Ok, this is my second entry tonight, but I don't care. I'm feelin' the need to express myself through the written word.

Regarding this jazz:

So I like Seth a lot. I like him as a friend. And I really don't know if it's more... I don't think it is, but I wish it was, because I think he's a really righteous dude.

I'm just... not there.

But I want to be there. With anyone, really.

I kinda had the idea that he liked me, and I was kinda hoping he wouldn't say/do anything about it, because my thoughts on the matter are not finalized. But then, they never are.

I'm so sorry.

It feels so odd. I've never been "that girl." The bitchy asswhore girl who turns people down. Well, maybe with Pat. Sorry, Pat.

But I'm not a bitch. Really. I just can't help how I feel.

It's so hard to just be honest sometimes.

Lordy lordy lordy.

This is so messy.

I... um... ehh.. I don't know?!?

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I waaaaaaaaaaant to like him so baaadly....

And I hate people thinking I'm some nasty meanie girl. Because that's really the total opposite of me and everything I stand for.

I just want someone to hold me and tell me everything's going to work out fine. This kind of stuff kills me.

Motherfucker...

And the Homecoming parade/game/whatever really wasn't that much fun. Well, I mean, it was fun to a degree; it was just really frigid and sportsy and rainy.

Our theme was something like "the 50 patriotic states", so LinZ and me were New Mexico and Kelly was a tree from New Hampshire.

And not just any tree from New Hampshire. A rollerskating tree from New Hampshire. Now that is madcap crazy fun. So we pushed her around.

And I saw Seth there. And there was guilt and shruggery and all over "euuuhhhh..."-ness. I said hi, but I think he hates me now.

Well. I'd hate me.

Maybe. Well, maybe for a day.

But good news: I am seeing Sleater-Kinney on Sunday with a posse of fun kids.

But bad news: I really don't want to go to the dance tomorrow night but my friends are making me.

But mediocre news: I found out canoli has riccotta cheese in it tonight.

But bad news again: I don't know how to spell "riccotta."

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