on page 6 of marya hornbacher's "wasted," there is a line that reads, "...i know a girl whose psychiatrist told her that bulimia was just a part of 'normal adolescent development'...."
i thought it would be fun to read this book while eating at freebirds. i think i was wrong.
i think i'll concentrate this summer on arranging this fucking diary into some sort of physical evidence of my existence of the past two years. everyone needs a purpose. no one ever said it had to have a point.
at boarding school, a girl whose nickname was farta fartlet (after a rather wild night at tgi fridays) was looking at my pictures freshman year and said, "why aren't you in any of the pictures?" as if it was the weirdest thing in the world. i responded, "uh, because i was taking them." she said, "yeah, but you're not in ANY of them." "yes, well, i was TAKING them." she was insinuating that was unpopular, because she was annoying like that. i think that whole experience gave me a complex, because i have an enormous collection of photos of drunk me taking pictures of drunk me.
i don't know why this thought occured to me while i was driving around (i went downtown, drove down state st, and drove back for absolutely no reason at all, singing to that dog the whole ride), but it did. where do thoughts come from? what's with today, today? if axl rose was driving down the freeway and saw someone stopped on the side of the road, would he stop do help? does axl have a jack? no way, man!
...alright, enough. i have not seen that movie for a good year, but having watched it daily for 6 months straight freshman year with ex-best friends tiffany and victoria, i still have it memorized. we thought our little trio was the coolest, if only because the first letters of our first names spelled "mtv." that should have been the first sign of how lame we were.
oh well. we had fun times.