pandalicious's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Struggle to Juggle Okay. I think I've figured something out. Normal boys don't EVER like me. They don't. I'm some strange girl, maybe in a hard-to-reach corner of the attic or something. I'm definitely not fine-tuned. I'm not sure what you'd call me. Weird, that's one I've heard a lot. And it occurs to me now that no, normal boys don't like me. By normal I mean, well-adjusted fellas, mostly. It must be something in me malaligned somewhere just under the skin, because only certain types are ever attracted to me and that would be boys that just aren't right in the head. Okay. Mike. OBVIOUSLY A FUCK-UP. That's a given. Delwyn was a confused ex-Mormon, ex-druggie, borderline heavy metal, alien abductee, masturbating bisexual that ended up dreaming that he had a beer with Jesus and rediscovered the path to Mormonosity and came to believe that I was (and I quote) "Satan's Daughter." Tyson was the oldest and least treasured son of a socially inept family that would buy the other 2 kids $200 pairs of iceskates and shop garage sales for a decent pair of walking shoes for Tyson whose JOB was FOOT PATROL of a campus. He would cry over the littlest things, LITERALLY CRY over them. He would suggest that I was getting hefty weightwise and wonder out loud if he should try to 'get' the hot little cheerleader at the skating rink to 'do' him instead of ME. He held my fucking sleeping bag HOSTAGE at the end of the relationship. He later told me that he was fantasizing about this fat, much much older woman; that he could perfectly imagine the taste of her pussy. Yeah, he's got his shit together. The boy strained spaghetti with an old worn tube sock and I am not even making that up. He accused my parents of trying to "buy (me) a husband" because they bought him some tennis shoes NEW instead of at a garage sale. We had to hang out in his DRIVEWAY (with about 8 vehicles) because his parents were terrible packrats, with tiny little pathways from this room to that. Brian, whom I do love dearly, is no where near as crazy as the boys of my past, but he is clearly a strange boy. He's probably the male, distant version of me... I mean he's totally flip side, but we connect at the edges like a quarter. Shiny quarter. Brian never says how he feels, sometimes it will show through though... but even when it does he will defend it by saying he hates me... and I know he's just kidding, of course. When he says he will, he won't. When he says he can't, he does. He's an enigma, that's for sure. Slippery. I don't have the energy to even want a relationship with him. I realize this. I know that deep down, we all have our spots and bruises, but dammit, I want something good and fresh and not full of fuck (in all of its forms)... It's the struggle that makes life interesting. So they say. Oh, how interesting this should be, then. 05:31:46 - January 4th/5th, 2001 :: 12:27am ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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