***ATTENTION ATTENTION***FREE FOOD FREE FOOD***

This Saturday at 1 p.m. my parents are throwing me a graduation barbecue at Adams Park. Adams is that one directly across the street from my block, right behind the fire station. There will be free food, mostly meat products, but we'll accomodate my veggie friends, too. There might even be free beer, although my mom is reluctant to break the law. Apparently Austin has a no beer in the park statute. I mean, it's not like the bums don't kill forties every night out there or there isn't a game of kegball every other weekend, but, hey, that's my moms.

Come and go as you please, I'm not sure how long we'll be out there. If you could, please try to let me know if you're planning on coming (or even just considering it) so we have an idea of how much food to make. We'll hopefully be able to get a game of ball together or maybe take some batting practice with tennis balls. You'll also have a chance to meet some of the strange byproducts of the genes from which I orginated. Should be fun.


The boom and bust cycle
If my life were, say, an economy, then the last week has been more than a little bearish. Much like our country's economy, while every other measure seems out of whack, one indicator reached record levels for this quarter: productivity. And again, to keep this metaphor running until it pukes, this sharp increase in productivity seems like more of an aberration than an indication of more actual work getting done. Fresh off the heels of what was, while maybe not the worst week imaginable — hell, some of my friends have gone through worse in the same stretch of time — it was undoubtedly one of the most disappointing. The only ray of light: Mia Carter gave me an A+ on my term paper. Mia is not known for doling out pluses, or even As, with much abandon. So, if you will allow me this indulgence, I'm going to brag about this for a bit, because what comes after will do more than enough to knock me off any pedestal I might build.

I was a little unsure of this paper when I turned it. I'd fallen asleep in the middle of writing it at about 6 a.m. After sleeping through class the day it was due, I had to rush frantically to finish it at the Texan that afternoon, before sitting down to write my 1200-word -30- column (my Daily Texan sendoff column). It was quite a day. So I got the A+ back today, and it felt great to know that I'd really earned it. Highest praise, though, came in her feedback.

I wrote my paper on the Woolf's concept of identity and its role in shaping her aesthetic vision, using her essays and nonfiction as illustration. At the center of my paper was an essay called "A Sketch of the Past." Mia included it in our course packet but didn't assign it. In the closing comments on my paper, she said that I had convinced her to include the essay, along with a few others similar to my source material, in the required reading for next semester. That, I thought, spoke more to the effectiveness of my paper than any letter grade, and it was by far the highlight of the last 10 days for me.

She also said twice that I wrote very confidently. I'm not sure exactly what constitutes a confident tone, but I like the sound of it.

Okay, now that I've gotten past all the shit you guys don't care about, on to what you actually want to hear.

This weekend...boy, this weekend. So Lilly and I hosted what was supposed to be a small get-together for people from the Texan. It unintentionally morphed into a party when one of the staffers offered to buy a keg, but then it didn't work out so hot when a bunch of people who'd expressed interest in coming failed to show. So I called up a couple people, and the girls from upstairs came down, and we did our best to polish off the keg while the staffers semi-grumpily sat outside.

Man, this is a long story...okay, eventually me, Grady, my friends, Lilly, and the girls upstairs end up in my living room getting, well, freaky on the dance floor. A few days ago, Lilly had asked me what it's like to go to a strip club and get a lap dance, and I'd explained the facts but failed to convey the essence. So with things bumping, Lilly asks me to demonstrate. I sit her down on the goldenchair in our living room, since it has the necessary sturdy armrests, and show her all the moves the fine, one-named ladies of The Club have bestowed upon me over the years: the butt-rub, the booby-on-the-lip tease, the sweet, hot nothings in the ear, and best of all, the face-in-the-customer's-crotch hair toss. (Unfortunately, I had to omit the hummer.) Grady's got some video of the performance; I'm sure he'll have it up soon. Anyways, this set off a whole series of lap dances, and more grinding, and eventually Lilly even asks me to change into the Africa pants. (If you're unfamiliar, I can't explain. I'll post a picture later.)

Okay, so the stage is set. This stuff continues for a while, with one of the girls upstairs (one of the "I can't" girls) being her normal flirty self. I don't think much of this until I found out she broke up with her boyfriend about a month ago. Now, that whole month-ago clause should've clued me in, considering she didn't mention it to me. But I was drunk. So, at some point late in the evening, I come into the living room and see her sitting in the goldenchair. I squeeze in next to her and, basically, proposition her for some nicmo. She declines. The details aren't important. The exchange eventually results in me sitting alone in the goldenchair with my head in my hands, drunk and down on myself, what with the whole non-date last weekend and a little more rejection this weekend. My friend Amanda is sitting in the chair next to mine, while everyone else has left the room. And this is where shit gets fucking crazy/stupid/embarrassing.

