I love mankind; it's people I can't stand.

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Feeling: Calm. Loving my life.
Eating: Um... life?
Drinking:Dasani water
Wearing: Jeans, black tank top with built in bra, lavender panties, eith a little sleeping kitty on them, my claddagh, green choker and matching earrings, contacts, vestiges of the day's make-up, black belt.

Listening to:
*Hummmmrumblerumblerumble* It's my washing machione making contented noises.
Chatting with:
Keeping my own counsel.
Thinking: "I need to concentrate on my posture more."
Remembering: Dave's tongue ring.
Glad for: My ability to move past fear into growth.

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Today is: 2003-03-29 - @ 5:59 p.m.
-

all time - is relative
Fucking Ben. I call him Thursday night to talk to him for the fist time in about a week. Probably more, you're right. Anyways, he answers, hears it's me, and promptly says he has to go. Um...ok. So I sask him if I will be able to talk to him at all this weekend, and he replies probably not, that he will be gone or doing a lot of homework. Riiight. I half-way buy it until I try calling this morning, and he had to go. Then tried calling this afternoon, and it's busy. And it's busy. And it's busy. Which means he was either on the phone or online (he wasn't online, I was online). When I finally got through, Ben picked up out of breath. He couldn't talk, he was apparently about to leave with Barbara to go buy cake mix and make a cake together. *Stifles vomiting* When I couldn't get through earlier? Oh, Barbara was online. When he had to go this morning? Oh, him and Barbara were about to leave for lunch. It was 9:30 ("It's...a long way away."). Yeah, right. Just stop lying and own up to the fact that you are emotionally, mentally, and physically dependent on her. Stop leading me on.

I got an email today from this the Ryan guy I mentioned in my last entry. You have to understand, I have a joke where I go around to me friends, male or female, look them dead in the eye, and whisper, "Make love to me. Right here, right now." It's a joke. Everyone knows that. Apparently not Ryan, because after saying that to him a few times, I get this email from him (edited slightly):

"...I want you so bad I can't take it any longer If you would have made the offer one more time I would have taken you in to one if the changing rooms ripped off all your clothing and bit, kissed, and licked your entire body then made sensational love to you that you would swear you were back in heaven!

You are a angel fallen from heaven because you were so beautiful that it made all the male angels want you..."

Yeah, I know, he's psycho. Whew...someone's not getting talked to anymore...

Quote for the Entry: "Like, gross!" -Me, in a total valley-girl moment.

There were are this totally disgusting little balck crawly thingies on my towel. You would have freaked out too...


all time - is relative

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