neoacidcreep

I am just so socially-inept these days; I want to be where the party is, well at least a part of me wants to be where the party is, but the larger portion just wants to be around people I know, people I trust, people that I can be comfortable around (i.e. get blackout drunk around), and those kinds of people are in short supply out here.

I am walking down the street with Macs, who, God love 'em, is trying desperately to get me to come out of my shell; trying so hard to get me to spark a conversation with someone, anyone, and I cannot do it.  A part of me screams in my head, screams and yells for me to return to my old ways, come back to the guy that would say whatever he wants to anyone he wants, but then this greater portion justifies my shyness by saying "I am not drunk enough to be that guy." 

The whole block, the whole street, is alive with action.  It's pulsing with parties and people, all I have to do is pick the party I want to goto.  That's all Macs demands of me.  He makes an ultimatum that "either you [I] pick it or I [you] pick it!"  He's not doing this in a bad way, I know he is merely doing what I have asked him to do, not in so many words, but he has picked up on the subtly of my words.  When I say that I want to go out and have more fun I mean that I want someone to force me to exit my shell and indulge my asshole vein.  Macs has seen the life-blood of my asshole side, has seen the beating heart of every negative quality I posses, has heard me go into great length on why I do certain actions that most would find of questionable moral fortitude; him and I have discussed, very naturally (I might add), why I feel I am the way I am; I fear he is the first person to ever "get it". 

He does the things I wish I could do again.  He does what I used to be able to do.  Now I feel so wrapped up by the drugs and booze that my sober self is bound by this idea that "if I am not fucked-up, then that is just inappropriate."  That's what I fear the problem is; that for so long I was fucked-up and I did these fucked up things, that now I can only do these things when fucked-up.  I have conditioned myself to be an addict, I fear.

I clearly remember thinking "if I were drunk I would talk to her", but to this day I still don't know my limits.  Either I am warming-up, i.e. just getting the first five to six in me, or am fucked-up, i.e. getting the last 7 to twenty-six into me.  If I only knew my limit I think I would be better at all this flirting and conversing bullshit.  I might actually come off as a guy that wants to learn random facts about you, that wants to know what you wanted as a birthday present on your six birthday.  Instead I come across as some aloof douche bag.

You wouldn't believe how many random, random, facts I know about everyone I have ever met.  I store away all trivial knowledge, that's just who I am, when it comes to a person, especially someone I actually like, I store away all these little details that you automatically think that I will forget.  No, I don't know your birthday, or maybe not even you favorite color, but I remember what you wanted for you birthday for the past eight years, and I remember your dad got you a bike that was your favorite color when you were twelve.  Why does this not count for anything?

And yet; and yet!  Somehow I feel like I have been a positive influence on Macs.  I feel like I have brought him out of his shell, that I had a hand in making him talk to randoms or even get pissed at his girlfriend.  That by virtue of me being me around him that somehow he has changed for the better.  When I first moved here the first week I was here he said maybe all of eight sentences to me, cut to eight, or nine, or ten (or how ever the fuck many months I have been in this fucking hole of a place) months later and he is screaming to any passerby "where's the party?"  I always walk away,stand a few feet off, and divert my gaze, he hasn't noticed yet, hasn't caught why I look away, viz. to hide my ear-to-ear smile.  I love it when he does that shit.

He continues to look at me like the guy I could, and might want to be.  He continues to think of me as the guy he first met, the guy that would be who he is whether you like it or not, the guy that says the most inane, insane things, but also knows that I say a lot, a-fucking-lot, to sponsor a reaction.  He is one of the few people that has allowed me to grow as a person while till hoping that I will synthesis into the person I want to be.  Most only see me as I was, or as I should be.  Neither idea gives me much leeway.  Either I am living up-to some fabricated ideal you have of me or am trying to live down the possibility that I could be an amazing person.

Somehow I had fun with him tonight; I enjoyed knowing he was having an adventure as I sulked back to our apartment, with two recently purchased forties.  I liked knowing that at least one of us was out having an adventure, and that tomorrow is another day and, potentially, another day closer to my exodus of my shell.  What was a tad irksome was that four houses down from the "party" that I left him at, I saw the house party I wanted to be at; still raging, still going strong, playing music I liked, scantily clad young ladies, overly masculine guys, beer pong, a keg, gel, and axe body spray, you know, "my kind of scene".  If he had been with me, I'd be there now.

Instead I am at home updating this, my livejournal.  Some of it might have to do with a girl, I am vaguely aware of this, somewhere deep inside me a little voice might be repeating her name.  I know that when Macs started talking to these two chicks, obviously my type (toned, tight, and tanned!  FTW!) I walked away cause I was afraid she'd find out and I'd get in trouble.  Leaving me with a biter-sweet feeling of disgust at myself for letting her in that deep and a sensation much akin to joy(?) that I care about someone enough to disdain other bitches.  An awkward amalgam, I am aware, but there it is.

I am drunk.

This entry sounds really gay.

I guess I am oot!