When I was in middle school, apparently I kept a diary. Why apparently? Well, remember me helping my parents clean their house? In going through my crap, I found this frickin' diary, complete with a rotating combo lock with "MYDIARY" imprinted on it. I forgot all about that horrible piece of junk. Looking at it now, 20 years later, I realize how COMPLETELY LAME this diary was.
What the hell was I on? When I was 12, I liked girls. But, looking at the outside (I haven't even made it to the contents yet!) of this horrible book, it's obvious that it's a GIRL'S diary. Now, maybe it was given to me; I don't remember. But, nevertheless, you'd think I woulda figured this out, especially with stuff like, "A GIRL'S HOME IS HER HASSLE," and "A DATE AT THE DOOR IS WORTH TWO ON THE PHONE." Jesus Christ. How stupid was I?
In any event, I read just a teeny tiny snippet the other day and almost had a heart attack from laughing so hard at my teenage pubescent idiocy and stupidity. Something about a girl named Robin that I was "going" with in middle school. She was tall and pretty and I was a pimply faced Chinese kid trying to fit in a White Man's world. For whatever reason, she wanted to "go" with me (Looking back, it was probably so she could just say she was "going" with someone...). Anyhow, I digress. Middle school was a hundred years ago and from all the people I went there with, there's 3 I can name right now that I still keep in touch with. Hopefully none of them are reading this now.
But my whole point for going down Memory Lane was to say that with my GAY diary, at least I knew I was the only reading it. Then I could put down my innermost thoughts about whether this boy liked me, or which boy I had a crush on..., er, I forgot. The DIARY is gay, not me!
So, I could write whatever I wanted in my little locked book. On this blog, I suppose if I had a big set of balls, I could write whatever I wanted to as well. But, can I really? I know there are people that will read this (even though my pathetic counter only reads 13) that will know I'm writing about them. Even if it's anonymously attributed to someone, that someone will know. Ah, hell. I don't know. I guess I just have to be tactful in saying that so-and-so is a drama queen, or that I thought so-and-so shouldn't have worn what she wore today; I could see her panties. Blah blah blah.
ps: I made that panties one up. I never complain if I can see some panties.
