On One Hand

April 28, 2004

Haiku The Orange Says

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 2:10 am


dCol='000000';//date colour.
fCol='000000';//face colour.
sCol='000000';//seconds colour.
mCol='000000';//minutes colour.
hCol='000000';//hours colour.

//Alter nothing below! Alignments will be lost!

date=new Date();
if (year < 2000) year=year+1900;
TodaysDate=" "+d[date.getDay()]+" "+day+" "+m[date.getMonth()]+" "+year;
Face='1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12';
Face=Face.split(' ');
y=new Array();x=new Array();Y=new Array();X=new Array();
for (i=0; i < n; i++){y[i]=0;x[i]=0;Y[i]=0;X[i]=0}
Dy=new Array();Dx=new Array();DY=new Array();DX=new Array();
for (i=0; i < D.length; i++){Dy[i]=0;Dx[i]=0;DY[i]=0;DX[i]=0}
if (ns){
for (i=0; i < D.length; i++)
for (i=0; i < n; i++)
for (i=0; i < S.length; i++)
for (i=0; i < M.length; i++)
for (i=0; i < H.length; i++)
if (ie){

for (i=0; i < D.length; i++)




for (i=0; i < n; i++)




for (i=0; i < H.length; i++)




for (i=0; i < M.length; i++)




for (i=0; i < S.length; i++)



function Mouse(evnt){
ymouse = (ns)?evnt.pageY+ClockFromMouseY-(window.pageYOffset):event.y+ClockFromMouseY;
xmouse = (ns)?evnt.pageX+ClockFromMouseX:event.x+ClockFromMouseX;
function ClockAndAssign(){
time = new Date ();
secs = time.getSeconds();
sec = -1.57 + Math.PI * secs/30;
mins = time.getMinutes();
min = -1.57 + Math.PI * mins/30;
hr = time.getHours();
hrs = -1.575 + Math.PI * hr/6+Math.PI*parseInt(time.getMinutes())/360;
if (ie){
for (i=0; i < n; i++){
var F=(ns)?document.layers['nsFace'+i]:ieFace[i].style;
F.top=y[i] + ClockHeight*Math.sin(-1.0471 + i*Split*Math.PI/180)+scrll;
F.left=x[i] + ClockWidth*Math.cos(-1.0471 + i*Split*Math.PI/180);
for (i=0; i < H.length; i++){
var HL=(ns)?document.layers['nsHours'+i]:ieHours[i].style;
for (i=0; i < M.length; i++){
var ML=(ns)?document.layers['nsMinutes'+i]:ieMinutes[i].style;
for (i=0; i < S.length; i++){
var SL=(ns)?document.layers['nsSeconds'+i]:ieSeconds[i].style;
for (i=0; i < D.length; i++){
var DL=(ns)?document.layers['nsDate'+i]:ieDate[i].style;
DL.top=Dy[i] + ClockHeight*1.5*Math.sin(currStep+i*Dsplit*Math.PI/180)+scrll;
DL.left=Dx[i] + ClockWidth*1.5*Math.cos(currStep+i*Dsplit*Math.PI/180);
function Delay(){
for (i=1; i < D.length; i++){
for (i=1; i

I decided tonight to practice divination by spinning an orange on my computer keyboard, uncovering encoded messages from God with a twist of complexity that makes it all the more interesting. The messages come through confusing and abstract, but like the I Ching they are meant to be obscure; nothing is concrete, but every message can be figured out with a little patience and contemplation. I have a slightly-oblong orange and a lime, and have been spinning each on its respective tiny stub of a stem. The fruits bounce across the keyboard as they whirl, hitting every few keys to uncover amazing new revelations about life and philosophy, and about my past and my destiny. I actually had almost an entire entry’s worth of God-sent messages written by the fruit when suddenly the orange hit a key that cleared the whole screen and deleted everything. Now I will try again, with more experience and more focused determination than I had the first time.

Message One … Where should I apply for a job?


Okay I have no idea what this one means. The spinning orange just bounced crosswise across the keypad and rolled off when it hit the laptop’s screen. The message is so short that only an experienced Zen Buddhist would have the wisdom to decode it in its level of simplicity. I believe and practice Buddhist philosophy, but I don’t believe in the theology and I do not consider myself a Buddhist, so I can’t be the one to decode the message. I know some of you are Buddhists so maybe a reader will know what the message means.

