"It's a young man's game, and it's about time I quit."

[zeroenthusiasm]

It's 3:45 in the morning on what is technically now Thursday. I was going to write earlier, but someone asked if I wanted to hang out, and since I have a strong stance against saying no to anything that is proposed that doesn't already happen regularly, I had to say yes. (Well, I didn't have to, but I want to avoid rejecting new plans as much as humanly possible.) Right now, I'm so mad that I'm actually experiencing some minor acid reflux. I don't even really want to write, but knowing how many days it's been since my last entry is only making me even more angry. Might as well solve the one problem I can actually solve, I guess. Plus, I got a thing in my Formspring asking when my next entry is going to be. Those anonymous comments really push me to keep writing, just so you people who read this know. You might not have names or faces, but your encouragement means the world to me.

Now.
Continued from last entry.
(Actually, some thoughts I had forgotten to include in the last part of the last entry due to wanting to get the entry posted by 4AM for one of my lovely anonymous readers pushing me to post over Formspring.)

When I went into her bedroom with her, Owen's "Good Friends and Bad Habits" was playing on some tiny speakers. Because I was so distracted, it was almost fifteen minutes before I realized the song was on repeat. I didn't mind. There was something about the synth in it that sounded as much like as I was feeling as a synthesizer could. That song may have played forty times before we left the room. When we relocated back to the couch downstairs, my body felt in shock like after breaking a limb in two, along with my brain and mouth, which had no idea what to make of everything still. My skin, down to my muscles, down to my bones, down to my organs, down into the deepest crevasses of my brain and the things that are kept inside of them, were so disoriented. I could not digest what was happening. Time was slow and caught in my throat. So I did what I do when I'm actually about to choke: stopped breathing. Because sometimes, if you're choking, you aren't going to start freaking out or gasping for air you can't get to until you are actually trying to breathe. So I held my breath and nonchalantly let it all sit somewhere in the center of my esophagus. On the couch, Mystery Girl would ask cute little questions about what I was thinking, even though I suspect she knew exactly what I was thinking and just wanted to hear me say it. Every time I'd say what I was thinking or feeling, she's look diagonally upward and then zigzag her body with excitement like she just got a chill up her back. Her smile was the most lively smile I'd ever seen. There was an entire choreographed dance team within that smile of hers and she was celebrating every couple of minutes with it. I had just gotten done trying to talk her into telling me a secret she has about her past. She never tells anyone about this, but she wanted to tell me. I felt special, but didn't rush into listening. And she never wound up telling me. Things got quieter until we were speaking almost entirely in whispers. There were moments when she'd just move my face toward hers and say, "Look at you." I don't think anyone's ever looked at me the way she did. Kara stares at me a lot sometimes and I notice out of the corner of my eye. Kitten stares at me until she falls asleep in the position she's in while staring. But never before has someone stared at me like I was the only thing there. I could feel her staring whenever I'd avoid eye contact out of fear of revealing my embarrassing smile of crooked teeth. But her gaze was like a lit cigarette being put out on my skin. I am confident that the entire planet could be powered by the energy that pulsated between us, stronger than a gravitational pull. As I type this, I am a half hour away from her. And I still feel it, yanking at me right now. In fact, it's one of those moments I pause and you can feel inside that the other person is pausing at the same exact time and thinking about you. I don't believe in magic, but if I could imagine it, I'd imagine it to feel a lot like this. When I left, she came out and kissed me goodbye and it felt like we had already been dating for six months or something.

I was supposed to hang out with a girl named Savahna that evening, but we never solidified plans, neither of us had transportation, and I ran out of minutes on my cellphone in the midst of texting her. So that never happened. After I left Mystery Girl, I went to a Price Chopper and bought more minutes. As soon as I entered the code, my mother called and asked if I wanted to play Yahtzee with her and my father. Of course, I said I did. So I waited for them to come and get me after purchasing my dinner for the night: Boca chick'n patties and hot sauce. I didn't really want food. I just wanted something chewy in between some hot sauce. When I got to the house and jumped online real quick, I was immediately welcomed by drama for changing my relationship status on Facebook to, "in a relationship." Obviously, there were some people who were actually happy for me, or just completely confused and curious. And then there was Kara, who had posted a bitter LiveJournal entry about how she lost her virginity to me and how she regretted it. (Yes, news flash: Kara and I had sex, in December.) She also said she, "felt stupid," because she was worrying about what dinner to make me for my birthday while I was with another girl. Basically, implying those nice, thoughtful things she does for me is strictly a relationship type of thing, or her attempt at getting me into one with her, as opposed to just being an awesome best friend. That kinda hurt me. And then I checked my friends page and saw that Sarah had made some bullshit entry (to me), telling me in so many words to stop playing with her friend's head, going back and forth, using her for whenever I'm lonely and bored, and leading her on. I wasn't doing either of those things and even if I was, it was none of her fucking business. So I called Kara and said, "I really don't want your journal entry to exist." She responded, "Well, too bad." So right away, it was obvious she was going to be bitchy to me on the phone as if I did something wrong by deciding to date someone who wasn't her. Maybe a surprise to her, but definitely not something unfair of me to do. I have always told Kara that we are, "best friends first," and, "would last longer as best friends than we would as a couple," and that my top priority was maintaining our friendship.

