Conversely, when I've eaten lots of pizza, I'm a sitting duck for the giants who would squish me.

N


icholas the kitten was very friendly this afternoon as I attempted to read more of a Portable Beat Reader. (especially the ones that make you RAW) He/she persistently rubbed his/her face against mine while crouched upon my chest. I was irritated but enchanted as I kept having brief perverted flashbacks to awkward joyous moments in the early phase of my non-fantasy love life.

The poor little kitten evidently has fleas; he/she often has to stop the lovefest just to scratch. I saw one bloated flea wriggling on its back and tried to kill it, but it got away. Conversely, when I've eaten lots of pizza, I'm a sitting duck for the giants who would squish me.

M


atthew Hart was back at the house, drinking beers. He already had a respectable beeramid of five empty cans, which, given that it wasn't even 6 yet, meant he was making an early start on the usual Friday night excess.

Matthew said that he attempted to go to Farmer Jack earlier today and gave up after spending an entire geologic epoch at the US 250 light.

There was plenty of alcohol in various forms throughout the house, but by the new standards of consumption, there was a frightening possibility that it would not be sufficient. So we set out for Farmer Jack.

Since the return of the students, Emmett Street, the most direct route to Barracks Road, had been a nightmare of congestion. Matthew said that he attempted to go to Farmer Jack earlier today and gave up after spending an entire geologic epoch at the US 250 light. The fastest route to Barracks Road now is the US 29 bypass from the Fontaine Street exit to the Barracks Road exit. There are a few other secret ninja routes as well.

Matthew recently concluded that it was probably having a deleterious effect on his love life.

By the way, today Matthew took care of a problem that perpetually plagues our household. No one ever cleans the toilet, see, and over time it gradually develops this thing we affectionately refer to as "the poo ring." The poo ring had been looking pretty bad for the last couple of weeks, but no one has been brave enough to engage it in battle. Matthew recently concluded that it was probably having a deleterious effect on his love life. Nothing quite kills the mood for a girl like running to the bathroom for a pre-coital pee only to find herself staring into the realm of Dendritic Fecal Yuckdom.
For the record, I can honestly say that my contributions to the poo ring have been minimal. Most of my donations to the Charlottesville solid waste disposal system begin their journey from the ladies room of Comet.net.

Like many others, he suspected evil lesbian things were afoot and he barred Sarah from his house.

So we got a case of Budweiser. Deya had given me a $10 bill so there'd be beer when she got off work, possibly after midnight (when beer sales become illegal in this state). I took the opportunity to have Deya do most of the funding of today's beer. Lord knows, she's drunk more than her share of my beer. Besides, she has a real job and can afford such extravagance.

B


ack at Kappa Mutha Fucka, as we sat drinking beer, Susan, the wonderfully psychotic mother of Shonan and Natalie, came by. I suppose she was mostly interested in finding out about the recent breakup of Matthew and Leah, but many other matters were discussed. Most troubling was to learn that Natalie's father (who lives in Texas I believe) is suspicious about the relationship between Natalie and Sarah. Like many others, he suspected evil lesbian things were afoot and he barred Sarah from his house. Defending Sarah's heterosexuality (which shouldn't even be necessary here in the fucking 90s), Susan has even told Natalie's father about Sarah's little thing with me.

He's such an insufferable music tyrant that he's never pleased unless he's dictating the tunes.

Dempsey, the familiar soft-spoken post-goth weirdo given to wearing women's underpants, showed up while Susan was still there. He knows Susan rather well, since he used to have some sort of relationship with Natalie. As usual, Dempsey brought a videocamera and spent much of the time videotaping. After awhile we didn't even notice him anymore. No doubt he got some good candid stuff.

I was playing some Buffalo Springfield on the record player. It's a weird hybrid of country, classical and psychedelic, but I was mostly in it for the Neil Young and the possible appeal it might have for an aging hippie like Susan. With his recent interest in country music, you'd think Matthew would like it, but he's such an insufferable music tyrant that he's never pleased unless he's dictating the tunes. He was anxious and impatient until he had the go-ahead to put on some Jonathan Richmond, another recent obsession of his.

He's a nice guy, but he was obviously there to spy on her, and that could only cause problems.

Angela showed up, a little later than usual this time. Somebody decided we should get another bottle of Pepe Lopez tequila.

So again Matthew and I headed up to Barracks Road, this time with the addition of Dempsey and Angela. I remember mustering the appearance of sobriety before buying the tequila, but other than that, I was in a pretty thick fog during this little mission.

