Lately I've been thinking about my events and plans in relation to my overall psyche. Is this making me happy? Not now, but overall?
It was a good weekend.
On Thursday I bought myself a DVD player. An "all region" one. I overjoyed myself with some Thee Michelle Gun Elephant, and Angie showed me "Cremaster III," which made me wonder if I don't do enough drugs or something. That night, I had planned on just going out for a margarita or two, low key and away from anyone I know.
Before heading out, I realized that at midnight, it would be my birthday.
So, I went to the Ottobar and cashed in on some free drinks.
As the headache slowly wore off the next day, a few things re-entered my memory. I remembered trying to use my debit card at 7-11, and that it was declined. I took a look at my bank balance and all of the overdraft fees. I realized that I have ten dollars to live off of until July 9th. Lame.
I opened my wallet to look for some change, and I also realized that I ran into a friend on my block, and that he'd given me a birthday present. Some awesomeass red-looking weed. Rad.
FINALLY, at 3:30, my boss told me I could go. As Angie whipped up booze-Jello at the house, I picked up some cups, cream soda, and booze.
Friends trickled in and out of the house all night. Kristin made some amazing roasted potatos, we mixed up a bigass batch of macaroni and cheese, Carla brought a whole foods cake.
I received the Aqua Teen Hunger Force DVD, various bottles of booze (a few of which I managed to hide from the partiers...), a yo-yo, firecrackers, cards, and, from Angie, the most overwhelming gift I've recieved since I can remember: a guitar. A nice and simple, steel stringed, acoustic guitar in a case selected by Sonny himself.
First of all, it is overwhelming that someone would think to give this to me.
Secondly, I was taken aback by the responsibility to myself, the pressure I put on myself to be good or to simply not try at all.
My mind raced through a million thoughts, about how I need to not be afraid to work at anything.
I was really close to crying.
I couldn't pick it up just yet, so I let Ben play the first few.
The party was overall fun, and I guess I did enjoy having the attention pointed at me, even when I pretended not to.
I got tipsy, then really stoned, then drank a lot of water, and was the last to get to bed.
On Saturday, Angie and I hit the road in the early afternoon, for West Virginia. We stopped off at some outlet mall and picked up some Keds, so we could wear them into the river. The water was perfection, and I enjoyed swimming, playing with my uncles' dog, eating my family's picnic food, and listening to my 2nd cousin Blaine play guitar and sing. He has a pretty nice voice.
We ended up following my uncle Barry and his girlfriend Meryl out to some train tracks, and camping for the night. I didnt sleep much, as trains kept waking me up during the night. It'd been so long since I'd done that. It was seriously a slice of heaven.
We sat out by a fire, burning wood that Barry had collected with his new chainsaw, and listened to bluegrass. We roasted marshmallows and waved as the trains rolled by.
We got home around one pm on the 4th. I layed down in bed and passed out. I didn't think I'd make it to the dirtfarm that night.
Later in the evening, I woke up and started playing with my guitar. It took me about ten minutes to remember that I'm not going to burst into flames for lack of skill, and that no one is corwded around laughing at me.
I got online to look up some chords to songs I like to sing.
Abby was online... and surprised that she wasn't already at the party, I decided to join her. I headed down afterall.
As I walked up, someone was being bodyslammed into a kiddie pool full of mud. The enitre yard was an endless expanse of mud. "I just don't make eye contact with anyone," a girl told me. She shared her secret for not being dunked into the mud yet. "If I see someone look into my direction, I walk away."
I stayed relatively mud free, until at some point, I intervened on Josh wrestling Abby.
I jumped into the pool and pinned him. It wasn't hard. He was shit-canned.
All day, apparently, Sonny had been hard at work on his pet project: the van pool.
Once it was finished, about five people could comfortably sit in the tarp full of water in the van. Five people, comfortably. About ten people, in actuality.
The van pool was legendary. If you are reading about it right now with curiousity, then I am sorry. You weren't there, you will never quite understand. The Van Pool: Never Forget.
With a gentleman friend, I left the party at a reasonable hour.. about 2am.
I saw the dirtfarm wreckage today, and it was incredible. It made me feel better about my own house, which is also in a state of disarray. Our kitchen is horrendous. I went to Rite Aid and bought a pair of flip flops to wear into the kitchen so that you don't soil your feet or track the much into the rest of the apartment.
We have someone cleaning it on Thursday.
No clean dishes... I went to the Paper Moon in my pajamas and put some food on my credit card.
It's almost 3am right now. I wish I was practicing my guitar, but I don't want to wake up Angie.
I need to get some real sleep anyway. I have my bed to myself, and theres no trains within a mile or so.