Tag: boyfriend

May 9, 1992

May 8, 2017

I am crying because I went out with Genevieve last night and got an eye infection.

                                This made me laugh. I thought I was about to impart some great wisdom about the slow dissolution of my relationship with my best friend, but turns out no, I was just in physical pain.

I still like S.P.F. and I think he must be the one I like the most of all the guys I’ve ever liked because he’s made me forget about all the others. I don’t even like Taffy anymore. I used to think he was so great, and he’s still funny but our personalities don’t coincide. He’s not my type, he’s arrogant and not sensitive to other’s problems. He only knows what he knows, you know? He is oblivious to the world around him…

                                     What? What the hell am I on about? Am I still talking about Taffy, the teacher I had a crush on? I’m acting as though we had an intimate relationship, rather than one of child and authority figure. What had he done to upset me so much? And what did I expect? He was my freaking teacher!!!

B.H. 90210 premiered, I can’t see why people like Luke Perry… I don’t like Jason Priestly, I’ve forgotten about those others stars and the guy from art class. He’s nice but I don’t even want his friendship, I’m fine as just an acquaintance.

                                   Methinks I protest too much?

I would rather know this girl in my class.

                                Who? Why don’t I elaborate?

I am not as obsessive about S.P.F. but still like him.

                              Yeah, I was so not obsessed that I’d torn pictures of him out of magazines and tucked them into my diary. It’s ridiculous how I’m constantly berating myself for having celebrity crushes and then continue mooning over them. At least I’ve made progress on that front in the sense that I no longer feel ashamed over the celebrities I crush on. In fact I’ve had the same celebrity crush for about 16 years now and I don’t care who knows it. Jensen Ackles‘ beautiful face is the sole reason I still, STILL, watch the train wreck that is Supernatural. (I even kept watching after they killed off my female celeb crush Felicia Day!)

Right now all the stuff that matters and all I can think about is: Star Trek TNG and my art and my stories. Life sucks, I wish I could live in one of my fantasy worlds.

                             #same.

diary-1992

May 13, 1992

It’s my sixteenth birthday and I got an amazing gift. It was in People magazine. A picture of S.P.F. He was voted one of the 50 most beautiful people in the world 1992. 

                                       And then I just go on and on, ranting about how great he is and how I’m in love. #eyeroll

Abandoned Shoes

May 1, 2017

The first abandoned shoes I ever noticed were in San Francisco in 2014. They evoke thoughts of a young woman out clubbing, taking off her high heeled sandals because her feet hurt after a long night dancing. It’s been so long since she’s had so much fun. It was girls’ night, and she’s a little more than tipsy but not full on drunk. She’s been arguing a lot with her boyfriend lately, which is why she needed this girls’ night so badly. Her friends are still dancing, but she’s tired and just wants to go home so she texts her boyfriend, knowing he’ll pick her up even though things are a bit tense between them right now. She rests her shoes on an empty planter and sits on the curb while she waits, but the reply she gets from her boyfriend is a bit odd. “You up for it?” he asks. Up for what, she wonders. A few moments later he texts again to say he’s sorry but can’t pick her up because he’s drunk and chilling with the boys. But she remembers that he specifically said he wasn’t going to go out tonight.

san-fran-shoes

She doesn’t want to be “that girl”, the one who suspects her boyfriend of cheating, but something feels wrong. She hurriedly calls an uber and rushes home. It is half way through the ride before she realizes she’s forgotten her sandals on the giant planter outside the club and she has to make a quick decision. Will she turn back in the hopes that her shoes are still there, or will she keep heading home in the hopes of catching her boyfriend red-handed. She chooses, of course, to go home, and hops along the corridors of her apartment building on the balls of her feet, trying not to catch whatever diseases are incubating on the peeling linoleum of these floors that probably haven’t been washed since 1973. Why does she even live in such an old, decrepit apartment? She can afford better. It’s her boyfriend who can’t. He works as a busker, and a sometimes waiter, when he deigns to show up for his shifts, while she makes a respectable living a s freelance graphic designer.

She opens the door to her apartment quietly, trying not to jingle her keys, hoping to find him in flagrante on the sofa, or perhaps even the kitchen floor, but mostly likely in their bed. But he’s not home. The place is dark, and empty. This means nothing, and he’s probably at his side-piece’s place right now!

But why is she so sure he’s cheating? And why was she so eager for confirmation? Why does she feel so disappointed? She knows now what she must do. Even if he isn’t cheating, she needs to break up with him. She’s just looking for excuses to get rid of him, but she shouldn’t need an excuse. If she doesn’t love him, she should end it.