So when we finally decided to have sex, after weeks of just fooling around, I asked her repeatedly if she was sure it was what she wanted to happen. It was clear I was not planning on dating her, but as she told me, I was her best friend and, "she wanted to lost it to her best friend." I felt like all of that stuff was being taken back or something. Like it was all just a plot to get me to date her. I even tried to stop holding her hand a week ago, telling her it wasn't fair of me to be feeding into her stressfully romantic feelings for me, but she insisted on continuing, saying that she wanted to and that was that. So I let her make the decisions and decided to continue doing things with her that made both of us happy. It was all backfiring. And Sarah's nonsensical entry attacking me was insane and seemed misinformed, so I immediately accused Kara of telling Sarah some things and leaving out others. But she apparently didn't and Sarah just still decided to think negatively of me and blame it all on me, when I in fact did nothing wrong. I yelled at Kara a little. She apologized and deleted the entry pretty fast after. She knew I didn't do anything wrong. And by the time the phone conversation ended, the main thing on my mind was that Sarah, a personal hero of mine for a couple years now, hated me. Kara told me that she hadn't liked me for weeks. Because I mentioned in my last entry that she had hired an idiotic girl who labels herself a 'pesci-vegan' (aka: a vegan who still eats fish; aka: a fucking hypocrite and an idiot). Granted I deleted it as soon as she left me an over-exaggerative comment about how, "the whole world now knew," about something she was obviously ashamed of, she apparently was still holding it against me. And also the fact that I, "complain about not owning pants, but spend all my money at Bombers," and how I, "just rub her the wrong way." I was pretty devastated and it became my only concern. Like, I was almost completely heartbroken at the idea of this woman hating me (or disliking me, or whatever you wanna call it).

My parents sat in the kitchen, drinking beers, impatiently starting a game of Yahtzee without me. As expected, things got cleared up between me and Kara pretty quickly. Because she has a brain that can, sometimes, overpower the heart long enough to think things out clearly. What Kara had done the last couple of months is take things I've said or done and turned them into clues to a puzzle that didn't exist, successfully convincing herself that we were going to date, despite my clear proclamation that we would not be. Luckily, we fixed things to the best of our abilities, even though she insisted on beating herself up about things afterward. My main concern was Sarah hating me, after I've been nothing but kind and supportive and polite to her and her business all these years, and even after I helped her find a girl bored and stupid enough to work full-time for free, while her hands decay from doing dishes and her life is devoured by a job that isn't even reimbursing her for the almost $30 in bus fare to get to and from the place in Troy each week. I was crushed and decided to try and forget about it all over a game of Yahtzee with my parents, who were gradually becoming more and more wasted. My father can handle his alcohol. My mother cannot. And I started getting tense, awaiting what seemed like an inevitable fight, since my mother loses her mind as she drinks more. Oddly enough, as she has certainly become a better person while sober, she's become an even worse mother while drunk. It's scary. My Uncle Jason showed up to join them, along with Jason X (his son, who drove him there), Yoda, and Jamie. We all stood around, laughing at my Uncle Jason, who is never for one second serious about anything and makes the funniest faces, noises, and comments imaginable, while my mother attempted to have as serious and emotional a conversation as a drunk woman could. Things got awkward eventually and people tried to slowly leave. My uncle stuck around and planned on attending the funeral the next day. Yoda claimed to see white powder underneath my mother and father's nose and angrily left the house to sit in the car and wait to leave. He came back in to confront them and say really mean things to them, but I stayed out of it. After he left, I told them they could die tomorrow and I have no more room in my life for hating them over what they do to themselves, as long as they're still around to be there for me in the end. And I meant it.

I set my alarm on my cellphone for 12:30 and fell asleep on the couch after sunrise. I was looking forward to seeing if someone was actually going to show up outside of Bombers to, "watch indie movies with me and cure me of my loneliness and horniness." Even if I did have a girlfriend at that point, I was curious as to whether or not someone would even show up. When I woke up, it was nearing 1. I had shut my alarm off and dozed back off like an idiot. But my parents were getting ready to leave for the funeral, so I asked if I could catch a ride downtown with them. They were panicking, my mother was covering her face in makeup as a means of distracting herself from how terrified she was of going to her best friend's funeral, and my father was trying not to pass out. My Uncle Jason was playing air guitar in the kitchen and repeating to me that he was going to grow a beard out that would be better than mine. After about the fiftieth time my mother said she wasn't going, we finally left. Neither of them had slept and neither of them had stopped drinking. In fact, right before we walked out the door, my mother downed a big white pill with a 40oz. of Budweiser. I got dropped off and walked to Bombers so I could pace in the cold and wait to see someone who seemed like they were there for me. I paced back and forth a few times and stood off to the side outside of the abandoned place next door, then decided that catching a bus up State St. was far more important than waiting for someone who probably wouldn't show. So I walked across the street and stood at the bus stop, staring at Bombers, waiting for someone to appear. But no one ever did. By 2:05, the 55 showed up and I was pretty disappointed no one showed, even if I had full intention of telling them I had a girlfriend and would not be fucking them. I got off and walked over to Bianca's house. As I neared the door, Emily Clute showed up. I had no idea she was even invited, but was relieved that I wouldn't be the only 'old' person there. When I walked in, there was a side room with a table of youngsters covered in facial piercings. Raven, a really attractive, 17-year-old Latina was there. Oh, and my friends TJ and Tia. I sat with them and didn't know anyone else there. There was a tray of vegetables and hummus and I got all up in the celery the entire time. Bianca made a rainbow cake that tasted like a giant sugar cookie with pink icing. It was so delicious. Some people at the table were awkward and quiet, Emily Clute especially (probably confused about what to do at a table of high schoolers, perhaps), while TJ, Tia, Bianca and I had our own fun. I decided that TJ would become my adopted son and I would make it official over Facebook later. We played with balloons and people's portraits were drawn on some, while I found that I could attach them to my beard by rubbing them against it. Rain eventually showed up in her new boyfriend's mini-van. She had recently decided, completely out of the blue, to start dating a tilted-white-fitted-wearing, eight-pack-of-abs-having, AE-boxers-showing, shirtless-bathroom-Facebook-picture-taking boy named Steven who had ironically dated the girl she got attacked by the week or two prior. We knew of this kid. He was an idiot and they had nothing in common. Rain had become yet another girl to start dating the type of guy she always made fun of. The entire night, TJ and had no other means of coping than to be really, really mean about it. For a little while, it was all in good fun. But the more I thought about it, the more mean my comments became. And I of all people shouldn't have kept going, because I know how emotional Rain can get. But after keeping from me the fact that she kissed TJ a week ago and telling me she had, "given up hope on me ever trying to be with her," it was becoming very obvious that she was a boy-juggler. And I felt betrayed.

