Yes, I�m a little miffed, even 15 hours later. I would think that the prevalence of such ideas would make me more sad than angry, but it doesn�t. Instead I see red and want to go on a killing rampage. I keep saying to myself that I have to eventually give up boys and go lesbian. If only it weren�t for the saintly young man I have.

I know that men my age don�t understand what it�s like to be stared at, to have the eyes of wanting men size you up and beyond as soon as you start to sprout breasts. They don�t know what it�s like to have scary men follow you while you walk just to watch your ass. They don�t know how hard it is to maintain your dignity while being hooted at as you walk down the street, merely minding your own business. The whole thing just makes me sick and I�m so tired of it. I want people to realize that it�s just plain wrong to want to sleep with young girls, that even though she may look the part, it doesn�t mean that she can play it, seeing as psychological development doesn�t end where puberty begins. Pedophiliac tendencies disgust me. I want no part in it.

I just had to get that off my chest. I�m still livid and would absolutely love to give Andy a piece of my mind about the whole thing, but it�s best to keep the peace, I think. He knows it makes me angry and could probably tell it in my voice last night as I was attempting to get something through his thick skull.

I got a lovely piece of real mail today from none other than the darling Shann. The jig is up. It�s an awesome postcard with the Secretary logo on it and I looove it. It has taken up permanent residence on the refrigerator. I refer to it as Austmailia. Get it? Mail from Australia?

Last night I was so very drowsy after we got home from being out with Andy. We got Mexican and I had a monstrous strawberry margarita. I think I may have been stiffed on the alcohol, though, since my taste buds are pretty keen to pick up the flavor of it and I tasted nothing but strawberry. I�m assuming there was at least a small amount involved since it made me want to sleep, but that could just have been that I was stuffed to the gills and had had a relatively long day. The last time a margarita passed my lips, my head felt like a giant cotton ball when I was through and my cheeks were beet red. This time there was none of that.

We got home shortly after 11 and immediately showered. We got into bed, watched the end of Dave and all of Conan, and then tried to sleep. He was wiggling about like a mad thing trying to get comfortable, but I would surmise that he wasn�t tired in the least, as twenty minutes after the television went off, he was still spooning me. I soon learned that his intentions weren�t purely innocent, because not much later, I felt his telltale firmness jamming into my upper thigh and him kissing my neck with his fingers entwined in my hair. Such antics led to the tiniest orgasm in memory. It was as if one second it was there and the next I had missed it. He said he�d make up for it tonight, despite my informing him that he wasn�t to blame; sometimes it just happens in such a fashion.

I slept quite well afterwards. I did wake up a couple of times per usual, but it was still a lovely slumber. I love it when the weather people are wrong, predicting that it will be hot and nasty when it turns out cool and sublime. It�s happening again today. I�d wager that it hasn�t yet gone above 60. Ha, Kelly Slifka, I laugh at you, with your overly tanned and chiseled jaw line! You can take your frosted tips and shove them. Worst weather man ever.

They�ve got people fixing up the apartment across the hall, the one that caught fire. I�ve heard nothing from them since they started working on it, but just now they decided to get very loud. I can hear them talking and not long ago they were banging things around, unnecessarily, I imagine. I always want to yell at people when they interrupt my solitude, but I don�t because I�m a yellow-bellied coward. If I can�t predict the reaction of an adversary, I avoid the situation. I think I�ll just put on some music in an attempt to drown it all out.

While I�m sitting here talking about the prevalence of outside noises, last week when Luke and I were grocery shopping and wanting to kill the people clogging up our environment, Luke said that when he was younger he thought that he was autistic because of his aversion to noise. I�ve always had a similar feeling about it, which is why when driving music has to be on and when sleeping a fan has to be going and when I would study for school, I had to have music or television on in the background. I couldn�t stand to hear the settling of the house, the twittering of birds, the ticking of clocks, or the passing of cars. I�ve just always preferred sounds I create to those of the outside world. I think the only ambient sound I could live with on a constant basis would be that or the ocean or those made by any other moving body of water. I would love to have one of those little motorized fountains set up somewhere in the bedroom, but that would inevitably lead to bedwetting. If it happened to Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn, you can bet your ass it would happen to everyday folk like me.