She takes a shower, making sure to exfoliate her blackened feet, and wraps herself in her coziest pajamas. She pulls out her boyfriend pro/con list from its hiding place and adds “don’t love him anymore” to the con list, right under “he might be cheating”. On the pro side of the list is “hot”, and “plays guitar”, which she’d penned when he first moved in. The con side is much longer, and has spilled over onto a second page. How long will it need to get before she actually bites the bullet, and makes a change? After all, she began this list six years ago.

san-fran-shoes-painted

 

April 17, 1992

April 24, 2017

Boy, I haven’t written in this thing for a long time. I mean it’s 1992!

                                               And thank goodness it isn’t 1992 anymore.

Well, lots has happened of course but I’ve decided that… from now on I’m only going to write my dreams and feelings in here and forget about things that happen (unless it’s really relevant and important). I just read everything I wrote in here and it brought back a lot more bad memories than good ones.

                                              Yeah, I get that.

God, was I ever obsessed with having a boyfriend! In it somewhere I said I thought maybe I loved Jason Priestly. Give me a break, I never loved him! Then I “loved” Taffy, how pathetic. Well I am not obsessed with Taffy anymore although I still like him just in a friend way.

                                           Remember, we’re talking about my teacher here.

I am attracted to him but let’s not be so unrealistic. I have come to see that I always like guys that could never possibly like me, or rather guys that I could never have a relationship with. Like celebrities, Taffy, Tim (a guy in my art class), and most recently Sean Patrick Flanery (from Young Indy). They are all impossible relationships. I never like guys that could really be.

                                           Wait, why am I equating Tim from art class with celebrities? How exactly was some kid I went to school with on the same level as a famous actor? 

The most possible is that guy in my art class, but he’s the one I like the least. He started by always sitting next to me in class and talking to me so I thought he liked me but I never responded so I guess he lost interest.

                                            Yeah, typical me. I only realize people are into me in retrospect. By the time I catch on, they’ve moved on.

But I think I didn’t respond because I am afraid of having a relationship. The closest thing I ever had to potential for a boyfriend was that whole thing from Jane’s boyfriend blind group date thing.

                                              I’m talking about a blind date I went on where I was set up with my friend’s boyfriend’s friend about a year prior. Very interesting that I don’t go into more detail about that night, and subsequent hang-outs with the same squad, which were pure agony of social anxiety hell. I still remember it vividly though. We went to see Tremors, and then we walked around holding hands because my date and I felt like we were supposed to, even though neither one of us had any interest in the other. I recall my friend Jane telling me she set me up with this particular guy because we were both blonde, and therefore sure to get along. Makes sense. All blondes share a hive-mind after all.

But I didn’t respond. I want relationships only in my fantasies. Anything too real and I get scared. 

                                              Holy shit, remarkable insight for little 15-year-0ld me. 

Which is really too bad because I really need some love. I need arms to hold me when I cry… 

                                            Hilarious that I start this entry by shaming myself for being obsessed with wanting a boyfriend, and then proceed to talk about how much I want a boyfriend.

I want somebody to love, and love me. Namely Sean P.F. He is my latest desire. He fills the face of my fantasy men. I wish I could meet him. I hope he has a good personality…I think he’s great, even if he is American.

                                          Lol! Way to end on a xenophobic note there, young me. 

July 10, 1991

January 2, 2017

I was interviewed for the Suburban today (At the library). It was concerning the art stuff of course. There were two other kids she interviewed. Mom said that Joanne picked us three kids to be interviewed. Does that mean she thinks I have promise or something? I finished the portrait of Crystal I was doing. I think it turned out pretty well.

                                          Interesting that I don’t dwell on the subject of my art. Joanne was my oil painting teacher. I didn’t want to take that extracurricular activity because of my social anxiety but my mother forced me to and I ended up rather enjoying it. I thought at the time that I was one of the stronger painters in the class. I guess like a lot of artists I’ve always oscillated between thinking I’m the best ever, and the worst ever. We need that blind, and perhaps delusional, confidence and courage to create, but then of course we take a second look at our work and want to kill ourselves because it’s so horrifyingly bad. 

I have to baby sit at 12:30 tomorrow (for neighbours). Sigh. I’m feeling a bit down with myself. I hope I meet a guy in PEI. We will probably be leaving on the 18th. I really hope I meet my dream guy there. Want a description of my dream guy?

                                        Noooooo! I’m already cringing.

His name would be Taylor Full.

                                       Omg. You know why I wanted his last name to be Full? Because I wanted to have a daughter and name her Bliss. So her name would be Bliss Full. Yeah. I mean… but come on, cut me some slack, I was fifteen!