Here's the story as Amanda recounted it to me later, although I didn't remember any of this, drunk as I was. She was sitting there talking to me about what had just happened, when in walks a friend of the girls upstairs who'd been dancing with us earlier, but with whom I'd interacted very little. Apparently, she came in and saw me sitting there, and said something to the effect of, "We need to cheer you up." So she starts giving me a lap dance. Here's the part I don't remember, but eventually it ends up being her sitting down in the chair, me in her lap, and my friend Amanda "dancing" in front of me (the whole gyrating and mild dry humping from comments on the previous post). Then they switch positions. Then Lilly walks in and sees us and says, "Oh my God, you're having a threesome!" or something like that. Then this not-so-attractive, rather slutty mystery woman says something about how her boyfriend won't care. "Boyfriend? What the fuck?" I think. Then this chick tells Lilly in no uncertain terms to get the fuck out of the room. Lilly comes back in a few minutes later with the Texan's managing editor to get another witness. He looks at me, and I just shrug, because I still have no idea how I got into this situation. Lilly says something like, "Take it into the bedroom," and the slutty girl whipsers in my ear, "I'm game." Then she asks Amanda if she's ever been with a woman. Those events may or may not be in the correct chronological order, but that's the gist of things.

Finally, at some point, Amanda gets up to go to the bathroom, and the other girl grabs me and starts making out with me. Next thing I know, all three of us are standing in the kitchen, waiting to see if Amanda is coming with us into the bedroom. She smartly refuses. So this girl drags me into the bedroom, and, well, takes what she wants. And since, in hindsight, anything was too much, let's just say I regret everything that happened. It felt really dirty. Blech. Anyways, after she's done with me, she gets up, leaves, and apparently, so I was told later, starts chatting with some Texan folk outside before going to get Starseed's with them. Now that's fucked up.

I wash up a little and stumble out of my room, still wearing my Africa pants, mind you, and go to turn off the music. I find Amanda still in the living room, since she has nowhere to sleep because Grady's passed out on the couch and she's too drunk to drive. So, gentleman that I'm obviously not, I offer to let her share my bed with me. And after some drunk talk — including me asking Amanda in a pleading voice, "Why did you leave me alone with that girl? — we spend the rest of the night making out. And, yes, I was still wearing the Africa pants.

Consider yourself lucky to have gotten this much. I probably wouldn't have said a word if Lilly hadn't spilled the beans.

***Warning: Now entering diary mode*** Really, the whole thing is just embarrassing. It also kind of made me feel like shit. I'm tired of my life going through these cycles. It's always three to six months of being comfortably single, followed by a minor letdown at the hands of some girl, which then leads to me getting rip-roaring drunk a week or two later and either trying to coddle up to a friend or not being able to say no to an agressive girl (or both). After all that, I spend a day or two bemoaning my lack of self-control, especially while drunk, and thinking less of myself because I let girls walk all over me. A few days later, I'm back to normal, and the whole process begins anew.

I think I need to change my mindset. About a year and a half ago, I briefly dated a girl with whom things didn't work out. The split was amicable, but I still wondered about it for a while. Eventually, I convinced myself that I'd come on too strong, shifted into comfortable relationship mode too early and too easily. My solution was to tell myself that I no longer wanted anything serious, that I just wanted to date around and see what's out there. That mindset led me to pursue all kinds of girls who I basically just wanted to make out with. Really, though, I think I need to admit that I want something more than that. Accordingly, I'll hopefully only pursue girls who I think have legitimate long-term potential. I'd really like to have a relationship that lasts more than three months.

All that being said, today I found myself trying to figure out a way to hit on the apartment locator who was showing me around. It's so easy for girls. It's not fair. All this girl had to do was put on a little skirt, a tight shirt, and heels and talk about how much she loved Half-Price Books, and I was like, damn, this chick's at least 60 percent hotter than I remember. I'm such a damn pushover.

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You know, I kept jokingly telling my friends all last week that it couldn't get any worse, and then I kept doing things to make it worse. On Saturday there was the party. Sunday there was the hangover. Monday I read the latest Atlantic all day, so that wasn't so bad, albeit I find all politics very disheartening these days. Then, Tuesday. First, I realized that I'd forgotten to pick up my tickets for the Plan II graduation. Went by the office, and they were OUT. Completely out. I flipped out. Luckily, I managed to scrounge up two, and it turns out my family only needs three anyways. (I thought we needed all eight.) So if any of you have a single extra ticket, please let me know, so my brother can watch me walk. Also on Tuesday, I tried really hard to lose my cell phone by leaving it in a pair of shorts I was trying on at American Eagle. I had to comb through the racks to find the pair about 15 minutes after we left. Then, then! I fucking forget to pick Danny up at the airport even though he'd just called me like three hours earlier to remind me of his arrival time. Good lord.

You know, if my college life is ever turned into a movie, it should be based on these last nine days. I mean, they've been almost perfectly emblematic. From basketball injuries, to girls with boyfriends, to pulling a Drunken Matty, to all-nighters during finals, to moments of outstanding academic success offset by complete underachievement in other classes, to my absent-minded-professor routine — they've had it all. Fortunately, that includes a lot of good times with my friends. I'll end this overdue update with a paean to them, since they've made it all bearable.