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05.18.02 - 11:35 p.m. apparantly the only men that want to take me home are 60 and/or married and/or Italian. Maybe its because i "have meat on my bones," or that my teeth are beautiful, and my hair too. Why these things arent important to american boys in their twenties and thirties is beyond me. I felt lonely tonight hanging out with everyone and their someones. Im sad in this town with people one by one leaving and leaving and leaving. And i feel like i need to leave before i am the last one left in a town that i know too well. I dont know what i am waiting for. And it was weird to talk to the old mans best friend tonight. Like nothing was different or happening. Like we had met in an elevator with nothing before us and little after. Talking about work and 500 count sheets and my roommate and the future and his bed. I wanted to pull him aside and make him explain things. I wanted to pull him aside and make him agree with me that it wasnt fair and that, yes, i was being manipulated and that yes, he loves me. There wasnt any of that of course. I was every other 22 year old. Struggling, innocent, sweet. My two favorite bras are losing their underwire. That should not happen all at once. Im going to bed. � 
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