| dewy decimal |
2003-04-09 - 11:17 p.m.
saliva exchanged.
i am an impossible dork.
we went to michael, brian and robb's house which was per ambient. i was suprised to see that their taste, which although was fairly tasteful, did also have traces of sophistication. mainly their bathrooms 70's looking photo and the shaft soundtrack threw me off. that's a good thing.
brian offerend to smoke me out so of course i had to accept. took three bong rips and i was sooooo ritas. normally i can smoke embarassing amounts of weed, but because i didn't really know anyone and no one else smoked, i felt tremendously estranged. my whole body began to pucker. i would go off on some irrelevant tangent and then forget mid-sentence exactly what i was talking about. the fact that they were watching the sundance channel to acid jazz made my character increasingly uneasy. ganja be crip yo.
then they cooked some large, insipid, shelled pasta that by second bite I had no desire to finish. but all i could think was "oh my god, i it rude? for me not to finish the meal? they all finished theirs. they're gonna think i'm anorexic. i better eat this. no i won't. i can't. BUT I HAVE TO. they're all looking at my pink socks!" neurotic tics jumped through my legs and their large dog struck me as being way too large for the house.
well? in retrospect, it was probably all in my mind, but at the time i felt so inferior. i was a third world peasant in a mechanical expo. never again will i smoke with strangers alone.
"her name was panic!"
thank god for vanessa, she called me at the perfect time.