time: 7:38 p.m.
about: special
This is what I wrote on my birthday, 2002. I turned 17 that day. It still amazes me at how much I've changed, yet it's almost as if I haven't changed at all.
Homecoming is now just about a month away and the buzz is already becoming audible. And in walks the biggest stresses of a teenager's life. No, not finding something to wear. I've pretty much got a selection of "this shirt" or "that shirt". It's finding a date that proves to be a problem for Yours Truly. For some people, it just comes naturally. For me, it comes as naturally as cooking an authentic cr่me fra๎che. Unfortunately, I have to do it the traditional way. I have no antlers to scrape against trees or funky odors to secrete. I don't even have a weird mating dance (well, maybe I do, but I'm trying to attract women here). I get to go out on the prowl, searching every nook and cranny for any little bit of interest thrown my way. Any eye movement or subtle wave is bait for a dateless guy. There are many fish in the sea, but nobody's fishing. At least not for crappie. (Any time's a good time for fish jokes.) I try to look at the positive side, saying to myself that I have a good month to work this out, but I always turn back on myself saying "only a month left". At any rate, I can always dance to Creedence with Rivlin.
My sign-off was "Happy Birthday To Me". I don't remember who else wished me a happy birthday, nor do I remember what gifts I received. I only know that it mustn't have been that special. But really, for me, is anything ever? I can count the times I've truly felt "special" on one hand. Is that enough? Is that normal? Why am I back to writing in here?
Eleven fucking days,
Drew
done...and this time, for good - November 18, 2004
a Democrat thinking like a Republican - November 11, 2004
go vote, get screwed - October 26, 2004
do you miss me? - October 12, 2004
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