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Patrick

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It's a Juliana kind-of day [Apr. 20th, 2009|12:43 am]
Patrick
So I always say how I never write on here and it is true! Consistency of journaling has never been my strong point, I can barely spell and have terrible handwriting. Therefore I find it easier to type... with the lovely invention of my friend the Google Toolbar. Good Stuff.

Oh Happy 4/20

So I am here listening to an old Juliana Hatfeild EP... the sure sign I am kind of down. I've been so busy lately I haven't had time to process my life and what is going on. Not that I have a ton of drama or anything but I just have been go go go lately and I feel like it is catching up with me. Sometimes I think I make my self busy so I won't have to feel any emotions or insecurities that I constantly to fight to keep at bay.

So I come home from a endless weekend of work and shows prepared to go shopping with Sarah for a Zombie Pub Crawl next weekend for a improv group I'm in called pH Productions. Feeling relived that I have a day off I eagerly arrive home to unfortunately find Sarah lounging on the couch with the alcoholic partner in crime, and my Not-Boyfriend, Rich.

______________________________________

Quick Back Story on Rich (The Not Boyfriend): We meet about 2 years ago. Slept together the first day we meet. Hooked up occasionally, I eventually wanted more of a relationship and he didn't. We became somewhat co-dependent and hostile towards one another when intoxicated. I decided to cut him out of my life and that's when he befriended Sarah (My roommate) and ever since then he has been my not-boyfriend.

Not Boyfriend: (-boi-frend)

–noun
1. a frequent or favorite male companion; beau, who is overtly possessive and affectionate when wasted.
2. a male friend who fills the boyfriend role without the commitment
3. a male lover, when he has had a few and is lonely

____________________________________

It wouldn't have been so bad if JUST Rich and Sarah had been hanging out (I've grown accustomed to that since the summer.) A boy that Rich is dating of over too, just chilling in my living room. Now, to be fair. I am only assuming that this is a boy that Rich has been dating because he never tells me anything about his dating life.

Flashback
It was only last Thursday I was spending the night at his house sleeping in his bed with him and then a week later I call (Which I NEVER do) and he can't hang out he is going out on a date. Friday night I picked Rich up from a party because he was to wasted to take care of himself. He of course told me how much he loved me and was kissing on me etc. The interesting information came while I drove him home. He was telling me how he had been seeing this guy and they got physical the night before. (The night I called...) Already more information than I really want to know, Rich proceeds to tell me how the sex was awful. The worst sex ever. (What can I was I'm hard to compete with.) 

It is neither here nor there who is better in bed. (or who is hotter, me) It's the fact that I'm expected to play nice with whoever Rich decides on replacing me with. I realize that it shouldn't be the other woman I should be hating on it should be Rich. The questions is how do I cut off someone so toxic to me who has totally intertwined himself in my social circle? He is everywhere I go and friends with everyone I am friends with. which all leads back to where I started. I think I make my self busy so I won't have to feel any emotions or insecurities mainly dealing with Rich.

Why is it that I always fall in the same pattern with men? I create a strange co-dependent relationship where I end up being the one that if left alone and they are the ones that string me along until they are sure they have found something better. It's at this point where the insecurities start to creep back in from deep down in my mind. 

"You're ugly, fat, fat, fat, ugly" They taunt me while I look at myself in the mirror.

Logically I know that I am the same as I was yesterday when I thought I looked hot after a good 2 hour gym session, but my eyes don't see that person. They see the person that only has not-boyfriends or straight boyfriends or lame boyfriends.


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(no subject) [Jul. 13th, 2008|10:07 pm]
Patrick
This past weekend I went to The Chicago Brua House this weekend with a group of friends. Each person manned with their own personal 2 liter boot of beer, ranging from Berliner weisse to Spaten, the race had started in my mind. Even in the warm, inviting atmosphere my competitive nature came out. The polka music and chatter from the elderly crowd didn’t drowned out my desire to be number one!
 
A physiologist might attribute this to my place in the family. As the oldest of three boys I can understand that theory. My brothers and I would compete over the smallest of things, like which one of us did Mom love most. Tim was ruled out because he was the middle child and Joe was adopted. While that rational might have made sense to me, my brothers were quick to point out that Jan Brady is often a favorite middle child among viewers and Joe isn’t really adopted.
 
