I Hate Fuckin Brick Street

I Hate Fuckin Brick Street

I hate fuckin Brick Street. If any of you out there are really my friends, you won't make me go back there again. Like next time I'm at a party and somebody says "let's go to Brick Street," I'm just gonna go jogging or something. Something healthy. First of all, don't ever anyone try to defend going there by saying "I want to go dancing." Because that's not dancing. I've seen dancing and that's not it. That is holding a bottle of beer and spinning around. And those are just the classy people. The majority of the "dancers" there do what is closer to an erect form of lap dance (yes, I'm aware of the double meaning). It's not dancing. It's a mating ritual. And I can't stand guys that do this gay ass dance probably started by a movie with Vince Vaughn and/or Will Ferrell. The one where they grab their foot with one hand and the back of their head with the other and gyrate back and forth as if they're getting punched in the stomach and subsequently hit in the spine with a baseball bat over and over very quickly. This is probably closer to dancing than those girls who put their hands on their knees and move their booty around in concentric circles, but at least they give me something to look at. Does anybody out there see a guy do this dance and go "Sweet! That guy is cool!" Because I can't picture anybody I know who wouldn't want to hit the guy in the knee with a 4 iron. I just wanted to go up to this guy and just shove him. If it didn't knock him over and hurt him, at least he'd have to break form and stop doing that. There was this girl who was kind of attractive that I was thinking about going over to talk to since we shared the commonality of having friends out there who were "dancing" while we were sitting in booths wondering if we should just walk all the way home again or wait and hope that maybe somebody we know might leave soon and end this debacle. Then this guy comes over and does that retarded seizure dance and actually starts talking to the girl. And then they started making out. God, I hope he knew her because if that shit worked, I'm packing and leaving this stupid town tomorrow cause I don't have a shot. I mean I can do the seizure shuffle (this is the dance's new name), but I will never stoop to those tactics. I have too much pride in whatever actual ability I have to dance. So in case you have never been there, Brick Street is one straight up grindfest. And normally I'm too annoyed, sober or outnumbered to spin my game while there. I think I actually may be passed the days where going to clubs and grinding on college girls is the thing for me to do. Or maybe I'm passed the days where they'll let me. Either way, I think I'm passed the days. If you just look at the crowd from the upper level, it's like one organism. One giant horny organism. And I liken the chicks that go there to bees. They go from flower to flower, never satisfied with just one, until they get drunk enough to let the flower they pass out in to take her home and play with her stinger (too far?). Next time I go there (in case I don't have running shoes with me), I'm covering myself in pollen. I think that's my best shot. If nothing else, it will be something to remember the night by. Other than me walking home alone in the pouring rain writing this little diatribe in my head. Maybe the next day I'll run into some girl who will be like "Hey, you're that guy from Brick Street who covered himself in pollen, right? Cool." They say there's no such thing as bad publicity. I'll prove them wrong.

Where the hell was I? Ah, fuck it.

Quote of the Day 8/14/06

"Being single is like Bridge, no one knows how to play and old people are always giving you some skewed version based on what they think they remember."

-Sisfish (the real one)

Somebody call me if you want to go watch a movie Friday night. Or sit down and have an actual intelligent conversation.

Boycotting fun for a week,

Pollen Man.

Still Standing Right Here…

The Dangers of Day Camp

The Dangers of Day Camp

I got to work yesterday morning to find a loving note from my buddy Claire saying simply “sorry I broke your glasses.” I was touched. Especially when I had a very sincere conversation with her later that day in which she tenderly told me that her dad made her do it. But deep down, I know she didn’t really mean it. And so I was out at lunch with the kiddies again and Mikala called me over to witness their little sorority meeting. They were going through the rules of their sorority. “Rule number one – we don’t talk to Dustin. Rule number two – we REALLY don’t talk to Dustin. Rule number three – we REALLY REALLY don’t talk to Dustin. Rule number four…” By the seventh rule, I started to get the pattern. I decided standing there getting ridiculed by 10-year old girls wasn’t the best use of my time. And so I started playing with the boys. Their games were very straight forward. They were grabbing me by the feet and trying to make me drag them across the yard. I finally broke myself loose and inevitably it turned into a spirited game of Get Mr. Dustin. This is a game where I run away from the kids and they chase after me. I generally always lose this game one way or another. I can play Dante Hall in the yard and fend them off for a decent amount of time, but all it takes in one kid to catch up to me and weaken my defenses, and then the game changes from Get Mr. Dustin to A Young Adult’s Fight For His Life. This game comes with a warning that Mr. Dustin is not responsible for anyone injured as a result of me falling on them because of the hundreds of pounds of kids anchoring my balancing mechanisms and the other hundreds of pounds of them pushing my torso in different directions. Unfortunately, that warning encompasses myself also.

I have a friend named Erick who I don’t hear from very often, but when I do, he makes his presence known. He decided to chime in with his analogy amongst all of my recent attempts.

Quote of the Day 7/18/06

“Being single is like Texas Hold ‘Em. If you play like an idiot, you can confuse people into submission. Or lose all of your money. Or your pants.”

-Erick

If you think you can do better, chime on in.

Running into the sun but I’m running behind,

Extendo.


Still Standing Right Here…