I wish I kept old journals. Reading Fun House by Alison Bechdel makes me wish I kept them. Even though it read like a children book, repeating over and over. I just miss the want, the desire to write whatever. When I was young, anything carried intrigue, interest. Things I ate, things that happened at school, something I saw on television, playing Ninja Turtles on NES, all of this was worthy of becoming a part of my memoir.

But as with anything, you get sick of reading the same thing. I like this girl at school, but she doesn't like me, and I ate pizza, and I thought about her while playing nines Turtles. I got to level five, but the Technodrome killed me again. I cant get passed the Technodrome. Too many things going on the screen. Ill keep trying, its only one more level to Shredder, and Krang.

That major event that I longed for ever since I moved to Chicago, finally happened to me last weekend. I got kicked out of a bar for hurling on the floor. Twice. The first time it happened, I could feel everyone's eyes on me. People looking while talking to other people looking. The people I came with rubbed my back, got me some water, and told me not to worry. I started to laugh. I was the center of attention. I was the punk that puked near the pool table, and I couldn't wait for someone to slip, and eat black and white checkered linoleum. Put on your dancing shoes mother fuckers.

Still its fucking embarrassing, no matter what people are telling you. After the initial joy, I got really self conscious. People still gawked. I tried to look around for the mens bathroom while sitting in the far corner of the bar. I could barely hold up my head, my eyes were doing most of the work. I had no intention of getting up, and stumbling about to find the mens room. I just sat there, sipping water, with head down. I guess I was drinking the water too fast because the sweaty sock smell coming from my mouth was about to present itself again.

The second time was all fluid. At that moment I wanted to just go to sleep. As a child, I always used to hope and dream that the good children would be granted one opportunity once a month, to teleport to wherever the child wanted to. Even to imaginary places. I would save them up(because you can roll over the teleports from month to month), go to Cybertron, to Candy Land, to Hill Valley, and back. The guy who mopped me up the first time told me I was killing him, and that I had to go. I laughed at him because I thought he was kidding, but his look said many, many things, but a joke wasn't one of them. I stood up acting like I was shocked, but I knew I had to go.

What is really causing me to lose sleep is thinking about what everyone else was thinking, particularly the people I came with. Twenty minutes before all this, I felt like I was the life of the party. I felt like I was really connecting with these people. I was finally going to have "friends" here in this new city. Some of them were consoling, but one guy who walked me home (Dave), kept telling me how pathetic I was, but since he "liked me," it was okay.

Honestly, it is pathetic, but its not the first time that I've done something that I'm ashamed of. Ive embarrassed myself more times than Id like to remember. I should have just went to the bathroom, and I'm still beating myself up over my inactions, but no one likes hearing their own thoughts aloud, especially from someone else's mouth. Also, him saying that he liked me makes it worse. At least I think so. It really hurts because out of this circle that I'm trying to become apart of, I find that I get along with Dave the most out of everyone. Since I am not familiar with how anyone here rolls, I don't know how he feels, and its so annoying.

I haven't spoken to anyone since that night, and that sucks because I finally found a dank hookup(that guy wasn't there for the yacking, but I'm sure he heard already). My girlfriend suggests I try to hang out with them again this weekend. She thinks if I keep that avoiding them, when I do see them again, they will only know me as the puking idiot. I should try to erase those memories immediately, and replace them with new ones of other peoples embarassments.

I have also considered that they don't even care about it. That they were sincere when they told me that I don't have to worry about anything. Of course, in that position, who wouldn't tell that person that they have nothing to worry about? Then, after that person is gone, do you still think about it, or do you talk about it? Sadly, I would be the guy saying shit like, "Aww man, how gross," though I think I have grown enough not to say anything negative, at least out loud.

I miss my friends back home, though they're not home. Not what I remember as home. I've hurled in front of them, and they've hurled in front of me. We take care of each other no matter what, and if they did say something about me afterward, I wouldn't care at all. They're my friends. I know they still care, and they know I would say something about them as well. It's love.

I think Ill probably just stay in. I never have issues drinking at home anyway.