“ You are one of the most competitive people I know” Bev said to me this weekend. I was at first shocked but then realized she’s right. I’m always comparing myself to others. Orginizing people: according height weight, attractiveness, popularity, according to the scale that consists of better than me or below. Earlier that day at lunch, I boasted that I could finish and entire ketchup bottle on my own. I called Sarah a pussy cause she didn’t finish her Makers Mart and Coke quicker than I did. Even in pictures I have “Smile Off’s” to see who has the best Covergirl smile. Some might call this shallow I just call it striving for perfection.
 
I am no stranger to losing. I’ve gotten my fair share of finisher place ribbons during my swimming career. I know how to lose gracefully and with poise. Even after my heart surgery I always felt bad for the poor guy who would finish after me in the 200 butterfly. “I had heart surgery and I’m better than you” I say to myself as I put on my flip flops and headed to the hot tub. If I’m losing at a board game I claim that it is boring and stop playing or sometimes just “accidentally” knock over the game.
 
Back at the Brau House I came in third in the competition. Dan came in first by a mile and Jo and I had a chug off. She puked after so I think that she should be disqualified therefore defaulting me to second place. Second or Third it still not first and while I might not have the gold medal. I have a golden brown tan and no one can take that away from me.       
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Temp to Hire! [Jul. 9th, 2008|06:49 pm]
Patrick
Temporary employment to me just sounds clinical and cold, but due to the overwhelming “advice” from my friends and family I decided to give it a shot. After renewing my gym membership and chatting with the handsome teller at Bank of America I walked to this unnamed agency. For the sake of my story let’s call it “Terrific Temp Agency!”
 
Upon entering Terrific Temp Agency a little waiting area is set up, three chairs and a water cooler. The front desk is unmanned and silence blankets the office. I jangle my keys and slide my phone up and down to make subtle hints of my arrival. No smiley face is there to greet me so I turn to go and as I push the door a “ding” chimes. So I open and close the door a few times until a lady with dark hair and severe bangs arrives at the front desk. “Fill out these forms but only the highlighted parts on pages 3, 4, & 5.” I smile and thank her. “You can fill them out back here; it will only take you a few minutes… well at least it should.”
 
I let myself into a small room with library style desks. (Or what I imagine them to look like, never having been a big fan of libraries.) They have raised side walls for privacy or to prevent cheating. I began to fill out the forms, pretty standard stuff: Job History, Name, Address, and Emergency Contacts. Around page four things got a little fishy. First they wanted me to spot the spelling errors. (I didn’t see any) Then they wanted me to pick the word that fit the sentence better “Their or He/She liked to type essays.” After that it was math questions and categorizing things alphabetically. At this point I wished they had given me a pencil. My page was littered with X’s and dark circles around the one I REALLY meant to pick.
 
When I finished it was back to m usual routine of key jingling, a Latino lady appeared this time took my pages and scowled. “I see you have checked you have experience with word, what your WPM?” I smiled and shrugged and she took me to the computer room for more tests. Now when I checked computer skills I meant I knew how to write a page double spaced on women in theater, I didn’t know what I was in for but I was confident. Seated in front of a computer that had the exact computer I learned how to play “Number Munchers” and “Oragon Trail” in the second grade, I started my test. Question 1: Change the front from Times New Roman to Arial. Question 2: Double space the highlighted portion. After the question about adding a clip art of an airplane and I accidently clicked on a boat it was all downhill from there. After my failed computer test it was time for my WPM evaluation. It was a timed test and I started of strong. The subject of the article I was typing was the difficulty in finding a job without the proper skills. It read of horror stories of an unstable job Market, even managers jobs weren’t safe anymore. It was the last 10 seconds and I was only on the 1st paragraph. The most depressing paragraph I had ever written. At the end of my last sentence I added a exclamation point in hopes to make my article more exciting! See?
 
