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”

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