Well.

So, Elliot's engaged. (To someone who's not me, in case that wasn't clear.) Isn't that delightful?

Will she fit in the overhead bin?

Anyone have an Asian-in-a-suitcase fetish?

This is my dear friend, D (from work), stuffed into a large suitcase. I think she looks adorable.

Thank you, slow gas leak!

Since not that much is happening in my life that I can write about on this blog, I'll tell you about a charming story from the past I just remembered. I had gone to Oklahoma State University sometime during my freshman year to visit my dear friend Isabel. Actually, the reason I had gone to visit was to surprise my brother, since we didn't see each other that much. However, I called him on the way there and said, "Hey! I'm on my way to visit you for the weekend!" His response: "I'm driving to Enid to visit my girlfriend's parents. But the door's open if you want to stay in my apartment." Needless to say, I was disappointed, not only because I wanted to improve my failing relationship with my bro, but also because I would have to stay alone in the apartment with his creepy-ass roommate, Chris.

A quick aside about Chris. He was a very impressive and convincing speaker, but he always had a cold, slightly crazed look in his eye that I always associate with serial killers and Kiefer Sutherland. He actually looked a bit like Kiefer, come to think of it. He never ended up doing anything scary; we found out later that the crazed look in his eye belied his habit of compulsively lying about everything and anything in his life. He actually moved to OSU with my brother, got an apartment with him, got up every day to go to class, and spent time in his room and in the library studying, but my brother eventually found out that he wasn't even enrolled in school. He was just pretending to be a student. After he moved out, Brother of Muskrat went into Chris's room and finally took a look at all the "homework" he had been piling on his desk. It was some old math worksheets from high school that Chris had recycled, sitting in the living room next to my brother night after night, scribbling away.

This was the man I had to be alone in a dark, damp basement apartment with for three days. But I tried to stay cheerful as I went ahead and changed the purpose of the weekend to visiting Isabel.

At the time, Isabel had this kind of crazy boyfriend who was also named Chris. It was a big Chris weekend for me. Come to think of it, I'm fairly sure the two of them are still together--married, even. They had a fairly tempestuous relationship at the time. He would break up with her, and she would hurt hurself in some way in an attempt to get him back, which apparently worked most of the time. I heard one time she threw herself down the stairs in her dorm room after they had a fight. I suppose it all worked out in the end, so I should highly recommend the self-mutilation method of love. I hear they're very happy. Anyway, I called up Isabel and told her I was here to visit her, which surpised and delighted her, and she told me to come meet her new boyfriend and we'd all go out on the town in Stillwater and have a good time. I went to her dorm room and chatted for a while with Chris, who seemed nice enough but looked really strange in a metallic-looking button-down shirt that Isabel had made for him in one of her fashion design classes. It might have been appropriate attire for a rave, but it wasn't exactly the right costume for what I had planned.

I had recently invented a great game that I enjoyed introducing to new people: the $1 Wal-Mart contest. It works like so:

1. Each contestant must have a $1 bill.
2. Let each go his/her own way in Wal-Mart for a designated period of time (the shorter the better, say, 15 minutes or less).
3. Each contestant must buy something within the designated time limit with the dollar.
4. All contestants meet back in front of the store with their items. Latecomers are disqualifed, as are any who cannot prove with a receipt that their items cost less than or equal two one dollar.
5. A randomly selected, uninvolved customer is then invited to judge the contest as he/she is leaving the store. The judge must decide which of the purchased items is "the best." The judge's word is final, unless the contestants agree to ask a greater number of judges and take the majority opinion.
6. The winner recieves as his/her prize all the items purchased by the other contestants.

I told Chris and Isabel about the game, and Chris drove us to Wal-Mart with a strange glint in his eye. When we got there, I tried to get the three of us organized to begin the contest, but Chris just kept walking, so Isabel and I followed him, a little annoyed but curious. He seemed to have a clear purpose in mind, but he wouldn't answer any questions about what he was doing.

