Satisfied Partying

The more I do this, the more I feel like the complete idiot that I am. I look over to bodies scattered around the room like a thrown pack of cards and I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something. Last night was New Year’s Eve and I don’t remember much more than that. I do remember taking shots with friends of friends, listening to girls complain about how their boyfriend is really a great guy but he just needs time, and throwing up in a toilet. I look around the apartment and can’t find a cup that isn’t filled with alcohol from last night, so I cup my hands together and guide the water into my dry mouth. I am almost completely full when Marcos, my best friend since 8^th grade, taps me on the back.

“Bro, you know we have cups right? I always keep extra in the top cabinet.”

I give him a look that says thanks and watch as he makes his way over to the same toilet I threw up in last night. I’ve been coming here for parties the past few months and I still don’t know anyone else’s name except Marcos. I tried hanging out with some people I had meet at his Halloween party a few weeks ago but things didn’t work out. For how desperate I am to connect with someone else, it’s amazing how picky I am. After only 10 minutes at the coffee shop with two rather chatty girls, I excused myself out and went back to apartment to spend another night watching re-runs. My apartment looks terrible right now: poor lighting, no posters, and no family pictures. I’m working on fixing the problem but I’ve been busy lately. I ordered some posters of my favorite shows and I even have some new lights coming in.

Marcos heads back over into the kitchen and he has this great smile and just keeps laughing and laughing about last night. I nod at random and laugh along as I watch those behind him raise from the floor as if they were zombies. I can’t really put into words my hate from everyone in the room, but it fills me up and makes me feel full. I grab my jacket and start heading out towards the door and Marcos starts making coffee for all his fans.

“Same time next week?” he says with that same Marcos smile.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

All at Once

As I make my way over to the renovated hearse that passes as the family car, I can’t help but assume the worst. I’m late and I’m not as prepared as I told myself I would be. Every night for the past two weeks I wrote out everything I would need to do to prepare myself but people can surprise you, yourself included. I jump into my car and as I turn the key in the ignition my neon ukulele keychain sways to the rushed beat of my heart. For a split second after, I still live in a time where the worst hasn’t yet come to fruition.

As the car speaker (I blew the driver’s side speaker out 2 years ago after a particularly long night) started to pump out the words of George Carlin I couldn’t help but force my fist into the steering wheel. Seeing as the horn was also broken, the resulting thud could hardly block out Carlin’s voice.

“I’m behind the 8-ball, ahead of the curve, riding the wave, dodging the bullet and pushing the envelope…”

As much as I appreciate anyone mocking euphemisms tonight was not the night for that. I’m already halfway down the street as I throw the Carlin CD out the window and begin searching for my Space Jam CD to get me prepared for tonight’s action. I really thought Thom would have been the one to call me, but things would still be okay with Rosanna being the caller. I had about 15 minutes till I got to the vacant football field next to Thom’s house but I was perfectly on time. Space Jam was always my favorite movie of all time time. I think for most people they liked it because of Michael Jordan dunking to R.Kelly songs or because of Bugs Bunny. But I, I liked how the little Martian guys were able to take away power for those we didn’t appreciate it, just like that. I also loved Bill Murrary.

By now I was almost at the field and I was ready to help out my friends in their time of need. As I sprinted across the field to the endzone were Thom and Rosanna were seated, I couldn’t help but imagine how good of a scene this would have made in a movie. I sat down next to Thom as he held hands with Rosanna.

“Took you long enough. I’m only going to say this to you once and then we are moving on and never going back,” Thom said all awhile I stared at myself in the reflection of his eyes. I really wish I would start keeping a comb in the car.

I nodded in agreement as Thom started to tell me all the dreadful events that had occurred to him and Rosanna that day. I did my best to act surprised, I had been practicing every year in case someone threw me a surprise birthday party. As Thom finished I looked over to him and looked into his eyes and past my reflection. I cleared my throat and delivered my line.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, this couldn’t happen to two nicer people.” I stayed in character until the complete hollowness of the words was too much to bear and slowly felt a smile meet my face.

Rocky Stone

A Stone

It feels like the worn skin of my grandmother’s hands
smells like a freshly cleaned chalkboard eraser.
with the look like a penny sliced right down its middle.
the surface has so many small indentations that the rock almost appears porous like a sponge.
it tastes like a broken popsicle stick.

forgotten and trampled over many times that its shape has been morphed like a rusty coke can
laying next to hundreds of other stones that at first appear exactly the same
and the very aspects that make it unique are in reaction to outside forces
how can it claim to be an individual when it gives nothing new
I restrict this stone to my lifeless wooden desk.
To remember that we are all carbon copies at first glance