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02-06-04 - -

I figure diary writing is like working out, and my mind is out of shape. Like spaghetti the ideas are half-cooked and don't stick. So here I go trying to make a record of a few things.

Months ago, Bat decided Robert was a flake for not returning his phone calls, displaying interest, and thus blacked out his name and number in his address book -- Robert, his old friend's brother, occassional object of his desires "they have so much in common." Then he missed Robert and simply drove over to visit, and this got us invited to a party. The mix CD was Robert and his girlfriend Evita's own personal private joke to which they both knew all the words. Robert's bro kept making heavy, heavy sexual innuendo and sexual commentary at Bat. Robert's tech friends occasionally lost touch with the ability to articulate at me and literally gestured and grunted. It ended up with the group dancing in a way I've never seen before, some style that includes Beck's purposeful falling around and disco. We both got sick, me for the first time.

Dicey had a party today. Her two new best friends "the ladies" dress like eight year olds from the fifties -- mary janes and bobs and glasses and all -- and talk about college radio. They like to casually drop the names of artists but seem much more common intellectually speaking and conventional below the surface. I didn't expect a good time of this party but ended up having a good "girl talk" with Kathy, a girl who lives in our neighborhood. At the party we played charades and I was amazed at how sexy her friends are. One of the boys they tease for being fat is in actuality quite adorable, and her internet friend Zi is a woman too beautiful for words. I admired the ease of affection in the teenage "relationships" I saw displayed. One girl, Becca, had a wig-like aquamarine 50s do. Weird is in, and Dicey's having her month or two in the sun before they realize that a lot of her eccentricity is mildly irritating. Thank God her 20 year old ex-heroin addict friends did not show up -- the ones who she befriend to impress "the ladies." These thoughts are a bit stream of conciousness and I'm not a bit sorry. Or did that sound defensive?

For years it seems my Mom has been complaining about her responsibilities and I dont' seem to ever do everything she wants. I don't keep up with house chores, I lose things, I don't drive. For years she has been telling us about how she has no time to herself and I am beginning to resent her for not finding some peace of her own and instead relying on us to start "doing more". I feel we are spending a lot of needless money (although we are broke these days cause of medical expenses). My Mom assumes our needs are greater than they are and thus over-tends them. I have sympathy for her and yet her misery is suffocating. It is also a finger pointed at everyone but herself. She is quite the martyr.

I want a new, sexier body, and a tight ass. Instead of exercising, I find myself jilling off while fantasizing about the new sexier body I will have one day when I get around to it.

I am not unhappy



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