The first thing he picked up was a cucumber. He then proceeded to the hardware section, where he found a fifteen foot stretch of rope. After that, he circled back to the front of the store and snagged a box of lubricated condoms. Isabel and I were giggling madly; we had absolutely no idea what his plans were, but one way or another, we knew it would be funny. I was a little nervous, of course, despite my laughter. The three of us were all virgins (I think), so I didn't really suspect that he wanted the evening to turn into a bad porno, but you never know.

Soon enough, we discovered his evil plot. He walked past a bunch of cashiers until he found the line that he wanted in front of a young man who was apparently a good friend of his. Without saying a word about what he was buying, he greeted his friend, and plopped down the rope, condoms, and cucumber on the counter. The cashier looked first at Chris, then at the items in front of him, and finally at the two 19-year old girls standing behind Chris. He rang up everything in a silent stupor, obviously trying to figure out how to ask what was impossible to ask. I'll never forget looking back as we walked away and watching him stare at us all the way from the register to the front doors, a line of customers waiting impatiently, with a dazed look on his face that was part shock, part disbelief, and part incredible admiration. I wonder to this day what all debauchery he imagined about us for the rest of the night.

The story goes downhill after that, I'm afraid. Stillwater is an incredibly dull town, especially when you're not old enough to drink, and we tried to entertain ourselves by throwing pieces of the cucumber at things as we drove around. Finally, we went back to the dorms, determined to freak more people out with our items. The cucumber was gone, and we didn't know quite what to do with the condoms, but we still had the rope. Chris and I decided to tie up Isabel with the rope, gag her, and put her in the dorm elevator, hitting random buttons so that the doors would open at several different floors to reveal her to any students milling around late at night. The doors would open, Isabel would squeal and writhe around in her bonds, and the students would...stare. That's right, not one person tried to help her or asked her if she was alright. They all just looked at her with their mouths hanging open until the doors closed and the elevator moved to the next floor. People are great, aren't they?

Isabel was fine with the elevator, but when that started to bore us, we dragged her in front of random rooms, knocked on the doors, and ran away. She didn't like that very much at all, but by that point she was very securely tied and couldn't do much to stop us. Chris finally started to pity her, and after he untied her I decided I'd had enough fun for the evening.

I went back to my brother's apartment with trepidation, but I didn't end up seeing his roommate all weekend. I guess pretending to have a life can keep you pretty busy.

I wouldn't bother to read any of this if I were you.

Okay, I've now called Laura and left messages two times. No reply. The wise woman would give up, I suppose, but no one ever accused me of being wise.

I am so ridiculously happy. Of course I can't talk about why, since you can't talk about things on your blog that are actually occurring in your life because people you know actually read it. God damn it. Just know that things are much, much better lately, and I'm giddy and feeling really, really good for a change.

My foot doctor, "The Hub," will take out the terrifically painful pin in my right foot tomorrow. I can't wait for it to be gone; I can't wear anything except tennis shoes or I'm in excrutiating pain. I can actually feel the motherfucker sticking way up out of my skin. [Shudder]

Listening to a lot of AC/DC and Allman Brothers. The latter had a hit called "Whipping Post" that most people seem to have forgotten. I highly recommend downloading it--it truly is a work of art.

This is a really random assortment of thoughts. Oh, well.

Judith came to see me and M do open mic night, since we were singing two songs that Judith had introduced me to. She hated all of the people that I really love, and loved all of the people that I really hate, so I was sure that she was going to hate me and M, too, but she loved us. I think that means that if I were listening to myself in the audience, I would probably hate it...which sounds pretty accurate, actually.

Enough! Time for bed.

Blech.

I know I never update and when I do it sucks, but I'm not sure that's going to change anytime soon. The problem is, I really only have depressing things to talk about. One of my friends was sentenced to life in prison last week for a crime he didn't commit. I'm doing miserable temp work. Lorne's roommate OD'd on heroin and had to be taken to the hospital, which set off a giant argument between everyone who lives there about whether or not he should be allowed to stay. I feel disconnected from all of my friends because I work so much and am too tired in the evenings to have any fun. I'm just going through a rough time in my life and you probably don't want to hear about it. I'll be back when things improve (knock on wood). Until then, send some good thoughts my way.