Most people knew I was a romantic. I think they were clued in by the whole "I drink tea, write books and wear vintage dresses" thing I had going on in high school (who am I kidding...I still do that). A lot of people also knew I was a little silly (religious oppression didn't exactly help). But what a lot of people never knew about was the result of this combination of characteristics: the Husband Journal.
I decided at 14 that if my mom wouldn't let me have a boyfriend till I was old enough to marry one, I'd have to quell the loneliness and desperate teenage desire for intimacy some other way. Hence the reason I began keeping a journal to my future husband.
Yes, yes...laugh. It's funny.
What's especially funny is the sort of shit I wrote about at 14-16. It was intended to be a collection of my hopes and dreams to share with my future soulmate, but it ended up being more a record of all the boys I knew and wondering if they were The One, and a lot of religious crap tossed in to sweeten the deal. I've gone through and skimmed every humiliating, hilarious entry to find the best of the best--just for you beautiful people to laugh at.
You're welcome.
Note: my current commentary on these posts is included in [brackets].
10-28-04
My friend Catherine wrote; "Dear Sam's hubby, Hi. be a good father 2 the millions of children you may have. The end. Buh-bai.
Have fun eating fudge oatmeal cookies. YUM."
Catherine is a nut.
[you guys remember Catherine--I tossed her my bouquet. And fudge oatmeal cookies were and still are my specialty. They're fucking fantastic.]
02-13-05
So one of these days I'm probably going to look back on high school and say, "Oh, Napoleon Dynamite? That was a big hit in my freshman year," and, "Oh yeah, everybody liked Linkin Park and Green Day and Simple Plan." Like my parents remember things from their day. I can say how I was around when The Lord of the Rings became an "instant classic." Sounds fun. I already like remembering the old days.
The symbol of my generation.
06-23-06
Did it ever occur to you that you were marrying a nut?
07-31-06
So...I'll be sixteen soon. And no, I've never been kissed, in case you're wondering. :) In fact, I've only ever even hugged one boy, once (Michael, seventh grade), unless you count a camp hug (Scott, my first and only boyfriend, seventh grade) once. That's pretty good, huh!
[Funny...now, I consider that terrible.]
I sure hope you understand me. I'll give you a few hints:
1. I'm a total perfectionist, which means I get emotional if I can't do something perfectly the first time.
2. I'm slightly [ha! slightly] OCD, so if I take 3 days to clean the kitchen or I start getting really bad about picture-straightening and so forth, snap me out of it.
3. I am, in some cases, incredibly naive, and in other, incredibly quick and wise. Don't ask me how it works.
4. I'm hopelessly sentimental.
5. I'm hopelessly romantic.
6. When tempted, it tends to be with laziness, pride, and some sexual things (when my hormones are going wild).
We are married. We are married. We are married. We are married. We are married. I have to tell myself this, because I can feel my face turning red at the mention of sex to you. *sigh* Well I guess if there's anyone in this world who actually benefits from knowing what I'm about to tell you, it's you: I am actually looking forward to sex. That's normal, isn't it? I don't know how normal it is for a girl to feel it as much as I do, but then I've never asked anyone else.
[...this one is sort of tragically funny.]
01-21-07
John [name has been changed] was at church again today. I find it so hard to stop thinking about him and those eyes. His eyes don't just look, they pierce. I think it might be because he looks at you with eyes full of desire, lust, and life. When a boy looks at you the way he looks at me, you know what he must be thinking about.
[And I liked it. I had the roots of all my current enthusiasm for sex in me, I just didn't know it yet. ;)]
10-22-07
Am I going to read back through this and be embarrassed?
[Yes. The answer was yes.]
You're welcome, again.
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