July 1, 2001
Unca' Timmy to the Rescue!
Am feeling very replenished after splendid evening with Cassy and Kelsi and Bauer and Nathan. Am feeling positive and encouraged. Will stop loafing around house watching shitty re-runs of Real World. Will return to productive means of passing time. Will write. Will play guitar. Will be creative and motivated individual. Will become fantastic and envied writer/guitarist. Will attend smashing parties in sexy clothes while maintaining modesty, in manner of Sandra Bullock or Julia Roberts.
I've been reading a trifle bit too much Bridget Jones. But I amuse myself.
The party was so much fun. I forget how much fun girl-fun can be. No matter how much I enjoy being with Ryan (and trust me, I enjoy it:), nothing compares to just hanging out with my best girl friends. It's a different kind of comfortable.
We spent obscene amounts of time playing with the Sims. I created trailer trash folk: Al, Tammy Faye, and Tyrone Fuschia; dwelling somewhat peaceably and not always clothed within the zebra papered walls of their doublewide. I must buy this game.
And Kelsi's little sister Bethany created a Sim-Me in the game. I'm dressed like Xena, for Christ's sake.
I look nothing like Xena.
Right?
Then Bauer created a dysfunctional family all his own, complete with their own "Unca' Timmy" and more toilets than any man, woman, or child could ever wish for. They set their three hot tubs on fire. Unca' Timmy paraded around in a speedo.
Ryan needs to haul his not-so-white (he has a tan from Florida, mmm, nice)ass back to Ohio. I should not be suffering from withdrawal. But I am. And I'm still tortured.
I'm pathetic. I need sedatives.
I need a muse.
I need both.
astera at midnight-ish