Man, there is really no reason to be trying to write this diary entry right now, and plenty of reasons why I should not be trying to write this diary entry, but yet I persist anyways.

The reasons why I shouldn't be writing this now: I am drunk. Incredibly so. I was rejected by two of my crushes in really cruel ways tonight. And I encountered a third crush with his boyfriennd.

I have been listening to Morrisey's Viva Hate for the past three days non-stop. I love my fucking discman more than any possesion I own right now. It is amazing to sit outside on gray, chilly, cloudy days bitterly downing your lunch to Morrisey. And fuck you, all of you, fuck fucking all of you who are saying cliche, how cliche, like my manager tonight. My manager who last night asked me about my diary, who somehow, god knows how, found out I had one, may even be reading this entry right here, but asked me what song I was singing tonight, and then when he found out, said, how cliched. And fuck all of you.

Because tonight, crush #1, Christopher (see last entry), was with his boyfriend, but way more friendly with me than either crush #2 and crush #3.

Crush #2 came up and talked to me at the Phoenix tonight talking about how awkward that was the last time we rode on the subway going home with different people. Except I was just riding with a friend, but yeah that was awkward riding on the same car with two of my crushes that were going home together. He, Josh, said as if this was common knowledge that I should have a crush on him, "Oh, you had a crush on that other boy too?" When Josh was leaving the bar, to me, he said, "Well, it looks like another lonely night, I am going home, and I it looks like you're going to go home by yourself too." Ouch. Fucking ouch.

Crush #3, Jared. His quote of the night is: "If you fucking touch me again, I am going to hit you." Jared is about a foot shorter than me, and for this reason, I perhaps thought I would have good chances with him. But he has really good hair, and like every other boy I like and don't like, rejected me, took pleasure in it.

And man, I like to think that I am cute, I like to think that I am more intelligent than most people, but these little ego-gratifying assertions start to waver, start to become doubtful, very doubtful when you are not only rejected, but rejected blantantly and harshly by boys you think that you are better than, and you wonder if you are anything at all other than an ugly stupid boy who works a shitty retail job. And Josh rubbed my arm tonight hard after he asked if I was still working at the Strand, and I said, Sure, rub salt in the wound, asshole. And that was the most I was touched my any boy, by anyone tonight. And really, I think all I want is to be touched, to be touched out of desire perhaps. It would make me so happy.