You might want to check out Sunday's post first, if you haven't already.According to my friend Joanne, blogging is for really old people. Like for people in their thirties and forties. She says I spend too much time writing and not enough time living.
But I'm not really sure what she means by living since it seems she's involved in some kind of suicide pact just about every other week when another one of her favorite bands breaks up.
My friend Denise makes fun of me every time we're out too. She waits until Mike pulls up in his mini-van and turns his music down - and then she'll say something about how she's surprised I'm out tonight and that maybe I'm just waiting for them to do something so I can write about it.
Mike always laughs and says he'd like to give me something to write about and Denise thinks he's meaning he wants to do something with her. But I think he's talking about me because he always looks in my direction when he says it.
And anyway. When she isn't around he talks to me about music and stuff.
He says that at least he can talk to me.
Helen said that the boys only pay attention to Denise because she has huge boobs and the lads know they can get off with her. Denise's sister said that you can tell how much sex she's had already by the size of the gap between the top of her legs. Something about keeping your legs apart for a long time.
When she's wearing jeans you can see straight through to Lancaster. My thighs are too fat on the inside to ever get a gap. They're always rubbing together and giving me a kind of rug burn from them rubbing so much when I walk. I always have to wear long sweaters so no one can see my bottom and thighs.
When my Mum first saw Denise she said that her skirts were so short that you'd be able to see her tonsils if she sat down. Craig laughed a lot when he heard that but my other friends didn't really know what she meant. Craig seems more grown up than a lot of the lads around us. He wants to go to London and be a make-up artist for actors and theatre people. I think he's really talented. He's easier to talk to than any other boy I know.
Denise doesn't bother me much though. I know she's not really my friend.
One day after University I'll be doing a cool job and will have moved from this place and she'll be pumping petrol at the local Filling Station for forty hours a week before having to go home and make tea for some slobby husband and the kid she got knocked up with.
Her hair will probably be falling out too because she's dyed it blond so many times already. I think that if she didn't dye it blond she would look like a man. I think it's stupid how boys can just think that because you are blond you are good looking. Craig would agree with me. He thinks my dark hair is nice and that I have good eyes. But I don't think he's interested in me. He's never gone out with a girl that I know of. But we don't talk about that.
We do talk about a lot of other things though. Like about politics and equality and saving the earth and stuff. Craig says Denise's definition of recycling is going with the same lad two times in a row. I think he's joking but I heard someone say that she's used the same condom more than one time.
Joanne asked me the other day why I just don't write a proper diary instead of writing stuff on a blog where anyone could see it.
I keep wondering about that too and I don't know.
Maybe when I'm older I'll have some more answers.
Peace.
L.
