ADD: One - Beav: Zero

Okay, first of all let me start by saying that I turned down sex last night so that I could come home and get enough sleep so that I wouldn't be exhausted for class today. WHAT???? Who the hell am I and what did I do with the version of myself I know?!? I guess I was really tired, and knew that I was a little too drunk (On a Tuesday, mind you...I think I'm turning into a quasi-alcholic again) to perform to the fullest of my sexual potential, but still, WHAT???? This is a new and terrible milestone in my life. This is proof positive that it's true what they say: I, being now 22 years old, am beyond my peak of sexual motivation, and it's all downhill from here. I have entered a phase in my life where sleep is gaining on sex in terms of importance, and that's scary. Really, really scary.

Enough about last night, here's the major event for today:


9/29/04
Today I revisited a recurring theme in my life. I had to scrap a class because I wasted too much time early on in the semester. As I drove through the parking lot at school, it was 11:00. My Research Methods and Analysis class begins at 11:00, and my TA hates it when people are late. I've been personally warned about this. I've skipped once. I've flat out not done several assignments. I did relatively badly on the first exam. Today I have only 5 of the 6 completed surveys I am supposed to turn in. Maria is going to unleash the Latina fury on me...and God only knows how hard I'll have to work to salvage something resembling a decent grade in this class. I come upon an empty parking space and start to pull in. I suddenly say to myself, "Fuck it, I'm dropping." I begin thinking of how much I'll have to accomplish today, and indeed all week, to make myself feel productive again. I go home, log into n-roll, and drop the class. My dad would lynch me if he knew I were doing this. I am pissed, because I'm letting ADD win the battle for my mind again.

Let me bring you up to speed: As a child, I fit literally ALL of the diagnostic categories for Attention Deficit Disorder, an Axis One Clinical Disorder as defined by the DSM-IV. For those of you non-psych majors, the DSM-IV is the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, 4th Version, which is used as a guideline for psychiatric diagnoses. To be "officially" diagnosed with ADD, one must fit the following description:

(1) inattention: six (or more) of the following symptoms of inattention have persisted for at least 6 months to a degree that is maladaptive and inconsistent with developmental level:
(a) often fails to give close attention to details or makes careless mistakes in schoolwork, work, or other activities
(b) often has difficulty sustaining attention in tasks or play activities
(c) often does not seem to listen when spoken to directly
(d) often does not follow through on instructions and fails to finish school work, chores, or duties in the workplace (not due to oppositional behavior or failure to understand instructions)
(e) often has difficulty organizing tasks and activities
(f) often avoids, dislikes, or is reluctant to engage in tasks that require sustained mental effort (such as schoolwork or homework)
(g) often loses things necessary for tasks or activities (e.g., toys, school assignments, pencils, books, or tools)
(h) is often easily distracted by extraneous stimuli
(i) is often forgetful in daily activities

As a kid, I fit not just six, but all 10 of these. As an adult, I still fit many. Now you may be thinking "That sounds like any kid!" Nononono, you don't understand, if I had a dollar for every time an elementary school teacher said to me "Daniel, where are you going??" or "Daniel, are you listening?" I'd have a shit ton of dollars. I had to spend time with the school counselor playing board games about my feelings with the two most obnoxious kids from my grade because evidently that's what I needed...I don't know. Let's just say that there were frequent meetings with and phone calls to my mother about what I was or was not doing in school. One of my teachers in particular had to work with my parents to devise a system by which I would be rewarded at home (a.k.a. bribed) for consistently doing the shit that other little kids have no problem just sitting down and doing. Any kid fits the above diagnostic categories sometimes. I fit them always.

I was not, however, hyperactive, only because I only really met 3 of these criteria and not the necessary six. Okay, maybe four:

Hyperactivity
(a) often fidgets with hands or feet or squirms in seat (yep)
(b) often leaves seat in classroom or in other situations in which remaining seated is expected (like a motherfucker. Even I didn't know where I was going)
(c) often runs about or climbs excessively in situations in which it is inappropriate (in adolescents or adults, may be limited to subjective feelings of restlessness) (yeah, restlessness...)
(d) often has difficulty playing or engaging in leisure activities quietly
(e) is often "on the go" or often acts as if "driven by a motor" (my mother put bells on my shoes when I was very small to keep track of where I was, and also would sometimes put one of those "kid wrist leash" things on me in public. Eventually she stopped with the leash because of how clearly degrading I found it)
(f) often talks excessively

Let's finish the diagnosis:

B. Some hyperactive-impulsive or inattentive symptoms that caused impairment were present before age 7 years. (yep, if by "some" you mean "all")
C. Some impairment from the symptoms is present in two or more settings (e.g., at school [or work] and at home). (yep)
D. There must be clear evidence of clinically significant impairment in social, academic, or occupational functioning. (shit yes, academics. socially I was fine.)

