[ the afternoon ]
Hanging out with ex-Nexites — and I'm talking ex-Nexites generations behind David and Marisa — reminds me of my parents’ friends coming to visit. They relive old stories I only know bits and pieces of, yet assure me that I've “just got to hear this story.” The story, of course, never ends get told because everybody keeps interrupting with their two-cent memory fragments and forcing it through so many tangents that everyone eventually forgets what the fucking point was — except me, who’s still wondering what the fuck "fatty two-by-four" means. Oh, and they're drunker than me, because I still have finals because I still go to school.
It's too bad these meetings are painful. Ex-Nexites still want to feel connected to the paper, I'd imagine, and want the current staffers to put a face with their name. And those of us still working at the paper have a lot to learn from the people who preceded us: Nexus history, writing tips and benefits of their experience in the professional journalism world. Unfortunately, the old ones try to impress the youngins by talking up their tenure, when it was "so much better," and we kids in turn have to prove that they're not a Nexus version of “Muppet Babies” and we're not running the paper into the ground.
Of course, this flips the minute I leave, when I become embittered and hopelessly nostalgic and the paper, now deprived of me, starts sucking donkey cock.
[ the evening ]
Even though I didn't go to high school with Kristen and Hillary's friends, they've never hesitated to make me feel like I did and that I have a million stories to share about they time we tried to steal Mr. Belding's car and got addicted to caffeine pills. Seriously, I wish I had gone to school with a group like them. Agnes and Charlie are great, but so are the rest, even though I don't really know them. I don't think any other group could have made “Mr. Wrong” such much fun.
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