About my future husband

It was pointed out to me last night that I tend to humiliate myself in a very public way on a regular basis (Hi Marc G.! Erin! Rod!). So true. But I see it as a public service of sorts. Just think of the things you have learned from reading this blog! Get enough fiber! Don't annoy me! And for the love of the sweet Baby Jesus always wear underwear.

So in that spirit, I give you this, a journal entry dated May 29, 1992. My junior year of high school, a few months after my boyfriend unceremoniously dumped me for the head cheerleader who was sluttier and probably DIDN'T wear underwear. I had just turned 16 and was in the throes of my first broken heart. I haven't laughed this hard at myself in a while:

"I've been thinking a lot about M lately. I miss him. I wonder, sometimes, why we were so 'violently' attracted to each other. Violent in that it was just so intense, so fast - not abusive violence, diary. He was, after all, my first love, my first everything. I wonder if I was his, or if that skank, H, will erase me from his memory. I hope he thinks of me while they are having sex. It would serve him right.

The chemistry is still there. He called me his future wife in class the other day and I still catch him staring at me. I do my best to ignore him, but it's so hard. Darci pointed out that we would still be together if he could have kept his shorts on. I hope all of this restraint pays off somehow, diary. What I mean is there had better be an equally hot guy for me out there since I turned down M's advances and have remained chaste."

OMG, right? I seriously wrote to my diary in my journals! What a DOUCHE. But a CHASTE douche, which should count for something.