Not only did I technically "have" ADD (minus the most flagrant of the hyperactivity symptoms), I could have been the fucking poster child. If I didn't have good parents, I can only imagine what an intolerable little shit I would have become.

Note the key concept in item D, "significant impairment in academic functioning". Now, I don't make excuses about getting shitty grades, because I have the ability to do just fine. Shit, I made Dean's List last semester. But if I lose focus, I also (much more than the average person) have the ability to fail out of school, which I nearly did freshman year. I also managed to fail some classes in high school. At any given time on a high school class grade report, my rundown would look like this:
Test 1: 94%
Test 2: 89%
Test 3: 92%

In-Class Discussion: 100%

Homework: 5%

Overall Grade: F

Now, I don't need to take pause to brag about my ACT score. I don't need to sit here and stroke my own intellectual cock. If you know me well enough and care enough, you know what my score was. Let's just say I have no business failing anything, and I've failed a fair amount of shit in my scholastic career. I should have a 4.0 GPA. I don't quite have a 3.2 GPA. I wonder how many people who bust their asses to get the B's I pull by not even trying would love to form a line and kick me in the gonads. Hell, sometimes I wish I could kick myself in the gonads for operating so far below my potential, but I'm not that flexible. Don't misread this as a bunch of self-pity, or me excusing myself for doing shit like having to drop a class because I'm already fucking it up by the end of September. Let it just be understood that for me, it's always been a real bitch to focus on the hard parts, but all that ultimately means is I need to be more disciplined than the average person to get through the drudgery.

Dealing with the things in life that I enjoy, now that's where ADD's glorious twin, "hyperfocus" comes into play. Hyperfocus is what makes me amazing at some things. Hyperfocus is why I can spend from 10:00 at night until 4:00 in the morning arranging music, etc. Hyperfocus is what makes me better at the things I love than damn near anyone. Hyperfocus is what makes peope say "You're so good at (task/activity), why are you failing such an easy class?" Or how about this one? "You can spend 8 hours straight playing some goddamn video game, but you can't spend an hour doing your assignment?" Um...yeah, basically. It's not that I'm lazy, Bob, it's just that I don't have the sort of amazingly overdeveloped Superego I need to make it happen.

Basically all of this means that Beav needs to work harder, which means that Beav needs to get back to meditating. Beav doesn't want to. Meditating makes Beav a much more boring person by many definitions. Bye bye goes the desire for lots of drinking, fornicating and general acts of hilarity. Drinking, fornicating and causing hilarity are FUN...but when I get all meditative and have that sort of calm, esoteric happiness, I don't need shallow sources of pleasure. Shallow sources of pleasure lead to funny stories.

Bye bye, also, goes the mean streak that provides for the sort of humor my friends have come to know and love, and my enemies have come to know and hate. Nobody wants to read a blog about how I walked around all day feeling as though life is a gift, and took joy in the smallest of details about my day, such as the smell of the air, was nice to everyone, then did my homework and went to sleep at a reasonable hour. They want to read FUNNY things.

Ay, me. I'd better do it anyhow. I did it last semester and it just might have been the single most focused, productive, rewarding stretch of my life. If I plan on getting into grad school, I just might want to be productive.

If you need me, I'll be working on slowing down the pace of my mind. The groin kick line forms to the left.

The Backlash

9/28/04 10:30 AM

I reluctantly drag my ass out of bed after about five snoozes and maybe three and a half hours of sleep. Let us not worry about why exactly I was up so late. I check my computer and see that I have MANY instant messages, and some of them are from "Hostess" from the St. Olaf story. Uh oh...I think we all know what this means.

Yep! She's pissed. Mission accomplished.

HER: wow, i am so happy that you thought [roommate] and i were catty, proud of our parents money, sluts, rude, shallow, upsettable, judgemental bitches, and high-maintenance. i'm glad you thought our st olaf parties and football games were pittiful. i'm sorry you had different ideas of what was going to happen while you were up here and after reading that load of bull shit i'm glad that i've realized i'm completely out of your league.


I am already amazed by the gaps in the logic of this paragraph, but I read on.