After a little while, most of us decided to go out into the cold and take the bus downtown, just to get out of the house for a good session of loitering. As we waited for the bus, a car at the red light was being driven by an old man with a beautiful, full, white beard. We exclaimed how awesome it was to him, while his old wife seemed scared that we'd try to rob them. When we got to Muddy Cup not too much later, he was there, drinking coffee with her. He walked up to us, pointing, and then said, "You'll never know when I'm around," and then proceeded to recite Santa Claus's name in different languages. Because there were a bunch of yuppies waiting a play or something, there was nowhere for us to sit but near a stage erected for open mics. So we mostly stood around. At one point, Rain finally had enough of our wisecracks at her (and her boyfriend's) expense and stormed out of Muddy Cup. Everyone followed faithfully and I just sat down and got out my laptop. She eventually came back and I apologized or whatever, even though I didn't feel bad for her one bit. I had to eventually leave everyone as well when my father swooped by around 7 to pick me up and bring me to the house for my little brother Bryce's birthday get-together. He was turning thirteen and was born three days before my birthday (which, by the way, really fucked up my ninth birthday when he was born). We picked Yoda up and on the way out of the Stockade, we saw an old man laying lifeless in the middle of the road. I got so excited that this might finally be my chance to discover/take a picture with a dead body. But then he moved his arms over his chest a little and we realized he was outside of a bar. When we got to the house, my mother was quickly pacing and gradually getting louder about things that weren't happening or even mattered. Bryce's wrapped gifts were on the kitchen table and there was anything but birthday cheer in the air as sister cried, having just been violently grabbed by my still-drinking and still-sleepless mother. She started trying to pick a fight with my father about stuff that didn't exist, while my mother slouched in the seat and looked completely miserable. No matter how much we tried to change the subject, she wouldn't stop talking shit about my father, bitching about Amber being disrespectful, saying that she didn't want to go to the funeral and was forced to; just endless rage and irrational thought processing. My father tried his hardest to ignore her and to encourage Bryce to open his gifts, but my mother was so pissed and would not drop whatever crazy things she had made up in her inebriated mess of a head.

After a while, screaming was getting louder and louder and there was no turning back. My brother began to cry because his birthday was completely ruined and, in a way, forgotten. Every time my mother would complain about my father, I'd say to her, "But Bryce didn't do anything! And he's the only one suffering right now!" but she'd fire back with something like, "I don't give a fuck about my four children!" or, "I don't care!" or something equally upsetting and mean. I hid in Amber's bedroom and called Mystery Girl. Her voice made me feel better until I hung up and came back to reality. My mother's storm wasn't clearing and only getting worse. It got to the point that my little brother was literally pleading for her to stop. But she wouldn't. When my mother drinks, she becomes a fucking monster. A heartless, scary, ugly monster, with no heart and no concerns but for herself. That's the mother that stands out the most in my memories of my childhood. It doesn't effect me too much anymore, but seeing Bryce and Amber deal with it is really tough for me, because they're too young to realize that it's not her who's being that, it's the alcohol and the Mr. Hyde that she becomes when she drinks it. Bryce was crying, so my father said we should all go out to eat, as planned, with our mother. But then she started freaking out even more, accusing my father of planning to steal all her money and take the car from her. So a half hour went by of battling before dinner money was given to us and we were able to leave. As we drove off, I was just stunned at how selfish and mean she was being. And then I remembered that I couldn't be mad at her because it wasn't really her. She's a good mother. Just not a good mother when she's drinking that poison she loves so much. I felt so bad for Bryce, though. Luckily, he kind of enjoyed himself at Friendly's, eating dinner with the rest of us. I didn't get anything and just drank a water. Heather was working and Yoda and I kept making jokes about how this one kid she fucked told everyone she shit all over his dick during anal. Gross. Yoda kept making fart sounds with his mouth every time she'd walk by, like a four-year-old. I slept on the bus ride back to Albany. As horrible as it may sound, a part of me inside hoped that when they went back to the house, my mother had killed herself. I always wish that, deep down in this cave inside of me where my worst thoughts hide. I didn't think this out of anger, or hatred, or anything like that. I just felt bad for Amber, for Bryce, for my father, and even for my mother. And all I could think about was how her killing herself, or dying, would really help her and the people around her in a lot of ways. I was up all night online, talking to Mystery Girl. I already felt like I loved the girl. Honestly.

