The apartment has a mutual friend Evan. He has come over practically every evening this week to hang out and do stuff that we shouldn't do on week nights. Normally, when he comes over I am incapable of getting my work done. But this week, I was somewhat able to escape his powers of gay hilarity and get most of my stuff done.
You should be proud of me because I am proud of myself.

Evan is great though. I love him. I felt like I went to high school with him, but we certainly did not. He's from hoighty-toighty Park Ridge (all you speechers should be quite familiar with his high school Maine-South!) Tonight he read my Tarot cards. I love getting readings. I've only done it twice, but it's such fun, serious bull-shit. I have learned, though, to only ask questions that I already know the answer to, or ask something that's not of real importance. That way, you don't totes froke. Totally Freaking Out.

Totes Froke. I don't really like that term, but for some reason, I'm trying to incorporate it into my lexicon. My friend, Libet from Cincinnati whose sister is on "You're the One that I Want" American Idol-esque talent search television programming on NBC Sunday nights, says it often. Although I do not want to associate myself with anything that is distinctly Cinci, the expression intrigues me.

And to all you teenagers in the world who are angst-y at this moment, settle down. It gets much better, I promise. I think junior high and high school were created for the sole purpose to drive us crazy. When you get out of that mess, things get better. The world is still crazy, and maybe life makes you Totes Froke, but at least you can pick and choose the people you want to talk to and associate with. Maybe it doesn't make sense right now, but it will. E-mail me if you need hope. I'll give it willingly.

Remember: In order to be loved, one must be loving.