Message Two … Will I find a relationship this summer?

zch12 rbh9=========““““““

Now we’re getting somewhere. The “zch” looks like Zach, and I have a few friends named Zach, so God must be referring to one of them. The twelfth month of the year is December, which is represented here by the number twelve. (Also, December is Sagittarius, the sign I get along with best in relationships.) After dancing over the number keys for a time, the orange spun back toward the front of the keyboard without depressing any keys, and turned back toward the screen only after depressing the space bar. The letters “rbh” must stand for “really big huge” and the “9” must represent a cat, since cats live nine lives before reincarnating as some other sort of animal. The Cat is the thing that is “really big huge,” I guess. The “====” must stand for equality, and the reverse apostrophe (who the heck knows what that piece of punctuation really is) must represent something that should be there but isn’t there, as all apostrophes do. So what should be there that isn’t? This could potentially get very deep. At CU Boulder, which is where I am, the thing that should be there but isn’t there is black people. So lets put the whole sentence together… “Zach December, really big huge cat, equality black people.” See how easy it was to find the meaning in that? Equality and black people just go together so well, too, since equality is something that every single black person wants. And none of you can blame me for anything that came up in the sentence since it wasn’t me speaking; it all came from God. Now I’ll try a new message with the lime.

Message Three … Should I add another class to my Fall 2004 schedule?

Well, disappointing as it may be, I have come to the conclusion that the lime is too light to hit any keys. Back to the orange now.

Message Three … Same question


Now obviously this one means “get your sixty-five, easiest!” This is getting less and less difficult all the time! Lets try one more divination.

On a side note, my good friend from high school just text-messaged me on my cell phone to ask “are you liberal or competitive?” She doesn’t know much about politics, I guess, though she is very good at playing hide-and-seek with cell phones in the grocery store, which is why I love her. Rather than correct her mistake, I just replied to her message with the word “liberal,” which is what I am, and left her mistake uncorrected. This is the girl who, when I asked her what religion she thought Osama Bin Laden might be, replied “he’s an Islam,” and the girl who kept saying I was going to be an “affirmist” in college meaning that I would be involved in some form of activism. Anyway, back to divination.

Message Four … What is the meaning of life?


I say this means “dot [don’t] look out, lost, 9,987 tall, [the] fcc [is] very fucking great.” Obviously God is using some irony here because currently the FCC is terrible. In any case, this is a very worthwhile message. In combination with the ” ni9090pp;/,” that I got on my next spin, I can find some serious answers to the meaning of life. The coded message ” ni 9090pp;/,” is undoubtedly ” night ninety-oh-nine-oh-ers play poker semicolon forward-slash comatose,” which would remind me that if I play too much football I could easily be knocked out and die later from injuries (or at least I’d be in a coma). Note to self: no football. Also, the FCC sucks and Zach’s big cat thinks that the world needs more black people. Thank you Zach’s cat, I totally agree. I don’t know where I can get a sixty-five, but when the time comes for me to get one, everything will make sense, which is also true for the job I will get this summer and the meaning of life. My relationship status is on hold until I can get a cat, or maybe until I decide not to get a cat, or if I do get one, it has to be huge, and I should add another class this fall only if its easy and something to do with sixty-five (sixty-five students?). This whole divination thing is really working! Tomorrow: finding the face of God in blobs of toothpaste.

April 24, 2004

Meditate On This Entry

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 12:25 am

April 21, 2004


Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 9:15 pm

I think I have ADD, but I’m not sure. You tell me.

Lorelei came in while I was “doing homework” and asked to hang out, then said she felt bad pulling me away from schoolwork when I was, for once, getting stuff done.
“Getting what done?!” I asked her, “I’ve been here ‘doing homework’ for an hour and a half now and this is all I’ve gotten done;”

Week 11
Chapter 12
Review Questions

1. PT Barnum and Buffalo Bill Cody set the precedent that PR campaigns would act a major factor in shaping public opinion. Both Barnum and Cody had the attitude that dishonesty is acceptable if it used for trivial entertainment.
2. Early utility company and railroad company PR campaigns were not as good as hiding their manipulative nature as PR campaigns are today. They overstepped rational limits by lobbying for policy that would force smaller firms out of business, which had not yet been established as an acceptable way to run a PR campaign in the nineteenth century.