I slept in and a few phone calls woke me up. One was from my mother, apologizing profusely and sounding confused by herself. She said we were going to have another birthday party for Bryce, as if time could be redone. I wouldn't remember this phone call, though, because I was half-awake when I got it, and would miss the party. Kara surprised me and showed up at my door. I was actually really excited to see her. She seemed really nervous the entire time, but I tried to make it so she was comfortable, mostly acting like nothing ever happened. She brought me a small bucket filled with baked goods that I immediately started cramming into my mouth, since I had nothing to eat in the house and had just woken up. They were all delicious, aside from the bites that reminded me that Sarah, a person I had immense respect for at one point, was actually just as immature and against me for no reason as everyone else in the 518. We walked to the library so I could take out some DVDs. We talked a lot about stuff. I talked about Mystery Girl a lot, but would not tell her who she was. She thought she knew who she was, but she was wrong. I couldn't really tell if I was allowed to talk to my best friend about my girlfriend or if I had to shut up about it to avoid making her a sad ex-girlfriend of a boy she never dated. When we got to the library, I took out an Australian film and a season of Kids In the Hall. I had a fine to pay, but they didn't ask me to pay for it. While walking back to my house, I saw two giant bags of recyclables across the street. Too excited to think of even looking both ways, I just jetted across the street, through traffic, and almost got hit by a car. If it weren't for whatever model car they were driving's excellent brakes, I would have probably wound up with a broken leg. Instead, I wound up with my hands on their hood and a bruise on my knee. They seemed more scared than mad, so I just yelled apologies to them and skipped back over to my apartment with my recyclables. I was surprised at how unafraid I was in the split second before the car hit my right leg. We sat around on my bed for a couple hours and talked. Around 8, she had to leave. She made it very clear that she didn't want to, but she had to. And then when she stood up to get ready to go, she started crying. I held her and didn't know what else I could do for her. I felt horrible, though. So horrible, that I wished deep down that I could just love her the way she loves me just to make her happy. But I can't do that. No one's ever done it for me, and no one should. It was really heartbreaking, though and twisted my guts up like a wrung-out washcloth. After she left to go catch the bus, I got back online and talked to Mystery Girl. It was the first weekend in many, many weeks that Gemma didn't come over and stay on Saturday night and Kara didn't stay on Sunday night. Traditions being broken makes me really melancholy, even if I don't necessarily need or miss the traditions. I guess it's just that familiar feeling of how nothing lasts forever. I was up all night regardless and couldn't seem to pay attention to anything. I was about to turn twenty-two, was falling for a girl I just met, and was breaking my best friend's heart. My brain was in a million places and I couldn't even watch movies to pass the time. After 3 in the morning, I could only eat. So I went to Price Chopper and bought some more Boca chick'n patties so I could smother them in hot sauce. I tried calling Kaila With An I, but when she answered her phone, all she said was, "Brian's flipping out on the other line. I should probably take care of that. Can I call you back?" She never called me back. I texted her, she never responded. I went to leave her a Facebook comment, she had deactivated her account. I was worried and had a feeling that her insecure boyfriend was probably throwing a hissy fit because she hangs out with me or something. I mean, I would be, too. Because I'm a lot cooler than her boyfriend. And don't have to dress like a douchebag to get people's attention. At the request of an anonymous person over Formspring, I wrote an entry. While writing it, I'd stop by Formspring every couple of minutes to see a new one they left, asking how long it was going to be and counting down how long before it'd be posted. I only posted about up to Friday just so I could get it done by 4AM as promised.

When I woke up, I thought I was going to see Mystery Girl. It very quickly became clear that I would not be. I took the bus to the Goodwill in Colonie and did some shopping by myself. In the dressing room, I saw my entire reflection and it made me want to dig myself a hole in the linoleum, hop in, and lay in there until I was dead. I was only there for twenty minutes and left with a pair of black slacks with sharks on the inner lining of the pockets, a plain black t-shirt I could sew something onto, a black anti-drinking shirt that didn't fit me but was still cool enough to buy, and two striped sweaters. All for only $17! I felt accomplished. On the bus ride home, I stared at people and made up scenarios in my head about meeting them like in the movies. But those scenarios never happen, of course. When I got home, there was a letter for me in the mail from Southgate, informing me that I still owe them $227. I will never pay them. I took a shower out of boredom and changed into my new clothes. I realized pretty quickly that my new pants are huge and make me look bigger than I actually am. But I wore them anyway. My sweaters are comfy as fuck, though. I procrastinated for a while and then walked around the corner to a tattoo place called BTP (Beautiful Tattooed People) to set up an appointment. I was hoping I could get it on my birthday as planned. I showed a guy the symbol I wanted by going to my MySpace page on his laptop and then a guy named Don asked me when I wanted it by. I told him, "As soon as I can." Luckily for me, there was room for me the next day, on my birthday, at 1PM, and it was only going to cost me $100. Then I caught the bus to Schenectady. Right before I was downtown, I got a text from Mystery Girl asking if I could get online. So I went into Muddy Cup right away and got on AIM to talk to her. It was bad news about how she wasn't sure if we were going to be able to see each other for reasons I can't divulge here without giving away who she is. I was supposed to hang out with Hannah Yetwin, but she backed out on me last minute. So I was left with pretty much nothing to do in Schenectady. I made some half-ass plans to go to Trevor's, but after he told me he was playing video games, I decided not to go. There's nothing I hate more than sitting and watching people play their stupid first-person shooter games. So I called Yoda and saw what he was up to. He was up to the same thing. But I went over anyway. I sat there for over an hour, while he played a video game and sometimes said something. He briefly told me his drama, I told him mine, and then I got going just to catch a bus back to Albany. I was pretty hungry, so when I got back to Albany, I got myself some food from Bombers. It was the first order of tofu fries I'd gotten in Albany in probably half a year, if not longer. I asked for extra barbecue and tofu. They didn't charge me for it. And actually, while laughing hysterically about it, made me a mountain of tofu sticking up from a moat of barbecue sauce. It was amazing; the most intensely delicious order of tofu fries I'd ever gotten. I love the new staff at Bombers. They're not high schoolers and they're not douchebags and they actually give you the food you order. When I got home, I sat on my bed and ate while listening to blue grass. Laura Stella came in and awkwardly stood around me, saying funny things and wishing me happy birthday, all excited about being the first person to wish it to me in person, even though Putput wished me it first on Facebook.

