Glide, glide, glide.

The best is yet to come, my dear...

Wearing t-shirts over a long-sleeved red shirt has proven to be an admired fashion statement. Admired by myself, at least.

[blah, blah, girls talking about boys] "Hey, Amanda, how about you? Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Hell no!"

"You should date John P."

Then I said something like "Oh, ooo," or whatever the equivalent of dumb is. Then I came up with something clever, but they were already gone. "Why would I want to do that? I prefer a lady." Man, that's even dumber. Gotta keep 'em guessing.

I will be successful in my pinstriped pants, white ruffled button-down, snazzy black jacket, and red-and-copper bowtie. Plus a lovely lady on each arm. If that doesn't get 'em going, nothing will.

It's great to learn in vet school what I wrote about years ago (I was seventeen!) in this diary.

I've had this thingie a long time. A very long time. Since my senior year of high school. Now I'm in grad school. But I don't know: some of those old entries I was perusin', I haven't changed one bit. I'm still the Milquetoast.

Still using online diaries to procrastinate because I do not, no I do not, indeed I do not want to ever do any work and study and succeed!

No, I'll be fine. I just like to sit and think too much.

The best is yet to come, my dear...