9-22-01 - 11:59 p.m.

Haven't had a three-entry day in a while, have I?

Google hit: "Evil Dead Pony" � someone I mentioned briefly in my pro-Esquire entry a few months ago. She runs the website Quacker County, an insane, twisted My Little Pony fansite. Though I've never really actually talked to her, she seems intelligent (something her messageboard's patrons unfortunately seems to lack) and is usually hilarious. Good times.

I have a guy question. Any guy who reads this, feel free to email me with your take on the issue.

My question is this: What's the deal with guys and hair? Why do girls with really long hair (like myself) appeal more to most guys, yet the second leg or underarm hair begins to show, they're completely turned off? Who decided, probably eons ago, that a sexy leg is a hairless one? And why is it that so many guys claim to love a "natural-looking" woman, but only if she has no hair anywhere except on her head? How is that natural? Why can guys not shave (or shower, for that matter) for several days and be considered "rugged" because of their scruffiness, but if a woman chooses to skip a day of leg-shaving, she's dirty and uncouth? And then there's pubic hair. According to a poll done by Cosmopolitan magazine, the majority of men prefer women's pubic hair to be neatly trimmed, and shaved on the leg so as not to show when she's wearing a skimpy bikini. Very few men liked it "au naturale" and a big chunk liked it all shaved off. I'm not gonna go into any personal experiences here�even I know how important it is to keep some things private�so don't ask how it is for me.

I had this conversation with a former boyfriend of mine, Ryan, who rolled his eyes and called me a feminist. He used to say that word like it pained him to do so, or as if it were the dirtiest word in the world. I told him I couldn't be a feminist, and that in fact, I was a feminist's worst nightmare, because I was constantly undoing the works of the Women's Movement. I'm pretty sure I stuck my tongue out and said, "So there" at the end.

Ten days until I turn 18.

Tonight, Bryan and Justin did something I thought was really cute. Declaring that I've been "down" since my breakup with Rob, they attempted to cheer me up by reenacting some of "Rob's quirkiness." Justin stuffed Q-Tips in his ears and moaned, symbolizing the "ear sex" episode and Bryan, who had been eating chips and dip, sucked off the dip, claiming it was the essence of chip that counted. They both read this thing, they know how much smack I talk about them. Hey, guys.

As cute and sweet and positively intended as it was, it just depressed the hell out of me. I'm trying not to think about him, but I can't help it. I woke up this morning and reached my hand over as if to touch his back before realizing that the only other creature in bed with me was my cat. She can't make me breakfast.

I'll admit it�I miss Rob. How can I not? He's been my best friend for 11 years, and now we're suddenly supposed to be acting like we never were. I said before in my "old friend" entry about how hopelessly loyal I am, even to assholes, which is why I know I'd welcome Rob back without a second thought.

It just sucks how many people I've lost this summer. Let's review, shall we?

Tony: Ex-boyfriend, really nice guy. I've talked to him twice on the phone since we split. It's one of those things where I'd love to have a friendship with him, but he now attends college pretty far away (Northern California...*shudders*) and it'd just be weird.

Noah: He was a great guy until he turned out to be a not-so-great guy.

Simon: Intellectual, potentially a good friend, never had the chance to find out.

Lexi: My Cambridge replacement for Kellie, only not nearly as quick to judge. I miss her.

Lancer: (Not hiding names anymore.) My former best online friend. I just realized I never gave an update on our situation, so I'll do that right now. His mom and girlfriend read my diary (hi) and I guess they urged (seems more accurate to say "forced") him to talk to me. He began the conversation by saying, "(under duress) Mom said to say somethin' to ya?" and my jaw hit the table. He told me he was pretty much being forced to talk to me? "Under duress?!" Anyway the whole conversation was forced, unnatural, and offensive because of his complete lack of sincerity. He didn't apologize, which I guess is good, because I wouldn't have accepted it anyway, and I haven't IM'd him since. Nor has he said anything to me. I just refuse to say something to him first. It's his turn. If he doesn't want to, then okay. I know that if we did I'd have to be sure and have long answers. (See, ever since I told him about my alcoholism, he has assumed I'm drunk every time I reply with a one- or two-word answer, or if I have any typos. Yet, in conversations, he very rarely says more than three, usually misspelled, words at a time and I've never assumed him to be anything less than sober. Nice little bit of prejudice there.) I'm actually tempted to call him, but what would I say? What would I expect him to say? Would I have the courage to argue with him over the phone, or would I be my usual weakling self and start crying? Probably the latter. God I am such a crybaby! Oh well. Big slap in the face, but I digress...

Kellie: In a manner of speaking. She and I come and go pretty frequently, but this summer, I lost my trust in her, and her in me. It's just so obvious. We get along most of the time, but the closeness is, I believe, gone for good.

Rob: 'Nuff said earlier.

Brent: Even though I don't miss him, I miss what he should have been. The same goes for...

Ann: Of all things, suicide took her from me. That's so weird.

I'm not really on good terms with Sharon and George right now on account of my funk (or, more accurately, the fact that I'm being immature and short-tempered with people who are trying to be overly nice to me). I had a brief argument with George this afternoon when I called Kellie to tell her I wouldn't be going with her to her school's dance tonight. He was urging me to get out of the house. I was on my cell phone, so I walked outside and told him I had done so, but he didn't like my joke. Nobody ever does.

I was also supposed to go to a concert to see my favorite band, They Might Be Giants, perform live in Los Angeles. Didn't happen. Of course I regret not going. I had already purchased tickets, but it was one of those things Rob and I had intended to attend together, so I gave him my ticket (via Bryan) and I'm sure he took Chad. Hope they had fun. TMBG rarely tour across the country (they live in Brooklyn) and they give an amazing show. Ah well.

I just want to take the Pink Floyd approach to life an isolate myself, just build a wall around my apartment and not let anybody in. The only people I'll allow past my walls are the ones willing to exhaust and dirty themselves by digging under the fortifications. I'm through with the whole "trying to make friends" crap routine.

I can't believe that today I've been sober for six weeks. It's still so hard...I can't sleep. All I want to do is toss back a few shots. I find myself gripping the desk when a really bad urge hits me, as if I feel I have to keep myself from getting up to pour myself a drink. I have alcohol hidden in my closet, though after my roommate reads this, I'm sure I won't. So it's there. It's accessible. It's just a can of warm Budweiser. But even that would taste incredible to me right now.

What I'd really like is some soma. Anyone who hasn't read Brave New World by Alduous Huxley won't get that. But those who have will understand why. I just want to go on a soma holiday.

It's midnight. Nine days until I turn 18.

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