HER: i would appreciate if you would immediately remove that from the internet or i will be in contact with you in the near future to discuss further measures (roommate) and myself may take to see that it is removed


I cannot help but laugh out loud. Clearly I have overestimated her intelligence. The fact that she thinks there is actually legal action she can take against me to force me to take down a blog that gives no specific identities or contact information and will ever be read by like 18 people is hilarious. I then mentally review the previous paragraph, here it appears with the truth in bold:

"wow, i am so happy that you thought [roommate] and i were catty (I did say that), proud of our parents money (did say that), sluts (never said that), rude (said that only about Hostess, never Roommate), shallow, upsettable, judgemental bitches, and high-maintenance (again, only said about Hostess and not Roommate on all accounts). i'm glad you thought our st olaf parties and football games were pittiful (Never said that. I actually quite enjoyed the parties, and was impressed by the 59-7 ass-whipping their team put on its opponent. I even completemented several players to their faces on the win.) i'm sorry you had different ideas of what was going to happen while you were up here (putting words in my mouth) and after reading that load of bull shit (opinion) i'm glad that i've realized i'm completely out of your league. (a statement like this speaks for itself)


I now begin transcript of most of the conversation. On her behalf, I have edited to add appropriate punctuation in places it was frequently missing. Some entries occured in a slightly different order, but I have put them in the order in which they make sense. If you've ever transcribed an IM conversation, you understand why I took that step.


ME: maybe if you hadn't been unnecessarily rude to me despite the fact that I was nice to you, or maybe if you'd apologized for treating me like I'm some kind of rapist, I'd care about your opinion right now.
ME: for the record, that was the second most disrespect I've ever been shown
ME: I don't know where you get off treating anyone like that, but sorry, it's not coming down
ME: if you'd like to write your own version, I'll post it along with mine

HER: no, because then i'd be being catty according to someone
HER: I apologized

ME: you said you were sorry I didn't have fun. you didn't say you were sorry for arbitrarily hating me

HER: i had a lot of shit going on and told you on monday (it was Sunday) when we talked that it was probably not the best weekend for you to be there

ME: you could have just said you were in a bad mood; maybe it'd be better if I left

HER: what did you expect from me? i've met you barely once, talked to you online a bit and you expect me to treat you like a close. old friend

ME: I expect common fucking courtesy. give me a chance, that's all

HER: i figured i didn't need to have to leave since you were friend with norma and coming up to see her also
HER: i did give you a chance after we watched the movie and you tried to kiss me. bad move

ME: hey, I was not aggressive about it. I was attracted to you, sorry

HER: especially after i had just told you all the crap i was dealing with (this should read as "whined about how I keep throwing myself at this total douche and am continuously shut down")
HER: do you kiss every girl you find attratcive the first time you hang out with her? cause i sure dont do that with guys (I wonder about who it was she went home with on Saturday, and how many times she's hung out with him)

ME: many of them, yes

HER: then i guess we had a big missunderstanding

ME: I guess, which evidently gave you the right to make me cry. I seriosly fucking cried on the way home because I thought I must be the biggest asshole on the face of the planet (this really happened, but to the effect of a few tears down the cheek, not bawling. I'm kinda sensitive, and not reserved with my emotions, fuck you guys, don't laugh.)
ME: I'm sure you think I'm the king of the dickhead players, and I'm sure you and your friends will laugh about how you made me cry, but I actually had some feelings and I was hoping that if nothing else we'd be friends

HER: was this all about you coming to see me? were you not coming to see norma

ME: I was, but shit, you made it sound like it was so important to you and then I get there and you don't give half a shit. I felt like a huge disappointment

HER: we are deffinatly never being friends after all that shit you wrote about my roommate and i (proper grammar, "my roommate and me") online.
HER: that was the lowest move i have ever seen
HER: whether i was rude to you or not. (sentence fragment) no one deserves that
HER: especially coming from someone that is 22 (someone who is 22) and should maybe have a littel more class than that

ME: that was how you were to me, and I'm sorry you don't like seeing it from a 3rd party perspective
ME: "class" was me letting you act like that all weekend and not getting in a screaming match about it then

HER: you just made yourself to actually be a huge ass hole after write that (I eventually decipher what the hell she's trying to say here)
HER: it was dissapolintment because you were nothing like what you made yourself out to be online (I am never given a definition of what I was supposed to be like)
ME: and you were nothing like you made yourself out to be either (which was warm, nurturing, considerate, good sense of humor)

HER: well, then i guess you shouldn't have risked driving 5 hours to find that out
HER: and also why would you try to get on me then?

ME: what??
ME: why would I try to get on you when? did I not clearly tell you I didn't care if nothing happened?

