I've been sick for the last few days. I feel less queasy if I don't stand up, so for something to do I started typing up more of my diary from when I was 12. I got bogged down while typing up a long, involved, vaguely depressing story of my friend and I stalking cute guys all over the mall. Here's the beginning of the story:
"On Thursday, [friend who is a sensible lawyer now, and wouldn't love me for putting her name here] and I went to Randhurst Mall. After about five minutes, we caught sight of the cutest boy! He had feathered blond hair, blue eyes, and was wearing cut-offs, a blue & white shirt, and a Budweiser hat backward on his head."
I'm not sure how we appreciated the merits of his hair with that backwards Budweiser hat covering it up. I haven't read ahead to the end of the diary entry yet, so I have no idea how this story ends. I'd guess my friend's mom (or my mom) picked us up, and we never saw the boys again. Sigh.
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