Speak of bone-headed, I found out moments ago that there's a bachelor party on tap for tommorrow night and I was invited a week ago, but I didn't notice it. It makes me wonder if I'm about to miss the wedding too. Someone needs to pay more attention. And then, someone else needs to send real emails and not messages to a website I hardly visit.
What else would I be doing tomorrow night that'd keep me from some rowdy, drunken fun? Nothing really except an aversion to driving. That'll probably pass tomorrow but in the meantime, that's my biggest obstacle.
And I've been invited to a party at the lake with my family and friends. For a while, it was my social life. The party's at Aunt Candy's. There was alcohol, yes, but more importantly, there was karaoke and most importantly, good people.
I stood out like a nun at a sex convention. And where, oh where is that sex convention when you need it? These questions and more when you read further.
Not being able to sleep even though my body was dead tired and my brain was just dead. That sucked so I sat here at the computer playing word games. I'm hooked to Word Mojo, if I haven't mentioned it before. It's free crack available on Yahoo.
And all I could think about was how angry my social life is making me lately. It doesn't seem that I'm getting it right sometimes. No, there aren't any conflicts or what have you. Just me hustling from one end to the other. Trying hard to be a good guy and cover my bases whereas people are concerned. Because as I've said before I just want to be loved. Well, the other end of it is that I'm making bad decisions and being caught wanting to do more for people who won't let me.
Of these bad decisions, one was going down to Liz Reed's to say goodbye to Big Round/Skateboard Thunder. I was, again I say, dog tired. That would have been one excuse, but I just had to get down there and give him my regards as well as a portrait I did of him. It was good to see him but I was unhappy because I was worn out. Then a gunman walked by, freaked people out, drew the police. It wasn't a brandished gun, waved or used in a threatening way. It was just present in someone's hand as they walked by. Theory being he was the fella that shot Mr. Virus.
Naturally, I was concerned and yes, I want that person to own up to their crime. However, the fact was that I was then trapped in the bar way longer than I planned to be. I sat at the counter thinking about being shot in the back of the head, feeling in slow motion my skull split and things dispersed before my life went black. It was odd. And still, all I wanted was to go home.
I did, I got to sleep finally. I didn't get up until a quarter to three in the afternoon. Still, Moms and I went to see Spiderman 2. This was a conscious decision on my part -- not, I emphasize, because I had no other options.
Two years ago about this time, I was stuck in Macon. On the way down from Nashville to Athens for the wedding of one of my closest friends, I blew up the S-10. So I was stranded while work was being done on it. I had a chance to see my old love for the first time since the breakup and that helped, broken hearts were healing. It was on that trip that I made the decision to come back to Macon.
In the meantime, Moms offered to take me to see Spiderman. All my old friends were gone and I hadn't been around long enough to make new ones. It was especially nice because she preferanced it by showing she'd been listening to me, "Sam Raimi directed it, right?" It was cool.
So, on a sort of anniversary, it seemed fitting to drag Moms down there with me. We had a good time too, though the theatre was freezing. Afterwards, we got a drink and she expressed her confusion about some of the finer points in the film.
And as far as reviews go, let me say I enjoyed the hell out of it. It pulled at my inner superhero-masquerading-as-a-normal-guy. Most impressive was how it connected with the torment I feel when I know I've let my family down. In one scene (and I'm not revealing anything special here), Peter Parker and Aunt May were at a bank when Doc Ock bursts in stealing shit. Havoc is busy being reeked when Peter turns and runs (in Aunt May's eyes) like a yellow-belly. Spiderman emerges and saves the day. Of course, Peter can't tell Aunt May he was really a hero. No, he had to remain in the doghouse lookin' like a puss in his beloved aunt's eyes.
Conflicting literary devices: doghouse and puss.
Tomorrow holds many pleasures and if you're lucky I'll share them. If not, then I'll oversleep and miss it all. So, on that note, I'm leaving. And if you're reading these things, will you please comment. Just say 'Hi'. Something because I like knowing people care.
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