Conspiracy of One: The Longest Day, Sponsored by Jordan McIntyre™

I wake up this morning feeling like a used tampon. Considering what I think a used a tampon should feel like, this is not particularly a great state of affairs for me. I had gone almost two days without sleep, so when I finally rest, it feels strange and foreign. These strange events that seem to consume my soul enable me to spin yarns and reminisce about weeks of triumph and years of turmoil.

But this is about two days of clusterfuck for the man who has everything.

Thursday, I had class. Class ran late. An acquaintance had a going away shindig at a dance club, so I attended after my session on the classroom. It took me an hour to get in the club, and once I got in, I barely danced. A girl I strongly considered was there, and I barely spoke two words to her. This is great, damn it: a situation where I could not dominate because my will would not allow it. Every now and again, it’s good for me to be broken down to human levels; it makes my ascent to godhood that much more thrilling. I still wear fragments of the straight edge mark as a reminder of my failure. Or so I thought after heading the wrong way on the I-5 freeway towards San Diego. Once I get back to Hawthorne, I can sleep and plot, so I may be god when school starts again. Two in the morning, and I’m done, except for something I said I’d do, which I’d never agree to if I was sane…

Jordan had orientation at UCLA in three hours. I tried to get some sleep, but I elected against it. I ignored my alarm, thinking I could potentially get out of going. Unfortunately, he called me shortly thereafter, which basically would make me look like a bitch if I did not go. So, I took a hurried washing, and left for Los Angeles. Met him at his house, and he drove us to Westwood.

For the longest fucking orientation I’ve had the (dis)pleasure of sitting through.

UCLA is a big campus with buildings named after many people that I’ve studied. By comparison, Long Beach also has its own zip code, but it doesn’t have 100 NCAA titles. Westwood/UCLA are synonymous; the area is nice, clean, and reeks of money. In Long Beach, you have a pretty good idea where CSULB stops and Long Beach begins, because you start clutching your wallet. It left me feeling a bit jaded about my current schooling, because few schools have that sort of magnitude. However, the situation is decidedly not me, which I realized after a short reality check when seeing the Adidas apparel. Yes, I’m a Nike man, and a dearth of Nike is a turnoff. But I’m thrilled for Jordan, but pissed because his business lengthened my trials by a good twelve hours. The campus is sparse, and we could barely read the damn map. The jersey I decided to wear supportingly was burning me; wool/flannel does not bode well for hot sunny days. I sat through all of his meetings, which was funny, since I didn’t exactly have a voice in the matters as I was not a True Bruin. However, I’m sure the people I met will remember me when I commandeer Jordan’s room/identity in a month. As a matter of fact, they should buy me food because I enrolled them in their classes. How the hell can you be accepted to UCLA and not know how to use their system? Pathetic. More importantly, why was I proficient using their system? The world may never know…

After the ungodly amount of time there (class registration was at 8PM), we decided to slum it around Westwood. However, like the rest of our day earlier, we got lost. I decided to entertain us by yelling out random slurs and catcalls out the window. When I’m not driving, I could turn it loose. A good thirty minutes after leaving the school, we finally made it back to Westwood and proceeded to look for a Chipotle. Didn’t find one, so we settled for In-N-Out. By the time we made it there, we were in a daze: tired, broken, and bruised. More importantly, we survived. He’s officially a Bruin, and I’m officially a dick. Not too much has changed. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Onyx “Last Dayz”

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