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Porn! I don't understand the logic behind men's and women's magazines. I picked up Esquire in a waiting room today because Colin Farrell was on the cover, and DAY-um. It is full of clothing, cologne, shoe, and liquor ads of the smoking hot variety. It would seem that a girl might prefer one of those over, say, a Cosmo with a bunch of half naked women, or a Seventeen full of Justins and Ashtons. And it would also seem that some of those ads in Esquire could pass for soft-core gay porn. Yet scattered amongst the male models were manly-man articles about wanting to punch Colin Farrell, 10 things you don't know about women, and $2 wine.Huh. So about the two hours in the waiting room. We got a new van, and I had to meet my mom's friend from high school with the huge gold rings and the polo shirt. And...erm...we were in Elijay. Not much to say about Elijay. Not many teeth in Elijay, I'll tell you that. I seem to have pulled a muscle on the top of my thigh, and I absolutely can't walk, I kid you not. But I wonder if it could get me an elevator pass for schoo--AAAARGH. GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE BASTARD. BELLY BUTTON LINT WITH WINGS. Damn mosquito. I'll teach you to make me hop around my room on one leg flailing my Algebra 1 Cliff's Notes. Other things I thought about today: I'm paranoid and uncomfortable around people I don't know, or don't know very well. I can only really be myself around my friends. I don't worry about them thinking I'm being an idiot, they know me, they'll get over it. Last year, the people in one class thought I was a loud mouth, and the probably thought I was some sort of socially inept recluse. The difference? Eva. I shouldn't have given a second thought to what the future prom-queen-turned-porn-star and her idiot boy sidekicks in my Spanish class were thinking when I was a spaz and kept dropping my stuff the other day, but I do. If a stranger's glance lasts more than two seconds, I'm convinced it's because I have something on my face or they're doing the train wreck staring thing. And it's stupid. Grr. Arg. This entry's "porn" count: 2. That's different. 2003-08-22 @ 12:03 a.m. |