HER: well, nothing happened and you obveously care (for somebody "out of my league", you'd at least think she'd spell better than I do)

ME: it's not because of that, it's because we woke up in the morning and you suddenly hated me

HER: you are making yourself to be no better than me by writing that shit (this is the best point she's made yet)

ME: I'll give you that, but I figured you'd hang up on me if I called you. and I wanted you to see how I felt. is it childish and vengeful? yes. so we'll call it even. seriously, write your own version in your defense and I'll post it

HER: oh, and it just made me more glad that i didnt spend more time with you than i did

ME: see, I knew you didn't give a shit about me anyhow, so I had nothing to lose

HER: no, i will be looking up internet laws later today because i really believe that is a violation of my privacy and false statements (I am again laughing out loud)

ME: good luck with that.
ME: I'll wait for my call from the FBI

HER: if so i will be touch with you soon about having it removed

This goes on some time longer, but sufficed to say neither of us is a fan of the other's any longer, if we were at all before. I would go on to actually apologize to her roommate, who also graced me with an angry IM, and edit some information in the original story. This is not because I fear the wrath of the nonexistent internet police, but because I should just get in the habit of letting 3rd parties in my stories be anonymous. I have to wonder who the hell she thinks would take up the case trying to get me to remove a webjournal that barely anyone sees. I would love to hear the conversation she'd have with her parents about why they should pay a lawyer to get the story of how rude she was taken off the internet.

Try checking out all the people who have tried to force Maddox (http://www.maddox.xmission.net) to take down his page. There is actually a Mothers Against Maddox organization who can't do shit to make him stop ripping anyone and anything he wants, and he has thousands, if not millions, of readers. I'm totally benign.

The silver lining in all of this is that it's hilarious. Ultimately I am late to my clinical psych class, where the professor is instructing us on VITA writing. He makes a statement about how you don't necessarily know if you having a 3.8 GPA makes you any more or less qualified, and I quote, "...than someone from a small liberal arts college in the woods in Minnesota." What the HELL were the odds of that???

Oh Shit, I'd Better Not Have HIV!

Ok, so nothing especially important happened to me on Monday except for lots of amused responses from my friends who found the St. Olaf story hilarious. I did, however, have one horrifying moment when the mail arrived. I had a letter from the Community Blood Bank. The reason I was horrified is this: I donated blood several weeks ago, and when you get a letter back, this frequently means that something was wrong with your sample. Now not the least of the possible problems is a positive HIV screening. Mind you, I don't have reason to believe I'm at much risk for HIV, but who knows? Maybe some crazy hobo came and shot me full of the virus one night while I slept. I reluctantly open the envelope and tell Dave, "I've had a bad enough last several days as it is. If I've got The HIV (HIV should read here not as three letters, but phonetically as one word, hiv) I'm going to be pissed."

I open the letter, and GOOD NEWS! Nothing was wrong at all with my sample and they were just thanking me for my donation. You're welcome, and don't scare me like that, you assholes! There is a picture enclosed of a smiling little girl who would not be alive today if not for blood donations like mine. This makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

My Weekend at St. Olaf

Author's Note: This story has been edited since the original posting. Changes have been made to clear the roommate of any guilt, because in retrospect, she was actually pretty cool (much cooler, in fact, than my hostess) to me and I was just shotgunning my anger. She caught caught in the spray, didn't deserve it. My bad, roommate. Also, I realized that I committed a breach of blog etiquette and used real and/or full names in some cases. I have changed some names, not so much to protect the innocent (or guilty of conscience), but because they are more-or-less irrelevant to the details of the story anyhow. Some first names still remain, and if any of those people object to being mentioned, let me know and I'll fit you with an alias.

This weekend I took a road trip to the bustling metropolis of Northfield, Minnesota to visit a "friend of a friend" Here's all the backstory you need for now.: I started talking to "Hostess", an acquaintance of my friend Norma's, online. Hostess happens to also go to school at St. Olaf. Through much chat and suggesting from Hostess, it is decided that I will come up to visit. Somehow the plan becomes for me to stay with her. Here's how the weekend played out. (Times are approximated) "My status" refers to how Hostess perceives me at a given point in the story.

9/24 11:00 P.M. - I'm going about 100 mph through the middle of nowhere, MN. Hostess has called (again) to check on my location. She has been drinking since about 9:00, and is noticeably drunk and sounds excited. The phone gets handed to her roommate. Roommate is ripped, and proceeds to tell me about what a big deal it's supposed to be that I'm coming. Evidently my arrival has been much publicized. I am pleased at this, but simultaniously see the potential for a tragic downfall that would rival Hamlet. Roommate tells me that if we need her to leave the room to give us privacy for sexual goings-on, it's totally fine. I wonder if this is too good, too soon. My status at this point is somewhere between "Rockstar" and "Jesus".

9/24 11:40 P.M. - I have arrived on campus. Hostess is not answering her phone. I'm tired of sitting in my car and looking lost, so I decide to start driving around campus, knowing full well that soon I will be lost. I drive. I get lost. I do not care.

