I was about to whinge into my journal about my weather-inspired board-helped Bellefleur mood. But I lost it, so you're safe... for now.
No, I'm cool. I'm upset about the board, and want to sulk and then call Melissa. It's my own fault, and all, which really never makes me feel any better. Ah, nothing I do is so cheering as when I do something stupid like baiting a bear.
You know, I kill me, right? And how!
Oh man, you know, the morning after what I personally like to refer to as One of the Worst Nights of my Life, I went out and bought Wensleydale and crackers and demolished them. I called over my friend Bridget, and she sat in the chair and listened to me tell my story. As I was eating cheese, sometimes just plain by itself, I told her of my grand master plan to gain 400 pounds so that I never have sex again. Starting with this Wensleydale. "That's really not a great idea..." she said. "Oh, it's okay, I always have the best ideas. I'm an idea woman, you know." I cackled like an animal. "It just takes people a while to come around."
I have since come up with brigher plans, like not drinking so much, or not drinking unless I'm in the presence of guys I know and like and find cute enough when sober. That and hiring a keeper. No, I really didn't enjoy that. But it's okay, and we're moving onwards.
I have worn the same pants every day for a good week and a half or so. It's getting to the point where they feel like my skin, and I don't really want to take them off ever.
I kinda worry that some of you are never going to associate with me again.
2003-05-03, Man those pants are lovely
before / after
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