Brokeback Maintenance Man

So I walk out of my building today and bend over to unlock my bicycle. I see one of Wash U's many fine maintenance men walking by, and he's looking right at me. I finish unlocking the bike and look up to find him just standing there. He grins and says "You know, I've got a partner who looks just like you."

I say, "It's cause of the hair, isn't it?" as I start rolling my bike past him. As I do so, he begins walking in stride with me.

"The hair, and the shortness," he said. I complained that I wasn't that short, just a little below average.

And so then this guy gives me his fucking gay love story. I woke up like 5 minutes before this happened, and my head felt like shit because I think I'm getting sick, and this random guy comes up and tells me that I look just like some guy he's gay with? Not before I drink my coffee, dude.

Total Oscar material. These guys met in the Army, and they retired at the same time and moved to the same city. Guy says he's got a girlfriend, and that his man's got a girlfriend, and that their girlfriends both suspect something. And I'm trying to slowly slip away so I can go to class, and this guy keeps walking with me and talking more and more, and I'm like "Dude, I don't want to know all this!" but I didn't say that, of course.

Out of nowhere come these four white maintenance guys, and suddenly Mr. I Wanna Get Faggy With You shuts up and lights a cigarette. I wait for some sort of dismissal, and when he doesn't say anything, I just get on my bike and ride away.

What the fuck?! Do I look like I want to hear things like that? "Hey kid, you look like my fucking gay lover. You know what that means?" It means I'm gonna be late for class, asshole.

Not Feeling It

I dunno. I say that a lot, don't I?

I dunno. I'm just not feeling it anymore. Things are getting more complicated as time goes on. All of a sudden, I'm not just talking about banging random freshmen and prefrosh. I'm talking about real problems and emotions and shit?!

And this sort of thing is new. So sure, writing a couple times a week about how dumb and funny my life is was one thing, but I haven't got a clue how to talk about, I dunno, feelings, I guess.

I'll be back in LA in less than 20 days, and then what? As little work as I do at Wash U, I really don't have much of a life outside of this place. Am I supposed to get a job? Am I supposed to watch TV and get fat? Maybe just hang out at the beach picking up anything that bends over far enough?

I mean fuck! This is the sort of shit that I expect from Alfonzo or Alan, but not the Chaz!! I've crossed the line between selfishness and self-absorbedness, and let me tell you, there's no reason to sit around complaining. It doesn't fix anything.

Maybe I should take a page out of Alfonzo's book, find a cause to support. I mean, I'm not asking for Alan to start poisoning people so I can pledge to stop him (no offense, Alfonzo, but it sure takes a lot to get you up in arms). I just need a life. Something I can do, other than be Chaz.

Cause being Chaz isn't much fun these days.

Should've Been A Math Major

I'm so fucking hungry, everybody. Like, you have no idea. I'm not even stoned or anything, because I'm writing this during class. I had an egg, ham and cheese croissant about 15 minutes ago, and it must have digested on impact because I'm soooo goddamn hungry I could strip the bark right off the desk and eat it; figure it would digest slower.

And yes, The Chaz is alive. No tornado, hailstorm or thunder can hold me back. It's just all this homework.

Oh, what? The Chaz can do homework occasionally, and it just so happens to be one of those months. It's my professors' fault; I'm still making up for the work I didn't do over Spring Break.

Spring Break, man. There's some bullshit right there. Blake wasn't around, which is probably best for him, but I got some face time with Dave and Cody, and maybe I learned something.

So I have to ask, and raise your hands for this one, who hasn't slept with Blake? I understand that it's hard to find gay guys who aren't enormous sketchballs, and that the opportunity for a no-commitment lay with a trustworthy guy is hard to come by. I get it; nobody understands the no-commitment lay like ol' Chazzy, but that's not what has me so fucked up about all of this.

The no-co lay is an art form, balancing hotness, willingness and the chance of ever seeing her again.

It looks like this :

Hotness is on the standard -10 to +10 scale, -10 being unfuckable and +10 being unfuckingbelievable.
Willingness is on a -2 to +2 scale, -2 being "where's the bartender?" and +2 being "where's the bed?"
You basically have to guess your chance of running into her again, but a 5% chance looks like :

The number you aim for is up to you, but usually it's based on the size of your balls.
Here are some examples.

#1. That monstrously hot girl in one of your lecture classes starts flirting with you at a party. She's a +7 for hotness, an estimated +1 for willingness, and maybe a 50% chance of running into her again (I figure there's about a 50% chance of me not showing up for that lecture for the rest of the term). Plug it in.

#2. She's below average, about a -3. But damn, she's really digging you, so a +2 there. And you never would have noticed her if you weren't drunk, so a 1% down there. Plug it in.

#3. Curveball for you. -6 hotness, +1 willingness, and she's in every one of your goddamn classes, so 100%. Plug it in.

#4. Same deal, only she's a prefrosh, so there's only a 12% chance that she'll get in, minus 50% because freshman don't have classes with Juniors. Plug it in.

You get the idea. The point is that fucking people you see often isn't a good idea, and so I don't know what Dave and Cody were thinking when they slept with Blake. Alan... well, I'm not happy about it, but at least there's only like a 3% chance of them ever seeing each other again. A +7 for hotness and a +2 for willingness, and it makes total sense. But Dave and Cody have like a 10,000% chance of seeing Blake again.

Oh, and don't forget to multiply everything by the Chaz Factor.

That's all I've got to say.

-Chaz

I Guess

I guess I missed the 200th post. I'm not angry or anything; I was just going to say something about the start of Suite 3100, probably something about booze and then something else about Suite 3100. It's been a while since I last posted, and my last post is kinda starting to leave a bad taste in my mouth, so even if it's the 202nd, it's probably a good idea to just keep writing.

I was awake when Carl and Alan had their way with the internet, and this going to sound weird, but I was proud of S3100 right then. I don't know much about writing, and I know even less about art, but when I think back to what I expected the blog to become, I know that it has become something far better (I was thinking, honestly, just a current events-type ranting space. It is that, of course, but I feel like there's more than that alone).

I thought about the fact that I started the blog, yet it's grown up and fallen more into Alan's hands than mine. Somehow, though, I don't hold it against him; Alan keeps me far more entertained than I would have kept myself, and I never could have put any of this together by myself. My internet baby is growing up, and Alan's hands are capable. And maybe the blog wanted to move into his hands as much as he wanted to have it in his hands.

I'm not good at explaining this sort of thing, but it's kinda the same with Blake. Or, it should be. Betrayal and lies and all of that bullshit is just that; bullshit. Seeing Blake, who I thought of as mine, fall into Alan's hands, I just got jealous, I guess.

But Alan's a good guy. He's not a fuck-up, and he's not prone to becoming one. There's no reason that he shouldn't have hooked up with Blake.

Jealousy's a bitch, is what I'm trying to say. And, I'm sorry. And, great work.

-Chaz

Fag-tastic

It's not cool, Alan. I know you've been depressed and shit, and Valentine's Day sucks for everyone, but you can't pull shit like this behind my back. Blake was here for less than two fucking days, like two weekend nights, and you had to get your sticky little fingers all up in his business.

And Blake, he lied to me, too. "Naw, man. I'm tired. I think I'm gonna go back and sleep. You keep partying, it's cool." And he walked right into my suite and knocked right on my suitemates door, and they had themselves a fun little time.

Someone should have told me. Someone should have said something. And the way I found out... because they wouldn't have owned up to it, no no. I come home and piss first thing, like I always do. And there's a god-damn condom floating in the toilet. First, I think "Okay, a little gross, but sometimes there's no time to flush," but then I remember that Vlad's been living in the library, again, and Alfonzo... well, Alfonzo doesn't use that bathroom anyway. And I think, "who could Alan have fucked tonight?" and the pieces all came together.

It's not cool.

-Chaz

It's Wednesday Morning; You Know What That Means

No, no. I'm just kidding. I'm not wasted, or even planning on getting wasted before Thursday.

But this Wednesday morning means that Valentine's Day is over, and I'm officially as poonless as I was when it started. What can I say? I just haven't been fucking like my old self, lately. I'd worry, think I'd lost my touch, but it's not that I've tried and got shot down; I just haven't been trying.

