4th-6th were pretty good.

afterschool i went home with lindsay and we watched some degrassi and ate some cookies. then it was unimaginably beautiful outside so i had to sit in the grass and call mac. "nawww nawww, that ain't how we roll..." oh shit. i love you though.

went to youth group, kicked some ass. ate some ice cream. listened to the best weezer cover band i've ever heard. haha go pink triangles!

drove home, and here i am. sitting.

You met her(him) a few months ago, and somehow she(he) managed to seep into your subconscious like that "Suga how you get so fly" song. Just like you have no clue who the hell sings it, you don't know why she's(he's) there. But she(he) is, whether you like it or not. You know her(his) cell phone, her(his) room phone. You can dial her(his) Aunt Doreen's house in West Springfield (where she[he] goes to do her[his] laundry every two weeks) faster than you can peck-out 911. But she(he) doesn't know.

Her(his) screenname, that generic one with her(his) first name followed by three to five random numbers or UMass, has its own category at the top of your buddy list. Not only do you know what a "Buddy Alert" is, you've rigged your computer to play "Fat Guy in a Little Coat" from "Tommy Boy" every time her(his) screen name changes from gray to black. Then her(his) away message comes down, and you have a decision to make. To IM or not to IM? These are the ridiculous games that you play on a daily basis. But she(he) doesn't know.

She's(he's) it. All right, so maybe not "it" it. Not necessarily Ms.(Mr.) Right, but closer to Ms.(Mr.) Right-up-there-with-Anna-Kournikova-and-Lizzie-McGuire-on-your-list-of-people-you'd-give-anything-to-be-stranded-with-on-a-broken-down-elevator (Right-up-there-with-Ashton-Kutcher-and-Brandon-Boyd-on-your-list-of-people-you'd-give-anything-to-be-stranded-with-on-a-broken-down-elevator.) But it's about more than that. When is it ever about more than that? Never. Not like frilly white dress, overpriced catering, embarrassing drunk in-laws more, but closer to UMass sweatpants, two D.P. Dough Roni Zonies, a futon and a movie you have no interest in seeing more. But she(he) doesn't know.

She's(he's) gorgeous, but gorgeous is an understatement. More like you're startled every time you see her(him) because you notice something new in a "Where's Waldo" sort of way. More like you can't stop writing third grade run-on sentences because you can't remotely begin to describe something ... someone ... so inherently amazing. But you're a writer. You can describe anything. That's what you do: pictures to words, events to words, words to even better words. But nothing seems right. More like you're afraid that if you stare at her(him) for too long, you'll prove your parents right: that yes, your face will stick that way. But you wouldn't mind.

You wouldn't mind that the questioning, "Hello?" on the other end makes you want to smile and throw up at the same time. You wouldn't mind worrying about what to get her(him) for her(his) birthday and spending $300 when you only have $17.50 and a Triple-A card to your name. You wouldn't mind that she(he) left your TV on and the blaring infomercials wake you up at 4 a.m. ... because it gives you a chance to watch her(him) sleep. You don't mind that you've slipped up twice when you were hammered and hinted at how you feel, but she(he) was too drunk to remember. So she(he) doesn't know.

Sure, she's(he's) pretty, but it's about more than that. You two connect. Anything you throw at her(him), she(he) can throw right back. You figured out what's going on in that predictable head of hers(his) in under five minutes, but something tells you her(his) heart would take about five years.

You remember everything she's(he's) ever said to you, and when that freaks her(his) out you blame it on your photographic memory (which is a lie, you have a 2.7 GPA). You can't remember your teaching assistant's name, and you can't remember that your Puffton rent check was due four days ago, yet you remember the middle name of the kid who tripped her(him) in fifth grade and gave her that cute little scar on her(his) shoulder. Maybe it's because you actually listen when she(he) talks. When do you actually listen? Never. But she(he) doesn't know.

But she(he) has a boyfriend(girlfriend). The kid is a tool, and you are not. He(she) has no redeeming qualities, and you have about 38, even when you're hung over. You could kick his(her) butt, and you've never been in a fight in your life. He(she) treats her(him) like crap, and you would treat her(him) like the princess(prince) she(he) believed herself(himself) to be on Halloween in 1988.

