Vintage Diary Entry 1: Saturday, August 13, 1994

(see the entry below this titled "trienta y uno" first)

11:58PM- I never finshed that last entry. I got sidetracked somehow. Anyway, that's not important. I want to write about someone else now. Help! It's another co-worker! I'm smarter this time, though. I absolutely refuse to allow things to get to the point they got to with Bagboy. Frankly, I try not to speak to this guy. His name is Sexy and he is so HOT I can't even do justice by trying to describe him. I'll try. He's tan as hell, has dark brown hair, big biceps and an awesome chest that is glimpsed because he never buttons the two buttons of our uniform polo shirts. His ass ain't too bad, either. Anyway, there's more. He's also quite a cocky asshole. He seems to think that every girl that works there wants him. Do they? I don't know. I do! Anyway, he's a real jerk. It seems I always fall for sexy jerks. What's wrong with me? It's really hard to work with someone that sexy, though. I can't be ringing up some old lady and be thinking about going down on Sexy. Somehow, those two things don't really go together in your mind if you want to stay sane. Sarabellem says the reason I'm so uptight and unhappy is because I need a good fuck. She's probably right. She always is. I know there's no chance with Sexy. That doesn't mean I can't look, though. And then of course, there's my fantasies which are almost enough. God, I have a vivid imagination! Too bad I can't turn it off when Sexy walks by and I'm ringing up old ladies. Later.
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Anything in bold was changed from the original version to protect the innocent (or guilty). We worked together at The Mart (insert whichever Mart you feel like, there). I wonder sometimes if our uniform polo shirts didn't look so good on him if I wouldn't have been dragged headlong into the mess that was to come. This guy, Sexy, became a good friend. I found out later he was my neighbor. I still talk to him today, though things are drastically different. I certainly don't pine over him like I did for FAR too long. Through his friendship I smoked my first cigarette (well, Red had something to do with that, too) got drunk for the first time, got high for the first time and threw more humiliating tantrums than I can count. In fact, I've often thought itf he was taken out it might be a good thing, because then no one would be left alive that was there when I freaked out so many times. I blame the drinking and the drugs and my supreme naivete. I blame low self-esteem. There's no real rejection when you pine for straight guys because you know from the jump that nothing can ever happen. I blame the damn polo shirts.