We've reached that dead zone, where no new girls show up at the frats, the ones who still show up are either dating someone or I've already banged them. Fall semester, getting laid at the frats is like shooting fish in a barrel. Spring semester is almost the same, only there's more STDs floating around, and nothing is worse than a diseased fish.

There's just no motivation, you know? It's not really fun anymore.

Oh no... ladies and gentlemen, and ladies... is what the Chaz needs... a relationship?

Thoughts, advice, anything. If you've got a way out of this, please let me know. I've got a reputation to keep up.

-Chaz

I'm Not A Bookworm

I've in betweens Saturday activities, and I wanted to leave a note in defense of myself; I don't know how many of you read Vlad's post from the other day, but it's based on pure statistical falseness! The Chaz tries to do no more than 2 hours of homework in a single day,. and so how can I help it if Vlad is only in the common room the one night I decide to catch up in the classes I like better? An error of perception, I tell you!

The classes are going well, but I'm a little weirded out by how much they have in common. I mean, psych classes are all a lot alike, but that's because there isn't enough psych out there to fill two entire classes. But all my social studies classes feel like they're telling the same story. I noticed, in my first week, that something like half my courses have "Gay" in the name, but I don't think I knew just how gay it was going to be. I mean, literally every day is about gay something-or-other; I thought that, maybe, they'd talk about something else once in a while. Not, like, football or anything, but something other than an important supreme court decision, or a hate crime, or the lilting, lisping affect of the modern stereotype.

I'm listening to one of Alan's mixes right now, and that guy is seriously a fucking hippie. I can't listen to this stuff without seeing psychadelic flowers and people running around dancing. All that long hair.... who's going to pick up all those hairs? Seriously, my parents made me listen to this stuff when I was growing up--The Byrds, Simon and Garfunkle, The fucking Beatles--but I didn't think anyone made this music anymore. I asked Alan when most of these songs were recorded, and it's basically all within the last 5 years. You can't not enjoy it. I guess popular bands have forgotten the most basic principle of music : it pretty much always sounds good, unless you do something stupid to make it bad (like screaming, or playing way too loud, or letting computers skullfuck the recording).

Anyway, I'm on foot tonight, so I've got to get walking if I'm going to get there at 11. 11 PM, in case you didn't know, is officially the correct time to arrive at a party that started at 9 PM.

-Chaz

It's Thursday Afternoon; You Know What That Means

Liquor run! And I really don't think I could have waited any longer. I know it's only been three days, but this semester is really hard! I'm taking 14 credits, and even an idiot like me knows that 14 credits is too many.

Not to bore you (well, actually, it is to bore you. Sorry), here's what my schedule looks like:
1. Cultural Studies In Sex...(blah blah blah...). I took intro to women's studies last term, because Vlad told me it was a great place to pick up dates. I can't say it's any better than a frat on a Friday night, but I definitely got more digits there than in my Intro Psych class.
2. Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual....(blah blah blah...). Like I said, I took intro to psych last term, and I really liked it. When I looked on the course listings for other psych classes I could take, this is the one with the lowest course number (309). I hope that means it's easy, or at least easier than all the higher numbered courses.
3. Ragtime (finally a class without a three-page name). This 2-credit class is what makes me a full-time student. I'm taking it pass/fail, and I probably won't even show up to lecture.
4. Logic somethingsomething Analysis. Intro Philosophy courses are the bread of Wash U slackers (see below for butter). No further explanation needed.
5. Epic of Evolution : Life, Earth, and the Cosmos (I have typed the whole name because... well, just look at it! How could it be anything less than pure awesomeness?!). Though low-numbered Earth and Planetary Science courses are the butter of Wash U slackers, I swear that I'm actually going to care about this class. I read the syllabus (are all syllabusses(??) this useful? Is it wrong that this is the first one I've ever read all the way through?) and slacking never looked so engaging. Plus, if I need any help, I can just ask Vlad "Cosmos" Wipidowsky to help me out (if he ever shows up for second semester, that is).

Anyway, that's what the boring half of my semester looks like (by half, I mean the part before 3 PM). As for the fun half, I'm thinking about rushing again (heh heh. Better not go to the same frats as last year). I'm hoping that (hint hint) some of my suitemates will come along and (this means you, Alfonzo) try to enjoy themselves.

Seriously, you guys, there's no commitment. You just show up at the right time, and they treat you like royalty (up until the moment you pledge, when everything turns to shit for a while).

Anyway, there's booze to be bought, and I'm gonna buy it. Hope the police don't read my blog.

-Chaz

Goodbye, Hollywood Blvd

Let me just say that I started this post last night, then I popped onto Facebook to dig up some dirt; I said to myself, "You know you'll close Firefox and lose your post. Save it, copy the text, or do something. I decided to trust in my ability to not completely fuck it up, and I closed Firefox just the same. Alan has often said that "The Internet Is A Dick," but I think I'm the dick here.

Okay, so it's been good to get away from the internet for a few weeks. Nobody loves the blog liek Chaz loves the blog, but if you spend too much time writing down everything that happens to you, the internet eats your soul. So it's been good to get a little part of my soul back, even if I had to hang out with my high school friends to do it. Dave, Blake and Cody, this one is for you:

Backgrounds!
I've known Cody the longest, since summer camp between 3rd and 4th grade. He didn't come to Oakwood until high school, which is when he got really into drama and putting on plays and things like that. I met the other guys through him.

Blake is, has been, and will probably always be Mr. Center Stage. He met Cody at the beginning of freshman year, and I met him that spring, when Cody dragged me to an audition and I got the part of the janitor who doesn't talk much, but when he does say something it's really important. Anyway, Blake used to call himself the "Drama King," and nobody could really argue.

Dave is just like me; a normal guy who got stuck in the acting troupe and can't remember how or why. I think, maybe, he had a girlfriend who did plays, convinced him to join, then broke up with him. I think I met Dave my sophomore year. He just started showing up, you know?

Anyway, because scheduling conflicts (vacations, internships, drinking until blackout) have kept our foursome apart since last winter break, I invited everyone over to chill and catch up. I know that a lot of people "find themselves" in sophomore year, but it seems like these guys have changed a lot.

At first, we basically did what I do with my friends at Wash U: we sat around watching TV and movies, drinking, smoking and talking. Thanks to Vlad, I can hold my liquor better than these guys; Dave is just too short to drink, and Cody and Blake rarely drink real booze. I evened things out with a triple tequila shot. We turned the TV off and started talking.

I told them all about everything, as quickly as I could. I told them they could read the old blog posts for highlights (see, part of my soul has been eaten). Dave went to school up in Portland, and he's now a bisexual hippie stoner dude; I probably could have guessed the stoner bit, but where the hell did the bisexual thing come from? Cody and Blake both ended up in NYU's acting and film school, and they pretty much study what they did for fun in high school. Apparently, they got some money and equipment and made a porno last summer.

Growing up in LA, I'm pretty comfortable with porn and things like that. I won't say I enjoy it; just that I'm not opposed to it. The mention of porn made me curious, so I asked more about it.

"It's a standard delivery-man premise. Blake plays the pizza guy and (this is where they lost me) we got Blake's boyfriend to play the 'grateful recipient'."

It was weird. The word "boyfriend" just bounced off of my ears, at first. I nodded, said "awesome," and then it hit me. Apparently, Blake and Cody has discovered their homosexual sides since going to college. Cody said that he's always known he was gay, but didn't feel comfortable coming out in high school. Blake was less certain, but dated three guys in the last year.

I'm not bragging, but I'm the least homophobic person I know. Still, this puts a whole different spin on everything that happened in high school. Did people know about Cody? Did people suspect Blake? Did they suspect me for being their friend? Even Dave, straight-arrow Dave, is not quite as straight as we thought. I know it's dumb to worry about what people used to think of me, especially since I don't really see anyone from high school, but I can't help wondering....