9/24 11:45 P.M. - Hostess calls, and I am found. I meet Hostess, and she's beautiful. I think that her picture failed to do her justice, and that she looks like what my Freshman comp teacher would have looked like had my Freshman comp teacher been been about 40 pounds lighter and thus hot. Roommate is with her, and is also good looking. They are both drunk and bubbly, and I am thinking it should be a fun night. I grab some liquor out of my trunk and Roommate grabs my sombrero. Why do I have a sombrero in my trunk? I think a better question is, why don't you have a sombrero in your trunk?

9/25 12:00 AM - We show up in somebody's room and start drinking. We go out to the roof, where I meet Matt. If John Mayer fucked the guy from Can't Hardly Wait, the child they produced would look like Matt. He seems nice enough, but isn't especially interested in talking to me. Hostess and some obviously drunk girl spend some time telling me who everyone inside is, then harshly criticizing several of the girls. I am offput, and tell them they're catty. They strongly disagree. We're not off to a good start. My status has slipped to somewhere between "potential new friend" and "potential new enemy".

9/25 12:10 AM - I go inside and meet Irish Dan and Skip. Irish Dan is the clone of my friend Nate, and thinks that I need to drink faster. He leaves to get me whiskey and coke. He is my new favorite person. Skip is a very friendly black man who reminds me of my friend Sherdell. I like these guys. By this point Hostess is visibly upset about something, and I don't know what. This terrifies me, as it should any man, but I'm having fun hanging out with Irish Dan and Skip. We drink, we joke, we sing. I'm having fun.

9/25 12:40 AM - Hostess is not having fun and wants to leave. I don't want to leave, but do anyhow because I'm there to see her, so I probably should. She tells me we're going to watch a movie. This can be college slang for anything from "sit quietly and watch a movie" to "screw like rabbits in springtime". Judging by her mood, it means the former in this case. I don't like the vibe I'm getting, but hope this will be a good chance to get to know her better. We get back to her room, have some awkward conversation about movies, settle on watching Anger Management. Hostess asks if it's o.k. if Irish Dan and Skip come watch the movie with us. I wonder what kind of presumptuous, territorial asshole I would have to be to say that it's not o.k., and tell her it's fine. I catch a glimpse of the away message Hostess has put on her instant messenger account. It says, "I knew something like this would happen." There is much happening here I do not understand. Somewhere in my mind a warning light comes on. Blood drips from the fresh, gaping wound in my pride. Obviously my arrival has not prevented her night from being a big disappointment. I wonder if I am the big disappointment. My status is somewhere between "Potential Savior for Girl Having a Bad Night" and "Potential Aggravation for Girl Already Having a Bad Night".

9/25 2:00 AM - The movie is over, and Irish Dan and Skip leave. I ask Hostess if there's something going on that I should know about. To roughly translate her response, she's hung up on Matt, and he's hung up on his ex, but he ditched out of the party because I was there and he got jealous. In my head, warning lights and sirens are going nuts. My one and only fear has come true: I've somehow been pitted as competition to the guy she wants to date, and not only that, I've lost. I have no idea what to do. I was afraid that I was going to be pigeonholed into being just some guy who drove 500 miles to try to hook up with her, and it just happened. I do my best to try to make her feel better, tell her she doesn't need to put up with his crap, she's beautiful, etc. She seems to be cheering up and we're finally getting along. I find her attractive, and wonder if being shown some affection might cheer her up, and try to get her to kiss me. She declines to be kissed. It's not "like that", obviously, but then she lays on my shoulder and wants a backrub. I am confused. I am feeling so awkard at this point that I can't even give a good backrub. My status is somewhere between "Guy Who Just Tried to Kiss You and You Didn't Want Him To" and "Guy Who You Still Seem to Want to Have a Lot of Physical Contact With".

9/25 3:00 AM - After receiving one of the worst backrubs I've ever given, Hostess is asleep with her head in my lap. In my mind, the lights and sirens have stopped, and I imagine a little voice saying "Crisis Averted". I wake her up so that she can go to bed, and I attempt to go to sleep on her couch. I am much too tall for it, and lie down on the floor. Hostess wants me to tell her about myself, and I ask her what she wants to know. She asks about other girls I've dated. I tell her that talking about this is a terrible idea, but she insists she wants to know. I start telling her about an ex-girlfriend. She falls alseep after about 30 seconds. I am grateful to be able to drop the subject, and I go to sleep on the floor. All things considered, it's going decently so far. My pride has stopped bleeding, but he's a little weakened. My status is somewhere between "Guy Who Respected That You Don't Want to Hook Up and Gave You a Backrub" and "Guy Who Tried to Kiss You and You Didn't Want Him To".