Anxious to get my scores and find my new and exciting job, I skipped the usual routine and just went straight for the door. Open, close, open, close, the dinging was chipper and hopeful much like myself. A unseen woman yelled angered at the noise, I stopped and slowly made my way to the front desk. A different woman named Kate came to tell me the good news. “Well, you appear to be a bit under qualified… times are a little slow here and at your skill level… you’re not very marketable.” The look on my face must have struck her somewhere in her cold heart because she smiled and offered, “We always have jobs working phone lines!”  Kate gave me her card and returned to whatever it is she really does for a living. What does she care she already has a job, not sitting at the front desk. As I exited into the hot summer day, the sound of the bell lingered in my ear. It wasn’t until a block or to later that I realized I never found out my WPM!!!!!!!!!!!!!    
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Chicago ain't Chester on the 4th [Jul. 5th, 2008|02:11 pm]
Patrick
 
The Fourth of July was never really a big deal to me as a child. Much like New Years Eve or DC’s cherry blossom festival, it just seemed like another reason for my parents to drag me somewhere. We might go on a “family adventure” to Rockville or even Washington DC to see the “National Fireworks! They are the fireworks of AMERICA” my Mother might excitedly explain. My Brothers and me would raise our eyebrows and go back to our Gameboys or Walkmen, secretly hoping Dad would get lost and we could all return home. That never happened though and year after year we would fight the crowds and search for the one little patch of ground we could claim ours.
 
It wasn’t until college when I learned the true meaning of Independence Day, and the girl who taught me was a West Virginian named Sarah. Sarah was a beautiful girl with long curly brown hair and a year around tan. She talked with a soft southern twang. It wasn’t unusual for her to say things like “Husbant” or butcher the word “Windowciel.” Always the proud and patriotic American, Sarah was never one to turn down a drink with a man who served our country. It could be a solider just back from a tour in Iraq or a solider reliving the glory days from WW2. I learned the all words to songs I thought I knew. “Grand Old Flag”, “The Star Spangled Banner”, and “Proud to be an American” were not out of the question while out at LB’s Bowery Street Pub celebrating the end of finals or a birthday. Sarah would always tell stories of home and the 4th upon returning from summer break. Sarah is from a small town called Chester, who upon entering proudly displays its claim to fame. “Home of the Worlds Largest Tea Pot” painted on a shut down hot dog stand, which is shaped to resemble a white and pink tea pot. While it is sizeable I still dispute that it is the largest in the whole world. There is a Main Street while a bank, fire station, American Legion, and Sarah’s House.

The summer after Sarah graduated from college she threw herself a graduation/ Fourth of July Party. Sleeping bags in hand, Marylanders came up in masses. No one really knew what to expect, but hoped for the best. The day started early with duck races. Little rubber ducky’s are sent floating down the street by an opened fire hydrant. On the bottom are numbers and the first ducky to cross the finish line wins the owner a gift basket from Frank’s Pastries! Main Street is splattered with street venders selling homemade crafts and anything fried. Fried Oreos, Candy Bars, Veggies, Pickles, and of course funnel cake. Everyone is dressed in red, white, and blue or some variation of the three. Kids have American flags painted on their little faces or tattooed on their arms. Flags fly high and proud, everyone is pleased to meet you. After a quick walk down Main Street it is back up to the house to help tap the first of four kegs. (Symbolic in that it is the Fourth of July). Dinner is served around 4 and consists of more fried delicacies: Fried Turkey, Potatoes and Onions. By the time the parade starts by the third keg as been tapped and sparklers are out in full force. The parade concludes with a spectacular fire works show. In Chester the fireworks glow a little bit brighter, the smiley and heart shaped fireworks seem more impressive, the entire atmosphere makes me proud to be an American. 
 
The fourth keg is tapped and Flip Cup Survivor style is started. This competitive and often times cut throat game is a great was to make and lose friends. Alliances are made and broken all in hopes to be the sole survivor. The first year I was a month back from open heart surgery and drinking was out of the question, the fried food had done me in already. Never one to not play flip cup I played with water in a vodka bottle. My ploy got me to the final four but unfortunately someone realized that I should be dead and I was voted off. Never accepting of defeat I returned the following year to claim the title, which I did and the year after that.
 