Everybody found a couch or a bed to pass out on, and they all left the next day. I got a few calls from Cody and one from Blake, but I didn't call them back until the end of the week; I was still sorting everything out, adjusting to the my new old friends. I finally called them back, and we all spent the rest of the break mixing high school traditions with college ones; more drinking and smoking, but also hitting fast food places, seeing movies and things like that. It was chill, but a tiny bit awkward.

It was a tense moment, lined up at the box office, trying to pick a flick. All eyes fell on Brokeback Mountain, and then on me. We saw Syriana, instead, but I still felt weird about it.

Were the signs always there? I used to be really close to Cody, so how come I never knew? Was he sending hints the whole time? Am I just a moron?

The answers to these questions and more on the next, Chaz Durango Post.

-Chaz

Outie

Well, this is it. I'm punching the sky at 5:10 today, and I'm not coming back until January. I took all my finals, turned everything in, and there's only one thing left. It's a little weird, but I think it's important.

In the world of the internet, Suite 3100 sorta floats on a cloud. If you tried to make a map of Wash U from the stories we tell, it would be a couple of lecture halls, five suites and three rooftops (though I only saw two); a very small liberal arts college. As it turns out, we've got neighbors. Suite 3090 has been pretty quiet this term, and may actually be empty. Suite 3110, however, made first contact last night. Vlad is gone, Alfonzo is AWOL, and Alan was out with Maggie, so I was the one who answered the door.

She's tall, and I don't like tall chicks, so being tall was her first mistake. Her second mistake was walking right in when I opened the door. She crossed her arms and looked me up and down (which is usually a good thing, but she was tall, so it pissed me off) before asking me if the angry depressed goth kid named Alfonzo is my suitemate. I told her he wasn't goth, but that yeah, he lives here.

She pulled out her cameraphone and showed me a picture of him. Pretty good picture of Alfonzo, honestly--dark jacket, cigarette, tape recorder, standing under the Westfield West County sign. That pretty much sums him up, I think.

So she tells me that she saw him at Westfield, and that he was shouting racial slurs into his tape recorder. She recognized him, so she walked up and asked what he was doing (I could have told her that was a bad idea. Never directly approach an Alfonzo in the wild). He stopped tape, kinda glared at her a little bit, then hit record again and started talking about her, in front of her. The word "bitch" was used, and I'm guessing that's the least of it.

Anyway, when she was done with her story, she just kind of stood there with her arms crossed. I shrugged, and she asked me where he was. I told her he was probably right where she left him, and she growled at me and left.

Neighbors... Jesus...

Not that I have to deal with her until next semester.

Like the title of the post says, I'm Outie!

-Chaz

On Filthy Goddamn Southerners

I love them. I'm not talking about Alan (he isn't filthy, and he's more of a "damn southerner" than a "goddamn" one). I'm talking about Brody.

Brody isn't the most-popular guy in Suite 3100, or at Wash U. in general (while we were at an ATM, a girl walked by him and said only the words "Brody the douche". I'm told it's his ex-girlfriend), but I like him. He represents, to me, some of the best parts of the South.

He's lazy.
He's cheap.
He's an idiot.
He talks about Jesus even though he doesn't know anything about him.
He likes guns and gratuitous violence.
He drinks bad liquor.
He's ugly.

In California, you find people who fit two, maybe three of these characteristics. I know plenty of dumb, ugly, cheapskates. I know plenty of people who talk about Jesus and love guns. I know people who are ugly enough for it to count as three separate characteristics. But, in my entire life, Brody is the first person I've met who had all of these things wrapped together.

Plus, he's loaded.


I got online, bored and sober and looking for something to do. Brody, at some point, probably while I was drunk, made it onto my buddy list, and he was the only person who wasn't studying for a final or writing a paper, so we started talking. He wanted to go on some sort of adventure, inevitably involving marijuana and low-grade explosives; I told him I'd see what I could scrape together.

Brody bought the contraband, and I borrowed Alan's zig-zags and his magical joint-rolling pen. I've only ever seen Alan do it, but it seemed simple enough, so I told Brody I knew how. I think I rolled a pretty decent joint for a first-attempt, even though we had to pull on it like we were sucking an egg through a hose (an Alan-ism, probably from the South).

We ended up at Waffle House (after something like seventy wrong turns. Brody was driving). I ordered a hearty southern man's dinner: TEXAS Cheesesteak, double order of hashbrowns, smothered, covered and chunked, and a regular order of hashbrowns smothered and topped.

As I ate my chili-browns, I said to Brody, "You know what I'm doing right now? I'm giving you a great reason to get us back to campus without getting lost." He looked at my plate, then at me, and a look of absolute horror hit his face.

Oh, I forgot that part of being from the South: he farts, and he respects farting as a bargaining token.

Anyway, there's not much point to this story, I realize. I just wanted an excuse to post more pictures. It's no photo-essay (I couldn't stand up to Carl's adventures), but I like the pictures.

Brody using his dick-berry mobile device. Why does he need it? Nobody knows. What good is it? Marking himself as a target for muggers.



Yours truly, in my best Waffle House outfit. That's a Wal-Mart hat. Cost me a dollar, it did.



Brody eating a bowl of chili, so he could return fire on the car ride back to campus. While he wasn't paying attention, I payed our waitress a dollar to spit in it.

Alright, I guess I've got finals to study for.

-Chaz

Holy Shit!

I heard, last night, that it was supposed to snow. I woke up and looked out the window this morning, and there wasn't a single snowflake to be seen. After showering, I came back into my room and saw the magic begin. And it has continued, almost without stopping, since 8:20 this morning. It's snowing lighter now than it has all day, but we've got a solid 3 or 4 inches on the ground.

All these midwesterners and new englanders look at me weird when I run around in the snow, kicking it, tossing balls of it into the air, laughing like a retard the whole time. They don't understand. It's SNOW! Here, I took some pictures for you:

Here, we see a normal, everyday staircase turned evil slippery death-trap of doom. It was all I could do to go to class, knowing that if I waited long enough, I'd see someone bust their ass.

This is the big street that runs between WU campus and the South 40. I spent most of my day staring out the windows at the rooves of buildings. The sky was exactly the same color as the rooves; the only way I knew where one ended and the other began was by finding the faint line between them! It was like the whole campus got swallowed into some endless white void. I think I've seen a movie or a TV show that that happened in.

Finally, nobody knows how to chill on a snow day better than Wash U's "The Bunny". There've been a lot of people bad mouthing the bunny ever since Taco Bell got kicked off campus; they say that everyone loved the bell and everyone hates the bunny. I think the fact that the bunny has stayed, not moving, just thinking about shit, says a lot about his right to be there. Taco Bell sucked, anyway; you can find higher quality beef in a public restroom, if you look hard enough.

Alright, well I'm going with Alan to Wal-Mart so we can buy a sled! Who knows when we'll see this much snow again?

-Chaz

Oh, Alan

There really is something to the hippie way of life, Alan. I know this isn't the first time we've gone out smoking, but every time we do, I fall asleep in the best fucking mood. Booze isn't really the drug of happy people. People drink to forget. They drink to forget their job, they drink to forget their wife (or husband), and they drink so that they can become somebody they can't be sober. At 5'o'clock, America turns into a country of Mr. Hydes. They drink to let the monsters out.

I say "they" like I haven't done it, but I have. Everybody has monsters inside, somewhere.

Since things have been pretty quiet around Suite 3100 (the blog and the actual suite), I guess I'll give you an update. Just to be fair, I'm not really the "go-to" guy for keeping track of people's emotional lives; I'm really only able to see what people do when they are around.

Okay, so Vlad lives in the library now. He asked around--professors, deans, and the head librarian--and made a list of books he should read before starting next semester as a English major. That was almost two weeks ago, I think. He stops by, every once in a while, to visit the suite. Even then, he turns the TV to CNN as soon as he comes in, and you can tell he's only half listening when you talk to him. Whatever happened to him has turned him into some sort of sponge for information. If he could plug the internet straight into his head, I'm sure he would; I wouldn't be surprised if he's working on a way to do it. Also, last time I asked, Vlad isn't planning on going home for the holiday break. Such is his dedication.