9/25 10:00 AM - Roommate's alarm goes off, and I am grateful again. I've been lying awake on the floor for at least an hour, but didn't want to disturb the girls from sleeping. We all get up, the girls get ready, and talk to their friends online while ignoring me. I watch tv and feel awkward. I wonder if Hostess has had a dream that I raped her and kicked her puppy, because she doesn't seem to like me this morning. My few attempts to start conversation have not been well-met, and I feel like I should leave. Trouble is, I don't have anywhere to go. My pride begins to bleed again. My status is at "Guy You Weren't Happy to See When You Woke Up". The warning light is back on.

9/25 11:00 AM - Roommate, Hostess and I go to eat at "The Cage" which is little quick order grill at the student union. The two of them are talking exclusively about people I don't know, and making no effort whatsoever to bring me into the conversation or otherwise make me feel like I should be there. Yet again they're ripping on other girls, but hey,they're not catty. I have a grilled ham and cheese and try to act like I'm not thinking, "Given the choice between being kicked in the scrotum and reliving the last 18 hours, I'd take the scrotum kick. Hell, it'd save me a tank and a half of gas." Roommate and Hostess talk about people I don't know for all of breakfast. They call somebody a "puck slut", but hey, they're not catty. I want my Norma. Norma will bother to give a shit about me driving 5 and a half hours to visit. I'll have fun with Norma.

9/25 12:00 PM - Yet again Roommate and Hostess are typing on IM and ignoring me. In her defense, roommate has no explicit or implied obligations to me whatsoever, so I don't mind if she does her own thing. Hostess has put me in front of the TV and turned it to Lizzie McGuire to keep me occupied. I wonder if she'll do this to her children someday. Understandably, I can't stand Lizzie McGuire, but for $30,000 a year in tuition, they don't get cable, which makes either perfect sense or no sense at all. In either case, there's literally nothing else on. My pride gives a sickly cough. He looks very pale, and I don't think he's gonna make it. I call Norma, and beg her in Spanish to come and save me while hoping the girls don't understand Spanish. I go out into the hall just in case and tell her how completely awkward it is and how I feel like I should leave but I have nowhere to go. We decide to hang out after I get back from the football game that afternoon. My status is at "Slightly Moldy Bread"--Not wanted, but still there for some reason.

9/25 1:30 PM - We arrive at the "football game". I put this in quotes, because a college football game where I'm from means 80,000 screaming fans who think football is a religion. Our stadium becomes the 3rd largest "city" in Nebraska on game days. This game has maybe 1,000 fans in attendance, and most of them are parents of the players and/or old people with nothing better to do but wait for the sweet embrace of death. In addition, I am quite certain that if I went to school there, I could not only join the football team and start, but be All-Conference, and I didn't play a down in high school. I am amused by the spectacle. Hostess is offended that I'm amused. I try to explain that I still like the football game, it's just a stark contrast to what I'm used to. It's obvious by this point that she doesn't "get" me. I realize that there is no hope left for the weekend. My pride has gone into convulsions, and somewhere in my psyche I imagine little doctors running around and yelling, "He's coding! We're losing him!!!"

I meet some other girls that seem to be friends of Hostess's. They are nice, but I don't want to talk, I want to watch football because that is the only thing that will take my mind off of how out of place I feel. The other girls leave to go get smoothies. As soon as she is out of earshot, Hostess and Roommate comment on how one of them has gotten too thin and "looked better last year", but hey, they're not catty. (They would later pass this off as "concern for her well-being". Really? Then why don't you confront her with your concerns instead of whispering them behind her back?)

When given the option of going to Roommate's house to pick up her car with them or go back by myself and take a shower after the game, I quickly choose solitude and shower. I notice that the option of just me and Hostess hanging out was not presented, because that would imply that she didn't hate me. This whole thing suddenly reminds me of an episode of Blind Date. The last somber doctor in my psyche pulls the sheet over my pride and hangs a toe tag on it. Time of death: 3:45 PM, Saturday. My status is at "Bad Smell in the Fridge"--You're going to get rid of it as soon as you figure out how.

9/25 4:30 PM - I am stopped at a liquor store in some suburb of Minneapolis. There is a horrifyingly muscular man behind the counter, and his small-horse-sized dog is wandering around the store. Something tells me that not many people come in here with any intention of fucking with anything and live to tell about it. I know I'll be going to a party later that night, and there will probably be a keg there, so I grab a 500mL of Captain Morgan to "get me started" later in the night, and head back to Northfield.