Starting at midnight, I'd begin to get a surprising amount of 'happy birthday' messages from people online. Like, I know Facebook tells you when your added friends' birthdays are, but I just didn't expect as many people to wish me happy birthday as there turned out to be. Almost seventy people wished me happy birthday on my Facebook wall, my entire inbox on my cellphone was happy birthday text messages (which was funny to look at, because the inbox shows the first couple of letters of the message, and all you could see was the word, "happy," over and over, one on top of the other). Kara and my mother woke me up to wish me happy birthday and I was fully awake by noon. I was totally nervous about my first tattoo, but excited at the same time. I had to sign the waiver and twenty minutes later, I was getting it sized up on my leg. He printed it the perfect size the first try and stamped it right on the back of my left leg, over the biggest part of my calf muscle. I chose that spot because it's always bare, I'm not ashamed of that part of my body, and because people will see it when I'm out riding my bike. He said it'd take an hour to finish. A cute freckled girl I met through Laura, a tattoo girl named Rhiannon, was tattooing some stupid Jesus thing on the bottom of some dimwitted bro's arm right across from the seat I was laying across on my stomach. He cringed whenever she did something over his wrist and was wearing one of those typically lame, corny t-shirts that said something like, "Protect Your Nuts," with a squirrel next to it that you get in the men's t-shirt section of Target or wherever. I got comfortable as he shaved my leg and rubbed all that antibacterial stuff on it. And then I started hearing the buzzing of the needles, both of which he showed me before he started; one single needle for the outline and one series of three next to each other for the filling. Eventually, he asked me, "Ready?" and I awaited feeling something.

I didn't really know what to expect since it was my first time and everyone I knew with tattoos had given me completely different descriptions of how it feels, some saying it doesn't feel like anything, others saying it hurts a lot, all varying based on the person, the tattoo, the complexity of the design, and the location on the body. There was no way for me to mentally prepare for what I was about to feel. But then he started and it felt like he was digging a razorblade into my leg and carving into me. I could handle it, seeing as I've done worse to myself intentionally in the past, and just waited for him to finish. At first, it was more irritating than painful, like he was holding a machine pen of stinging bees against my leg. The corners of the symbol hurt pretty bad, as they were right against the muscles of my leg. Rhiannon told me that I was doing really well, since she gave Don, the guy who was doing mine, his leg tattoo and he could hardly handle it. When he was coloring it in, it hurt the worst. It just like he was digging into me with those three needles at once. Which, I guess, he technically was. It felt like when you pull a Band-Aid off of your hairy leg, except this Band-Aid was never releasing. I sweat a lot and clenched the seat around me and I felt like a big baby, but whatever. It hurt a lot. Fuck you. I was so relieved when he said I was finished and put some cool water over it. My leg felt like it was on fire, but when I saw my leg's reflection and how well he did it, I was so happy. I'm now branded for life with a symbol that summarizes the last ten years of my life; straightedge since I was twelve, politically-charged and into anarchy since I was fourteen, and meat-free since I was fourteen. When I stood up and admired it, the bro sitting across from me asked, "Is that, like, some sorta varsity symbol?" I laughed and said no, not even bothering to explain what it did mean. I thought it was so funny that he asked that, because it does kinda look like that, except I'm actually pledging to something meaningful. The reality of how I'll continue to live my life without harmful decisions, drugs, the bodies of other living species, and the laws of others was drastically emphasized with this tattoo. It was to be covered for forty-five minutes. I tipped Don $20 and I walked back home, got packed, then walked to the bus stop to head into Schenectady.

Within minutes of being on the bus, stuck at a red light by Henry Johnson Blvd., I got to see a live fist fight. I was standing, grasping the rope handle from the overhead bar to maintain balance, looked out the window, and traffic was being held up by two cars stopped in the middle of the lane, their drivers getting ready to fight in the middle of the road while people honked their horns, bus passengers peered out (I was yelling, "Oh, shit!" repeatedly in excitement), and some nosy women stood outside of their cars, on their cellphones with the police, as if it's any of the police's fucking business. I don't know what could have caused this, other than maybe someone cutting the other person off, but it was one Jersey Shore pseudo-macho fashion boy, beefy but inexperienced in fighting, wearing a tiny, tight, light-blue Polo shirt, one arm covered in what looked like a swarm of bats, gelled-up spiked hair covered by a white fitted cap, and a really corny way of challenging the other guy to a fight. The other guy was a tall, skinny, pissed-off black dude. I felt sorry for the whiteboy, because I and everyone else knew what was about to happen. Surprisingly, the bro threw the first fist. It missed the other guy's face by six inches and he cowered back several more inches after throwing it, almost seeming to immediately of regretted doing it. The black guy got in his face and in a swarm of quick, on-point punches to the face, beat the shit out of this guy. He tried to keep acting tough, but with his fitted laying in the road and his left eye socket leaking blood down the side of his face, there was no compensating for how pathetic he just looked. And then the bus pulled off. An old black man with a cane next to me smiled at me and said in an old Bill Cosby voice, "They throwin' down!" An old black woman behind me laughed hard and said to me, "It's like free HBO out there! They were kickin' it oldschool!" It was hilarious.

