03 May 2004 | 7:34 p.m.
Medium please

Saturday night I went out to The Chophouse for dinner. I ordered filet mignon cooked medium. I apparently screwed up. There was a tad too much blood spilling out of my steak. I ended up grossing myself out and took the rest home to cook it a little more. That's the problem. I can handle blood - I'm studying to be a nurse. I just can't handle eating it. I like my steak pink but without blood running all over the place. Was it undercooked or should I have ordered it medium-well?

Last time I checked I wasn't a vampire. *running to mirror to check teeth*

We drove separate cars tonight so as I was trying to get out of the parking lot a group of guys were in my way. They were kicking the shit out of a guy on the ground. It was surreal. It was something I�ve never wanted to witness. The pain the guy was going through must have been excruciating. I felt his ribs breaking and his jaw cracking. I didn�t know what to do. I reversed my car to get out a different way. Then I just sat for a second to take in what I just witnessed. I called 911 and went home. I didn�t need to stay in the parking lot and wait for the police. Thank fuck because they had already seen me pick up my phone and start dialing. I wasn�t feeling very safe anymore.

I�m at home and feel uneasy. I don�t think I will be getting a good night�s rest.

We were inseparable. Everyone thought that we would certainly get married. So did I.

I woke up one morning and knew that something was wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time. It was spring break and he came over to my house that afternoon. When he walked in I had The Glove's Blue Sunshine playing on the stereo and then I switched it to The Cure's Disintegration. Then I did it. I ripped my heart in half. I loved him so much and I let him go. I had no idea why. I knew that he was in love with me. There was no doubt about it. He loved me. Love could not fix what was wrong.

A year later, I was thinking about him and then it just hit me like a Mack Truck. I always knew in my subconscious that he was gay. I just wasn't ready for it when I was dating him.

Two years after my revelation, I called him. He told me. The thing that killed me was that he was worried about my reaction and me. He didn't want me to think that I made him gay. I already knew that - he's always been gay. The love and concern that he showed towards me during that conversation made everything ok. I don't regret our relationship. I'm glad it happened and that I loved and was loved in return.

I opened up a Kinja account today. It's a website that tracks your favorite blogs for updates. It might be a little easier than the RSS feed stuff. I didn't know about it until someone linked to me through their Kinja account. Whoever it was, thank you. Kinja looks interesting and I will check it out!

Happy Day! Ya wanna know what I'm doing on November 30th? I'm going to the Pixies concert!

I know you don't care but they do kick some serious ass.

I've had it with the people standing on the corners with cardboard signs. No, I have no money for you. If I give money to you will you NOT give the "you cheap bastard stare" at me the next time I see you here? I think not. Why do I feel so guilty for having money? Argh.

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The older I get the less obvious I want to be about needing people. Pride. I don't want to look weak or seem needy. Therefore, I don't really tell anyone everything that's going on in my life and what I need.

I found out that Grandpa is going to sell the house. The house that holds the happiest memories of my childhood. The ones I never want to forget.

I was going to tell a friend about it the other day but he was droning on about something. I called a friend yesterday to try to tell her but she was busy and had to leave. I have all kinds of excuses for not telling anyone the whole truth.

It's just a building, some land and a river. That's it. That's where my heart is...that's home.

I'm being a child about not wanting to let go but I've been forced to give up far too much already this year. I'm afraid.

Shopping is the worst kind of torture anyone could put me through when I have no money. I won't be going shopping with anyone anytime soon. I did find a *really* cute pink dress at Eddie Bauer and super cool old school pink with skull and crossbones Vans. If I still covet both of those in a week I may just need to go back, money or no money.

I'm a freak but I really think I *need* those shoes. I think I might die without them. I have a pair of custom made Vans sitting in my closet right now that are over ten years old. The 80's have a hold on me; I'm not getting over my skate/punk/goth stages as fast as I should. I could even wear them to kickball. I've been needing a new pair of sneakers. See? This is the part where I convince myself that I *must* have them.

I'm just a shoe whore...

One Single Malt Whisky flavoured vodka for Mr. PB Curtis coming right up!

I'm a reactionist. That's what I do. I don't even know what I've done until it's over.

Gym class, ninth grade, we were playing dodgeball. My teacher was standing a few feet away from me and beemed the ball dead-on into my face. I called him an asshole and punched him in the stomach. I'm a survivor, I will fight to live I guess.

My house, in college, spring 1992 my roommate and I were throwing a ragin' party. Good times I tell ya. This guy was taking way too long in the bathroom so I started pounding on the door. Apparently, I pissed him off. I was drunk and he was in my bathroom with my *only* toilet. He swung the door open and it hit me on the right side of my face. I went into my non-thinking mode and punched him in the gut, grabbed my face and screamed fuck you. Later on, he apologized and then we made out for the rest of the night. A day or so later I got a black eye. At least I didn't fuck him.

Tonight, I played dodgeball with friends in a rented gym. It was me and about 30 guys. The friend that invited me had no idea that other women weren't invited. I played anyway. I sucked but at least I tried. After 2 hours of dodgeball I was a little tired and I was playing the last game. I went to pick up a ball and again, a guy, a few feet away from me, beemed me in the face. I looked at him and snarled, "Fuck you, you fucking asshole". He was lucky I didn't punch him. Later I apologized, was honest, said that it startled me and the words just came out.

Moral of the story: don't hit me in the face.

It was raining all day. It's snowing now...only in Denver. Dynamite.

Since we couldn't play kickball tonight we all met up at the bar. We still *had* to have a cocktail or two. I wasn't at my best so I asked the bartender what she might suggest in the vodka area. She made me a Van Gogh dutch chocolate vodka and coke. Wow! It tasted like coffee. I love coffee but my stomach can't handle it so it was refreshing, yet different. The next time I told her to make whatever she wants just use the good vodka. Another fab drink but this time with Van Gogh pineapple vodka.

What's next for vodka? Bubble gum flavored?

I met a guy tonight that I had a hard time conversing with because he is so metrosexual it is distracting. His hair had enough products in it that it looked plastic. The worst part was that he put something on his face to make it shiny. It was blinding me! I think it's great that men want to look their best but it is a little disconcerting when they take longer to get ready than I do.

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