10-25-01 - 10:59 p.m.

Tonight I went for a quick drive-thru dinner with Bryan before our salsa dance class. We figured eating fake-Mexican food would make us feel fake-Mexican and therefore be somehow amazing in class. Taco Bell before a rigorous lesson is not a good idea.

Bryan is so much fun to dance with because he doesn't take things too seriously, like me. He isn't obsessed with getting every single movement 100% perfect, down to the facial expression and placement of every single strand of hair, and he loves to try and sing along with the music. Which is probably why our instructor switched to instrumental stuff halfway through the evening.

Afterwards, as we were changing into our normal shoes and heading out, we passed by a table that had been set up by Barbizon School of Modeling. A woman sitting and waiting for interested passersby got my attention and called me over. She told me I had "the look" and asked if I had ever considered a career in modeling.

"Well, my mom considered it for me in eighth grade," I said, "and I hated every single second of it, thanks."

Bryan and I walked off before she could compliment my hair or my eyes or my teeth or my feet. I should have just held up my hands and said, "Your company can't airbrush this."

But I'm trying not to be such a hateful bitch anymore.

I am really tired of people telling me I should model, though. Don't you people get it? Aside from the fact that I have zero interest in it, I am five-foot-two. Most models are between 5'9" and 6'. Kellie, at 5'8", is pretty short for a model. Stupid tall bitch. Everyone I know is tall. Bryan's 5'11" or 6', Rob's 6'2", Justin's 6', Ricky's even 5'10" and he's 14. Ah well.

When we got home, Rob and I went for a walk and ended up wading in the ocean. However, I would like to clarify that this was not a *~*Walk on the Beach*~* like you'd find in some cheesy Hallmark made-for-TV movie. We just walked and talked and it just so happened we were on the beach. We had a good conversation, though. It was mostly one-sided, as I was in the mood to listen. He told me about work, and about how he's been feeling lately ("confused") and asked what had triggered my grocery store breakdown. He was only about the nine billionth person to ask me so I didn't see any need to alter my response. I still have no idea. Things like that just happen to me. I'm okay now, though. I think.

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