangled by Amy and we all went back to the hotel. At this point I essentially blacked out, only to wake in the morning to Eileen pulling the sheets from my body. My immediate impression was wrong, causing me to thank the lord I did not say anything out loud as I awoke; she was waking everyone because it was check-out time.

I arrived at my home three hours later, and thus ends another thrilling adventure.

Raccoons? In MY yard? It's more likely than you think!

Tonight was a relatively uneventful evening.  I wandered down to work, discovered I had virtually no gas left, found out that my carefully crafted plans to hang out and figure out specifics later were all for naught, and did not succeed in my attempts to frolic in sprinklers and play on elementary school equipment with a friend.

Only half an hour ago, however, I met Scoundrel the raccoon.  I stepped outside to retrieve my iPod from my car hours after I had come back home as per my routine of forgetfulness, and when I turned to head back inside I saw what looked like some sort of gigantic cat leaping over the bushes in front of me into my front yard.  I dashed (at a leisurely pace, as it was far too late to actually run) around the bushes with hopes of seeing Demon Cat before it escaped, but I was instead met with an unusual sight:  A large raccoon was on the far side of my yard, staring at me.  It stood on its hind legs as if to shrink the height difference, and so I sat down where I was and stared back.  It fell back to all fours and tilted its head at me in a manner that suggested I had intruded on its yard and not vice-versa; hoping not to offend it to the point that it leapt at me and gave me rabies with its devil claws, I hunched over a bit and waved.

Here's where it gets strange, folks.  The raccoon, whom I later dubbed Scoundrel, waved back.  Let me repeat that for emphasis:  Scoundrel the Raccoon waved to me.  I don't know if mirroring behaviors is something raccoons often do or not, but it threw me and I responded by backing away, still sitting down as to avoid devil claw rabies and the like, until I was at my door and then quickly fleeing into the safety of my home.

Other than that little escapade, however, the night has been wholly forgettable and I plan on doing just that.