Friends and politeness
When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.
-Henri Nouwen

If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.
-Thumper


Lately I've been thinking alot about myself and alot about other people. Alot about what people think about me and how I come across to other people. And part of me has tried to keep from writing anything till I felt less angry. Till it didnt hurt so mucht o talk. Till I felt less shitty and less like i hated people. I think I'm better now, I think I'm over it more. Its made me remember who I am. And I remember that I love myself, it shouldn't matter what other people think of me. And it makes me realize who my true friends are, who will stay by me and defend me and cheer me up when I'm sad. Friends that will talk about the sexual preferences of super heros with me, friends that will wear cowboy hats and strum their guitars and buy you pie, friends that will fail for you and make you their sidekicks, friends that will dance with you in the street to hillary duff, and take you to pick out french maid costumes, and friends that even when they're in greece, they make you smile (and impregnate you with their e-babies!).

I remember when I was in 1st grade and I came home crying cause Jessica Taylor made fun of me for my freckles. The only one home was daddy and he gave me probably some of the best advice that I could ever get. He told me that people didn't always have to like me, but the people that did wouldn't care what I looked like, or the things I said, they would love me anyway. That if I was true to myself peope would be true to me. I like who I am, I like the confidence I have and the way I carry myself about 90% of the time. Sometimes I get cranky, sometimes I get bitchy, but all people do. Sometimes I make mistakes but we all do.

I've been thinking alot about sex lately. Not actually having it, well no thats crossed my mind a few times, but the way I feel about it. I'm not a slut. I like sex, it feels good, but its supposed to. But I think that it hasnt always meant something. But that happens to others too. But ever since I talked to Beth I remember that first time. I was 15 when I lost my virginity. I can write that I guess since Bret isn't there to see. Toby was my best friend, not in the sense that Beth is my best friend, but Toby and I were tight. I had known him from the moment I was born, well almost the moment I was born. While Beth was away I had Toby. And we shared our secrets and we did everything together. When he told me he thought he was gay, it sounded like the best idea. To save him. His parents were even more religious than my parents, who come on are like...Irish catholic. I'd had the catechism shoved down my throat for years. Being gay meant going to Hell. And we decided that if we had sex he would be able to tell. Of course that might mean going to hell too...but at least it meant we'd go together. So I lost it to him and it didn't save him. His parents sent him to one of those schools where they try to like...reprogram you from being gay or something. It was like even making love to someone you care so much about didnt really matter. We lost it and he still left. I think thats the day I stopped believing god could do everything. If he could he would have let Toby stay. Now I lost my best friend. I havent seen him since the day he left. I hope hes okay. I'm sure he is, but still I feel bad.

Now Im tired. and I dont know if I want to write anymore. And my quotes didnt match... but oh well.