I’ve spent most of the morning pretending to do stuff. Though I completed a 4-page essay on the meaning behind Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wall-Paper,” I also went to the license branch (closed), picked up my tips from work ($12 – ouch), started the last chapter in my psych textbook (only got 2 pages into it), meant to go by the grocery store (but didn’t), and tried to figure out how the hell to remove the MySearch crap from my hard drive (still not working). The only real, solid thing I’ve done today is finish that paper and I already had three pages of it, anyway. I only had to fluff it up a bit and finish the works cited page.
Well, okay. I did empty the dishwasher. That’s one thing. But I also have yet to take out the trash.
This morning was rough for everyone. Kate had to drive to the northwest side from the house she’s been sitting, Charlie didn’t wake up until he heard my alarm going off (8:30: when he had to be at work), and I fell back to sleep until – I’m embarrassed to say – 10:45: 15 minutes before I had to be in literature class.
Ah, well. Missing those two classes today won’t hurt me at all. I just feel bad because I didn’t see Debby, the woman in my lit class who’s also a part-timer at my coffeeshop job.
God. Could I get any more boring?
Saturday night was fun, though. A friend from years ago who now lives in Atlanta came up and we went out with Kate, Liz, and a guy named Tony. We had a few drinks at the AlleyCat then headed over to the Vogue. Liz and Tony are the only ones who can go in there on a Saturday night without being three sheets to the wind. I love the place for concerts; it’s a small venue and you’re up-close-and-personal with the artists. Weekend nights and Wednesdays, however, it’s a meat market. If you go to the website and look under the “See Yourself” section, you may find that, had you been there on Halloween night, you won’t actually “see” yourself. You’ll see lots of really thin, “attractive” young women wearing next to nothing. That’s what I don’t like about the Vogue. I don’t mean because attractive girls go there, but because most of them wear skimpy little outfits and hump on one another to get the attention of guys, regardless of their (lack of) sexual diversity. It’s so base, so typical and animalistic.I didn’t meet anyone particularly interesting that evening. One guy named Joe at the alleycat stared at Kate’s cleavage the whole time we were there. One guy at the Vogue tried to convince me he was a socialist, which I found difficult to believe.Our friend Nathan seemed at once happy to see us and uncomfortable. He kept breaking out into peals of nervous laughter and haranguing young women for not wearing coats or for talking to him. I’m not sure what exactly took place in the those conversations, but he seemed to be more aggressive and confrontational than necessary. Or, more so than I remembered him to be. For a hockey player.