Thursday, April 24, 2003

Still have yet to finish packing. Plane leaves at oneish, I leave at elevenish for Tampa. I really wanted to make out with Ben Haber tonight, he refused eight million times. And really, I don't know why, but I all I wanted to do was make out with this boy. The fact that he loves Smashing Pumking rekindled my dying crush on him, and made this desire to make out with him particularly outrageous where I was forward enough to ask, to practically beg of him to sleep over. But he refused, and refused again. Ben, all I want to do is make out with you. This is not passive-agressive. This is agressive-agressive. God, why do I want to make out with you so bad? Don't forget your guarantee that if you are in NY, you will engage in some making out. I did, however, get to make out with another old crush -- but I really thought I would be able to make out with BH. I watched a firework called Dixie Delight set off on this island by my house in the middle of a pond. I love Christy, the provider of this visual thrill. And shit, I am going to sleep, drunk off of stolen beer, on a bed with no sheets, because I have already packed them, on a bed by myself, because BH refused my offers to sleep over, and I will be waking up in way too short of a time to fucking move to New York. Fucking shit! I am moving to New York tomorrow. How is this happening? I am not even packed!

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