mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- my nest of salt Tuesday is a good day. No school, no work, just sleeping, playing stupid computer games, and drinking coffee. I love Tuesdays. Yesterday, in my English class, the instructor told us about how she got suspended from school for not wearing a bra, and how girls were forbidden to wear pants. I thought, "Wow, we've come so far," and then I looked at the girl who wears shirts with only one sleeve and stiletto heels and realized that, no, we really haven't. I can get the same job as a man, and I can get paid almost the same as he does, but I'm still supposed to look pretty and deal with flirts and boob-oglers. (Did I ever tell you about the shirt-girl's shoes? I swear, they must be almost perfectly vertical. Her heel is nearly right above her toes. Ridiculous.) Crystal and Lise and I went to look for our Halloween costumes after school yesterday. No luck. Apparently, nobody wants to be a superhero anymore. I did, however, see my first real boyfriend, the one I lost my virginity to when we were fourteen. I didn't think he saw me, but Crystal said that she saw him staring at the back of my head as I hurriedly exited the store. I kind of wish I was still friends with him. He knew me when I was crazy and violent and sullen, and he liked me anyway. (My sister just came in to tell me something about the band Good Charlotte. She loves those guys.) Jeromy and I got into an argument last night because I (stupid me, foot-in-the-mouth me) called him overweight. I said something about the lack of extra room when two overweight people are sharing a futon. Of course, his feelings were hurt, and I got defensive. Oh, and then I cried like a baby. I never ever ever want to hurt him, never. I'm just stupid sometimes, I don't think about the things I say before I say them. I refer to myself as overweight all the time, and I don't take offense if somebody else does the same. I guess I just assumed that it wouldn't matter to him, either. It did, he got mad, I felt like crap and started bawling and told him that I think he's amazingly beautiful and perfect. It's all fine, now. I'm just going to try to put a little bit of thought into the things that come out of my mouth. The other day, I asked a male co-worker if he was going bald (he's twenty-one) and I was nearly lynched. Think before you speak, Angela. Right. Twenty-six days until LaVerne has her puppies. I'm nervous. 3:28 p.m. - 2003-10-21 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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