Mind you all, all this took up an entire hour and a half. I answer about a third of a question, then get up every five minutes to listen to a song or talk to somebody or just walk around the room to relieve stored-up energy that keeps me from focusing on my work.

Today I got the grade for my JOUR 1001 notebook containing all the work I did for the class over the first part of the semester (Weeks 1-9). The teacher emailed me saying that she loved my notebook and that she wants me to introduce myself to her in class on Thursday so she knows who I am. This is just WONDERFUL; now I’ll have added pressure when I do my notebook for the second half of the semester (weeks 10-14) since she’ll know who I am and be watching for my work. In the email, after going on about how funny my notebook was, the teacher mentioned that, though I would be getting an A+ for quality, I have to take a B for completeness since I didn’t get the last to weeks of questions finished. Unfortunately, I think I’m going to repeat the same problem with getting the second part of my notebook completed this semester. I have a whole half-semester’s work to do in less than a week. And you see how fast I get stuff done, with my attention problems and all.

April 20, 2004


Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 5:20 pm

Four-Twenty was a great time. Today was the first one I’ve ever been to, and I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t smoke; the fraternity was doing a bake sale as a fundraiser so I was busy selling cookies and cake. Everyone kept asking if the brownies were “special,” but of course the fact that they were asking that isn’t really a surprise to anyone who is familiar with the happenings of four-twenty.

I love the smell of pot. I don’t really enjoy smoking it, but I do love the smell. At least fifteen hundred people were gathered on Farrand field, and the whole place was left under a general haze of pot smoke starting about five minutes before the countdown. Everyone had a fun, carefree attitude, and I couldn’t help but notice that there was a great sense of community spirit in the crowd. I love how when the President of the United States tells a blatant lie about threats to free society that will lead to the loss of thousands of human lives for an unjust, profit-driven war, opposition to the call to arms is devastatingly unpopular; when the Board of Regents threatens to hike tuition to ridiculous costs that would force the majority of in-state students, including almost all minority students, to transfer out of the school, only the Student Government and a few others are up in arms; but when we’re all gathering together to take a stand that getting fucked up whenever we want should not be illegal, there is absolutely no problem to be had with getting everyone to be there.

There was a great deal of wind to cope with during the event, but when our bake sale’s cash box blew open and a flutter of one- and five-dollar-bills fluttered into the crowd, a group of stoned bystanders hunted down the cash and returned it to our grateful hands. Needless to say, each of them got a free cookie. When the afternoon was over, we had earned a modest profit of fifty or so dollars, which was fine with us considering that the only reason we had planned the activity was to demonstrate the cooperation skills required to gain entree into the frat. After the crowd cleared, bearded hippies meandered around the littered field with garbage bags, picking up trash that participants had lazily strewn all over the ground.

For those who don’t know what four-twenty is about, allow me to explain: The crime of possession of marijuana, at least historically, is classified as a 4-20. In honor of this, every year on April Twentieth, at 4:20 in the morning and then again at 4:20 in the afternoon, people who support the legalization of marijuana gather in a public place to celebrate their common interests and smoke pot. The countdown is somewhat disorganized but everyone tries to light up around or as close to 4:20 as possible. There are far too many people to arrest, so police simply stand by to keep the peace; no one is ticketed or penalized. I’m sure police forces are much stricter about the situation in more conservative states or even in more conservative counties, but most college towns and big cities are liberal enough that police won’t take action in order to avoid inciting a riot. As always, this year’s event was very peaceful and orderly, and for the most part, everyone had a good time.

April 18, 2004


Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 2:08 am

I wasn’t planning on drinking that much tonight. To be completely honest, I wasn’t planning on drinking anything at all. But I went to the party with Lorelei, and lo and behold, I collapsed under the irresistible seduction of jungle juice and margarita mix. I drank my own drink(s) and added to that whatever Lorelei didn’t drink, which turned out to be a lot of fucking alcohol.