Of all the things on Vlad's to-do list, there's been one thing that he's had trouble getting done. He's been visiting the suite partially to see me and Alan, but the main reason is because he's trying to reconsile with Alfonzo. Old Alfie got pretty secretive when Vlad and I came back from Kansas. I haven't seen him since the news came down that Vlad was becoming an English major. It seems pretty clear that Alfonzo is planning something, but he's got so many arch-nemeses that he could be after any one of them. My best guess is that he's at the mall with Cliff. He's definitely not with that gothic high school girl anymore, unless she gets off on writing death threats to him on her blog. Alfonzo, always a mystery to me.

And Alan. Alan and I have been around the suite, mostly. He spends more time here than he used to; less time over in Dauten, either due to having too much work or being too lazy to make the trip as often. We try to watch a movie every other night--something neither of us has seen. As it turns out, I've seen pretty much everything he hasn't (action, western, slasher flicks, and comedies like American Pie) and he's seen everything that I haven't (indie stuff, chick flicks, stuff they call "pussy fare" down at the frats). Sometimes we think of something we both haven't seen, but mostly one of us ends up making the other one watch the essentials. I think he really liked "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly," and I thought "The Royal Tenenbaums" was pretty funny (I didn't know Owen Wilson did serious movies).

But enough about movies. Alan has been posting occasionally, so there isn't much I can say about him that you don't already probably know. He seems stressed out and tired, but who isn't at the end of semester. I haven't seen Marina around as much, but she takes, like, ten language courses. She's probably lying dead, somewhere, under a pile of _______-to-English dictionaries.

Humans are not supposed to live in weather this cold. It never got this cold last year, did it? Today it was 17 degrees, but it felt like 5. Tomorrow's high is a whopping 28 degrees; I'm sweating already!

As much as I love college (and I fucking love college), I can't wait to get back to Cali, because God has obviously abandoned the Midwest.

-Chaz

Weekend

For the protection of those involved, I'm not going to go into everything that I did this weekend. I will show you a picture, which should sum up at least certain parts of the action.

I've got a late afternoon flight, so I've got to pack my things and go. If I get bored, I'll post from home.

Los Angeles, I'm yours!

-Chaz

We Continue Eastward

Sometime around Thursday, November 3rd, we were in a city called Boonville, MO. We could not find the Boonville library; I told Vlad that the odds of a place called "Boonville" even had a library were pretty small, but he said he found it in the phone book. Either way, we had to look for somewhere else to spend the night.

Our library-crashing routine was so fucking sweet, though Vlad and I go in, fifteen minutes before closing, and he distracts the librarian while I look for a good hiding place. From a different part of the library, I make some sort of huge noise to attract the librarian away from the desk. I collect Vlad and we go to the hiding place until after the library has closed.

Anyway, we decided to go bar-hopping for the night, maybe pick up some ladies who might, in the morning, agree to drive us a little bit. We stopped in a place called Carlos; we're not sure if it's supposed to be "Carlos's", "Carlo's" or just "Carlos," and from the look of the place, it might have been a bad idea to ask.

We got there around 7:30 pm, and the place was dead; just some quiet country music coming out of a jukebox and some old biker dudes at a table covered with empty mugs and cigarette butts. Vlad and I decided it was a beer kind-of-place (forget drinking the liquor. I didn't even recognize half the names on the bottles. Generic brand or some shit like that, you know?), and I whipped out my fake; the barkeep bought it, and so I looked at Vlad.

New paragraph for this one, because everyone needs to know this: the most effective fake ID in the world is not fake at all; it's a real Russian-issued ID. Vlad pulled his scribble-card out, and the bartender squinted at it for a few seconds before turning around to pour the beer. I think the Russian alphabet might actually be hypnotic. I've also heard that you can buy almost anything you want with an Israeli ID.

Alright, so we played pool for a few hours (easy to do when drinking), and by 11 we were talking to the bartender and the regulars like we'd been in Boonville our whole lives. That's when these two fine-looking ladies walked in. One was wearing this tight leather skirt and a tank top, and the other was wearing "I mean business" pants and the best cleavage shirt I've ever seen.

Anyone who has read enough of our posts should know and Vlad and I know how to get pussy. So, of course we weren't suspicious when these hot little numbers walked right up to us and challenged us to a game of pool. We agreed, and Vlad ordered a round for the ladies. They set out the stakes of the game : the winners would own the losers for the night.

You know Vlad, right? Loves the ladies, loves the booze, and loves the physics; challenging him to a game of pool is not a good idea, unless you like losing. In the first three rotations, Vlad cleared six of our seven off the table, and the ladies were left with three to sink. I pulled Vlad around the corner to the payphones and told him to throw the match, that I got the feeling that the ladies would be a lot friendlier if they won. He agreed, and his next three shots were all just a tiny bit off.

It came down to a race to sink the eight, with me up first. I missed, no problem. The business pants was up, and she blew the shot. Vlad was up. A small crowd had gathered, and I could feel it; they thought Vlad would sink it. Apparently, so did the leather skirt; right as Vlad struck the cueball, she pinched his ass. The distraction was just enough to send the eight straight where we didn't want it to go. So, in a moment of quick thinking (and slight drunkeness, and sexual deprivation), I slapped business pants on the ass and she fell into the side of the table; the eight missed by a hair, I swear to you.

Leather skirt was up, and she sank it. We were owned. The ladies took us outside and we walked the few blocks to the river. They turned us around, facing away from the river and towards them. They told us to strip. I looked to Vlad, whose pants were already around his ankles. Naked down to our shoes, they told us to turn around and bend over. I've done some weird stuff before, so I figure "What the hell? When in Boonville, right?"


We turned around, thirty seconds later, and they were gone. I looked to Vlad, who smiled back at me like an idiot. I told him he could stop staring at my cock, and he just shook his head. He bent down and dug around in his socks, pulling out our IDs, credit cards, and a nice wad of cash. He said he'd figured out what they were up to about a half-hour earlier, and took the chance to rob them blind on the walk to the river. Apparently it was just luck that they didn't take our shoes and socks, because that's just where Vlad hides things he steals.

So we had our clothes stolen, and had taken back enough money to make up the difference; still, we were naked, and I asked Vlad why we couldn't have avoided losing our clothes. He told me (I wrote it down, later, so I could remember it) "What isn't more fun naked?"

And with that, we began our late-night search for clothes.

-Chaz

Sleeping Week

The absolute best place to sleep on campus is :
In the balcony of Brown 100. Really, the best place to sleep is in the back row of any lecture hall, at any time, but Brown 100 is special because nobody can see you sleeping. Sure, the chairs aren't as comfortable as they could be, but they're better than Louderman 456. And, as long as somebody is lecturing, you don't have to worry about being woken up by people talking more than they should.

Truly, in all the places I nap during the day, there always seems to be some jackass who decides to have the loudest possible conversation five feet from my head. I'm not asking for silence, people; just a little respect to the sleepy.

Alright, more on Kansas later. Once Vlad finishes making up his missed work (what is this? Am I expected to do this?), he'll get his words up in this hizzy.

-Chaz

Kansas City, Kansas

I've googled a map to make my point. As you can see from the map, Kansas City is one of those places in the world that makes absolutely no fucking sense.

But moving on. Alfonzo dumped us on the outskirts of the City of Lenexa, which is on the outskirts of Kansas City, Kansas. Marjorie took us in the following morning, and when Vlad woke up that afternoon, she drove us into Kansas City to get Vlad's head examined. He had had a mild concussion and, apparently, sustained some damage to the speech centers of his brain (I think they said something about Broca, which I remember hearing about in psych). I guess you should know that I hadn't heard Vlad say anything since the night before, so I was more than a little worried about him. I'm not a scientist, or really any kind of scholar, but I just can't make sense of what happened.

The MRI technician came out to tell Marjorie the results of the scan, and that we had another hour to wait before they would be done with Vlad. About ninety minutes later, Vlad came strutting through the swinging doors, looking, as Marjorie put it, "As fit as a fiddle." She introduced herself properly, because this is the first time he was fully conscious in her presense. Vladimir dropped on one knee, kissed Marge's hand, and said "Thank you, ma'am. Your help is much appreciated."