He would have shining green eyes, with just long enough and dark enough lashes. He would have dirty blond, wavy hair. It would be in a haircut that’s kinda messy, kind of ‘I don’t care’ style. He would have a nice, straight nose, just the right size. His eyebrows would be straight, not too bushy, you know? Just right. His lips would be like this: (I drew them). When he would smile he would have dimples. He would be just muscular enough, and about a head taller than me. He would not have a dark tan, but he would certainly be a lot darker than me! He would look a bit like this only cuter! (He would have a square face.) (His ears would be not too big, not too small, not stick out). I will write the personality and stuff tomorrow. Now I want to sleep and dream of him!

ideal-guy

                                                         I won’t keep you in suspense.

July 11, 1991

He would be sixteen and born in October, so he’s in the same grade as me and goes to BHS only he drives a car, a red convertible. He’s strong. He loves me. He’s Canadian and other nationalities. He’s a poet. Sigh.

                                                      Wow. How very specific. But it doesn’t stop there.

He would be sensitive and generous and nice and he would worship the ground I walk on. He would think I’m the most beautiful person in the world. His parents would be rich, but he would want to become a famous movie director/writer and make his own money. He would be independent, and fun and totally unprejudiced in every way. SIGH I wish.

                                                  Too funny. I love that I added the detail of the rich parents. And the red convertible. ?!?!? I was never, ever a car person, so that part’s weird. What’s sort of fun though is that the man I ended up with actually matches a fair bit of these criteria. He has green eyes, and his hair is definitely in an ‘I don’t care’ style, even though he cares deeply. He’s got good eyebrows and great lips. He’s strong and muscular, he’s not tanned but certainly darker than me. He’s Canadian, he’s sensitive, and generous, and loves me, and thinks I’m the most beautiful person in the world. He is definitely not a poet, but he fancies himself quite the rapper. He doesn’t come from money but  he does drive a car, and while he’s fun and independent, he does have a few prejudices, but they mostly match up with mine so it’s all good. 😉

                                           It’s nice that I can look back on this now and laugh, rather than sink into a depression born of lonely desperation. Progress!

Babysitting today was a drag. I babysit again tomorrow night for a new customer, someone on Viney. Boring. Life sucks.

                                           Yup. Life sucks. *eye roll*

May 17, 1991

October 10, 2016

May 17, 1991

It’s just a lazy Friday afternoon (no school today). My period is almost over (Thank god) but I still have a stomach ache.

                                                     Seriously? I couldn’t put together that the “stomach ache” was cramps? At this age I’d only been menstruating less than a year so I still didn’t have it all figured out. I shudder to remember how bad it was before I started taking the pill. I also shudder to think how useless the medical field is in this regard. No doctor ever had any suggestions for me. Nor did my mother for that matter. I had to figure out all on my own how to treat myself during this monthly bout of torture, which for me, has always been comparable to gastro.

I don’t know why. Maybe the cookies and salmon sandwich I just ate. Anyway I am totally bored with nothing to do but think and sleep. Which is what I should be doing anyway since I have a cold and have lost my voice. Maybe I’ll find it from a good rest. So good night.

                                                     Wow, I remember that now. I had a history of laryngitis when I was a teenager. Among other minor ailments. I was a fucking wreck as a kid. I’m so glad I’m over most of that shit now. Mostly.

Only moments later from my last entry and I have something to say. I hope I have a boyfriend and lots of friends at BHS next year. I’ve got to be less shy. I know, I know, easier said than done but I’ll try. I’ve got to. If anything I just hope I meet Mike soon if indeed he is real. I do believe the Ouija board but I still have doubts. I can’t wait to end this eye infection, get contacts (even if they are gas permeable) so I can wear makeup, look good, and get a boyfriend. I hope, I hope, I wish, I wish.

                                                     Agony. I feel sick reading this for so many reasons. I mean, obviously this trust in the Ouija board is hilarious so I’ll give you a second to go laugh your ass off, but this obsession with getting a boyfriend is so upsetting. I can still remember the crushing ache of my loneliness at this age. And also, the horror of all those eye infections. It was brutal. I dealt with them for years. YEARS! But you gotta love that teenage girl’s yearning to wear makeup. I actually still deal with that today. Every once in a while, I feel the desire to pretty myself up but I’m always cautious about it due to my history of truly disgusting, painful, puss filled, eye infections. At least now though, when I think about makeup it’s just for the fun of it, rather than the desire to lure in a boy. Wouldn’t 15-year-old me be surprised to know she would eventually lure in many boys and most of them wouldn’t be worth the effort?