Normally I handle alcohol well. I am mature about how much I drink, even when I do drink a lot I don’t get that drunk, and I have never been hung over. Tonight, however, seems to be going in a different direction. I think it’s mostly due to the fact that I was drinking two nights in a row. That’s no good. After drinking one night, the next day I feel weak and a little off. I’m yet to see what happens tomorrow, but I predict that two nights are gonna kill me. I am still nowhere close to sobered up, and I have a headache already. I took two ibuprofens. Pray for me.

I always drink tons of water when I’m drunk. No need to remind me that I should drink water. People always say “drink lots of water” and I say “fuck you, do you think Im fucking stupid? I’M the one who always says ‘drink lots of water.'” I drank like six glasses of it, in addition to the water I drank with the vitamins I took that should hopefully help me with the hangover. I’ll be okay, as far as drinking water goes.

The party could have been good, but this creepy CREEPY guy started hitting on Lorelei (she actually liked him, but dear God he was creepy), and she got uncomfortable after a while. To get rid of him she acted like I was her boyfriend, and then after he continued to creep her out, Lorelei wanted to leave. That kind of sucked, leaving so early, when I was freshly intoxicated and had to go home in that state (that is, the state of being drunk, which is what I still am, and how).

So pray for me. I don’t know if the ibuprofens will be good for my liver when I’m drunk, but they’ll probably be fine. My primary concern is my head. Dear God I honestly don’t think I drank that much, but the whole two-nights-in-a-row thing got me wasted on a lot less alcohol than I would normally need to drink to get wasted. Wooooo everything is like living under water or some shit like that, all wavy and pretty and smooth. [breaks some mad shit moves right in front of everyone, they clap and cheer and say matt is awesome. Matt gets a fabulous blow job from the hottest guy in the audience]

I ate tons of pizza. Lorelei ordered it after we got back to the dorms, while I was still really drunk. (I AM still really drunk.) Maybe eating all the pizza will help me not get too bad of sick. I don’t know how it ever would help me, but I just have a feeling that it will help me. I feel a little sick though, because I ate so much. I ate like 2/3 of a whole pizza. Ugh. Way more than I would normally eat. But I can’t be blamed; I’m kind of drunk; I am not responsible for my actions. It was cheese pizza; I’m a vegetarian so not much else kinds of pizza besides cheese works for me.


About cheese:
No matter how you slice it, it’s still the fermented extract of a cow’s nipple.

ugh my head. I have never been hung over in my life. But tonight I got drunk for a second night in a row, and mixed different brands of alcohol. I think I might get hung over. Pray for me.

***Morning Uptdate***
I’m not hung over, I don’t have a headache, and I feel very well-rested and refreshed. Go figure.

April 16, 2004

Fucking Cool

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 4:05 pm

Today I was walking back to my residence hall from the Journalism building, when this straight black guy talked to me for like no reason. He was all “hey, how are you doing,” and I said “not bad, you?” and he said “good.” And just like that, he went on his way, and I went on mine. How fucking awesome is that!?

It may seem to have been a benign conversation, but you all know what it really means, right? It means I am fucking cool. I am so fucking cool now. I mean, the guy was BLACK. A real, bona fide African American, right here in the dorky ol’ white, yuppie college town of Boulder, Colorado. And he said hi to me, Matt Pizzuti, when I was chosen out of all the guys there to receive a friendly message. Dear God I am so fucking awesome. It was as if he were saying to me, “Matt, in all the coolness that my people have accumulated throughout so many generations of pain and suffering at the hands of the white, Protestant, oppressive dominant society, I now take the time to recognize you, Matt Pizzuti, as worthy of a random little ‘hello,’ and because of that, I hereby dub thee fucking cool for all time.”

Dude, you all should have seen it. It was so awesome. He’s a nice guy too; sometimes when I’m playing on the piano in the TV lounge he stops outside the door on his way to class to listen. I also often come across him brushing his teeth in the bathroom.