It's something that the neurologists are calling "Brain Boon"; it's something like winning the lottery, only in terms of brain damage. In many cases, when a person hits their head, they lose some or all of their mental abilities. Sometimes, these abilities slowly come back; other times, they are gone for good. If you hit your head hard enough, parts of your brain get mixed up, and can only sometimes be sorted out again. It makes sense, even if you don't get the science behind it.

But Vlad, and "Brain Boon".... it's just beyond belief. In his case, getting hit on the head by the potato cannon somehow left him better off than he was before. The man of few intelligable words is gone, replaced with a man of great poetry. Imagine me, Alfonzo and Vlad playing a game of Scrabble; Vlad is losing, I'm not doing that well, and Alfonzo is schooling the both of us. Then, in a fit of rage, Alfonzo bangs on the table with his fist and then runs away; only, instead of screwing up the pieces, he leaves Vlad with five triple word scores and a thirst for Shakespearean English.

Ah, crap. I've got to run to class. I'll continue on this, later.

-Chaz

I Leave For Five Minutes....

and everything turns to shit around here. Well, don't worry; Vlad and I are back.

I want to tell you that everything is going to go back to normal, but I'm not that good a liar, even over the internet. A lot has gone down in the last two weeks, and I guess I owe you a story. I'm still not as elaborate as Alan or Alfonzo, but I hope I can entertain you for a little while.

Kansas.... it was a legitimate mistake, in my opinion. The midwest has this tricky little habit of naming cities that aren't in the state they are supposed to be. I'm from California, and Vlad is from Russia; how the hell are we supposed to know that Kansas City is not in Kansas, but in Missouri. The same goes for East Saint Louis, which is (thankfully) east of real Saint Louis, though not in the same state. And I'm pretty sure the Midwest has more than its fair share of Springfields.

All of that is really beside the point. I am from California, and I am not afraid to admit that California is perfectly happy to go on believing that it is the only state in America; the purists believe that California is Earth's only land mass. The rare Cali emo-kid will occasionally accept the existence of Portland, Oregon. So how am I supposed to know the geography of Bumblefuck, USA?


About Alfonzo... he's lucky we took our time getting home. If we'd found a way back in those first three days, he may not be alive today; if we'd gotten back a week ago, he'd probably still be tied to some humiliating object. In the last week, I've come to certain conclusions about Alfonzo's mental health, as well as conclusions about how I want to live my life. It's complicated, which is an interesting change for me.

I guess I forgive you, Alfonzo. I say "I guess" because I'm not sure this is a matter of forgiveness. Anyway, I don't hold it against you. Vlad is, as usual, completely without an opinion on the issue. I didn't think Buddhism made it all the way up to Russia, but I think Vlad is proof-positive of the fat asian man in a fur hat.

Right, so last time you heard about us, it was almost two weeks ago, and we were drunk in Kansas. I guess that's where I'll pick up:

I've said it before (last paragraph), but Vlad can drink. Alfonzo made us think that he wasn't angry about the mix-up, so we went out drinking. I tried to keep up with him, and I got fucked up faster than a white kid wearing a gold chain in Compton. I don't remember much from this point, but Vlad tells me that Alfonzo knocked him out with the potato cannon.

I woke up on a dusty old carpet, staring up at ceiling covered in water-stains. Vlad was tucked into a small bed on the side of the room. My shirt was gone, and I couldn't find it in the room. I thought about all the fucked-up stories and fantasties and movies that start like this; some guy wakes up in a strange house, and he's been kidnapped by some crazy woman who wants him as a sex slave.

I found the door and stepped out into the living room, which might be the brownest room I've ever been in. I walked around until I found a woman, stirring something in a pot. Marjorie, a sixty-something Kansas widow. Alfonzo dumped us in the middle of one of her pastures, and she found us while she was running a bobcat off her property. She told me that if I hadn't been covered in vomit, the two of us might have been eaten. Apprently I helped to get Vlad into the back of her pick-up, and then into bed. She took my shirt so she could clean it, but she decided to burn it instead. She gave me a red plaid long-sleeve shirt from her husband's closet. I guess I wasn't really thinking clearly, because I took the dead guy's shirt and put it on before sitting down for breakfast.

I've got to get off of blogger, now, or I'll lose it. I'll come back to this, I swear.

-Chaz

Costume Week

Alright everybody. Here's the Chaz.


(Not actually Chaz; just what Chaz is trying to look like for Saturday)

It's getting a little cold here. By cold, I actually mean my balls have shrunk three sizes in the last week. That's right; my balls are Grinchin'. But anyway, because of the cold, I pulled out my winter trunk; sweaters, jackets, long sleeves, turtlenecks...all the clothing which I will burn as soon as I graduate and move back to Cali.

Anyway, I put on a dark navy turtleneck and a pair of white cords and I looked in the mirror, and there was a yachtsman staring back at me. All I've got to do is find some sort of pin and some sort of hat and I'm set. I might even carry around the sailor's cigarette.

Anyway, I've gotta split. I hope the sailor thing is going to be good enough to net some chicks at Bauhaus.

-Chaz

This Is My Trying Face

Everybody, I'm really trying to get three posts in every week, but sometimes there's just too much living to do to spend all my time writing it down.

This weekend was fall break, which means that, on Friday, everyone's professors didn't pretend to expect us to attend lecture, and everything went on exactly as every other Friday. Even so, "breaks" mean more parties, and it all starts sometime around 4pm Wednesday. I'm not complaining, but if they really wanted to give me a break, they should cancel class on Wednesday. Better than that would be to give us a break that we don't need a microscope to see,

Not everyone digs the "the party starts Wednesday" thing. A couple of my friends were surprised at my "jolliness" Wednesday night. Didn't they know that Wednesday was last week's Thursday? If they wanted to be mad at me for my Wednesday drinking, they should have found me on Tuesday.

I don't know if Alfonzo reads this, but he might like to know that Brody's friend from high school--the guy who tried to get a polaroid of himself naked in Brody's bed--waited until Brody got drunk and tried again. Somewhere, I hear, is a picture of this hairy naked dude, laid out on a bed and giving the peace sign. I'd pay just to see the look on his face; not Brody's, but the look on the face of the guy who can now die happy.

Tomorrow is a new theme week. Is anybody going to make a suggestion, or are we on our own again? If we are, then I think it's Alfonzo's turn.

-Chaz

"What? No Theme" Week

I know what you're thinking. I know exactly what's in your head.

Yesterday was Monday, but where was the Theme Week post? Well, it's a funny story...

I'm sitting on the couch, watching the Cards game when, right as I finish my third Corona, the fire alarm goes off. I grab what I need and run outside, where I find Vlad and the Als. Of course there's no fire; just some guy who left his popcorn in the microwave too long. Happens to the best of us.

The fire department shuts the alarm off and we go back inside. By inside, I mean inside the building--not inside our suite. Why not the suite?

Because we are locked out.

Alan tries the coathanger trick--doesn't work. We try the doorknob, just to make sure, and it's definitely locked. Alfonzo suggests that we pay the fine to have someone let us back into the room but, like the rest of us, would rather die than pay the fine. We decide to get creative. I down a mouthful of vodka, and we split up.

The buildings on the Forty are very close together; close enough to throw water balloons at your friends' windows, at least. The closest dorm, Park, happens to have no open hatch to the roof, so I decide that I'm going to have to leapfrog from Wheeler. I make it to the roof with my grappling hook and I try to work out the physics of it; I figure that Professor Katz taught me enough about basic physics for me to swing from one building to another.

The two buildings are about 20 feet apart, and Park is about 7 feet taller than Wheeler. I've got 35 feet of rope, and a 3-foot-long ho. I can do this.


On the way to the station, WUPD carried me by the Als; they didn't look like they'd had any luck, either.

By the time WUPD let me go and I got back to the suite, everyone had already gone to class. I haven't seen any of them to ask how they got inside. All I know is that I did my part, and they'll just have to split that $25 fine themselves.