I got off the bus downtown and walked right to my mother's car as it perfectly drove up as I walked off. It felt like royal treatment, except a bus rather than a limo and a concrete strip of road rather than a red carpet. We picked up Yoda from his house and then drove to my parents' where a table was set up, all ready for my birthday. My mother loves to keep up the birthday traditions she practiced with us when we were still children. I don't have a problem with it. I think it's cute and being grown-up is depressing anyway. When I walked in, the table had a 26" Vizio LCD HDTV sitting on it! SO FUCKING AWESOME. Finally, a beautiful HD flat-screen for my hours upon hours of watching movies alone in my bedroom! I was so stoked. I was a little confused about how they managed it, since they were so hard-up for money all month, but then my mother told me that her taxes came in that day, in a bizarre coincidence. We waited for my grandmother to show up. She sat down and immediately jumped to bringing up the financial and domestic crisis my parents are currently going through, because old people love miserable conversations for some reason and have no sense of appropriateness. My mother had made me a vegan caramel and chocolate cake and stuck two 2 candles in it. They sang me happy birthday awkwardly and then I struggled to blow out two candles. My parents got me a sappy card with $22 in it (so wonderfully corny), my grandmother got me a funny card with $20 in it, and Amber and Bryce got me a card with Selena Gomez on it, which made me laugh pretty hard. We ate cake and ice cream and all was well with the world. My aunt called to wish me happy birthday, but got right off the phone after I told her I got a tattoo. My grandmother left soon after. The rest of us just hung out for a few hours. I never bothered to get any ointment for my tattoo, so I used the closest thing I could find, which was my little sister's ghetto coconut oil. Yoda was so surprised that I actually got the tattoo. We eventually left and drove out to the Albany Bombers for dinner. Everything was on the house and even though I was planning on just getting my free birthday burrito, my mother insisted that I get something that cost money. So I tried out the vegan soft-shell tacos with barbecue tofu, black beans, rice, and lettuce. It was taco buffet day, but they told us it only applies to people who are upstairs in the bar. Totally fucking lame. We sat down and ate together, laughing and being a dysfunctional family. My brother Bryce didn't come because he doesn't participate in anything the family does together. I had a lot of fun, though, and the food was good, of course. On my way out, I went up and asked for my free birthday burrito and the guy told me they didn't do that anymore, having stopped since the renovation, and said something about them being more corporate or something. He told me he thought it was pretty stupid, and I agree. We had to go from there straight to a house for rent in Schenectady that my mother had an appointment to look at for 7:15. We had to wait in the car while she did that and the fact that they're going to be homeless after the 23rd of this month settled in some more. Every single place either doesn't accept Section 8, pets, smokers, kids, or something. We all hung out at the house some more while I went online and tried to find out which stripclub my father and I would be going to together later.

My brother informed me that the entire time Rain was telling me how much she liked me, and even after a few days ago when she told me she was giving up on thinking I'd ever try to be with her, she was telling Yoda how much she would never date me, how I say tons of corny things to her about liking her, and how she had a crush on me when we first met, but that was it. Why? Because Yoda scares people out of liking me publicly. I called her about in the car while Yoda was next to me and she denied everything, of course. She sounded so sad that I had found out. I wasn't even mad. Just disappointed. I can't really hold it against her. Not only is she a normal female, but she's a high schooler. And this is what you do in high school, I hear. In fact, it's probably what you do your entire life and I just don't know or agree with it. I'd be ashamed if I liked me, too. Oh, well. I will probably not be hanging out with Rain anymore and it makes me really sad.

We decided on Nite Moves in Latham, since it was a juice bar and therefore had no alcohol served and were allowed to show every part of a woman. My father drove us for forty-five minutes to a completely different stripclub in Saratoga, though, and we ended up having to turn around. It was fine with me. The night was still early, 10 or something, and I just wanted to hang out with my father for the most part. We finally found the place after almost an hour of driving and I realized that I had been there before, the last and only other time I had gone to a stripclub. That really relieved me a bit, because the social situation of being in a stripclub is awkward enough, let alone in one you've never been at before. At least I knew this place would be laid-back. We had a half-off coupon from the Metroland because we're cheapskates and my father paid for everything, other than the loads of tips I threw into some ladies with my own money, since I felt like they needed it more than I did. We sat down by the stage and pole, right in front, and got comfortable. There was one man on the other side of the stage who looked like your average middle class homeowner; probably had a wife and kids, probably drove a red truck of some sort, probably had a job in construction or plumbing. In the far back, there were three bros sitting as closely to each other as possible, looking nervous and giggly like characters straight out of an American Pie straight-to-video spin-off. And then there were the old-timers who were coming in and getting pubic lapdances. One old man even came in and got a private dance from two girls at once, which costs at least over $100. The first dancer when we walked in was a pretty blonde with a big butt and small boobs. The initial discomfort of being in a stripcub wore off fast, because my father and I get along so well. We got sodas and drank them slowly while paying close attention to the dancers in front of us. All te girls did some crazy shit on those poles and there was something very gross about how each other them had to wipe it down with a towel before their act. We were both very generous with our money and I spent more time trying to identify sorrow, if any emotion at all, in the faces of the girls who were dancing. Not to deny that I wasn't enjoying their body parts, but I really couldn't help but sit back and analyze what was going on here: Women dancing and horny men staring at them with bad intentions and $1 bills. It was weird to think about.

