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12:18PM - Saturday November 8, 2003 So, last night I got drunk with Butch and Curvegirl and I sent the object of my affection some drunk email. Believe me, it could have been pretty bad--I didn't send the first email I wrote. In fact, I kept it so that it might amuse you, dear readers. Please excuse the profanity, I'm rude when wasted. "You're going to think I'm a big fucking lush, but here it is, Saturday morning 2am, and I'm bombed again--this time I'm going home alone because you live way too fucking far away. I always thought profanity was the crutch of the inarticulate motherfucker, and yet, here I am, wasted and swearing because you're in Kentville and I'm in Halifax. Motherfucker. I think I like you way too much, and I shouldn't be talking about this while I'm drunk, but I've noticed that my typing is actually really good, and I haven't had to correct any mistakes yet, so maybe I know what I'm doing. Oh wait, I just had to go back and capitalize an 'I.' Maybe I'm not so good. I've found this week that you're a very distracting man, CuteSnarkyBoy. And I know in your self-deprecating way that you don't really believe me when I tell you that I have daydreams about you when I'm supposed to be thinking about 20th century art, and at night I go to bed alone and think about waking up next to you. I hope that you find drunk emailing amusing because I am most certainly amused by myself at this point. Earlier this evening I accidentally kicked over a beer bottle, quite noisily, and CurveGirl and I both looked at it with intense concern. With relief I said, "It's a good thing I drank all of that," and we burst out laughing. Butch and CurveGirl say "Hi" by the way. I hope you're really fucking happy because I have been positively teased to death this week thanks to you. Apparently I was all moony-eyed at you at the Witch's Ball, but really, what's a girl to do? Cute boy, feather boa, great orgasms, sarcasm... it's enough to make a girl weep! So yay! with the staring and smiling. I'm not sorry at all. I like you, CSB. I want to spend a weekend with you in bed, talking and laughing and having sex--I want to get to know you better, because so far, I like what I've seen. I like that you admit to writing sappy ICQ responses and erasing them, and I like that you held me tight when I came. I like the way you look in my eyes, and I like the way your lips feel on mine." And that's where I went back to read it and realized in my drunken stupor that maybe this was a bit much. So, I think I kept the first paragraph, wrote something else retarded and sent that out instead. And then this morning I sent the apology email. Yeah, I'm one cool chick, I tell ya.
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