-Chaz

Cigarettes And Nail Polish

Most of the time, I don't think about my vocabulary. I know Alfonzo and Alan like to "describe" things, but it's not like I need to use big words, or words that Shakespeare would have used. I drink a lot, and I have a lot of fun, and I don't need adjectives and adverbs and all that mess to get the point across.

Point being, tonight, I think I may need a dictionary.

I'm a pretty suave guy, I think. I don't have problems attracting ladies, or just generally looking cool in public, so it may surprise you to know that I bite my nails. I don't just bite them; I whale on them.

I read somewhere, once, that a way to stop biting your nails is to paint them with nail polish. So I rode over to Walgreens to buy some clear nail polish. In the checkout, I picked up a pack of Parliament cigarettes.

I have about one cigarette every week, usually on weekends, usually while I'm drinking. I've grown fond of the nicotine rush; it's like getting dizzy and heavy and sick, jittery and relaxed at the same time. Something in me felt like having that, tonight.

So I sat outside of my dorm, on the ground, reeking of cigarette smoke and painting my nails. I know it's clear nail polish, so only people who pay really close attention will notice it, but it feels weird to have it on my fingers. Even weirder was putting it on, especially where everyone could see me. I thought people would stop and ask me what I was doing, and I'd tell them I was stopping myself from biting my nails. Mostly, people just looked away, or walked by, or said hi and kept walking.

I almost wanted somebody to ask. I felt like they were making assumptions, thinking they know me better than I know myself. No, I'm not a fag, I'm just trying to stop biting my nails.

And I sat there, waiting for them to dry, wishing that someone would just ask what the hell I was doing. And I watched the reflection of the streetlight in the paint, and I blew on them but tried to look masculine while doing it.

There was just something about it. Man, I hate not knowing how to put this into words. It was like I was vibrating, or something. The wind, and it was cool but not cold. I couldn't see the moon, but I know it's full. Fall can't decide if it wants to be here yet, but I think it should be here from this point on. Maybe that's what I felt, Fall sweeping in over me and my shiny new fingernails.

I don't know. I don't know how to say it!

It was an experience. It was that, at least.

There must be something in the air tonight. All sorts of shit seems to be happening all over the place. I hope everything works out, but I feel like the storm is a long way off.

-Chaz

Video Game Week

You fuckers and your "The Game". Ever since I read about it, I've been losing every thirty minutes. And fuck telling someone every time I lose.

I've got this little rule I've set for myself : I don't do anything more often than I drink. That means, if I lose "The Game" twenty-nine times a day, then I'll be damned if I'm not going to drink thirty times. I tell you, my liver can't handle it! So fuck "The Game," fuck the stoners who invented it, and fuck the stoner who told me about it.

Now, video games. You may remember, sometime around when you were seven or eight, a period of complete and total awesomeness. You stared into the TV, your fingers danced and pounded, and you fell over exahusted when it was all over. No, Pokemon came out five years later. I'm talking about


Yes, Street Fighter II was the granddaddy of all fighting games, but I don't need to tell you about it because you already know. Even if you never played video games as a kid, you have seen this game and probably played at least half a round. I don't care what you say. You have. Maybe some friend's house, or maybe at some arcade. And don't tell me they don't have arcades in Alaska, or wherever the fuck you grew up. I won't listen. It's fucking STREET FIGHTER II!!

Anyway, everyone has a favorite SF2 character. Personally, I think they're all pathetic, except for Blanka, because he drinks blood, and Ken.

Why Ken? Let's see... average height, incredibly ripped, blonde hair, looks good in red...

what kind of idiot wouldn't want to look like that, even if it's only a video game.


Oh, and I just wanted to give a shout-out to my bro, Vlad. While the Als were dealing with their parents, Vlad and I got to know each other better through our favorite pasttime: alcohol. (Edit : Susan also had her parents to deal with, so...) I thought I had an iron stomach, but Vlad, you drank me under the table. I salute you, sir.

-Chaz

Home And Away Week

Pretty good theme, Alan. Took things a little bit into the mushy, but that's just your way.

Something I miss about LA is the food. There are restaurants EVERYWHERE. It doesn't matter what you're in the mood for, because there are always two restaurants within three blocks that serve exactly what you want. And they all take credit cards.
I swear, I think LA runs in a circle from day to night, where all the people who serve food in the day go out at night and get served food by the people who eat out in the day. I can't imagine how else so many waiters and waitresses could be working every day.

The other advantage is, no matter how few friends you have, you have one who works at a restaurant. This can be good in a lot of ways, like free food or discounts, or filming movies after hours. St. Louis food is just... not as good. I know more food places on campus than off. It's pathetic, really. Fitz's isn't that good, everybody. A&W's has better rootbeer, anyway.


Alright, something I like about St. Louis is how well fakes work here. Everyone in Missouri seems to think that the standard Texas driver's license is flimsy and laminated and slightly more yellow than every other state ID on the planet. If you know where the sketchy Schnucks is, it's almost like they've switched the retarded baggers and the cashiers; you wouldn't believe the shit you can get away with. I can assure you all that I do not look, sound, or act like anyone named Akmed Gattikattica. They just look at the ID long enough to find those four magic digits--1983--and you're walking out of the store with four handles of vodka. God bless Midwestern idiots, or maybe just Midwestern people who don't care.

Just as a PSA, don't try your fakes on the Schnucks near campus; they are really picky. I know some seniors who have actually had their real IDs taken away (until the manager showed up). Then again, they tried to bust me for cooking up crystal meth when I bought three bottles of nyquil last year; what, you've never had two sick friends?

-Chaz

My Brothers, My Sisters

There is something perfectly awesome about right now. I was chillin with Susan in the suite, drinking rum straight from the bottle. God, I love her. Sometimes I think she's me, only hot and a chick. So we sat around, watching TV and pregaming, I guess. She left to go meet up with some sorority friends of hers (no fear, she's not one of them), and we were going to meet up at 10:30 in Dauten 23. Yes, it's Brody's suite, but his suitemates are five kinds of awesome.

Jason Logan (J Lo) is the sort of guy I'd usually want to beat the crap out of, because he's just smiling all the time and his hair is doing this crazy thing that ladies love, and he's competition even though he's scrawny. I swear, though, you get within ten feet of this kid, and you can't be mad at him anymore. He must use like Axe body spray or something. That fucker. I love him.

Dylan is alot like Alfonzo, if Alfonzo was cooler, funnier, partied, and had a girlfriend. I guess that means he's sarcastic. Anyway, he's dating one of Marina's suitemates, so he's seeing a lot of Alan. It's about time Alan got around to some parties.

Joe is God. Not a god, The God. The Gee Oh Dee. This man made drinks ALL night. He made this thing called the Short Island Iced Tea, which was peach schnapps, captain morgan's and cherry coke. It tastes just like those gummi peach rings, if you've ever had them. We called him barkeep, and he loved ever god damn minute of it.

Frank scares me, but in a good way. He's... he's really intense, is the best way I can say it. It's not like he's heavy, or a downer or anything. I just never see him doing anything that looks like he isn't putting his whole head into. I feel like he plans everything, and like maybe we're all checkers that he plays with. As long as I never find out, I'll be find.

Computer, whose name is John, is maybe the skinniest Jew I've ever met. Maybe having hair on your chest fills out your form a little bit, because I'm certain if he had turned sideways he would have disappeared. Somebody talked him into taking his shirt off, and it was like watching a piece of skin-colored jerky prance around to ABBA. He's a genius. He invented some sort of drug or something this Summer. There's really no explaining how smart he is. He's probably been out of the Matrix for years.

Brody isn't as bad as Alfonzo says he is; he's just the sort of person you want to get fucked over. Not in a serious way, just in a way that really sucks. The more I think about it, the more I'm glad "phase two" bit the dust; he could have gotten kicked out of school, or arrested, or something. If Alfie tries anything else, I want nothing to do with it.

Not that I expect him to do anything for a while. He's run off to Westfield, again. Said he's not coming back until his next exam. There is something slightly wrong about that, I think.

Fuck, I am so tired. I wish I was still drunk, so falling asleep would be easier.

Peace!