A really skinny blonde with a big nose and two stars tattooed by her hips got on next and could lift herself pretty high since she only weighed maybe a hundred pounds at most. She was a total hottie. After her set, she came up from behind me and humped my right shoulder without any underwear on for some reason. The next girl was totally beautiful. She had great teeth and looked almost Russian. Her butt was incredible and so was her dancing. She was such a cutie and talked to us a lot. She totally had my beard all up in her boobs at one point. The next girl would be the girl I'd decide to get my private birthday dance from right away. I had been staring at her sitting in her tiny zip-up hoodie since we got there. Her name was Holly and she was really skinny and blonde and had the prettiest face there. Holy shit, her legs. I zoned out on her dancing. One woman got on with botched breast implant scars and stretch marks from past pregnancies, which would have gone unnoticed if it weren't for the flashing lights around her. That was the low point of the night.

My father went up and got a token for me so I could get a private dance from Holly in a back room behind a velvet curtain. I took my token and walked right up to her and said, "Miss, may I have a private dance?" like a total dork. I was really nervous because there was something that felt inherently wrong about the situation somewhere in the back of my mind. I told her it was my first private dance and she giggled. She was taller than me by maybe half a foot and was stunningly gorgeous. I was seated on a big, comfy chair underneath a dimmed light that looked like it was taken from a hotel lobby. The wallpaper suggested class despite the obvious lack thereof. She said she'd be right back. When she came in, she placed what looked like a newborn baby hospital blanket over my lap and got on top of me. At first I was silent and my arms were glued to the arms of the chair because touching a girl without permission is outside of my nature. Eventually, though, I did try to touch her, while being as respectful as possible. Sure, she was sexy, but I couldn't really notice anything else but the small things I like. The space between her anatomy and top of her thighs; I love that muscle that sticks out on skinny girls. She had a giftbox with a big red bow tattooed over where pubic hair is supposed to be, which I thought was extremely hot, and her underwear were eventually off. When she turned around and started grinding her ass into my lap as hard as she could, I could hardly handle it, but ended up staring at her spinal column that stuck out on her smooth back. I ran my fingers along her waist and tried not to make eye contact because I felt embarrassed for being the guy who was 1.) admiring the stripper's facial features, and 2.) thinking about his girlfriend. I told her it was my birthday and we talked for the second half of the session. She thought it was really cool that my father brought me out and I told her that she was the prettiest girl there and that I loved her sticky-outy bones. She thought that was funny and repeated it to herself under her breath. I gave her a hug at the end of it all and she wished me a happy birthday. Later, the other really pretty, probably-Russian stripper would dance right in front of my father and I and talk to us a lot. She knew it was my birthday, I guess, and was all excited, so she pulled my head between her chest and said, "Birthday boobies!" She told me she was going to give me a pair of her underwear so I'd remember her forever. I stayed to watch Holly dance one more time and around 12:30, we finally decided to leave, right after what's-her-name gave me a pair of her underwear (presumably never worn... I hope?) that she boasted she sprayed with her favorite perfume. I think women are art. Really.

I had so much fun hanging out at a stripclub with my father and I could tell he had a lot of fun, too. On the drive to Albany to drop me off at home, we got into a serious talk and I did something few sons do with their fathers: said something emotional and nice. I told him that even though he wasn't the best father while I was growing up, I still admire him a lot for still being around in any way. He was already a father by the time he was the age I was just turning. And I know that if I had been in his situation, I would have either refused to take responsibility for my child or fucking kill myself. I told him that the past didn't matter because he's changed a lot and that he's only becoming a better father. He told me that after a while, he realized that he didn't want to be another statistic and wanted to be there as much as he could for his family. It was probably one of the most important conversations of my entire life. He also gave me a little pep talk about how fast the next ten years are going to go by, and urged me to live them up, because after thirty, no one wants to be around you. It was nice to see that my father had feelings, because the man I grew up with did not. I'm glad he's not that man anymore. He dropped me off and helped me load my TV into my bedroom. We talked about maybe going out again sometime soon. I got in and went online to read more happy birthdays on my Facebook, then got a comment on my Wall from Laura Stella telling me to come over. So I did. I hung out with her, Emily, and Jon and pretty much laughed at every word that came out of Laura's mouth for the remainder of the night. She walked with me to Price Chopper to show me what I should get for my tattoo to keep it safe and healing, but when we got there, they had most of the aisles closed off with Caution tape for mopping and waxing. Plus, she brought me to the vagina aisle, where there was nothing even remotely appropriate for tattoo care. So we left and I decided I'd ask Roger when I woke up. We cuddled together for a little while after a little while on a laptop together. Emily fell asleep and I fell asleep on the living room futon.

This was the best birthday of my entire life. And that's a good thing, because for all I know, it could be my last.