9/25 6:00 PM - I have come back, showered, changed, and am hanging out with Norma and her roommate. I feel infinitely better already. I leave my phone in her room to charge and we go eat in the cafeteria, and this is disproportionately fun and relaxing. I get Norma laughing about anything I can, and crack up as everyone in the cafeteria turns to stare at her because of her loud laugh. It's nothing short of awesome. Later we meet Norma's friend Allison, and I am instantly smitten. This girl is beautiful, and is one of the sweetest and most genuine people I've ever met. I hope I see her later that night, but ultimately do not.

9/25 8:00 PM - Norma had to go to a girls-only primer, which means I have no choice but to go back to Hostess's room. Nobody is there, but a message on my voicemail tells me that Hostess and Roommate have stopped to go shopping on their way back. I am given an exact dollar amount of how much they spent. I wonder if that's supposed to impress me. I get the distinct feeling that she's pretty proud of her parents' money. I hate that. I decide to watch Wayne's World because no matter how much this situation sucks, Wayne's World is still funny. I am thirsty, and the only beverage I own here is beer. I have one.

9/25 8:20 PM - Hostess and Roommate return, and I am on the floor in front of the TV with a beer in one hand and my phone in the other. My back is to them. One of them greets me unenthusiastically. I raise my beer in response because I'm on the phone. Hostess turns to Roommate and gives a "What the fuck?" gesture, which she doesn't realize I saw in the reflection of the window. I consider telling her I saw it, but decide I have nothing to gain by calling her out. She clearly thinks that I've been on her floor, swilling beer nonstop since I got back from the game. I hang up and attempt to talk to her about how the shopping was. She doesn't want to talk to me. When a girl won't talk to you about shopping, you've really arrived in asshole land. Hostess hates me. I realize that at this point I can't get her to stop being cold to me, but with some help from my old buddy Captain Morgan, I can drastically alter my ability to give a shit. I begin drinking heavily. Hostess and Roommate are getting ready for a "Golf Pros and Tennis Hoes" party. This is the dumbest idea for a party I've ever heard. I wonder why the host frat doesn't just call a spade a spade and have a "We dress like always, and you girls dress like sluts and we try to fuck you" party. In her defense, Hostess declines to dress like a hoe of any kind. She wears khaki pants and a tank top and looks damn good in them. I tell her so. My compliment is received less like a compliment and more like it might have been if I were a construction worker cat calling from beside a port-a-potty. Norma and her roommate Alicia stop by, but must leave me for a bit to go to another primer. I beg them "No me dejan..." (don't leave me) but they must. Noticing that my pride is dead, my arrogance asks if his services are needed. I tell him, "Not tonight man, I'm taking the high road on this one." Always with the fucking high road. Sometimes I wonder why I bother...

9/25 9:30 PM - I'm well on my way to drunk. Hostess is already way ahead of me. She has somehow knocked off about 1/5 of the biggest bottle of Malibu I've ever seen in my life, and it's only taken her about a half hour to do so. She's being much more sociable, just not to me. We are on our way to a primer in another room, but first we must stop by Matt's room to see what he's doing. Warning lights, alarms, bells, sirens, all are going crazy in my head. No good shall come of this. Along the way I am saying something to Hostess and I happen to (in a completely non-sexual manner) put my hand on her shoulder. She literally squirms away from me. I am absolutely amazed at this response, and lock in my plans to stay the fuck away from her for the rest of the night. My status is somewhere between "Serial Rapist" and "Professional Kitten Puncher".

9/25 9:35 PM - We get to Matt's room, and he gives Hostess the harshest brush-off I can remember ever seeing in person. Nobody I've met other than Hostess has had anything good to say about this guy, and I see why: He's a real dick. I can tell he doesn't like me, and I really don't care. Despite how outlandishly rude she's been to me over the last couple hours, I feel sorry for Hostess. I am almost tempted to call Matt out for being such an asshole to her, but quickly realize that I have nothing to gain by defending her honor and will blow my buzz if I get in a fight. We stop by some other people's room, and I recognize it as the one we drank in the night before. My sombrero is there, because that's where Roommate left it. I decide I will wear the sombrero out tonight. Why would I wear a sombrero out to party? You know the better question. We leave to the other dorm where I meet Norma, Alicia and some other friends of Norma's out front. I fetch the Captain from Hostess's purse and officially put her on my "disregard" list for the evening.

9/25 10:15 PM - I have finished all of my half liter flask of Captain Morgan, in addition to the beer that started off my night. I'm not especially drunk, and at this point I'll drink anything. Alicia and I have been talking, and I'm attracted to her. We go to some other room and drink a little bit there, we go to various other parties, have some drinks...nothing noteworthy happens.

