22:47 - August 24, 2002
i am happy
I tried a new approach today: tolerance. At the beginning, at least. When Ashley asked if I wanted to go hiking with her, Toni, and the boozehounds downstairs (all right, I suppose I must be through with that name now) so their real titles are Chris, Steve, and Mike, I put on my shoes and went, regardless of the fact that I can't breathe here yet. Fucking distance from the sea... what does that really mean, anyway? We went roaring off in the Rodeo, rap blaring in one ear and the wind blowing in the other. Steve offered to carry my water bottle, which shocked me so much that I declined and lagged behind. Half a mile up the trail, I stopped being able to breathe. I mean, it's not about being tired here. It isn't. It's about there not being enough oxygen to supply your muscles with energy to move. I had to drive Ashley's car back and pick them up later. Mike held his tongue about the wimping out, I'm sure. At least until I was out of hearing range.

Going out to dinner with them later was tougher because we had to talk. The guys spent the entire meal telling stories about getting guns pulled on them or stealing beer or beating people up, each story grosser than the next, while the girls oohed and ahhed and I choked down my spaghetti and tried to ignore Steve saying 'oh no, mine is cooler, you guys. You have to listen to THIS.' And more and more.

I had had enough forced tolerance by this point and was nearer to starting some ass kicking, so I escaped early and got on the bus to go to Farrand, where there was an outdoor concert. I sat down across from a guy who had the exact same industrial piercing as me, a guy I'd noticed before because of his height and his dreads peeking out from beneath his baseball cap, and said 'I like your piercing,' pointing at my own as I said it, smirking. He laughed. Our following conversation, about glass blowing, inexplicably, attracted the attention of two others on the bus, who joined in, but walked the other way when the bus came to a stop. Stuart, pierced glassblower, went with me. After assessing that the outdoor concert was worth nothing at all, we wandered on over to the Pipefitter, idly looking for something interesting to do and talking about Mike Patton's various band experimentations (why do bands always break up when he joins them? why?) and the fact that he saw Mr. Bungle live when they were still together, which caused me to squeal unceremoniously and ask detailed questions about the performance until I'm certain he wanted to cauterize my vocal cords.

At the Pipefitter, predictably, there were the two people who'd joined our glassblowing conversation, inspecting various ooops can't say the b-word... tubes. Water pipes. The four of us had a long conversation with the girl behind the counter, who had to struggle hard as hell not to mention marijuana and break any laws governing the store. She hopped up and down covering her mouth. 'Can't say it! Can't say it! Aghh!'

Stuart wandered off and Claudia and Nate and I walked (yes, WALKED) to Pearl St to hang out with the aging hippies and to see a street magician and to eventually run into Tia, my cousin who I haven't seen in... four years?.. who had been calling my name and I hadn't recognized her, not one bit. I felt like a complete twit, though I had reason not to... she lives in California. This is not California.. and.. oh, my mind was fucked from actually socializing. With people who aren't freaking about sorority rushing, and spraying smelly perfume and scratching their balls and passing out from too much drinking. Fuck tolerance, I didn't even need to try tonight, I didn't need to fake it. See, there is an undercurrent.

I am happy.

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