This year due to circumstances that, were out of my control. (Getting fired and having no money.) I could not return to Chester and was forced to spend my Fourth of July in the city of Chicago. A ghost town during most national holiday’s and long weekends I was left to fend for myself. Dressed in a white tank top, blue cotton shorts, and red flip flops I proudly walked the streets of Chicago too my buddy Bev’s BBQ. Expecting to see a sea of red, white and blue, I disappointedly walked in to a terribly unpatriotic bunch seated eating watermelon and salad. Gone were the fried treats I had become accustom to, no one sang American songs or wore the American flag as a cape. Bev at least wore a “I Love American Boys” Shirt which brought a smile to my face. Flip cup gave way to cornhole and hillbilly golf. Finding that unacceptable I got a game started; survivor style. I made it to two on two, when my partner Dan fucked it up. Unable to admit he was at fault it came down to a flip off in which I was defeated. Dan went on to loose the game for my team something that wouldn’t have happened has I played. To prove this to at least myself, I challenged the attractive but ultimately overconfident and assholely Tony for a rematch. He was resistant wanting to play against his own team mate to see who the real winner would be. When she refused it was down to me and him. Four cups a piece, my blood was pumping and I was focused. He didn’t stand a chance as he flip his second; I picked up my case of Miller Light and triumphantly walked away humming to myself the tune of “Grand Old Flag”.          
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To be unemployed [Jul. 3rd, 2008|12:14 pm]
Patrick
The idea of unemployment has never sounded too bad to me before. Always counting down the days until my next vacation, unemployment seemed to me like a great way to relax and figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I was planning on quitting a mundane job with the struggling Starbuck CO, but wanted to wait until I used up all my vacation time. It was summer and I had a lot going on. I couldn't be bothered to search for a job while drinking for my birthday week, practicing flip cup for the Fourth of July, or hitting the gym for Chicago Gay Pride. (I was going to be in the parade for Christ sake!)

Like my Dad would say life never goes according to plan or Life’s not fair. My Dad's saying might not be the most original (What do you expect he learned English from watching Fantasy Island or his likened image Erik Estrada on Chips ) Even so, he was right. I was fired for celebrating my birthday week a little too hard on the final official day it would be acceptable to drag out a birthday. Free from the restraints of a job I did what any recently fired employee would do. I meet up with my not-boyfriend Rich and headed to the beach (really Lake Michigan...Midwesterners are so strange) to fly his recently purchased kite. We took the bus, something I never do, in order to save money and be responsible. After about an hour of watching my non-boyfriend fly his kite with childlike unfaltering interest, Bored; I folded up my blanket brushed the sand off my well toned derriere and hailed a 20 dollar cab ride home.

The next day my short friend Bev decided to have a "Girl and a Gay day!' which included a mani pedi, lunch, Brian OSullvan's showcase at The Playground Theater, and later dinner. This day shameless fun was sponsored by Bev's small little credit card with an apparently large credit limit. Mani Pedi's ran about $30 per person, which to me seemed to be a nice gift as Bev never really did buy me a birthday gift. (Everyone knows that drinks don't count). Lunch at The State (A swanky video bar in Lincoln Park) was actually cheap because our attractive waiter only charged us for one meal and no drinks, definitely the wrong bill. He might have been trying to get one of our numbers but, we quietly exited the premises before he realized his $50 error. After a quick power nap, which you must do when unemployed, it was off to Boystown for dinner and drinks! Cesar’s, home of the "Killer Margarita" was our destination. After one to many Jumbo Strawberry Margaritas and Bev's virgin Strawberry concoction (She can't drink she's on Kemo pills) we ordered food. Mama Bev had paid for over S100 at my expense and it was all okay because "You just lost your job honey! It's on me." I wasn't going to argue with that.

As the days wore on and my friends started (and will never stop) questioning about my job status. "Where did you apply today?" "My friend Sarah's brother can get you a job, he is the assistant manager in the seafood department at Whole Foods. They have good benefits!" "Maybe you should take the train to Second City instead of paying for parking". While shopping at Urban Outfitters for that perfect Chicago Gay Pride outfit I realized they might be right. After finding the cutest sleeveless white hoodie and a pair of red cotton cut offs from American Apparel I decided to apply for unemployment. The form itself is a slew of repetitive and for me personally obvious questions. After about a half an hour of filling in the blanks about to reach completion I saw the fine print. I was ineligible due to being fired for misconduct. I tried to fight it by writing a detailed description of what happened and explain how it wasn't my fault my friends threw me a surprise birthday party. Refusing shots on your 7th birthday celebration is just plan rude! It was to no avail because I went over the 250 character limit and my explanation lost it bite with out all my big words making me look smarter! So there I was unemployed without getting any unemployment money. It was time to reevaluate.

