August 7, 2010

Dear Diary,

So, it's August 7th. But you already know that. Because you're a diary, and you just know these things.

I would bore you with conversation about the weather or cite my many wonderful adventures, but I am not even dressed yet. And don't you dare judge me, Diary, because I wake up at 5am every weekday. I am entitled to be lazy today.

I actually do have plans. My boyfriend, his mom, and I will be going to a lovely French place for lunch. Then, we have a nice party to go to tonight. Sure, my weekends aren't usually this exciting, but today is a good day.

My pimples have kindly heeded to my curses and warnings and decided to shrink just enough to be hidden by make up tonight. I hate them, you know. I made it to 20 years old with never more than one small pimple a year. Then, bam! I get eight at a time. I know that I am lucky compared to some, but it is still causing something of a quarter life crisis for me.

That's what French food and brownies are for. I was supposed to be watching my calorie intake a bit because I have been eating a lot this summer. (Having a real job for once and the money to buy nice food is reaaaal fattening.) Yet, tonight I am planning on eating fudge down by the river and some French brownies and pastry dough filled with cheesy mushroomy goodness. Who needs diets, anyway? I'd prefer to eat EVERYTHING. Nom nom nom.

Well, I guess this has gone on far enough. OH WAIT. I just ordered a mini donut maker from You should too, Diary, if you like donuts. (Sometimes I think I start diets just for the fun of breaking them.)

Anyway, enjoy being fondled by the writers who come after me. It was a good ten minutes.


The End

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