And then I went to see my friend get married. It was a mass. A long one.

My friends spoke at the microphone and the bride gave a flower to the Virgin Mary. It was nice, and the Bride looked beautiful.

She wore a flowing white dress. Her Maid of Honor picked and rustled it into form while she kneeled and prayed with her husband.

And then we went to the reception. Greg drove me to the el, because he's a nice guy, and he was feling good.

He has a girlfriend. He wants to ask her to marry him sometime soon. It's no secret between them.

Greg talks of the impending proposal openly. I hope, in retrospect, that letting her over hear him is not his way of telling her that he's ready to ask. But he's going to move in with her, out of state, in a couple of weeks. So my thoughts, the ones that I had in retrospect, are probably just paranoid fears for his emotional well-being.

And so we went to the reception. I should really move on here, but I'm not afraid to ramble since I'm the only one that views this page.

And so we went to the reception. There were a couple people I used to hate there. We shook hands with each other; we smiled and we acted like we had never stopped being friends. We wondered aloud, in friendly voices, what the other person was doing with theirself now. Oh! We say, You're just going to be excellent at that. Good job!

I can't wait, dude. I can't wait to see you fail.

But I don't really wish anyone failure. Just a meager life of restless, bitter, small failures, which eventually lead up to a gunshot wound to the side of the head; administered by their own hand, with no one else around.

HA HA. Yeah, man. I'm kidding. Mostly. I figure. You don't know me, and noone will ever read this. So, I'm not going to whine about God, or his Sacrements, or the girls I can't lay, or the things I can't do (like find a chick to have sex with me), or complain about work... Oh yeah. Work. I already complained about that. Oh yeah. I just complained about sex, too.

I'm going to write some insane.; Maybe not interconnecting diaries and that's it. Or I'll just give it up. Fuck it.

Endurance, man. That's why I'm still writing and you're still reading. (Maybe this will end up as one of those

mysterious, 'locked' diary pages that I seem to come across.) Oh fuck!

And then we went to the reception. And everyone looked beautiful. The men that stood up: Clean, starched white shirts beneath the Tuxedo ties. Very nice. All of Paul's five brothers. The rest of the people wore shirts and ties, except for Greg, (who felt sel-conscious and shouldn't have. We were all friends there.)I wore a charcoal colored suit, and a blue shirt.

And then we drank a couple handfuls of vodka tonics.... And guess what? There were a couple funny stories but nothing really happened. It was a pretty mellow event, which is kind of dissapointing.

Someone fucked his girlfriend in the pool, Paul's Mom was wasted and telling people to dance, my ride to the el disappeared , I saw some old friends, we drank till twelve, and then the Pumpkin dissolved. I don't know sometimes what I'm looking forward to.

No matter what happens, it's still my life. The best thing would be to just allow it to come, and never think of the future, but I'm not going to do that. I hope in the future.

Even the most 'existential' of punks still hopes that he's going to break a bottle against a brick wall...

I am approaching the point of not making sense.

This episode may have not been the Shizznit. But.

Sit back. Take a quiz. Listen to the 'Hail to The Chief.'It'll make me feel better, and you'll feel better. I promise.