So, the party was bland. It’s funny… not doing the play and not being the biggest social butterfly in the world means that none of these crazy new freshmen have the slightest idea of who i am. I introduced myself to one of the major people from the play and she just tilted her head to the side and oozed “Well, it’s very nice to meet you Peter.” In a way it’s all rather amusing, because no one has any context for me, but in an entirely separate way it’s incredibly depressing because everyone is so busy fawning over their usual focuses and on the muscular and busty new players that i am just wallpaper. Flavor. Amusing. It’s not as though i need to be a center of attention, i just prefer not to be invisible.
Are you starting to get the sense that i don’t like parties very much? Good, cause i’ll be on my way out to another one in about an hour. I actually have high hopes for tonight’s soiree… Ross and I sped out of our crew call in the shop to spend more money on liquor than i did on my guitar, and i’ve been drunk once already so far today (more than i can say for last night), and the shindig tonight is a mostly upperclassmen invite-only affair staffed with no beer (well, a little) and a Daylight Saving’s power-hour. Yeah. Should be fun.
Personal
Yesterday was a day of everything in pieces. In Literature we watched a fuzzy academic film about the art of the Mexican Revolution, and it was as if all of the bright murals on the screen traded places with my campus so that their shaded in people were all round and real while mine were strangely flat. Everything in my world was little mosaic bits of mural… like looking close enough to notice that the shading of a cheek is really just a couple of dashes of black paint. Eventually i wound up giggly and in charge at the office because we were doing territory management via email and i was the only person who knew how to make an href so we could have spiffy links (i think they just thought that it happened by magic). Then there was some inbetween time… a quick $20 shopping binge with Gina at K-Mart so we could have costumes for the party. And then the party. But, the less said about that the better.
So much to say, so much to say…
Today was about to be flushed down the toilet… i had my fingers resting on the shiny metal handle and i really wanted to just wash my hands of it. Nap. Play guitar. Anything to pass the time and get it down the drain already. And then, out of nowhere, a nosey little voice chimed in that i can’t claim to be liking life if i want days to just end, so i was forced to get up off my ass and into some clothing.
Would you believe i’ve avoided picking up my dry-cleaning for a week because i missed the pickup day and was afraid of being reprimanded by the dry cleaner? Seriously. I have to walk by it every day to get on and off my block, but i was too afraid of what excuse i’d need for not having picked up my favourite slacks and dress shirt. It’s funny which sorts of social interactions can really stop me in my tracks. Anyhow, once i managed to get in and out of there (without any commentary on my lateness and neglect) i cleaned my room, did laundry, and paid bills. So, yeah, maybe it stinks, but at least i’m not wasting it.
I don’t quite know who any of the Real Playas are, but i am linked from their page within the excellent company of G-Love, Huny, and Uprush‘s own ClosetBoy (not to mention the “Keep America Rolling” section), so i am not one to complain. But, really, who are these mysterious GLB bloggers on Team Playa? (For one or two seconds there i almost thought that the Drexel Players had gone off and gotten a kick-ass website without me. Now, that would be queer :p )