May 18, 1992

I just did these drawings and writings and I think they say it all.

                                      The drawings were at some point removed, but I put in a caption saying they were about my celebrity crush Sean Patrick Flannery.

May 22, 1992

God, it’s hot, I can’t wait ’till winter!!! I relaly, really love S.P.F. and can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve never like anyone so much (that is, someone I don’t even know). He has even made me for forget  about my Mr. Perfect. It’s not healthy for anyone to like someone they don’t even know so much. like him as much as I like Star Trek: The Next Generation! Hmmm, I sure hope he’s an atheist, I don’t know if I could handle it if he wasn’t. SIGH! I wish he were here!!!

                                    Then there’s another entry with more of the same, where I mention that I’m willing to put up posters and stickers about Star Trek, but not S.P.F. It’s sort of interesting that I was perfectly comfortable and open about my Star Trek obsession, but embarrassed about my celebrity crush, which is the opposite of how I suppose most teenage girls were at that time. I remember that New Kids on the Block were all the rage in those days and other girls were very open about their interest in the New Kids, while I just didn’t get it. I wonder if I had gotten it, if I’d been into Jordan or Joey instead of some obscure actor on a sci-fi/adventure show, I’d have been willing to openly express this interest. But then there is the question of who I would have expressed it to. I didn’t really have any friends at that age so it’s not like I was going to sleepovers and gossiping about anything, let alone boys.

June 10, 1992

At the beginning of this diary I said how I felt when about turning 15, and you know, I don’t feel at all 16. I don’t feel older physically, mentally, emotionally… anything. I still think of myself as a young teenager instead of an old teen (because 16 is the turning point). Maybe I’m not ready to be 16. Maybe I’m in denial. I don’t want to grow up. Except to be with S.P.F.

                                 Well, I certainly had some strong thoughts on the subject of adolescence and the wide gap between 15 and 16, didn’t I? This is a recurring theme in my life, always feeling like I have to play catch-up and act my age even though I feel younger. I’ve often gone through typical life stages about a decade behind others. For instance, I had my “sowing of wild-oats” phase in my 30s, rather than in my 20s, in college, like most people (or at least what popular culture tells us is typical of college kids). I still feel younger than I am. At 40, I feel like I should have accomplished much more than I actually have. But it’s probably common for people to feel like they haven’t done enough with their lives, or that they’ve missed out on things.

Nic, Nïk? Niek? Niec?

                               Here I was trying out alternate spellings of my name, as I was trying to figure out how to spell it so that people would pronounce it correctly. I’ve always disliked being called “Nick”, as I self-identify with the pronunciation “Neek”. In my IRC days (around 1996), I started spelling it Nique, thinking this would make the pronunciation clear (as in unique without the “u”), but still, very few people seem to understand the distinction. I should have gone with Neek.

May 9, 1992

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.



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

November 29, 1991

Friday. The dream I had last night was so weird… 

                                              I wrote out a long dream, but it’s not that interesting so I’ll spare you. The take home is that it was an anxiety dream of sorts, and perhaps one of my first instances of semi-lucid dreaming. The same scene kept happening over and over – an old lady trying to kill my mother and I – and I kept replaying it, each time more successful until finally I managed to get her to the police and escape. It was also one of the first times I dreamed in French. What’s more interesting than the dream itself was my penmanship as I was writing it down. My handwriting gets increasingly sloppy to the point where I had trouble reading it. It seems I felt it was very important to transcribe the dream, so I guess it had a big effect on me.

Friday, December 20, 1991

X-mas vacation began today. I have lots to say. That rhymes! (Taffy stuff, candy gram, crush development…)

                                        Oh god, here we go.

Did I ever talk about Taffy before? Well that’s Robert Taffendon my homeroom, History & EMR teacher. He is wonderful! First the candy gram story. It all began with me first comeing to the school. He always tells stories and he sometimes mentions his wife. Jane and I always pictured his wife as a blonde bombshell (I guess because he is a blonde babe). Every day at school we would see Mr. Taffendon with this other teacher (Mrs. Laventholl or something) so we were like, hmmm, he is always with that lady, she must be his mistress. Well one day in one of his stories he revealed that she was his wife. Jane and I thought this was hilarious (although we were disappointed). So every time Taffendon would pass by our table at lunch we would crack up. We dubbed him Taffy and her Missy, by the way. Before x-mas they were doing the candy gram thing. So we sent one to Taffy explaining why we always laugh at him. He thought it was hilarious and he loved it. Now I would like to think that I have this special, unique, student-teacher bond with him.

                                      Cringing. Nice of him to play along and pretend something so inane was funny though.

I really like Taffy. At first I had fantasies about him so I thought it was a crush. I guess it still is somewhat. I have the utmost admiration for that man. I always feel happy when I’m around him and I miss him already. I thought of going to school today just to see him but then decided not to get up early if I didn’t have to. He is going to Florida for x-mas (I think he’s Jewish). Jane is going too! I hope she gets some pictures of him so I can have some and put one in that thing I am making him for the end of the year. (a 1991-1992 memorabilia of Taffy.). Earlier in this diary I wrote that I wanted the perfect guy. Well, I have found what I think is the closest thing to it, but he can’t be my boyfriend because he is at least 24 years older than me, he is my teacher, he is married and has a child. It truly makes me sad to think I can never have him for my own. Maybe I do love him. I guess I’ll never know!

                                     Part of me thinks this is hilarious and part of me is crippled with embarrassment. I do distinctly remember Taffy but not what he looked like. I just googled him in an effort to remember but there are no pictures readily available. I did find him on and found that he was still teaching at BHS up until a few years ago and kids still love him. He really was a great teacher, and I guess the novelty of such a thing fueled my infatuation. By then he was probably used to kids crushing on him and was completely unfazed. One of my clearest memories of him is a time I was the first one to come to class. I sat at my desk and he asked me how I was. I replied that I was fine. He said that I didn’t have to lie, that I didn’t have to say the expected pleasantly and could answer honestly if I wasn’t really fine. I guess he could tell that I was an unhappy kid. I don’t remember what I replied but that interaction always stuck with me. I really appreciated an authority figure giving me permission, if you will, to be authentic.