June 28, 1992

Italy: 12:38 a.m.
Montreal: 6:38 p.m.

Yes, vacation has started. We went through France, Paris, lovely as always. Italy is totally expensive and I feel totally ripped off everywhere we go. I think I should make this vacation into a movie one day because it is hilarious.

                                   Yeah, so hilarious that I didn’t think to provide any examples.

Anyway, I have been dreaming up a gillion ways of me meeting S.P.F. here in Europe, but I guess not, eh?

                                  Ugh, I’m so bored of this celebrity obsession. I can’t wait for 16-year-old me to get over it.

I have found three additions to my mental list of top 10 weirdest showers… This is one hell of a grimy hotel room. I think this bed is going to collapse soon. A trillion kajillion guys stare at Crystal (my sister, who must have been 18 at the time) all the time in all these countries. Some Italian guys tried to talk to her. One French guy asked her out. Some guy wanted to kiss her. One guy serenaded her in the street with his guitar. It’s weird (because she’s older than me) but when I am with her and those guys look at her and try to kiss her I feel like I should protect her. I always check to see if guys are ogling her. And I give them dirty looks. It must be flattering, but scary to be thought of as a sex object like that. well, luckily I’ll never have that problem (or unluckily?) Well, I must sleep now, bye.

                                   It’s remarkable how casually catcalling was taken in those days, and how little my parents seemed to care that their daughter was constantly being harassed, and how little the cat-callers cared that the teenager they were harassing was clearly with her parents!

July 11, 1992

We came home from vacation yesterday. I am having lots of weird feelings. Things I don’t want to write about because I don’t know how to express them on paper. I don’t want to. I just want to sleep and love S.P.F.

                                   And then I just go on and on about my celebrity crush and don’t mention a thing about all these “weird feelings”, nor do I recount any stories from our family vacation. What a lame journalist I was!

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