August 11, 2003
It’s a sad day when a girl’s criteria becomes ‘would he walk me to my car thru this shitty neighborhood when I leave this stupid event?’ and no one passes. Men really are only thinking: sex. Drifting between pool tables in my pink millitary pants (hate this style that’s overtaken the fashion world, but the pink almost camoflages it)- and fuzzy, blue, ballerina sweatshirt. Someone says I look “softer than usual.” It’s not provocative (but it is cute). And three grown men literally ask me to have sex with them. Well, maybe not literally, but that’s exactly what they meant.