We came home to find even more people, people we don't usually see. Theresa was there, as was an old Charlottesville acquaintance I've not seen for a long time, Beth. In the Spring of 1995, Beth and Zachary were involved in the, er, Biblical sense. She'd gained some weight and at first I didn't recognize her. Most disturbing of all was the presence Angela's "former" boyfriend, Aaron. He's a nice guy, but he was obviously there to spy on her, and that could only cause problems.

Despite the stressful situation, we took it all in stride. Alcohol has a way of making differences and tensions seem trivial.

The wood gradually splintered until finally the metal latch mechanism broke and the door swung open.

Matthew's principle reaction to the situation was to kick up his drinking yet another notch. Eventually he and Aaron went up to his room for a heart to heart. Angela paced around nervously, drunkenly, went up stairs, couldn't figure out what to do, and disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. At least, we all thought she was in there. Matthew repeatedly tried to convince Angela to come out, banging on the door and raising a fuss. But he never heard any responses to his pleas. Finally he became frustrated and starting kicking the door in. The wood gradually splintered until finally the metal latch mechanism broke and the door swung open. No one was inside. Matthew later found Angela asleep in his car out in the driveway.

Had he been sober, Matthew probably wouldn't have known what to say to Aaron. But as drunk as he was, he at least had an idea. He rolled around on the floor pleading for Aaron to beat him up for his dalliances with Angela. Aaron just sat there on Matthew's bed, sad, drunk and confused.

Since a recent serious car accident, she's low on transportation options and sort of on the lam, as it were.

M


eanwhile, I was down in the living room, sort of being the axis of a number of conversations and interactions between Theresa, Beth and Dempsey. It seems Theresa has been staying with Beth for the past couple of days. Before that she'd been staying with Angela. Since a recent serious car accident, she's low on transportation options and sort of on the lam, as it were. The story is that she had a newly purchased little previously-owned Japanese car, went out for a drive while intoxicated, swerved to miss a deer, and rolled it five times (or something impressively ridiculous like that).

Theresa was eager to smoke pot, so I offered her the last of mine. We sat in my room and fired up a little brass bowl. Predictably, when Deya got home, she joined us. If there is any one thing Deya does not like, it's me being alone in my room with some girl. If Deya is in the house and I'm in my room with a girl, you can count on Deya being there too. On the other hand, when it was just me and Theresa in my room and Beth came by, she looked uncomfortable about the situation and left us alone.

Of course, being chaparoned by Deya does have its benefits. It has a way of keeping me from waking up the next day in an embarrassing situation.

I notice that the drunk I get from tequila is rather different from other kinds of drunk; it always energizes me and makes me feel clearheaded, at least for a time.

In actuality, I wasn't really very drunk by this point. I'm especially wary of tequila, and have become skilled at controlling my intake. I can manage a persistent powerful buzz that does all the good things (lower my inhibitions, make boring things seem more interesting, make depressing realities seem trivial) without having the bad things (being aggressively sexual, going into blackout, losing control of my behavior, losing my ability to speak clearly or articulate concepts). I notice that the drunk I get from tequila is rather different from other kinds of drunk; it always energizes me and makes me feel clearheaded, at least for a time.

Judging from her poise and relative reserve, it seemed Theresa wasn't particularly drunk. But as usual, she was fiending for marijuana. Since I still had some, I offered it to her. Between her, Beth and myself, we managed to smoke it all.

For some unknown reason, I went with Theresa, Aaron, Beth, perhaps Deya to Aaron and Angela's place. We were only there a little while.

When we returned to Kappa Mutha Fucka, Matthew was moving around a bit more. But he was inarticulate and could barely stand on his own two feet. Several times he slid down the stairs or into the big green living room recycling bin, face first and somewhat limp, like a seal.

But with her running her fingers through my hair, it just wasn't convincing.

Eventually I stretched out on the couch and gradually went to sleep. But I could still sense some of the things happening around me, some of which were described to me in more detail the next day. It seems that while I lay there asleep or nearly so, Deya sat next to my head, running her fingers through my hair. Meanwhile on Deya's other side sat Aaron. He flirted with her, telling her she was beautiful. And she flirted back, in a weak way. But with her running her fingers through my hair, it just wasn't convincing. Aaron even asked her at one point why she was even bothering with me.

---

Get a sense of what I was like exactly eight years ago today.

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