Dear Alejia
From here on out, my livejournal will be written in the form of letters to the best friend I have in this world: Alexia Halasz. If you recognize yourself in any of the letters, don't flip out if they say something a little wily. This is a candid venture! Anyway, here goes.
Dearest Lex,
So I'm sitting here in my Journalism class not taking notes and dreading the final that is 80 percent of our grade. But whatever, it's journalism I don't give a fuck. Thanksgiving was chill, and I found out that my Uncle Mark is a closeted homo. And I mean closeted. He's so far in there I think there's a trapdoor in the back. At least I know which side of the family the homo gene comes from. Did I tell you this already? Whatever.
Speaking of homo, I get more ass than a toilet seat but I'd give it up to hold on to California's hand and hear her say she thought something of me. That girl is a ten, fo real. Even my buddy Patrick, who is currently sitting on my left, likes the chic. She's got those bedroom eyes I'd say. Who can resist? But I hope you're getting closer to a conquest. You need a girl like a dog needs a bone, if you know what I'm sayin *wink wink nudge nudge*.
If you start writing I expect to see whatever you're willing to part with because, you know, that's my major and whatnot. I wrote a piece on the events that shall remain unspoken, I think I told you that too. It's pretty raw, still needs some revision, but I'm getting over it. On Saturday Brianna picked me up from the airport and I had a much needed breakdown at her place. She's the only person I feel comfortable crying in front of, and that was a damn good back-built cry. Her and I are doing well I guess. Sometimes I don't know. I say what's on my mind and get no feedback. Sometimes all I can do is just look because there's nothing to say but she tries to make something of it, to make me decipher the feelings I couldn't even begin to describe. She's not the only one. Everyone's eyes hold secret upon secret, more and more often I feel like I know what people are feeling, sometimes even thinking, but I refuse to pull out what people would rather keep hidden. It only hurts when the ones I trust most keep hiding.
Anyway, my classes are pretty lame except for American Women Writers, which rocks and I love. Next semester is going to be fucking ridiculous! I'm going to take two writing classes and hopefully a lit class and maybe some history, not to mention lots of unnamed substances. I'll take mad pictures for you, don't worry. My mom expects them, too. It was awesome to see her over the break. I feel like a complete adult in her eyes now, and she says she's really proud of the way I've grown up. She says my brother and I have wonderful characters. I can't help but agree. My grandma is in a world of her own. She sits in front of the TV in a trance. The medicine helps a little, but the other day my mom asked her what year it was and she said 1984, and when my mom said no she goes "ok, it can't be later than 1986." I wasn't even born then! I can't imagine what it's like to lose pieces of your memory. She can't even program the VCR anymore, a task she used to do every day to watch her soaps--soaps that she's watched for years and is now forgetting the names and faces of the main characters.
Well, I think that will suffice for my first letter. I'll write as regularly as I can. I miss your pretty face! But keep your chin up, I'll be home in less than a month and oh! I want to make all my gifts for christmas this year. Let's get creative; shirts and baked goods or something, think of some ideas if you want to join in the productive festivities. Have a great day, dude. Love you!
Your bestest friend,
Amanda
ps The weather here is bomb. It's like, 60 degrees out. When is it going to snow?!
Dearest Lex,
So I'm sitting here in my Journalism class not taking notes and dreading the final that is 80 percent of our grade. But whatever, it's journalism I don't give a fuck. Thanksgiving was chill, and I found out that my Uncle Mark is a closeted homo. And I mean closeted. He's so far in there I think there's a trapdoor in the back. At least I know which side of the family the homo gene comes from. Did I tell you this already? Whatever.
Speaking of homo, I get more ass than a toilet seat but I'd give it up to hold on to California's hand and hear her say she thought something of me. That girl is a ten, fo real. Even my buddy Patrick, who is currently sitting on my left, likes the chic. She's got those bedroom eyes I'd say. Who can resist? But I hope you're getting closer to a conquest. You need a girl like a dog needs a bone, if you know what I'm sayin *wink wink nudge nudge*.
If you start writing I expect to see whatever you're willing to part with because, you know, that's my major and whatnot. I wrote a piece on the events that shall remain unspoken, I think I told you that too. It's pretty raw, still needs some revision, but I'm getting over it. On Saturday Brianna picked me up from the airport and I had a much needed breakdown at her place. She's the only person I feel comfortable crying in front of, and that was a damn good back-built cry. Her and I are doing well I guess. Sometimes I don't know. I say what's on my mind and get no feedback. Sometimes all I can do is just look because there's nothing to say but she tries to make something of it, to make me decipher the feelings I couldn't even begin to describe. She's not the only one. Everyone's eyes hold secret upon secret, more and more often I feel like I know what people are feeling, sometimes even thinking, but I refuse to pull out what people would rather keep hidden. It only hurts when the ones I trust most keep hiding.
Anyway, my classes are pretty lame except for American Women Writers, which rocks and I love. Next semester is going to be fucking ridiculous! I'm going to take two writing classes and hopefully a lit class and maybe some history, not to mention lots of unnamed substances. I'll take mad pictures for you, don't worry. My mom expects them, too. It was awesome to see her over the break. I feel like a complete adult in her eyes now, and she says she's really proud of the way I've grown up. She says my brother and I have wonderful characters. I can't help but agree. My grandma is in a world of her own. She sits in front of the TV in a trance. The medicine helps a little, but the other day my mom asked her what year it was and she said 1984, and when my mom said no she goes "ok, it can't be later than 1986." I wasn't even born then! I can't imagine what it's like to lose pieces of your memory. She can't even program the VCR anymore, a task she used to do every day to watch her soaps--soaps that she's watched for years and is now forgetting the names and faces of the main characters.
Well, I think that will suffice for my first letter. I'll write as regularly as I can. I miss your pretty face! But keep your chin up, I'll be home in less than a month and oh! I want to make all my gifts for christmas this year. Let's get creative; shirts and baked goods or something, think of some ideas if you want to join in the productive festivities. Have a great day, dude. Love you!
Your bestest friend,
Amanda
ps The weather here is bomb. It's like, 60 degrees out. When is it going to snow?!