So, you�re all, �Hey! How come you�re writing an entry on a Sunday? You never do that!� and I�m like, �Dude, why don�t you just calm down for a second and ride with the tide?� and you�re like, �Whatever.�

Okay, you want to know why I�m writing an entry today? I�ll tell you: remember how yesterday I promised that I�d spend Monday writing about my little brother? Well, I�ve come to the realization that I�m going to have about six shitloads of stuff to write about come Monday, so I�d better just get some of it out of the way now, otherwise Monday�s entry is going to be about sixteen pages long, and nobody needs to deal with that crap.

To begin with, I should inform you that Serial is now to be known by a new appellation from here on out. That name, by the way, is Jackass. See, remember how I said I was going to call him on Tuesday? Well, I totally didn�t. Not because I chickened out, or anything (although that�s not a bad guess), but because I got busy doing other things instead. But I did call him last night, because I decided there was no point in putting it off any longer. Don�t get me wrong, I mean I�m totally not a responsible adult or anything, but I�d already put it off for several days and it needed to be done.

So I called. He didn�t answer his cell phone (big surprise there), so I left a message to this effect:

�Hey, Serial, this is Dr. No, and I was just calling because I haven�t talked to you in a while and I was wondering how you were (note how I don�t bring up the fact that the reason I hadn�t talked to him is because the jackass hadn�t ever called me back. I�m the very picture of class). Anyway, I�m also holding your movie* hostage now [*he lent me a movie the night after I lent him my book], so if you ever want to see it alive again, you�re going to have to call me. Talk to you later.�

�Hey, Dr. No, it�s Serial. Yeah, sorry I didn�t call, but things got really crazy after the last time we talked, so I didn�t have a chance to call you back (and unless he was lying, bound and gagged, in the back of a Gypsy caravan during those two weeks, I�m not buying this bullshit excuse for a New York minute). Anyway, I�m really busy this week, too, but maybe we could get together next week. So, give me a buzz and we�ll catch up or whatever. [abrupt shift in tone] Hi, May Day! Well, talk to you guys later!"

Let�s just take this piece by piece. For starters, I�d just like to make it clear that I�m not going all Play Misty for Me on this guy. I mean, It�s not like I�m calling him six times a day and taking out full-page ads in the Times declaring my love, or sending him vials of my blood, or whatever. I�ve called him exactly three times in the last month. But I�m really pissed because it took a lot for me to decide to be friends, you know? I already felt kind of humiliated -- which is par for the course when you get fucking rejected -- but I tamped my self-esteem that much farther down the muzzle by admitting that I wanted to be acquainted anyway after he made this big play for my friendship. And now he�s giving me the slow brush-off anyway? Jackass.

And then there�s that little bit at the end. That�s my favorite. I mean, the whole first part of the message (directed at me alone) he says in the same tone of voice and with the same level of enthusiasm one usually reserves for when they�re speaking to a cranky loan shark. Like, �Hey, Vito, I know you�re here for the money, but I don�t have it on me right this second. I mean, I can get it, but it�s going to take a couple weeks because I have to get it from someone else. I swear I�ll have it to you by the third, though! Don�t break my kneecaps!� And then all of a sudden, out of fucking nowhere, he gets all perky and excited and greets May Day like she�s his long-lost fucking Swedish grandmother or something! And then he says, �I�ll talk to you guys later!�

�You guys�??? Excuse me? Like, he hung out with May Day a grand-ass total of once, and now he�s acting like we�re all the fucking Shirt Tales or something, and he and May Day have got this big, special bond between them that goes way back and is entirely comparable to the fucked up one between me and him. I mean, that�s a pointed choice of words, right? I�m not imagining that? He deliberately ends that message with a shout-out to my roommate/best friend, and a casual �talk to you guys later� in a concentrated effort to show that he doesn�t want to be good friends with me, he just wants to be acquainted. And not with me, but with the both of us. Because our �relationship� is dead, get it? We can�t even be friends alone. We have to have a third party involved so that I don�t get any �ideas� and throw my crazy, pride-less, pathetic self at him in a completely demoralizing attempt to change his mind about rejecting me. Because I�m just. That. Desperate.

Jackass.

Although, actually, on paper? It sounds a lot more like he wants to be friends with May Day and sees being acquainted with me as a necessary evil he must endure in order to have that. Of course, I haven�t told him that May Day thinks he�s a punk, and that her own affectionate nickname for him is Choady McFuck, or even that she advised me not to be friends with him in the first place, because to play the My Friends Don�t Like You card would have been kind of childish (not to mention that it would have made me look a little crazy, pride-less, and pathetic). Now, of course, I�m looking forward to that conversation like a little kid who knows Christmas is right around the corner. Eat it, toolbox!

The remaining item of business is this: tomorrow (well, technically today) is Dolly�s birthday, and I�ve been invited to the party. It�s going to be interesting, but what does one buy for Evil�s Handmaid? I got her a card. I think it�ll be a fun party, all things considered. Outside of work, and the whole issue of torturing the innocents, I�ll bet Dolly�s a real hoot.

my last adventure: The Uncommon Cold
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my next adventure: All About My Brother