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Monday, February 5, 2007


Fuck Forever... if you don't mind. (I love Babyshambles!)
YAY! It snowed on Friday and we got out of school.

I spent the weekend at Grandma's again. It's getting to be routine. My weekends are getting shot to hell.

“You’ll come back a broken man.”
“Yeah. Back broken…from too much sex.”

I watched “Love Actually” last night, again (the quote is from the movie). It’s a good movie. I have a shirt for it that I found at the thrift store. Luck, purely and truly, is how I came about it there. I love this movie. It has a GREAT line-up of GREAT actors and actresses, including Blackadder himself, Rowan Atkinson (the world less informed may now him as Mr. Bean.)

I can’t wait until Lisa and I move to England. We’ve decided after seeing “Bedazzled” (the 1967 movie, THE ORIGNIAL ONE by comic geniuses Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, not the one from 2000, or whatever) that we’re going to England to find our own Pete and Dud in the form of attractive young English men. I think American boys aren’t what I need. I need another nationality. It’s not that I’m xenophobic, God forbid. I love America, but I need to look outside her borders for the guy I’m looking for.

Four years in Canada. Does that count as a different nationality? Am I working on false hope that maybe someday in the future, I’ll be with him? And why do I want to be with him so badly? Why do I feel that, yes, we are meant to be together, but, as my horoscope said, something is pulling us apart?

As Babyshambles says: “Yes, I’m in love with a feeling.” Or so it would seem.

Today, Jason was hugging me around the shoulders. Earlier he had put a green paint stain on the side of my favorite pair of jeans. He’d just gotten me to stop being made at me.

J: I’m sorry. I’m a guy. I don’t understand things like that.
S: Whatever.
J: Really. I mean it. I’m sorry, Susan.
S: It’s okay.
[And then a bit later, this happened.]
J: I love you, Susan.
S: No you don’t.
J: Yes. I do. I love you.
S: *unconvinced* Right.
J: I love you. I mean it in about… 13 different ways.
S: 13? What are these 13?
J: … I don’t know.
S: Then why would you say that?
J: … I don’t know.

And then he kissed my neck. It’s nice to hear someone say that, but I wish it were Caleb, and not Jason.

-Susan, the good times are killing me

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