-Chaz

Ends On Tuesday

In the dorm I lived in last year, we had a saying : "In Koenig, the weekend starts on Thursday, except when it starts on Wednesday"

I'm proud of my freshman floor, so I've taken that saying to heart, even now that old Koenig has been torn down and new Koenig has been filled up with strangers. In Suite 3100, at least, the weekend still starts on Thursday, except when it starts on Wednesday. The best part is, this past weekend didn't end until about 30 minutes ago. My pocket BAC blower says, for the first time since Friday, that I am now legally sober.

Man, I can't wait until tomorrow night.

WILD was pretty much the stupidest thing I've ever seen. I don't mean "stoopid" like really awesome and drunk as hell; I mean it sucked, hard. I ended up going for fifteen minutes, and I would have left sooner if I hadn't been trapped in the crowd. I figured I could find some really trashed freshman girl and take her back to the room, but it just wasn't worth it. I'm not a hateful guy, it just sucked.

The only useful thing about WILD is that it's an excuse to drink and party all weekend. I had a screwdriver (courtesy of Dauten 23's "Computer". Thanks, man) and some peppermint schnapps, and I was toasty for a few hours. I stole a beer at WILD, then went back to the 40 to get really to' up.

I ended up at the frats, which is fine by me. As long as they don't mind me being there, I don't mind being there. I'd never join a frat, but so many of my friends have, so it's hard to stay away. Plus, it's the place to go to find chicks who want some. I met Susan at TKE, and she was really really gone. About an hour after I got there, I left to walk Susan home, and she passed out on the bed. I called my phone using her phone so I could get her number, put a towel under her and put her head near a trash can before I left.

I called her the next day, like 3 in the afternoon, and she had just woken up. Hard night, I guess. I mentioned my assortment of drinks and she was over in 15 minutes. We did vodka shots and went to get late lunch.

I'm not looking for a relationship or anything, but I really had a good time with her. We went around campus, checking out every party we could find, until Alfonzo told me to go up on the roof of Danforth and watch Brody's dorm. Susan liked the idea, so we both went. I brought a flask of Jack.

We made out a little bit, and then she pushed me over and... how many people can say they've nailed a chick on the roof of a dorm? It was a little uncomfortable, but hey, it's pussy. I'll take it any way I can get it.

I got tired a few hours later, and so we sat around and finished off the flask, and then she left to find some more parties. I would have gone with her, but there was really no point; I was too drunk to walk and too tired to fuck. Why not stay on the roof and watch for Brody?

I woke up around 7 AM, when the sun started burning my asscheeks. I got dressed and went back downstairs. I know I was supposed to keep watch, but it didn't matter, anyway, because Brody sabotaged the plan. I swear, though, in the two hours I actually kept my eye on Dauten, the only thing that happened was Brody's suitemate, Dylan, threw a giant jar of cheese curls into the dumpster outside. I had some, a couple weeks ago. I don't know why they hadn't thrown them out earlier. Those things were narsty.

Anyway, I spent Sunday and Monday at a party. It got pretty thin around 1 PM Monday, but things picked up again last night. And yes, that means I skipped class. What's the point of going to class if you're drunk, and what's the point of not drinking if you aren't going to class?

Anyway, I've got a shit-ton of homework to do, and I'm pretty much screwed. Wish me luck, everybody!

-Chaz

Favorite Movie Week

Fight Club, boys and girls.

If you've seen it, good. If you haven't seen it, go see it. If you can't go see it, or you are somehow being held down, hold your breath until whoever is holding you lets go, and then go see it.

It's funny, it's violent, it's got a really weird sex scene, and it makes fun of men with bitch-tits. What more could you ask for?

How about a kickass soundtrack? I swear, I saw this movie and then went to buy the soundtrack, and I listened to it and was like "What the hell is this?" Somehow, when you watch the movie, you don't realize that the music is techno. After a while, even without the movie playing over it, you start to like it. I'm no techno fan, don't get me wrong, but there's something about these Dust Brothers that I like.

Nothing wrong with The Pixies, either. LA punk is the best around.



Chaz's Rating : Two thumbs up. Way up.

Wrath Of Alf

I am reporting on behalf of Alfonzo. We have put everything in place for phase two, and we are now waiting for the right time to spring the trap.

Here's how it went down: We obtained the reefer the weekend before last, and I've held onto it since then. I had to spend more time with Brody than I usually do, getting him drunk and asking him weird questions; things about the layout of his room, when he's in there and all that jazz. Alfonzo then wrapped the skunk in a plastic bag, wrote "Brody" on it in sharpie, and put the bag in a sock. We gave it to Alan, who's been spending a lot of time in the suite next door (Shout-out to Marina); Alan had mentioned how he floats in and out of Brody's suite a lot, and nobody seems to notice or care too much. So we gave him the sock, and told him to hide it somewhere where nobody would find it unless they knew what to look for. Alfonzo made sure that Alan didn't know what he was doing, so he isn't caught up in everything if the bottom falls out.

Well, Alan got back to Alfonzo just a couple hours ago, and he says he hid it somewhere that nobody will ever look or even stumble across. Alfonzo knows where, but I don't (he's a secretive bastard). He's taken off for Westfield and he says he's going to stay the whole weekend, so as to have an alibi in case somebody accuses him. From there, he'll tip off WUPD, and the fireworks begin.

I wonder what would happen if Alfonzo spent half as much time on homework as he does on Brody. He could be the president, or the manager of a Wolfgang Puck restaurant. I hope I never piss him off, though. The Brody obsession can only last so long, and I'm not about to bring down the wrath of Alf.

I wish he'd tell me more about his plans. I still don't know anything past Phase Two. He keeps talking like there's something left to do after this, but I can't imagine what more we could do to him. Maybe I don't want to know. At least he could tell me why he hates him so much; we all have our reasons, but we don't all weave doom and destruction in our spare time. It makes you wonder... what happened between the two of them to make Alfonzo so angry?

Eh, it's almost Friday, which means it's almost WILD, which means I'll be so drunk in 24 hours that I can already feel the effects.

-Chaz

Webcomics Week

I've never really liked anime or japanimation or things like that, so most of the webcomics that I've seen are kinda....yawn....
Honestly, I can't tell you how tired I am of e-mails that link me to some dude who looks like a chick with hair that points straight up and changes color. Honestly, I don't even mind forwarded messages, because I know to delete them. Shitty webcomic links pose as normal messages, and force you to click and read before realizing, it's just the same crap that you didn't want to see in the first place.

Except one. You've probably heard of Penny Arcade, but it's the only webcomic I've found that I really like.



Al? Al? Vlad? Your turn.

-Chaz

Party Time, Excellent

Yo Dudes and Dudettes, after a week of silence, ol' Chazzy has returned to the blog. It's been one crazy week (for the whole suite, actually) and I don't feel I've had any sort of break. Monday is tomorrow and it's like Friday never came. But homework and places to be have never stopped me from having fun.

Wednesday night, I met up with this chick from my Acting class. We were supposed to practice some dramatic readings, but instead drank tequila and made out all night. A little bummed that we didn't go further, but not that many chicks do the first time. Next time, though, she'd better put out, because I've got another one who keeps looking at me during Present Moral Problems. I can see it in her face; she's got some nice D.S.L. and she can't wait to use them.

Last thing: I know this couple, and they are two of the best people on campus. Shantious and Larkin are, I swear, the chillest people you'll ever meet at WU. It's work hard, play harder with those two. In all meanings of the phrase, I can't believe how much they do. So, anyway, I came across Alan's van in a parking lot today, and I decided I wanted to leave some sort of weird note. First, I looked around for a piece of paper, but couldn't find one. So I waited until nobody was nearby, took off my underwear, wrote "The Withered Road To Cockton" on the ass, then set them on fire for a minute. After putting it out, I draped it on the rearview mirror on the driver's side.

Anyway, Larkin's got a blog and it's pretty fucking hilarious, and she keeps bugging me to put a link up on Suite 3100, so I've done that. This will also get you there.