But she(he) loves him(her). He(she) wouldn't know what he(she) had even if she(he) slapped him(her) across the face and dumped him(her), but somehow she(he) still loves him(her). And somehow she(he) still doesn't know.

Then, out of nowhere, she(he) slaps him(her) across the face and dumps him(her). She(he) comes to you. You've been there before, so you seem like the smartest guy(girl) on earth. She(he) cries, but your corny half-joke, half-compliment somehow gets a smile out of her(him) that almost makes you feel ashamed that you're the only one around who gets to witness it. It looks like you might make her(him) realize that all guys(girls) don't deserve to have rocks thrown at them.

But nothing changes. She(he) doesn't know. You get that library elevator feeling in your stomach that she'll(he'll) never know. You get that feeling that you'll be forced to write a cheesy Collegian column about her(him) that makes "Sleepless in Seattle" look like "Girls Gone Wild."

You go to sleep. You wake up. She(he) doesn't know. You're not in love (Oh, but I am.). You're not obsessed. You blame it on the fact that you just need to get some, but still, it's about more than that. It would just be nice if once in your life, things worked out the way you wanted them to.

loversrock J: you're going to the show still right?
CyberHomer S: no i think im gonna sit at home and watch tv like usual so i can plan my weekend on the digital cable
loversrock J: lmao, i knew it
CyberHomer S: sorry i wish i could make it
loversrock J: yeah, but i understand that you have more important things to do
CyberHomer S: way more important than some lame concert with girls n such
loversrock J: yeah, especially hot girls like emily gwinn and jessica fowler
loversrock J: pshh yeah right
CyberHomer S: ew gross
CyberHomer S: tv provides me with girls
loversrock J: some scantily clad, some completely naked
CyberHomer S: yea
CyberHomer S: tell me how it goes
loversrock J: alright i will for sure
CyberHomer S: actually dont cuz im probably gonna be busy watching tv and thinking of cool chicks like annie, erin, and katie o
CyberHomer S: wish i had an intrest to listen...
CyberHomer S: id also be listening to alota trapt
loversrock J: yeah, i understand
loversrock J: you're a very busy man
CyberHomer S: im not a man... what the fuck?
loversrock J: haha okay
loversrock J: you're a very busy uhh...eric

First job: helping my grandparents
First screen name: lovelytiger51? i think..
First self-purchased CD: uhh oh man..i think i rocked the britney..?
First piercing/tattoo: earlobes
First best friend: Lindsay Jones
First enemy: Brandon Hansen
LAST...
Last big car ride: does a bus ride count? if so, the bus ride from Puerta Vallarta to Cofradia
Last kiss: tuesday at lunch
Last library book checked out: The Color Purple
Last movie seen: 13 going on 30
Last beverage drank: sprite and orange juice
Last food consumed: pizza
Last phone call: emily at like 4
CD played: War All The Time--Thursday
Last annoyance: when emily screamed on the phone
Last pop drank: sprite
Last ice cream eaten: banana chocolate chunk (hell fucking yes)
Last time scolded: 15 minutes ago
Last shirt worn: eric's black flag shirt
I AM: tired
I WANT: friday to be here
I HAVE: so much to do
I WISH: every week was may week
I HATE: mrs. totton
I FEAR: huge ass spiders, and people touching my collar bones
I HEAR: the string quartet tribute to incubus playing "i miss you"
I SEARCH: for a reason to make you smile
I WONDER: if my children will have gray eyes too
I REGRET: nothing
I LOVE: mac
I ALWAYS: here for you
I AM NOT: fake
I DANCE: whenever i want
I SING: everywhere, all the time
I CRY: when people i love are hurting


so that was interesting, humph. i needed something to write, so there it is.

i love mac


keep smiling
love jess

is this how it feels
when you dont even fit into your own skin?
and it's getting tighter,
every day i'm getting smaller
if i keep holding my breath i'm going to disappear.

there's no where to hide.
they stole the love from our lives to put the sex on the radio.
there's no where to hide.
they stole the love from our lives to put the sex on the radio.

stayed home today. yup, it rocks. i've been sick all week, but still gone to school every day. today is my day off. mac i love you.