29 April 2002 - 8:55 p.m.

There was ham! There was a bash! There was a goddam HAM BASH!!

After typing that, would you believe I didn't even partake of the beer he bought us?

Dude, Aitch has my house. Well, not really. But I want his house SO bad. It has hardwood floors, and white walls with ceilings the color of my diary. I kid you not. I even used the bathroom and it appears we use the same razor. Too bad he's 397583 years older than me and already has a hot wife and I have a hot S.O. We are soulmates, I think. He even made salad with chick peas.

And! Everyone needs to look at the back cover of his first book. I turned it over and almost passed out. Because Aitch. Was. HOT!!!! Too bad the picture was taken 10 years before I was born. Seriously, it was all I could do not to lick the photo. Ok, I confess, the idea of licking it didn't even strike me until I got home and started writing this entry, but hot damn nonetheless. I had to try to discreetly show the pic to some of my female classmates, and I'm pretty sure Aitch heard me call him hot at some point. But who cares? If I were 937538 years old and I had a bunch of intelligent 20-somethings over for dinner, I would be psyched if they wanted to do the old me. I would be like, "So what if I'm 098587 years old? I was hot once! I was a Prof. McHotHot once! Even now, now that I've worn yellow socks every day ever since I made that stupid promise to myself on my 50th birtday that I would only wear yellow socks, a bunch of college coeds want to jump into my book jacket and do me. RAWK!"

Only Aitch would not say RAWK, because Aitch would not know what they meant. Because when Aitch was talking about some chick he knew who used to be fat and then got really "trim," someone was like, "What do you mean, trim? Was she hot? Was she da bomb?" Aitch replied, "Yeah, she was a bomb, I guess."

That wacky Aitch!

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: