the Shakedown: slang. "a thorough search of a place or person." (dictionary.com)

All we need is love, sweet love

Sunday, May. 30, 2004 at 2:34 pm

Last July I had an epiphany. I wrote in this diary: "I think I've finally realized why love always gets fucked up. It's because someone always expects the fairy tale. And the truth is, it does not exist. True love, yes, but the fairy tale, no. We should just take what we can when we can and not get so fucking bitter about it all. I'm not perfect and I don't know how to love someone perfectly, so I should never expect the same in return."

When did I get to be so smart? I have no idea. Sometimes this stuff just comes out of my butthole. But I like what I said there. It makes sense.

Ever since Miguel told me that he loves me, I feel so. . . content. Like I don't care if he doesn't call me back right away. I'm not obsessing about where he is and what he's doing. I'm not wondering how much or if he's even thinking about me. I don't even care that he's still a man and looks at hot chicks. Hell, I look at hot chicks!

I don't care about that petty stuff, because in my heart I know that he loves me. It's like, what else matters?

I can honestly say this is only the second time I've truly been in love in my life. The first time was such a learning experience for me. I learned more about myself and how I react to love. I learned how I need to be loved and how good I am at giving love. Earlier this week, I said I'd forgotten how to be in love. Slowly but surely it's coming back to me. Like riding a bike, I suppose.

Anyway, I'm fulfilled, which is strange for me. I don't want to think about tomorrow or what the future might hold for Miguel and I. Yeah, I think about it sometimes. Like how frickin' adorable our kids will be. And what I want our wedding to be like. But that's normal girly shit. For the most part, though, I'm just, like I said before, content. I'm happy when I get to see him and talk to him. And in between those times, I'm grateful for all the other blessings in my life.



Love ta love ta love ya

Saturday, May. 29, 2004 at 11:20 am

Miguel told me he loves me last night.

And he wasn't even drunk. . . or boinkin' me.



Why yes, yes I am an alcoholic, thank you for noticing

Friday, May. 28, 2004 at 11:30 am

Reggie was up to bat and his pants were full of crap!
Diarrhea... Diarrhea....
Reggie ran to first and his pants were 'bout to burst!
Diarrhea... Diarrhea....
Reggie ran to second and he had to disinfect it!
Diarrhea... Diarrhea....
Reggie ran to third and he laid a big fat turd!
Diarrhea... Diarrhea....
Reggie ran home and pants were full of foam!
Diarrhea... Diarrhea....

And that's a little diddy we adolescents like to call, "The Diarrhea Song." But after each "Diarrhea" you have to make two fart noise with your mouth. It's good times.

Why is it that whenever you drink heavily, the next day the alcohol is practically pouring from your pores? And why is that everytime you eat something, immediately after you have diarrhea? And why do you say stupid mushy crap when you are drunk? And why do you wake up with bruises all over your body? And why do you act like a lunatic? And why do you want to have so much of the sex?

And why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?



The beautiful people

Wednesday, May. 26, 2004 at 11:28 am

These pictures are a couple of weeks old, but still. I'll have the ones from the Kid Rock concert up by Friday, hopefully.


Me and Miguel.


The girl and me.


The beautiful people.


The shots!



My love/hate relationship with LOVE

Tuesday, May. 25, 2004 at 12:46 pm

What can I say?

I'm in love. What else is there to say?

Except that love bites. This is exactly why I've been so anti-love the past four years. It's all you ever think about. It makes you feel crazy. Your stomach feels all fluttery. You feel like screaming at the top of your lungs. You forget what your life was like before and you don't want to imagine you life without it. You are trapped. Everyone I know loves being in love. But not me.

What's wrong with me?

Somewhere along the line I became immune to love. I wanted nothing to do with these mushy gushy feelings. These obsessive thoughts about another person. And then. . . BAM! It hits me like a ton of fucking bricks.

Sure I've loved this boy since I was eighteen or so. But for the past four years he was not even a part of my life. Then he shows up out of nowhere. Our lives come together as if they were never apart. Everything could not be more perfect.

Except for the fact that I'm scared. Scared shitless. I've completely forgotten how to be in love. But I know that I am. I can just feel it running thru every ounce of my body and soul. It's so disgusting. It's like a fucking deadly virus. And yet. . .

Yet I'm happy. Happier than I've been in longer than I can remember. Maybe I'm still a cynic, but it's just hard to except when life is so perfect that it makes you want to puke. I just wish I had all the answers. Like I used to think I did.



"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." C.S. Lewis