Putting the "vent" in "adventure"

Heading up to Fayetteville to house-shop a bit this weekend...told myself I'd spend the spare time I have today working on my final project paper. I'll get to it when I finish this. Feeling all shitty, sick, and feverish today...did some yoga just to get the blood flowing in my hands again. It's going to take a near-miracle to inspire something worthy of my three committee members' time.

Went out to Juanita's last Saturday night; J had intended to come along and then abandoned the rest of us at the last minute, leaving me to snuggle up to a series of beers, shots and a fun-loving dance partner. Still, things just aren't the same when I look single to all the hungry eyes out there. It's weird how exposed and dirty I start feeling in the midst of the Little Rock meat-market scene. While I know it's just me and my social angst, something just shudders at the notion of a seething, breeding group of preppy VD-carriers all trying to look equally attractive and cool to members of either sex. If I'm gonna blend, I gotta get me some high-heeled shoes, a home-tanning bed, a rape-apron (ladies, they're the shirts cut off above the belly with a wide-open back), and add about another half-pound to each titty. Jeez. The only woman I'd have taken home with me, if I was a guy on the prowl, was a good friend, already dancing all sweetly with her beautiful breasts against my back. But we couldn't even just enjoy the music and one another's rhythms without getting drooled all over by the local yokels.

Starting to feel like a total stiff; either me or this town is in desperate need of a big, juicy, fun-enema. Aside from the friends that came with me, (whose company is always enjoyable whether we're in, out, or smoking ourselves retarded somewhere in-between) I just wasn't impressed with the barflies. The images of the crowd that stand out the most prominently in my mind are those of the burned-out bartender, silently slopping out drinks to the minions, the bouncer cradling his head in his hands from exhaustion when he thought no one was looking, and the greasy-fried rednecks oggling whatever slice of pie sidled past with an air of inaccessibility. A scene all-too accessible on a Saturday night. Next time we should just wander around on the golf course with a couple of blankets, some wine, and a big tasty doob.

Right now, I'm totally open to suggestions about the nightlife here...because at the moment, I'm beginning to understand why David Cross continues to diss us as a metropolis. Then again, maybe I just need to stick to dinner, a movie, and an occasional outing to a good concert. Till then I'll be satisfied just to finish this damned paper before spring break.