I don’t know if you all know this, but I am part Irish. Irish people, of course, are the black people of Europe; our status as non-white was affirmed on the Island and affirmed again when we crossed over to the United States in the early Twentieth century and were treated so badly by the asshole Calvinists. “Hey fire-crotch,” the WASPs would say to the poor Irish boy living meagerly in Hell’s Kitchen, “get me a fucking beer.” “Hey, you little Papist freak,” the Presbyterian minister from Virginia would say to the poor raggedy Irish girl who badly needed work, “pick my fuckin’ tobacco!” I don’t know if you all knew this, but the Irish were the first true liberals. Don’t get me wrong; the Quakers were pretty fuckin’ cool, but the Irish were the first people to really jump on modern women’s rights, birth control (and God knows how they needed it), and they staunchly opposed the KKK even when the majority of Americans were joining it. The Irish, along with a few Italians and later on, Hispanics, came to the towns of New York, Boston and Chicago, turning them into the big popular cities that they are today. Then the first and only Irish president, John F Kennedy, signed the civil rights legislation that legally freed up the Irishmen’s Black brothers once and for all. Then John F Kennedy got shot. So was shot his brother, Robert Kennedy, during a presidential campaign that he very likely would have won had he not been lynched by the damn Protestants.

I’m also part Italian, as Italians were once the Blacks of America in their own right. I don’t know if you all knew this, but the Italians invented the healthy foods like vegetable sandwiches and salad. Most common vegetables were discovered being cultivated in primitive forms by Native Americans in South America, and Italians were the first to adopt them as dietary stable. Then when the Italians came to America in the late nineteenth century, the damn FDA told them all that vegetables are unhealthy and they ought to eat more hearty, fatty foods like red meat, white bread and butter. The whole reason why Italians are so hot today is that they didn’t listen to all that shit the FDA was saying. Today, Italians are famous for pasta and pizza, two very fine American foods that do have roots in Italy but that the Italians really didn’t eat very often. Italians ate mainly vegetables, whole grains, and olive oil, all of which can be found this very day at your modern health food grocery store. Italians, like the Irish, have historically been inexorably linked to the Catholic religion, a religion that is way cooler than anyone gives it credit for. Sure, half of the bishops and cardinals of today are douchebags, but Catholics are historically a very liberal group of people that today staunchly oppose capitol punishment and senseless war. (Just before the Iraq War, Pope John Paul II said, “this war would be a defeat for humanity which could not be morally or legally justified . . . violence and arms can never resolve the problems of man.”) The Jesuits are my favorite line of Catholic clergy, as they as a group have been excommunicated three times now. I don’t know what all of you think about that, but I say that’s fucking awesome.

Perhaps the greatest thing about Irish and Italian Catholics is that most of them apostatized. Whether or not they still identify as Catholic, they certainly don’t follow the rules. Michael Moore still considers himself Catholic, and people like T.S. Elliot, Alanis Morrisette, Rosie O’donnel, all grew up Catholic.

(—more to come—)

April 15, 2004


Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 12:20 am

I’m extremely prude. This has been determined, has been placed upon me, unequivocally and irrevocably married to my reputation as I put my face out the world as a human being.

And I think I’m okay with the reputation, because it’s true. I do have standards that are very limiting. I will not have any sexual contact with anyone who I think has selfish motives, I will not have sexual contact with anyone who I consider immature, I will not have sexual contact with anyone who might be hurt by the encounter, or with anyone who might hurt me in the encounter. This may seem only slightly limiting, but in the gay world, it excludes a damn lot of people. A long time ago I resolved that I will not lose my “virginity” (at least virginity as it is constructed by the majority of society, a perspective I don’t necessarily accept; I’ve never had “sex” but I think I’ve done enough that I don’t personally consider myself a virgin) until I am in an exclusive, official, monogamous relationship. I will not have threesomes or moresomes and I will not have any form of sexual contact while I or my partner is intoxicated on anything but extreme lust, pheromones, and endorphins.

