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