-Chaz

Adventures In Evil

It's just weird, folks. I never would have guessed that Alfonzo and I would join forces in anything. He's so much smarter than I am, and I really always thought that he hated me. He has assured me that whatever negative vibes I've picked up from him are from his "general misanthropy" and "world-weariness". It kinda seems like Alfonzo's glass is a little more than half-empty.

I think I'm doing him good, though. He could really use the stress relief. He's incredibly tense almost all of the time; something to do with hating the world in relative silence, I guess. I think that he thinks too much, but I also think I can help him think less.

We had to go to the Loop to begin phase two of operation "Brody Madness," so I suggested that we do some shots before we go; anyone who has been to the Loop knows that it never hurts to have a few under your belt beforehand. Well, he didn't say anything, but I get the feeling that Alfie isn't a big drinker. I downed my three shots of vodka (illegal import from the Motherland. Thanks, Vlad) before I noticed Alfonzo sipping from the edge of his first one.

The best way to learn anything is through experience. I shoved the shot glass into his mouth and pulled his head back and he coughed and hacked and the glass popped out of his mouth like a cork. I caught it, then Alfonzo bent over with his hands on his knees and wheezed a bit. He asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. I told him that they are called shots for a reason. His second one went down easier, and by the fourth one, he was a pro!

So we wandered down to the Loop, in search of some cheap weed for phase two. We stood out behind the Blockbuster, waiting for the guy to show up. Alfonzo was singing some song by "The Velvet Underground" which he said was about the lead singer waiting around to buy heroin. I told him that maybe he should sing a little quieter.

The guy showed up and we bought some dirt weed (stomped on, full of stems and seeds, and probably laced with something. The sort of stuff you'd only buy for someone else) and then went on our way.

By which I mean, I walked halfway around the building before I figured out that I'd lost Alfonzo. I found him talking to some girls through the windows of Blockbuster. There was some exchange of digits, but I'm not clear on who got whose or really anything that Alfonzo was trying to say. The girls went to check out, and Alfonzo stuck his head in a trashcan for a little while.

I took him home and tucked him in with an alka-selter, some motrin, and a bucket. That was Friday night, and he has not left his room since. I've knocked a couple times, and he groaned back so we know he's alive. I guess that's all we can do, if he won't open the door.

I think he'll look back on this and laugh. Or at least not vomit.

-Chaz

Absolutely Sick Of Learning

So as you probably read in Alan's blog, I got busted by the cops for smoking out behind Danforth. Ladeedah, folks. Whoopdeedoo. Move along now, there's nothing to see here.

Honestly, I'm not gonna be in any serious trouble (unless I get caught again), and I'd be a lot angrier if Brody hadn't gone down with me. Nothing makes me happier than when bad things happen to Brody. It's just a shame that I had to get tied into it.

Bunch of amateurs. Got no class, really. Alan knows how it's done. He's got the superstition with the constant paranoia; he bailed a few minutes before the cops showed up. Yeah, Alan, if you're reading this, I'm going to stick with you from now on. My reefer comes from one man and one man alone: my suitemate.

Oh yeah, the subject line. I am so sick of learning shit. Whatever happened to the glory days of High School where the first month of classes is a joke? Some of my profs have been lecturing since DAY ONE. Fucking first day of classes. Trying to milk their captive audience for all they're worth.

Women's Studies, though. Man, what a good idea. I'm basically playing wingman to Vlad, letting him take his pick before I move in. He doesn't seem too smart, but he knows how to work the ladies. There's one chick in there, Vlad says she's all mine. Long black hair, pale skin, nice little Jewish nose (God, thank you for all the Jewish girls)... I'm hoping she isn't a holdout for the homeland sort of gal. I can play lots of roles, but Jewish isn't one of them.

Alright. Peace!

-Chaz

Quiet Day

Not much to say here. It's been pretty neutral in the vie d'Chaz. Here are the classes I'm taking.

Present Moral Problems (Philosophy 131F): Tuesday and Thursday from 8:30 to 10.
Microeconomics (B-School, Blech): Tuesday and Thursday from 10 to 11:30.
How Things Work (Physics 107A): Tuesday and Thursday from 1 to 2:30.

Acting I (Drama 240E): Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 12 to 2.

But here's the best of them all : Intro to Women's Studies, MWF from 10 to 11. It was Vlad's idea; we enroll into the Women's studies course with a bunch of loose freshman chicks who just want to party with an older guy, and then bing! Suite 3100 has it's first party, just as soon as we can net a couple of hot ones who don't have any fat friends. I mean, Alfonzo and Alan can be downers sometimes, but nobody deserves a fat chick. They give out medals for that shit. Seriously, props to the wingman.

Anyway, that's a full load of classes, doggies. 15 and not an hour more.

-Chaz

Strange Package

So my boxes came, and soon this place will be looking like Chaz's pad should. But that's not the strange thing.

In with my boxes was a shoebox, wrapped a few times in duct tape, then postmarked on every visible surface. Most of the languages on the box are waaaay out there, like with different letters and that whole deal. Alan said that the box had been through France, Spain, and a whole lot of other countries. Apparently one of the really weird postmarks was from Russia, so we figure the box must be Vlad's.

A few hours go by. We've called Vlad, and he's not answering or his phone is off. We called the airport, and if he's there, he hasn't asked anyone for help. In short, we have no idea where he is.

The Al's went to dinner, and I said I was going later, just so they'd leave me here alone. I cut open the duct tape and open the box and...

It is full of condoms. Full to the brim, because I dumped it out to see if there was something underneath the condoms. A heap of little foil wrappers plopped on the ground, followed by a brochure that must have been stuck to the bottom. I can't read what it says, but I'm not sure I want to. It's just a bunch of Russian squiggles, and about ten of the most disgusting pictures you've ever seen. I'm talking Vagina meets Maggots. I'm talking Pus, Piss, Extra Holes.... I can't tell if it's a flyer on STDs or crazy fetishes, or both.

Anyway, I snagged a couple of the condoms, cause I figure how's he going to notice three or four missing? I've got to get my scanner hooked up so I can keep a copy of that brochure, too. That's the sort of thing you have to see to believe.

-Chaz

I Effing Love College

I flew in from Cali yesterday afternoon. I met up with Alan and Alfonzo, and they said that Vlad might actually be lost, either in Europe or in the St. Louis airport. No sweat, though. Vlad's the sort of guy who is kinda always lost, but manages to find his way anyway. Like Mr. Magoo, or something.

Anyway, I chilled in the suite for a while. None of my boxes have arrived, and the Al's couldn't bring any big stuff in the car, so we're left with a pretty shitty setup, for now. I'll get some posters going, and then maybe my lava-lamp.

The suite, though, is AWESOME! I took a shower this morning, and it was like a shower at a nice hotel; hot water, good water pressure, clean environment. It's so much better than the showers in Ruby. Poor freshmen, but then again, they ARE freshmen.

Oh yeah, and we're much closer to food than I was last year. I haven't tried this out, but I think that I could literally roll out of bed, roll out of my room, roll into the elevator, and finally roll to breakfast. I wonder if they'll make me stand up to order.

Anyway, I left the suite and met up with some of my bros from Ruby, and we all went to this Architecture party on Pershing. There was a keg, but who has time for beer on the first night back? I needed liquor, but all we could find was Dr. MacGillicuddy's Mentholmint Schnapps. Don't get me wrong, it got us drunk. But I don't want a reputation for drinking pussy drinks. At least it wasn't pink, and there were no miniature umbrellas involved.

Well, if anything happened after the MacGillicuddy's, I don't remember it. I think we can assume that I had a great night. I haven't found any puke this morning, so it might even have been an incredible night. Maybe someone will remember.

-Chaz

Welcome To The World Of Chaz

Yeah, so, my friend Jesse and I were watching his fish and talking. You know, about why they don't flip onto their backs until they die, or why salt is iodized, or the difference between wine and everclear with cranberry juice in it. And I launched into a story about all the sexxxy ladies I'm going to chill with this semester. And he told me that instead of wasting my stories on him, I should post them on the internet. It's brilliant! The perfect way to preserve my insight and wit, by sparing myself the burden of savage retellings!

So, this is it.

-Chaz