So, there I was, lying in bed, about to indulge myself in a whole six hours of sleep before waking up at the ungodly hour of 5:30 in the morning. The phone rang. I fumbled with it, then managed a bleary "Hello?" A voice I didn't recognize asked for me. I shot out of bed, expecting them to say a friend of mine had died.
Remember the ad that was put in the CityPaper for a lead singer and drummer? This guy decided to respond at 11:30 at night. His name's Lou or Louie....I can't really be sure. Nice speaking voice, though. Kind of velvety. He says he's desperate to be in a band...his old one broke up in April. Friendly, too. I must have sounded completely fucked-up, and he was cool with it. He's a bit young, though. I dunno...16, but seems to be one of those teenagers whose parents don't give a fuck what they do. He also seems to be quite dedicated. He only lives about 5 miles or so away from me. We made plans to get together on Friday.
And I did end up telling Roachboy everything. It's not as though it came as a complete shock...he has been reading this journal (still does, although he said he wouldn't). At least I hope it didn't. Krisco probably said something to tip him off when he called her anyway. Do I feel cleansed? Pure? Nada. Just tired.
So, Roachboy's waiting for Dirk and I to get our shit together, which we may never do to his satisfaction. Where that'll leave whoever sings for us in the interim, I don't know. I'm not overly optimistic about Dirk and I ever working with Roachboy in a productive fashion, though. Too much shit has gone down. I'm willing to give it a shot, though. But that's for later, much later, when our situation has stabilized. Then we'll see.
Something interesting/horribly depressing: whenever a girl raises her voice to Roachboy, he calls her by my name. Did I yell that much when we were together? Probably. I am, after all, "high-spirited". Roachboy refuses to say anything about his new girlfriend (or it might be an old one, he didn't specify) until the dust settles. Apparently, he doesn't like the idea of anything he tells me going into this journal. That in mind, I shall simply have to tell you what I know, and make up the rest.
First, let's start with her pseudonym. It has to be something deeply meaningful, yet vaguely insulting at the same time. I'm leaning towards Sludge, but that might be going too far. I don't even know her. All the more reason to call her that, I guess. If I knew her, I'd feel bad.
Anyway, let's begin with what we know about Sludge. She and Roachboy had a tiff, because he told her he'd (partially) reconciled with us/me and there was a slim chance he may be coming back up here sometime in the future to re-join the band. Very slim. Slim, slim, slim. Sludge hung up before he could explain just how slim. And he may have called her by my name before she hung up. Roachboy's doesn't have her phone number, so he may never hear from her again.
Now, let's make up facts, since Roachboy's too mean to tell me anything about her. She has short, frizzy, black/dark brown hair and a bulbous nose. Sludge smells of rancid bacon grease at all times. She does questionable things with her cactus plant. She's a fifty-nine year old spinster who works with him at McDonald's. She's really a man. Roachboy doesn't know yet that Sludge is really a man because she wants to "surprise him" with the information on the Jerry Springer show.
Okay, Roachboy's probably getting ready to fire off another outraged e-mail. Maybe that'll teach him to withold information that's none of my business anyway.
Dirk came over, we talked to C-- for a while. It was interesting. C-- gave me the URL for the personality test that Jung developed. I'm afraid I didn't much like the results. Well, most of it was accurate, but the part about me being highly religious or philisophical was complete BS. For those who have even a clue what I'm talking about, my personality type was INFP. For those who don't, I'll see if I can find the site again and post up the shortened version of the results.
Dirk got jealous because C-- sent me the lyrics to Tool's song, "Pushit". I asked C-- to. I wanted Dirk to see the lyrics. But Dirk was having none of that, so it took me a few minutes to calm him down completely. He accused me of flirting with C--, and said I'd probably leave him for C--. C-- lives in Indiana. That's a pretty long trip, even if I were the least bit interested. I'd have to leave my entire life behind. We won't even go into the fact that it took Dirk 30 minutes to realize that he'd completely missed my call while listening to the new Bad Religion CD.
You know, it's pretty amazing what you can get away with while your parents are sleeping upstairs.
Katie's supposed to hang out with Dirk and I tomorrow night. Finally, we can actually do something.