While getting my pre-pride waxing my waxer Matt mentioned a job opening at Hamburger Mary's new location in Boystown. I was quick to tell my friends about it to relieve any stress my unemployment may have caused them. I found over the past few days if you just mention some job opportunities your friends will leave the subject alone, at least for the rest of the day. This gives me more time to decide whether to watch General Hospital or Legally Blonde: Search for the next Elle Woods. Giving my friends the impression I’ve been actively looking for a job has been easy thanks to online applications. These applications have proved worthless to my job search but excellent to getting my friends off my back. It's Borders one day and Gap the next. "I got a second interview with Express for men" when in actuality they had just begun e-mailing me 20% off coupons. Amidst all the lies I began to trip myself up. "Whatever happened with that Burger place" my best friend Lauren asked over the phone. I removed my sunglasses applied some more Banana Boat Tanning oil and pondered for a moment basting in the mid-afternoon sun. "What Burger place?" I replied disgusted that she would even suggest I work in such a place. I might be under qualified for jobs where I have to wear a tie but I draw the line at "Would you like fries with that". “You know that Mary's place?" Lauren fished. Caught in my on lie, I took a sip of water from my Naigene and replied "Oh that, yeah I'll look into it."  
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To love your best friend... [Jun. 4th, 2008|11:32 pm]
Patrick
In the corner of my room sits a stuffed monkey, whose name has long since been forgotten, his dark brown fur once fluffy is now matted. The details are blurry but I will always remember the boy who gave me that monkey and remember the love I had for him. He was my best friend.

It's a pattern that I have yet to break. I've been in love three times and each time it was with that one person who my world revloves around. The person who I have the most fun with and want to be with all the time. I think about him constantly and talk to him mutiple times a day. I try to figure if he feels the same way, and once I see that he want to be friends, I try to get him to fall in love with me. (Because I'm better than anyone else he could possibly date). This love is all consuming and drains my energy from other people and I can see my friends getting tired of talking about it. I keep my hope inside, glowing like a candle, waiting for him to ignite our love. The love that is ment to be, because we are such good friends and just fit so well together.

The story usually ends the same. They leave or I leave and we stop talking eventually. They become a distant memory. A ghost of what could have been.

Rich is no different than those other boys and I am no different than who I was when I was in love with Mark Williams. And that is sad.
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I'm Back! [May. 23rd, 2008|06:25 pm]
Patrick
[mood |chipperchipper]

So it's been a while.... err... 2 years?

It seems like whenever you hit a mile stone you want to document it! (Especially if it is an awesome one

This moment for me has come for me! 

       My 1st Second City Paycheck! 

WOW! I am officially a paid actor at Second City. I am so excited to see that my goals are being reached and I'm doing what I moved to Chicago to do. I'm am a member of Second City's Music Improv House Ensemble also known as Infinite Sundays. I am having a blast with the cast and our director Mike. (Super talented). I perform every Sunday thru September and have been a member since Feb. 

While I am enjoying bathing in the glory of my awseomeness I still have so much I need to work on in Chicago:

    • Get an Agent
    • Audition for more non-improv shows
    • Do Second City's writing conservatory
    • Continue creating shows with Recapitulation (My long form music improv group)
    • Get a hot(er) body.

It's good to set goals for yourself and kind of figure out where you are. Two years later I am actually doing pretty well. I have great friends in Chicago, maybe some of the best friends I've made in my life. I am creating a name for myself as an actor. I'm working things out, doing my it!

One more goal for myself is to write more because It's always nice to see where you've been to know where youre going.

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(no subject) [Jan. 30th, 2006|01:00 am]
Patrick

So you know that feeling when you have on the first day of school when you’re little? That’s what I’m going through right now. I can’t sleep because my mind is racing thinking of stupid shit like:

 

What am I going to wear to work tomorrow? I want to look cute but cute like I wasn’t even trying to be.”

 

“I wonder how long I’ll have to stay?”

 

“Am I going to get a schedule for the week or will I even be working this week?”

 

“If I get off early enough I could take the L to H&M and buy Khakis…dose H&M even have khakis” (I even just got side tracked from my own thought and went to H&M’s website! Cute Spring line, very relaxed style this season. Me like!)

