Red Bull and Vodka

School is over for the spring, and I’m embarking on preparations for summer session. The cards fell into play as I predicted, and I’m morose over what could have been, what should have been, and what probably wasn’t. I’m starting to forgive myself for what happened, with the goal of never repeating my actions. Respect is earned, fear is demanded.

I do enjoy the successes that were afforded to me, and there are more than I’d care to admit. I pulled out two A’s that should never have been possible with the way I pissed off the earlier part of the year. I solidly proved to myself that I could have done better if I had just applied the effort…and didn’t work and tutor. The first course was online and was a fallback option once I decided to pursue Brienna…who will not speak to me. I started slowly, yet I ended the course dictating my will while everyone else followed. The teacher lauded my perseverance, yet I remain unbowed because I’m secure in what I can do if I feel like it. Feeling like it is a problem, because I know what I want, yet I’m not doing anything towards my goal. I don’t really need to graduate, or go to grad school, or anything like that; I want a girl. That’s all I need to smile again…but back to gloating.

I take pride in putting on a show; the stage is where I feel most comfortable, because people will have no choice but to feel my ambition and desire. Sure enough, I cemented my legacy as the greatest team captain in history by leading my last two squads to first place in separate courses. I do not like the fact that I feel like I have to take over in order to succeed, but I’m no fool, either. Line up, I’ll get behind center, follow my cadence, and don’t screw up. That was easier done than said once the charisma started flowing, leading me to a flawless performance in the latter part of the class. My victory roar was resounding; the teacher stopped the final exam for five minutes to allow students to collect themselves. Before I finished, I said “I love you, and I’m going to scream.” Sure enough, I did both, and everyone now understands that I will not back down from a small challenge…like the Denver Nuggets. ZING!

The other course was my only lost cause for the semester, but I received great acclaim from my teammates who did not know me. I was immediately dubbed “Mr. Charismatic” when introductions commenced. I did not want the nickname, but since it was there, I took over, and I…well, I basically let the class know that I commanded the smartest team, and I happened to be the brightest. How many people can use the term “silly goose” in an academic setting and not receive chiding? Not many, I’d wager. I’m no longer committed to excellence as much as I’m committed to dooming those around me to everlasting mediocrity. The glory is not in winning; it’s about making competition feel like they are anything but…competition.

I have friends now, which is a new feeling. We party every Monday and Thursday night, showing me a life I’ve dreamt about for years. Dancing, dressing, drinking, and now, drowsiness. I understand this is bankrupting me in a couple of ways, but I’m not sure I care. After going to Taboo (a gentlemen’s club!) last week, I’m not sure if I believed in what I did earlier. Doling out money for physical attention was not nearly as bad as I thought it was; it was redeeming. I shelled out enough green to make my head spin (and kick myself a week or so later), but it felt good. It felt great. Did the women want me? Yes and no. Yes, they wanted me for my money, and no, they did not want me for my mind. When I’m filthy rich after working for the tobacco industry, I’ll have little to feel and muse about love. Brienna isn’t an option, Nena is probably not an option, and Kat (new girl who helped make my performance that much more awesome) just took herself out the running. Do I continue to be a good guy and keep being pissed off? It would not be completely bad, as the bitterness gave me a reason to fight. However, it’s easy being sleazy; it’s easier indiscriminately targeting cougars on the dance floor who thing the young black kid is a great dancer. Or who knows? There’s dancing again Thursday, and partying Friday. I could very well have a smile on my face. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Eminem “Underground”

Royal Flush

A horrible nickname for a kid is Deuce. A nickname that is a synonym for turd would be exploited mercilessly by a devilish miscreant. Well, I happen to fall under that category, and told the accursed person to have a nice flush during the summer. Half of the population understood, half did not…all’s fair in love for war.

I’m now 21, and have started to engage in the consumption of alcohol. I must say, I’m more childish than I originally thought, because each time, I had the urge to ask for a refund and buy a milkshake. However, it is a blast having my inhibitions quarantined long enough to pull off a few tricks previously considered theoretical.

I talked to Nena Wednesday, and everything is everything. She was single when we kissed, but subsequently met another guy on the floor. I’m convinced he won her over with a simple basic step, because that would be the story of my life thus far. Heh, I can pull off a double hammerlock with the greatest of ease, yet lose to a guy doing “quick-quick-slow” to a cha-cha song. When I first saw her, she through me off my rhythm enough that I nearly dropped the girl I was dancing with. Unlike Braylon Edwards, I do not have a case of the dropsies, so I had to come to terms with the fact that my chi was imbalanced. However, dancing with her again made me feel whole, especially considering I have a great new basic step; a kinky, dirty, filthy basic step. Go me.

Girl-with-dead-boyfriend is for all intents…dead. I get that we burned out too quickly, but shit, the possibilities. It’s always the possibilities one considers when the grenade blows up. I am not as terribly crushed as I was originally, but I do like analyzing it to see if I can rewrite history. I’d love to rewrite the past and all, because it would probably leave me with SuperAIDS. In the sick world I live in, having an STD means you did something right. Carpal tunnel, on the other hand…

This semester will most likely be considered a failure on my behalf, but it is more successful than anyone else could have hoped for in light of the hell I put myself through. Grad school will still be calling; I have the gift of gab when it comes to using a pen, so someone will say “hey, this guy has some dangerous talent that we can exploit when he chooses a discipline!”

As to how I celebrated my birthday, I had a beer at Salsa Club, since it was my actual birthday. The next night, I bought another drink while at The Reef. Again, it felt good flashing my identification and purchasing an alcoholic beverage that did not taste well. The real celebration occurred Monday: my unveiling at Sachi. My mentor and rival Matt had his birthday last week as well, so we decided to tear up the floor as a team. Before this could happen, a samba performer took the stage and used me as a volunteer. The video on Youtube still cracks me up. Afterwards, the birthday dance…two guys, two circles, one dance floor. I literally destroyed my allotted fifteen girls, and it was great. I haven’t slept since Monday because I keep replaying the home stretch of the birthday dance…I literally shifted into terminal gear. I inhaled deeply, because the trifecta was in place: Big Match Feel, Main Event Style, and my personal favorite, End Game. It was my first time there, so it had the BMF. Since I was there to entertain in front of an alien crowd, I had to resort to MES. Lastly, the song was coming to a close, so naturally, my End Game sequence began, and it devastated the crowd. They were speechless. Somebody call the Governor…BECAUSE I HAVE ARRIVED!

A couple of quick notes: I dominated my American Speakers course by channeling Chris Jericho’s spirit into my being. I scared the fuck out of my class with my insistence on being apocalyptic. I did my job admirably, and I’m sure my group blew away all other presentations since my teammates fed off my charisma and drive. As far as work is concerned, I’m looking for a new job…I want out. The environment is starting to kill me. Besides, I was elected Salsa Club Treasurer and crowned Social Dance Chairman. I’ll need some time next school year to devise a successor to my offense, or work out the kinks. Now…to move back home for the summer, yet commute to campus everyday for coursework. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Eminem “We Made You”

Shortly Before 21

Well, I was planning on a monumental entry that would be comprised of selective thoughts over the last year. Realistically, not going to happen. I end my 20th year on the planet as I intended: working hard, sweating over things I could probably still change, and with a bottle of cider chilling. No girlfriend, no rest, no surrender, no retreat. Now, two term papers and an invitation to drink. Twenty-one years…in forty-five minutes. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Estelle “American Boy”