Ranting by Dolomite
Hello loyal fans everywhere. Here I am, the living proof that God has a sense of humor, Dolomite. Why do I seem so down? Well, let's just say it has been one of those weeks. Now I may be just bitching while real people in the real world have real problems, but fuck them, I can bitch. It is one of my constitutional rights, Freedom of Speech baby!
It all began on Sunday. Most weeks begin on Sunday, but this is also when most of the problems began. I woke up sober and without a hangover. For the past six weeks of my life, every Sunday has begun with a throbbing over my entire body. I have quite possibly drained an entire case of Southern Comfort over the past month and a half, and that is only while drinking two nights a week. Anyways, Sunday began with a loud beeping. The garbage truck, ever the image of consistency, has decided to come at seven a.m. instead of the usual 4:30 a.m. - 6 a.m. to clear the two dumpsters behind my apartment building. I can't go back to sleep because I manage to stub my toe on my footboard while turning over. Then, after two hours of lying in bed, it is time for work in that fucking cafeteria. Too bad none of the other student-workers felt the same as me. They had no problem sleeping in until the end of the shift. Nothing like four employees to feed a couple hungry hung over college students. Needless to say, Sunday sucked.
Monday came around and reminded me how much I actually liked Sunday. I woke up to the sound of my one roommate shitting himself to death. This was further proof that Taco Bell is meant as a meal, not a whole diet. Classes sucked, mostly because I drank instead of read the material. I manage to make it through all three classes without drawing any undue attention to myself to find out that it is nearly nine o'clock. I quickly order a pizza, a Monday tradition for the apartment, and get ready to watch some professional wrestling. I begin to feel happy, for the first major point in the day. My roommate is continuously talking about the missions he finished in Grand Theft Auto III, but I simply nod and hope for that grand show of sports entertainment to begin. Then the phone rings. It is my drunken friend Kristen. She wants to talk. I cannot help but reel in horror at her timing. She claims that she was just at a party and she was told I had something to tell her. Again, I feel horror plus sudden puzzlement. This puzzlement throws me off and I blurt out an "ok." I hang up the phone and realize what has happened. Cursing up a storm, both of my roommates miss what happened on the previous wrestling event because they check up on me in the next room. For two hours, I listened to this drunk girl prate on about how much she hated her roommates and how lonely she was and how my apartment was the only place she felt comfortable and wanted at. What utter bullshit at this moment. I finally ask her, before she passes out, who had told her I had something to tell her about. She had no idea what I was talking about. I ran back into my room to only hear the opening theme to Star Trek and to see the last slice of pizza prey victim to my roommates' voracious appetites.
Tuesday was a winner in itself. I wake up at six to go to work. Upon getting there, I find out that no one did anything the night before. I have to fill all of the cereals and drink stations. Then I have to clean the dining room so that it is at least presentable. Then I suffer three more hours of intense, mind-numbing boredom. After work, I go to class. I find out, once seeing that everyone is pouring through their notes with relentless abandon, that there is a quiz today. Well, much like a whore in the park, I am just plain fucked. The rest of the day, I am working feverishly on a paper that is due in a week. It is a twenty-page paper. I thought I might start a little early on it. I get a call to play volleyball with a few friends around eleven at night. We play three games. We also apply beer pong rules to the series. For every point, someone on the other team must chug a beer. My team needed to be dragged off the field to switch sides after the second game. It was intense. I do not really remember how I made it home.
On Wednesday, I woke up to a pleasant surprise. At some point of the previous evening, I fucked up my right knee. I know this because it aches like a motherfucker whenever I try to straighten it out. It also hurts a little whenever I put any weight on it. Now, I am not a doctor, but I know that this is not a natural thing, like a little sneeze or the hiccups. This doesn't just happen. I was later told that security came to break up our game. Apparently, during the run away from the security people, I tried to jump through a hedge of bushes, thinking I had found the open area between bushes. What I found was the tree stump that the college had failed to remove from the ground before planting the bushes. That is what happened to my knee. On the good side of things, I picked up advance sale Spiderman tickets for Friday. Two tickets: one for my brother and one for me.
On Thursday, I am awakened at eight o'clock, ten minutes before my alarm. The phone is ringing. It is the career services people. The guy on the phone is excited that he managed to get me an interview with one of the judges at the courthouse. This was my number on internship choice. The interview is on Friday at two o'clock in the afternoon, right in the middle of Spiderman. This was the only available time for the next week. That just plain sucked. My knee hurts despite the lack of swelling. My classes suck, since I have a presentation on a paper that I have yet to even write for the next day and fifteen more pages to write on the twenty-pager I still have. Looks like it is back to the bottle this night. Too bad the damn thing is nearly empty. Can you be an alcoholic during college?
Well, Friday has come and gone. My brother and his friend had a great time at Spiderman. Being "true-believers" of the Marvel icon, they said the movie industry did a decent job and that the crowd was all about the comics. Yeah. I could have splashed a geek in a Spiderman outfit with an overpriced Coke. Instead, I got filleted by the judge. I went into the interview completely calm and fine. I shook hands with a firm, but gentle handshake. I introduced myself without a stutter. I had a glossy resume ready at hand. I knew what I needed to know. Too bad my fly was down and lil' Dolo was winking at the judge. She did not take too kindly to that. I have yet to receive any word on it. I did overhear a few words between the judge and the secretary after my interview. The words "cheap whiskey", "urine test", and
"freaking idiot" all came up in the subsequent conversation. Man, I should
have taken more care to wash the suit before coming to the interview. Oh well.
It is now early in the morning on Saturday. I have given up on the idea of clean living. I am now on to my second bottle of old Jack and I believe that I will stay this way for the rest of the weekend. I have to wake up tomorrow with a hangover, or it may all happen again.
Dolomite