But at the same time, I’m a total slut, and I freely admit that. Think about this; gemini (me) is the most sexually adventurous sign in the zodiac, scorpio (my ascendant) is the most sexual overall, and taurus (my cusp) has the strongest sex drive. If you don’t believe in astrology, you’ll just have to take my word for it; there are times that I can’t go five seconds without thinking about sex, when I would hump pretty much everything that moves and has a sexy jawline if it weren’t for my damn standards. I’m not going to have sex until I have a boyfriend, but when I have one, dear God I hope he’s a freak. There will be romantic moments; I’m sure the first time we do it for real will be as traditional and romantic as we can possibly bear. But after we’ve broken the metaphoric gay hymen and gotten completely comfortable with each other, the next time our pulses drop below 120 will be the day that something has gone terribly, drastically wrong. He tops, I top, he blows, I blow, a tangled mess of flesh and heated blood finds its way across every corner of the room. You know your eyes were burning with it ten feet before you reached the door, baby. You know I don’t give a fuck how we do it as long as I can make you moan.

Before my final thoughts, I must take a moment to admire the virtues of phone sex. I can’t say I’ve had had much experience in the field, but one really has to appreciate the possibilities presented by having the ability to do so many things with sound while not really needing to know or care what his or her partner looks like. Phone sex is totally safe, totally impersonal, and if you’ve got the right kind of phone book, totally available. You can do so many things with each other and maintain your precious innocence when it comes to physical contact, though your reputation might suffer if you aren’t careful. And who gives a fuck if everyone thinks it’s sketchy; as if their thrice-weekly random one-night-stands are the socially acceptable way to relieve themselves of built-up energy in the ninth chakra.

So I, the virgin slut, fully comfortable with yet another paradox of identity, as the paradox is and has always been the essence of my identity in all fields of life, am off to try to balance my dual sexual manifestations of self. I am aware that I am not to meet the person who was made for me (and I was similarly made for) for a long time if ever in this life, so I suppose I will have to adapt to some near-matches for a while. Good “friends” and serial monogamy work for me for the time being (as if this were an appropriate place to say all this), and if all else fails, I do indeed have access to a phone.

April 8, 2004

Rejection 20

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 7:54 pm

My new goal in life is to be rejected by twenty people per week. I may run out of gay guys in Denver to be rejected by soon, so then I’ll have to start going online and being rejected by guys in other states or cities, and then, when that is exhausted, I’ll start trying to be rejected internationally.

Why would I do such a thing? Well, a friend came up with the idea: you try to get blown off twenty times a night at the club, so that when you’re totally used to being turned down, you no longer fear rejection. You have enough confidence to go for the hot guys, and you finally talk to the one guy you really like, who you hope will say yes. I add an aspect to the strategy: if you’re being rejected twenty times a week, you’re bound to be accepted at least once a month. If you can’t score 1/20, you’ve got some SERIOUS problems to work on far beyond a fear of rejection. Anyway, I’m going to try out the whole twenty-a-week strategy and tell you all how it works. Maybe I’ll document my rejections here. Tell me if any of you are interested.

April 5, 2004


Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 2:47 am

Outside my college residence hall there is this little cement ridge, about a foot and a half high and six inches wide, that borders one side of the sidewalk. Six feet or so of it are missing, cut out to give access to a cozy metal bench, leaving an empty span that represents a challenging jump if one wants to land safely on the narrow landing space without breaking an ankle. I had mastered the skill of jumping across with ease, landing securely each time on the other part of the ridge, and enjoyed casually doing so every so often, without serious injury, on the way to the dining hall or class. With out injury, that is, up until tonight.

Walking toward the building with Lorelei around midnight, I took the familiar leap and made it across, only to have my shoes slip off the ledge upon landing. Who knew that cement could be slippery? I actually blame the worn-down bottoms of my shoes more than I blame the texture of the cement. It was like sliding on a banana peel; my feet went up, my head went down, and my vital organs went in every other possible direction. I remember hearing Lorelei gasp as I lurched into the air, and remember the firm impact of the concrete after floundering to protect my head from being cracked open as I fell. I did manage to keep my head safe, but in doing so sacrificed my left hip, my right shin, my left elbow, my left knee, and my dignity. When injuries like that happen it always takes a second for the pain to hit, and after my fall I winced in anticipation. Right about when I affirmed to Lorelei that I was alright, the pain signals reached my brain. For some reason I laugh whenever I burn myself, bruise myself, or bleed, and I suppose my chuckling as I lay on the ground reassured Lorelei that I was still alive and conscious. Next is when the mysterious thing happened. After only a few seconds of pain, I was suddenly numb, relaxed, and in a state of near-euphoria. As a child I would have been screaming in agony now, but this time I just lay back and enjoyed the strange injury-induced intoxication. I’m still not sure what caused it. It was just like, I was aware that I was in pain, but I just wasn’t bothered by it.