9/26 1:00 AM - We have arrived at the same party Hostess and her friends left for. I see Irish Dan and give him a high five. Happy drunk Beav is glad to see everyone. We go to the basement, where we all take shots of plastic bottle tequila from Dixie cups. This doesn't seem like a bad idea to me, and I don't wretch at the taste of well tequila...so I must be pretty drunk. Everyone loves my sombrero. Hostess is upstairs, hanging all over some guy. She clearly knows I'm there, but refuses to acknowledge my presence. I am unable to give a shit. Some random, Asian girl starts grinding on me. I'm having fun.

9/26 2:00 AM - It's time to go, and we're trying to round up all the stragglers from our crew. Some guy in a white polo with the collar up has decided he needs to be "that guy" who is an asshole and tries to throw everyone out because the party is over and he knows the guys who live there. We're looking for our friends, who he tells us aren't there. We know they are. He looks at me and says, "HEEEEEEYYYYY! SOMBRERO!" then takes my sombrero and walks off.

I patiently follow him into the other room and negotiate the return of my sombrero, even though he's being a total asshole the whole time. I go to find Norma. Collars Up tells me that she's not there, even though I saw her 30 seconds ago. I give him an angry response I cannot recall at this time. I check the back yard, no Norma. I come back in and start going from the kitchen to the living room, and once again here comes Collars Up. He says, "HEEEEEEEYYYY! SOMBRERO!" and reaches for my hat. This guy is bent on fucking with somebody, and evidently I'm his boy. In one motion, I grab my hat with my right hand, turn and slide past him, and then shove him behind me into the kitchen with my left hand. If this guy gets near me again, I'm going to kick his fucking teeth in. Collars Up is talking shit from the kitchen, but I'm not listening. I find Norma and inform her that, "It's time to go. Now." We leave, and I'm no longer containing my fury about being treated like shit all weekend by Hostess and then fucked with by douchebag with the popped collar. I inform everybody that I want to "get the fuck out of here" immediately. They oblige.

9/26 2:30 AM - All the parties are over, so Norma and I drop everyone off, and on our way back to campus encounter a lone girl walking away from campus. We ask her if she needs a ride, and she accepts although she says she doesn't have far to go. We drive her at least 2 miles to her house. I wonder how drunk she was to have thought she would walk that far in a miniskirt and cut-up t-shirt with temperatures in the 40s, and why she was all alone in the first place. We drop her off, I vent my anger to Norma, we go upstairs and get ready for bed. I get my stuff out of Hostess and Roommate's room. Roommate is there, but she tells me Hostess isn't coming home tonight. Evidently it is like that after all, but I'm not good enough. Whatever...I don't care about the lack of hookup. It's the lack of respect that hacks me off. I go back to Norma's dorm. One of Norma's friends has brought up a bed-like cushion thing for me to sleep on. I am grateful. I really like Norma's friends. I pass out.

9/26 9:30 AM - I get up, gather my things, say goodbye to Norma, and get the fuck out of Dodge. I am hot, tired, thirsty and generally pissed off. I drive 95 the whole way home and stop only once. I listen to Ben Folds Five's "Whatever and Ever Amen" several times though, generally too irate and busy of mind to notice it's repeating. Somewhere along the way I think "I should write out the story of this weekend and post it for people to read. If nothing else, it could provide a solid example of what not to do when somebody comes to visit."

9/26 4:00 PM - I am talking online to Hostess, trying to figure out where I took my wrong turn and ended up in Don't-Fucking-Touch-Me-Land. She calls it "a misunderstanding" and I know what this means. Translation: "I assume that the entire reason you came up here was to molest me. At first I didn't dislike that notion, but I'd rather be molested by the asshole bastard child of John Mayer and I decided to make you his direct competition. You lost, and I don't get molested by beta males." I am furious. I am tempted to call her and scream at her until she cries, but I instead explain that she was wrong in her assumption. I wonder if I give off the impression that I'm some sort of sexual predator. All I expected to do was hang out and have fun, and even explicitly told her that I didn't care if nothing happened between us. She clearly doesn't care that she shit on my self-esteem all weekend, but claims to be sorry I didn't have fun. I tell her I'm sorry she didn't have fun. What I'm really thinking is, "I'm sorry that your life will be one continuous string of misery for so long as you insist on being such a shallow, upsettable, judgmental bitch." She tells me that she is off to go apple picking and says she'll talk me later. I think, "The fuck you will..." She leaves an away message that starts with "A is for apple!" I think, "H is for high-maintenance!" and take her off my buddy list. I begin typing the story of my weekend. My arrogance shows up and says "Look man, until Confidence is raised from the dead, you need me." I know he's right. This is gonna be a great story...