Marc
Freezing Feet
I had written all about the Kankakee bars I had attended last night, and how I only had one drink yet stayed for nearly three hours, but, after reading it, I realized it was nothing interesting, and nothing new, and that I think I read too much into what happens to me sometimes, because my life isn't all that unique, and strange occurences (or what may seem like strange occurences) aren't really all that strange at all.
I think that, by explaining why I like Normal, I can also explain why I don't ever envision myself ever moving back to the Kankakee area. First, people in Normal don't know who I am. I've said similar things before, but living in a college town is not like living in a real town. Same ages, roughly. Same interests, roughly. Thousands crammed into a relatively small geographic area. It's just not right. I can go to a bar in Normal, and I can completely ignore the people sitting at the table next to me if I don't know them because I don't know them. When I go to the bar in Kankakee I can't ignore anyone because no matter where I look I see people that I recognize, and that I know things about, and they see me, and I'm constantly being bombarded by people that I haven't seen in (blank amount of) years. It's kind of unnerving, like it's a test at all times. Do you remember me? Do you remember when this happened? Do you remember when you did this? Etc. I think I passed, and I'm kind of flattered that so many people seem to remember who I am and the things I did, but something deep down inside of me also knows that I don't really give a shit. They're just people, and I never really made any kind of meaningful emotional connection with about eighty percent of them, so why should I stand against the wall and worry about why this person or that person is (maybe) looking at me? Do you get what I'm saying?
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Thanksgiving dinner featured some ridiculously insane antics, such as paying my little sister $15 American to eat half a stick of butter, and sabotaging the H_______ Family Secret Gift Exchange Drawing by replacing everyone else's slips of paper with fourteen pieces of paper that had my little brother's name, Andy, at the top, and making each one ask for something kinky or sexual, such as, "Andy: Whips and Chains ... I'm a sassy boy", or "Andy: $40 worth of thongs or edible underwear", or "Andy: A real nice inflatable doll, and, if it's not too much trouble, a little thing of red lipstick, too", etc. The reasons for sabotaging the gift exchange drawing are simple -- my brother is fifteen, and we do something terrible to him every Thanksgiving, and we do this because he has no sense of humor. He tried to beat me up to make me apologize to him because he was so embarrassed by the whole episode -- how would you feel if your grandmother drew your name and read a card that said "____: any subscription to any adult magazine, such as Playboy or Penthouse", knowing full well that the whole point of the drawing is keeping it a secret and that the look on grandma's face isn't all that pleasant, and you wonder why she's giving you dirty looks, and "Does Grammy hate me?" creeps into your head, and you can't figure it out until the last card comes to you, and you know you were screwed over on yet another Thanksgiving by your oldest brother and his stupid tricks ... you'd probably hate me, too.
Freezing Feet
I had written all about the Kankakee bars I had attended last night, and how I only had one drink yet stayed for nearly three hours, but, after reading it, I realized it was nothing interesting, and nothing new, and that I think I read too much into what happens to me sometimes, because my life isn't all that unique, and strange occurences (or what may seem like strange occurences) aren't really all that strange at all.
I think that, by explaining why I like Normal, I can also explain why I don't ever envision myself ever moving back to the Kankakee area. First, people in Normal don't know who I am. I've said similar things before, but living in a college town is not like living in a real town. Same ages, roughly. Same interests, roughly. Thousands crammed into a relatively small geographic area. It's just not right. I can go to a bar in Normal, and I can completely ignore the people sitting at the table next to me if I don't know them because I don't know them. When I go to the bar in Kankakee I can't ignore anyone because no matter where I look I see people that I recognize, and that I know things about, and they see me, and I'm constantly being bombarded by people that I haven't seen in (blank amount of) years. It's kind of unnerving, like it's a test at all times. Do you remember me? Do you remember when this happened? Do you remember when you did this? Etc. I think I passed, and I'm kind of flattered that so many people seem to remember who I am and the things I did, but something deep down inside of me also knows that I don't really give a shit. They're just people, and I never really made any kind of meaningful emotional connection with about eighty percent of them, so why should I stand against the wall and worry about why this person or that person is (maybe) looking at me? Do you get what I'm saying?
Thanksgiving dinner featured some ridiculously insane antics, such as paying my little sister $15 American to eat half a stick of butter, and sabotaging the H_______ Family Secret Gift Exchange Drawing by replacing everyone else's slips of paper with fourteen pieces of paper that had my little brother's name, Andy, at the top, and making each one ask for something kinky or sexual, such as, "Andy: Whips and Chains ... I'm a sassy boy", or "Andy: $40 worth of thongs or edible underwear", or "Andy: A real nice inflatable doll, and, if it's not too much trouble, a little thing of red lipstick, too", etc. The reasons for sabotaging the gift exchange drawing are simple -- my brother is fifteen, and we do something terrible to him every Thanksgiving, and we do this because he has no sense of humor. He tried to beat me up to make me apologize to him because he was so embarrassed by the whole episode -- how would you feel if your grandmother drew your name and read a card that said "____: any subscription to any adult magazine, such as Playboy or Penthouse", knowing full well that the whole point of the drawing is keeping it a secret and that the look on grandma's face isn't all that pleasant, and you wonder why she's giving you dirty looks, and "Does Grammy hate me?" creeps into your head, and you can't figure it out until the last card comes to you, and you know you were screwed over on yet another Thanksgiving by your oldest brother and his stupid tricks ... you'd probably hate me, too.
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