Happy Juice.

Maybe it's the composition of my body and how it reacts to the un-sobering elements, but I don't find drinking to be that enthralling. I assume since it brings out the inner most thoughts and feelings - like that of a truth serum, only tastier - that the night will only carry how you are truly feeling. And if you are feeling grumpy because the party is filled with failure, drinking probably won't make it that much better. Maybe for me anyway.

I am not a fan of the generic party set up: drinking, stupid people with nothing but standing around sipping syrup. But I decided that I'd once partake in an event, just out of curiousness and the fact that I would be staying the night. I wish I hadn't.

First of all, bros were invited. Not the cool guy bros. Oh, I wasn't fortunate to have those attend. What I got instead was the party hopping, worthless flesh bags that populate every bad party. Lucky me, I got two of them at this party. Unlucky them, they talked shit about my friend and I. We will get back to that later.

The second piece of this torrid night came from one of my friends' continuous stream of downing alcohol. His tolerance was low for this night, and thus later lead to puking. More on that later.

Third was the lack of vagina. Anyone knows that parties are ten times better when there is a larger girl to guy ratio. This one was a sausage sword fighting festival that I didn't want participate in.

Fourth came from my overall attitude towards that entire day. A week of being sick, unhappy, and generally a grumpy man simply does not make for an all around good mood. Continuous chains of events that transpired didn't help that at all.

A good portion of the motivation to attend this party came from the prospect of my band playing. Our very first show. Canceled. Which was fine at first, but as that night grew regret since the party was mostly dull and that could have given spice. Speaking of music, that was crap. The musical jam derailed from awesome music to tunes that only a drunk girl could sing horribly to and still enjoy herself. The music list created was soon changed to something horrifying and ear raping. I stayed away from this area because of this.

My first drinks were something of rum and apple cider. Apparently from that and a few other things I drank, people believed me drunk. I wasn't. Buzzed is a more appropriate, but not 100% accurate word. I was coherent, but since the others were drunk they thought I was just as well off as they were. And drink they did. At least most of them. Nothing else beyond dancing randomly occurred. This was not fun. Nothing happened. Just people drinking a substance.

Around the middle of my night, my friend barfed. Woofed. You know. Contents resembled something of cat puke lay in odd proportions on the floor and couch. Rose, the owner of the fine household, did nothing to clean up the mess and instead thought it better to complain to the party-goers as they did the same. Fitting in is tough work. At one point, she looked at me and asked if had cleaned it up. I snapped at her and walked away. Eventually, a man so wasted he was not to be disgusted conquered the ejected substance happily. He asked for an inspection, which I gave.

He did good.

The night wandered and slowly ticked by, with more people coming in, and the drinking continuing. And more and more people getting obnoxious. Being already irritated at the lack of things to do and the sense lost of the people around me didn't contribute to the good pile. But the night wasn't without good people. Gretchen and I discussed various things as guys creeped on her all night as usual. My friend Erin was decidedly the funniest drunk there: never even approaching the border of annoyance, but gracefully talking in a hilarious, drunken stupor. And before my friend Mike let loose his lunch, he and I bonded.

The night finally ended with a 2 hour long cry fest and Rose throwing up in the toilet, throwing out random compliments. Please, someone inform me how this is suppose to be fun.

Of course, the next day I had a headache. Not from the contents of what I drank, but more of the fact that I'd only gotten 3-4 hours of sleep. Wow, so much fun. That scene can burn for all it's worth.

Money money.

Money is such an easy thing to spend. In the course of a few days, I've deteriorated my paycheck to almost nothing. I am curious to see how I will survive for the upcoming days on limited funds of about nothing. Scratch that, I wish I could be curious about something else. Like how I got all this money. Or how I will spend this large amount of money. Not the same conditions.

I've spotted Where The Wild Things are twice, and the movie was just as good the first time down. I'd venture to state that the movie is not a kids movie, with such obvious, morbid tones being delivered. Such things are wasted on children, and I'm certain more could have been done with the movie had it been PG-13. Maybe I'm looking too far into a simple movie, but coming out of the theater made it seem like I wasn't alone. Both friends I went with felt the same, as did other people in the theater.

Despite those few who said it sucked and contain no good taste in movies. We are allowed to ignore such useless and baseless babbling.

And I think that recently, I find myself not wanting to go to parties that much. The generic, let's-stand-around-and-drink-and-not-dance-and-have-fun-type of parties that people host just to get smashed and say they did kind. The kind that get busted eventually and you have to time your leave just right.

I brought along two cohorts, one that didn't want to go originally, and one that didn't want to go when he found out the mythical beast Bigfoot would be attending as well. I carried a sound reasoning. A plan, if you will, that sadly never blossomed into fruition.

So the night was peppered with one friend standing against the wall, unhappy but extremely tolerate with the amount of drunk men draping themselves over her, my other friend getting advances from what I thought was a sloth (it was a costume party, but the fur was so real...), and me only able to dance for a short period before people gave the look of disapproval. No fun allowed. Finally, we left, and finally, the cops were called.

Days are counting down till halloween, and pumpkin hill doesn't seem to be ready for me.

"Frank", and his short lived return.

Oh, "Frank". Your stalking ways have moved far past the realm of humor and enchantment, and now warped into full on creepy. Apparently, Frank decided to approach Gretchen with the intent of either apologize or rape. Who knows. Regardless, she escaped into the bathroom unharmed while blabbered on and on about how her boyfriend is keen to beating those calling him Johnny Boy. Still, he approached her, and I warned him previously that it wasn't such a good idea. Unless he enjoyed a painful existence.

When I was walking into the lunch room, Frank was, by some twisted fate, beside me but hadn't noticed. Infront of us was Gretchen and Johnny. He stared at them, and I at him. I passed him, and he took this as an excuse to talk to me, since we somehow become great friends in the span of a few days. Lack of any talking does that.

He told me that he wanted to just be there for me, he even asked for a hug. How thoughtful! I decided to be thoughtful to, but this was more for Gretchen's sake. I pulled him aside, and his nervous smile immediately left.

I warned him that if he ever agitated Gretchen in any way shape or form, I'd tear off his skin and drape layers of salt over every orifice of his body. Of course, the obligatory "I'll kill you" came into play, but I think he got the general idea.

With that, I walked away, and he stood there with an emotionless face. The few times he walked back in the lunchroom all I've had to do was look in the general direction, and he'd dodge those stares like he was jumping away from bullets.

Welcome to community college/high school. Fun times.

Oh, where I could have been.

Right now, I'm sitting at borders, waiting for Ryan Hill and maybe some others. This is nice and all, but not of my original plan. Instead, Ryan Hill and I were to attend Ryan Murphy's concert today, with Jessica being the ride giver as punishment for skipping plans the day before.

Ah, no. Reality is that I am not joining my friend and dancing like an idiot, and now am faced with no clue of what I can do today. I usually thrive in this area, but I'm just not in the mood for it. At least not since Jessica called and told me that she had once again forgot about previous happenings interrupting our hanging out. I feel that it's a small annoyance, but it's also an annoyance at the end of the day. I've never really been a fan of having plans canceled near the time of arrival.

Lately, the weather is getting everyone down, probably contributing to theirs and mine mood. Dreary weather that I thought once suspicious is now depressing.

At least snow, that way it will be beautiful.