Straight No Chaser

No Sex In the Champagne Room

don't feel like going to dinner. cafeteria food, ew. eating out all the time is turning me into a snob, not that i ever mistook anything that came out of that kitchen for filet mignon, before. it's more like, no appetite, probably something gland-related. one of my tonsils feels like it's about to explode. i'm imagining it's my thyroid, malfunctioning the way my grandmother's did fifty years ago. when she was my age, and for the three years till she had my mom, she had a thyroid problem that made her constantly tired, constantly thirsty, and unable to gain weight. one out of three is okay, right? i'm almost never thirsty, and i never sleep. it's just my stupid tonsil.

stupid, stupid tonsil. (ouch.)

mario wants to have sex with me. or doesn't. when some people are drunk, you can't trust a word they say; others, it's the only time you can trust them at all. i don't know which category he fits into, but anyway he's drunk, and he tells me, repeatedly and crudely, that we'd be a "good fit." i'm not sure what that's supposed to insinuate; whether he's making a statement about himself or an assumption about me. not particularly complimentary either way. all his visible parts are pretty gigantic, but that never means anything. i should just tell him not to call me, when he's drunk or otherwise. freshman year, sean and oduduwa tried to set us up, left us alone in a room somewhere with a keyboard, thinking it would help us discover our shared interest in music, and instead we spent the whole endless hour watching red hot chili peppers videos on his laptop, and since i was the one holding it, and stupidly wearing a skirt, it burned my leg, which he thought was a great excuse to put the moves on me, and then marcus called (haha!) and i zipped out, and we've been awkward ever since.

and he's very big, and very pushy, and kind of a manhandler. and you can tell him, once or twice or a hundred thousand times, "don't touch me," and still wind up caught between him and a wall. fucker. i should stop hanging out with huge drunk guys. anyway, who gets drunk at four o'clock in the afternoon? jesus.

marcus is all better. goodbye, marcobacteria. now i'm the one holding us back. it's my fault we can't kiss. he had this great plan for tonight, finally, and i had to say no because i care about us too much to watch the germs bounce back and forth between us until whenever. my body sucks.