Have you seen me?

My costume was sweet for Kent's 'Hover in the Streets of Kent a couple days before Halloween' Halloween event. It's subtle in the way that there were only two parts to it: the mask I made from burlap and twine, and a few strands straw duct-taped just inside the cuffs of my long sleeves. I couldn't see very well through the limited eye holes, but I heard from Todd and Koobey that it freaked some bitches out. When I did see others' reactions I was pleased at the reflection of disturbance that briefly overtook their expressions. We ended up at a party on campus, a few friends of ours, and I was unmistakably the involuntary life of the party somehow. All I did was toss giving any sort of a fuck out the window and dance to some hip-hop. I was surrounded by my two favorite types of people: those whom I've met and that seem to enjoy my presence, and those whom I've not met and aren't talking shit for one reason or another. For the white boy that I am, I got a damn good amount of rhythm in me. I'm basing that judgement off the fact that a few fly honies were into cutting some rug with me. Ego boosts such as this are always welcome.

Sunday night this redneck dude was calling me and Todd fags because we were taking goofy camera phone pictures of each other in our haze of fatigue from the night before's Halloween happenings. It wasn't cool. Homosexuality doesn't offend me, but this bitch was obviously saying it with white supremacist condescension in his tone. Todd is now out for blood on people who fuck with any of us, I'm out for blood if anyone draws blood from any of us.

T. mo and myself have started a semi-regular exercise/workout session. It's not too intense but for me, being the complete opposite of athletic my entire life, just routine muscle toning is difficult enough at such an early stage combined with a late start. I'm pretty sure I'm a born late bloomer. It'd be embarrassing to go through all the things that I felt got around later than most of my peers in my early adolescence, but two I can think of off the top of my dome are the fact that I don't have a car, and this small fitness kick I'm on. Anyway, I'm not trying to beef out or buff up, or boff many roast beef curtains (wait, that's not true), I'm merely trying to sculpt something of a man's body out of my boyish, transparent physique. It's going well, though as little as you, as a reader, might care.

Friday marked Todd's 21st birthday. He wasn't too excited and we didn't get wild at some bars or anything. A collaboration of Todd, Koobey, Me, Jamie, and Kevin grabbed dinner at Luna's. Then to a couple bars just for the sake of it, I guess. It was my idea, I wanted a couple beers and some social setting. It didn't end up sucking at all, it was relatively entertaining in its mild-medium tumble of a night.

Have you ever been shut out from something you absolutely adored? Each time you thought about it made each day without it make it seem like its absence was actually moreso resembled its dead weight presence dragging behind each step of your stride? Can no one else understand or respect the fact you miss it so, along with all that it signifies and symbolizes?
It's a lame reference, but in the movie "The Last Kiss" starring Zach Braff (lameness reduced since he doesn't narrate anything with annoying little mindful thoughts his character almost sounds like he actually hadn't had scripted for him) there's a line of dialogue that I've adopted as my own personal motto almost: "You can't fail if you don't give up." I'm embracing that small proverb because it applies to almost all things. For now I'm personally applying it to my above alluded-to milk carton-type missing concern. It's almost as if my face is on the milk carton and what I'm actually missing is just pouring away without any concern for the most recent picture of me on the right side between the front's label and the back's nutrition facts. Last seen on: a cold day more than a year ago; Last seen with: his wit's end close by.

But I can't give up now if that's my new motto. That milk carton rant was just a short stream of conscience. Just riding something out until the point of death, that conviction appeals to me somehow. Death without achieving your goal isn't failure to me at all really. This wouldn't have to apply to everything, only the things you deem and perceive as important enough. It could only mean one thing or maybe ten things. What I'm getting at is:
Reverting back to the milk carton analogy, a piece of the clothing I was wearing the day I went missing was recently found not far from where I was that day. Investigators are gathering more and more clues from just this article of torn and worn attire that will hopefully bring me back home in one, breathing piece.