When I woke up the next day to Laura and Emily mumbling things incoherently, it was almost 2. I called Savahna because we were supposed to hang out (once again), but she didn't answer. So I walked home and planned to set up my new TV and shower. I did neither and instead checked my Facebook and fell back asleep for a couple hours while listening to this month's mix. I woke up to Savahna calling, telling me she had just woke up. We talked for a bit, until I realized I didn't have minutes. Which sucked, because I already wanted to keep talking to her. After I hung up, I got a very interesting text from her that I won't quote here. I got a hold of Roger and asked if he could show me what to get for my tattoo and we met at Price Chopper a few minutes later. He showed me where the A+D ointment was and we made plans to meet up later and get smoothies. I got a text from Mystery Girl and had to talk to her on AIM for a half hour about some things. In that half hour, I returned to being single and came floating back down to reality like a feather dropped from the top of a skyscraper. I can't explain why we're no longer together without revealing who she is, but it's over now and there's nothing either of us can do about it, even though we both want to be together. It just can't happen at this point in either of our lives and I guess it's for the best. I couldn't really do much of anything but stare at my laptop screen and shake my head, chuckling. Nothing was funny. But it's almost amusing how extraordinary feelings that only come around every couple of years seem to be more and more short-lived each time I feel them. I guess it was just nice to feel that way for a few days, like some sort of vacation from loneliness and misanthropy and cynicism, and I'll appreciate what we had and still feel now, but unfortunately cannot continue constructing. Oh, well. That's life: seeing what amazing things are possible ahead of you in the horizon and never being able to reach it. Like looking at the sun; it's right in front of you, but at the same time so out of reach. I took a long shower and it really hurt my tattoo. I applied my first layer of ointment, a day after I was supposed to already be doing that, and walked over to Roger's. We went over to Ben & Jerry's and he treated me to a birthday smoothie. It was pretty good. We sat in the back and talked about politics, tattoos, bands, stuff like that. He asked if I wanted to come back to the house to watch a movie and I said I did. We put in some movie about the greaser gangs of the '50s in New York City (for some reason one of my favorite subjects and time periods) called Deuces Wild. It was pretty good. Toward the end, Roger asked me if I minded him doing drugs around me. I told him, "It's your house. You can do whatever you want, dude." He then did cocaine near me. I didn't mind it, but it really caught me off-guard. He's been nothing but a good friend to me, though, so I can't really worry too much about his few short-comings. I just wish my friends wouldn't hurt themselves.

After the movie, I got going back home because I wanted to continue this damn entry. But as soon as I got home, I got an AIM from Robyn Barber asking if I wanted to hang out. Since that never happens and I almost never say no, I told her to come over. She did and we sat on my bed for an hour or two while she slowly said depressing things while professing how she was anything but depressed. I've known her since she was in middle school and the decisions she's made since then have been the most upsetting and disappointing out of everyone I once knew who jumped on the bandwagons of our generation. So I couldn't help but preach a lot and wind up depressed. It was like looking at a corpse, even though she said some funny things here and there. She gave me a Taro card reading and it was stupid. She mocked me for not believing in illogical concepts like, "one true love," and told me she eats fish. I called Kaila earlier and left a message asking if she was okay and if she could just get a hold of me and let me know she was okay, because I hadn't seen or heard from her in days and really, really missed her. She called back and because Robyn was at my place ended up coming over, too. Not to hang out with me, but to come get Robyn so they could catch up with one another. I found out that Brian was mad at Kaila for hanging out with me. So the entire week I was suspecting Brian being the reason I hadn't heard from her turned out to be right and I made fun of her a lot for being submissive to a male. It actually really pissed me off. Kaila is such an awesome, intelligent, hilarious, genuine person who I really love hanging out with, and to see her stoop as low as to submit to some pathetic male like Brian, who I honestly can't understand her dating or even being able to make eye contact with without breaking out in laughter or vomiting, was devastating. Another friend disappointing me. I expected such a thing from Robyn, who had made the last years of her life out of bad decisions and male-dominated restrictions on her social life, but I thought Kaila was a bad-ass enough of a bitch to not take shit like that from anyone. But I guess she is normal and I guess Brian is worth it. After all, he didn't tell her what to do. He just did that boyfriend thing where he made it clear he'll make her regret it every time she does it. I know about this, because I used to do it. It's sad. And I was sad when they left, because I probably won't be seeing Kaila anymore. I fell asleep after a few hours of writing. I couldn't pay attention because I was just so angry.

When I woke up today, I sat online and did a lot of nothing. I bought some groceries and did the litter boxes. I felt nauseous because my thing with Mystery Girl was already over and I felt stupid for even mentioning it in here. But then I cheered myself up by convincing myself that my story could help people realize how fleeting the best things in life are. This is reality. And it hurts. But it's all we have. So let's eat even though it makes our stomachs hurt. Let's get piercings and tattoos even though they hurt like hell when we're getting them. Let's BMX and skateboard even though we break our bones sometimes. Let's drink even though it makes us black out and vomit. And let's fall in love even though we all die alone. Kara came over around 5 and had a bag of ingredients for the special birthday dinner/breakfast she wanted to make me. We walked to Price Chopper so I could buy some toilet paper for the house and then we came back and I kept her company in the kitchen while she started to make me some vegan French toast, my favorite and most-missed breakfast meal. She used a simple recipe and some artisan bread from Price Chopper. I went on an emergency run back to Price Chopper for syrup and when I came back, my food was finished. She even brought strawberries! I ate it and it was so fucking good and authentically French-toasty. I stuffed it into me pretty quickly and it wasn't enough, but made me really happy inside. We laid in bed and watched an indie movie that was pretty cute. She left at 9 and I went over to Laura Stella's to hang out with her, Emily, Jon, and Eli for a few hours. I came home to finish this and am amazed at how ridiculously long it is. I had pictures to post with this, but forgot my USB in Schenectady. So there will be a separate post tomorrow of all the pictures, I guess.

If you read this entire entry, please comment and let me know. Because I feel like it's way too long and no one will ever read entries this fucking long.<3