 

Shopping is so the last thing I should  be thinking about considering that I have no money. I’m debating on if I should enroll in a Second City class or not. (That’s why I’m here after all, but will I be able to make rent? Then we come back to my job, will I get enough hours? If I worked 25 to 30 hours a week for the next 4 week I would be fine. That’s what I’ve calculated.)

 

I haven’t said yet that I got a job at Starbucks and am living in Chicago. Well Yeah I am. I’m so excited to be doing something because all I’ve been doing is looking for day jobs and setting up auditions. (I have a Major one coming up at the end of Feb.) I’ve been touching up the resume and re-hashing some monologues. FUCK. I just remembered I have to get my headshots reproduced, that like 100 bucks right there.

 

Growing up isn’t fun. I advise all you college students to fail a class and stay for another semester…kind of like I did. I guess it only delays the inevitable.

 

It’s hot in my apartment tonight. I wish I could turn down the heat but its controlled by the landlord.

 

I’m sorry I’m so scatterbrained these days. So much to do but I have to take it one step at a time.  

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(no subject) [Dec. 26th, 2005|11:59 pm]
Patrick

So… Hi my Livejournal it’s been to long. Sorry but Myspace has taken over my internet play time. (I mean come on it has pictures and songs! I am currently obsessed with the new Kelis song “Bossy” two thumbs up!)

 

Anyway I felt it is that time to jot some feelings down because, I’m in this scary transition phase right now and don’t really know how I’m feeling about it.

 

So I guess a good place to start would be graduation.

 

I so graduated with honors (Thanks Sarah Reed for letting me borrow your gold tassel). The ceremony was as good as it could be for being Frostburg. (I mean lets get real it was in the gym). I got one of the loudest cheers of any graduate! (Except the Black people because they always get the most). And I had a wonderful time! All good things. I even drank that night, and came to realize that getting wasted isn’t as fun as I remembered. So now say that I am done with drinking. (By my choice, not by my body’s restrictions.)

 

Okay now onto the future.

 

I’M MOVING TO CHICAGO!

 

It’s freaking me out man. I am so ready for it but I know it’s going to be so hard. Going to a city where I know literally nobody. I don’t have a job. I don’t even know really where to get started.

 

I’m living in Boystown which is a start because I’ll at least be in an area that's cool with gay people. But, thinking about it… I’m not all that cool with gay people. (I only have like 2 gay guy friends.) I’m just worried that I’m not going to fit in the crowds up there and that I’m going to be all alone in my studio looking at internet porn and watching “Next” by myself! I haven’t lived alone maybe ever and not having that person to come home to is going to be depressing.

 

I am excited to actually be pursuing my career in acting. If nothing else I know that I can use my loser alone time preparing for and going on auditions. Let’s face it, I’m moving to Chicago to build a resume and make a name for myself. This is an exciting thing! I should be driving up there now my car packed and the wind in my hair. But I’m sitting here relishing in the last moments of my youth and looking to my life as an adult and it’s scary.

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(no subject) [Sep. 26th, 2005|02:13 am]
Patrick

Can I just say I’m so happy Fiona Apple’s Extraordinary Machine is being so well received by the media, and how excited I am to get the newly worked tracks on my ipod. (The Brion versions are great but these new versions are apparently amazing.) does liking Fiona Apple make me a lame depressed loser or a “trendy” college student… I don’t really know. (I just read Rolling Stone cover to cover and was intrigued by the article about Kristin from Laguna Beach…so maybe both)

 

I am kind of sad because home boy never called. You know when you meet someone and are expecting a call, so you have your phone on you all the time and your constantly checking it. (That is the worst and its totally what I’ve been like ALL DAY!) I don’t think I should call again cause then I would seem pressed and REALLY I’m not, I just need something to distract me from my living situation (Kappa was over tonight hazing their pledges in the basement, I was home alone locked in my room afraid!)

 

Excerpt from what I heard:

 

(Loud Metal Music Playing)

 

Thank You Brother (Insert Name Here)

 

(Men Yelling)

 

(Crashes)

 

Thank You Brother… (Pause)

 

FUCK! PIECES OF SHIT (Yelling)

 

(Then they went out back and punched Trees)

 

Freaks!

 

P.S. I totally  missed the TV Movie “Martha Behind Bars “ (Christmas Present? Might be better than Fifteen and Pregnant, but I seriously doubt that!)

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