Strangely, my elbow, which was hurting the worst at first, was fine, and didn’t hurt at all ten or so minutes after the fall. You can’t even tell that there’s anything wrong with my elbow except for a few tiny beads of blood that broke through the skin and a firm lump that extends from the bone to about a fifth of the way up my forearm. My shin has a thirteen-inch scrape caused by the corner of the concrete ledge and is swelling a bit under a lovely thirteen-inch bruise. My hip was banged up the worst; it’s been a few hours and I’m still oozing blood from a quarter-sized area where there is very little, if any, skin left. Under the skin around the wound, there is a purple swollen area that is starting to extend itself, as if drawn by gravity, down my leg, even though the impact area is at most two and a half inches in diameter. On the right left side of my abdomen, close to the wound on my hip, there was at first a strange, weak sucking sensation. I know my pancreas or intestines didn’t rupture because I would have been deathly ill by now if anything like that had been severely damaged, but my side still hurts if I push on it with my fingers. I evidently did something bad to some organ in the area.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not claiming to be seriously injured. Mainly I was just intrigued by my mysterious lack of misery during all the pain I was feeling after the fall. I still felt the pain, it was distinctly persistent; it just didn’t bother me. Maybe the laughing helped; I know laughing reduces pain. The sleep-deprivation I was under may have numbed me up as well, though after the fall my thoughts were particularly clear and my mind was particularly sharp. The other weird thing about the injury is that I got really aroused about an hour and a half after it happened. Maybe I could attribute some of these things to adrenaline or endorphins, but I don’t really know. It’s all just strange.


Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 1:39 am

I’ve had a request to explain the adventure that ensued after last night’s entry, and indeed there was one. Whether or not it will be interesting to any of you, however, is debatable.

I set out for a walk with all those necessary things in my pocket, when a guy I had called earlier in the evening (but he hadn’t answered) finally called me back. He was having a get-together and invited me, and I accepted. The party was a lot of fun, (I can’t really go into details) but in the end we all spent the night at the guy’s house and hung out together through most of the next day.

But before all that morning-after stuff, about halfway through Saturday night, we all walked to the sandwich place to get food. On the way home these drunk sorority girls walked by, lost and disoriented, and we offered to help them find their way to wherever they were going. We chatted and sort of surrounded one of them, while the rest of them nervously huddled in the background, shyly keeping a good distance from us. When the girl we were huddled around started to look a little nervous, someone said “don’t worry; we’re all gay,” which cracked her up. We explained the whole alternative fraternity and how it’s initials, DLP, can stand for “don’t like pussy” if she needs to use the acronym to remember who we are. She thought the idea was hilarious, and we informed her that she is gorgeous and fabulous and should look us up if she ever wants to go shoe shopping or do anything at all fun with a bunch of crazy fags. We all had a pretty good time, I think, staggering around the neighborhood and meeting different groups of drunk bystanders. We came across a very straight looking guy and had a nice talk about how the fact that he was so open to us probably made him bi, and one guy in our group had a friendly cussing match with a few inebriated guys from another fraternity. It was a great evening. I drunk dialed somebody. The next day, without going home to change clothes or shower first, four of us went straight to the Pearl Street Mall to visit different furniture stores and look at futons.

Dear God, Xavier snores louder than a rusty dishwasher. That was my experience sleeping a few feet away from him on Saturday night. When I heard another guy wake up and turn over (I hadn’t yet been able to fall asleep) I said to him that, considering all the noise, we might as well get a vacuum cleaner and turn that on too for good measure. It was a poor sleep and I got less than six hours, but I strangely still felt very refreshed in the morning. Nice, sunny days will do that to you. Besides, how fitful a sleep do you actually need to have the brain power and physical energy required for futon shopping?

Next Page »

Blog at WordPress.com.