Tonight, I watched the movie Drive. It was so awful, I didn’t even want to masturbate to Ryan Gosling afterwards. If you want to watch a movie with Ryan Gosling, go to the classic, The Notebook, because that movie is good, dammit. In fact, I think we have that on DVD and I’m going to search for it after this. And then I will cry while I watch it because Jeff is gone. He’s camping in Bishop, California with a bunch of other dudes.
I know what you’re asking yourselves, “Did Amanda make as many circle-jerk jokes as I think she did?” and the answer is yes. Yes I did. I made several jokes, loudly and in public, about how they were all going to sit around a campfire, rub their balls together, cry and say “no homo.”
So, you can all sleep easy tonight.
What am I going to do with my free time? Well, apparently I do stuff like take $300 out of my savings to buy myself pretty things. My reason? I finished a tough semester and I deserve it. I also got Mom-Approval for the event, so that means it’s valid. The other thing I do is go to my friend’s house and eat until I get the meat-sweats from the brisket her husband smoked for nine hours. And then I stay at their house until 3 in the morning because they are the kind of people who can stay up until 6 AM and have get-up-and-go four hours later. The problem? I am not one of those people, so when I woke up this morning at 10 AM to hang out with my mom, I felt a little hung-over which was unfortunate in that I was already hung-over all of last weekend after I drank too much booze.
I have a thing for gin.
Why did I drink so much deliciously poisonous boozey booze? I was celebrating the end of the semester. Jeff thinks it’s the funniest damn thing in the world when I get drunk because I do a few different things:
- Speak Spanish.
- Talk about ancient philosophers sodomizing each other.
- Whisper dirty things into his ear and make-out with him in front of lots of people.
These are all things he enjoys and cherishes. What makes it even better is that I don’t really like being under the influence of any substance because I enjoy having my wits about me in case I need to argue a point and make some terrible person cry, so when I’m drunk, I’m actually lucid the whole time, but just impaired. Basically, no matter how drunk I get, I can constantly say, “I wish I wasn’t drunk so I could keep reading In Cold Blood,” which is something I really said this week.
Exciting. I know.
I did feel up my friend’s boobs. I was trying to convince her she had such nice boobs that I couldn’t even resist them, but instead it came off weird, and one of the bartenders was staring at us, most likely with a rager that he was trying to hide behind the counter.
When I haven’t been drunk or watching disappointing films, I’ve been reading In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. I didn’t think a book about a true crime could be beautifully written, but this one is. If you don’t like anything even slightly scary, you should not read this book. Because the murders in the book actually happened, there is no way to do the “at least this is just a work of fiction” thing to try and un-terrify yourself.
What have we learned, everyone? Don’t watch Drive, do watch The Notebook, and read In Cold Blood, but not when you’re alone.