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[[groovy musics: starlight mints, palace, bad "young country" at the work party (I kept asking D. "Is this country?")]]

1:44 p.m. // 22 September 2003

Friday night we saw a leetle greezly. Saturday night was a party out in the country at Jeff's place. Some five or seven miles north of town in the middle of nowhere. Out in the country we dance all night... the location made people do some strange things. The strangest of which was when Jeff's friend jumped off the roof and lay on the ground with stageblood spurting from his neck. A practical joke that had taken hours to play, but in the dark a lot of people got taken, a couple of digits toward 911 got punched on sweaty cellphones.

It was dark, I was far across the yard with most of rest of everyone, there was laughter that I didn't hear and a long silence and worried whispers. Someone said, "He's not moving," and someone said, "He's dying!" and started crying, and someone said, "Don't look," so I didn't look, and someone said, "Somebody call 911!" so I found the phone and got lost in a sub-menu before Tom told me it might be a joke.

I am maybe secretly too much like Adam Sandler's character in Punch Drunk Love and so when the joke unraveled I had to FUCKING BEAT SOMETHING UP. so I thrashed against the chicken coop and punched my hand into the storm shelter and kicked the storm shelter door's counterweight five times until it fell and tried to push the entire house over. Then I took off fuckin' RUNNING and found Christina who was about to leave the stupid party and we walked a mile or so in the dark to burn off all the anger and adrenaline.

Jeff thoroughly apologized when we got back but I still want to throw chairs when I think about the entire incident.

Dalton managed to find his way there thanks to my shoddy directions, but he fuckin' bolted when the drunken bathers came back from the stock tank because he was afraid they'd get shit all over him. They did not get cow shit all over everything, but they did bring back the remains of a dead cow. Mostly bones but a little bit of gristle that got ranker in the sunlight, so I am told.

Two dudes also swiped a pew from the next-door church.

All the drunk people played drunken injury-prone Red Rover in the yard while inside we had a brief Michael Jackson dance party followed by a screening of The Muppet Show, which kind of soothed nerves except for the Paul Simon episode, where I think he smiled twice and laughed none. "Fifty Ways to Love Your Lever."

3 or 4 a.m. me and Dwayne got outta there, leaving Josh in the easy chair asleep with a guitar in his arms and his face pressed against it.

So that was the weird party. Sunday night we went to my work's 100th anniversary party and played blackjack and roulette and ate shitty barbecue. Then Dwayne and I saw the Corn Mo Show.

I am not a vegetarian. I had beef souvlaki at International and a hamburger at Jeff's, and chicken and beef at the work party and a triangle of Dwayne's chicken quesadilla afterwards.

 

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