Rosie's Diary

I'm In Love

July 26, 1999 - 2:43 am - (30 days til NYC)

I. WILL. NOT. HATE. MYSELF.

I refuse to do it, Journal.

So, instead of hating myself I am going to figure this out. Figure it ALL out. Okay.

I'm in love with June. . .

And I accept that because at times it's the only thing I know about myself. One day we were friends and then one day I kinda wanted to spend the rest of my life looking into her eyes.

WHICH IS WHY I ATTEMPTED TO SLEEP WITH ROBBIE LAST NIGHT!

I know. I know. But I didn't. Well not really. Well I kinda did, but—UGH.

Okay, first of all, can't a girl have (or not have) sex with her ex-boyfriend while in the middle of a crisis in peace?! I mean, stop judging me, Journal. Just stop.

And clearly I'm being defensive. I just feel like shouting, WHAT THE FUCK right now, however I can't because I'm at home still, not back at school, but I have this energy exploding in my bones lately and it makes me feel off-kilter, it makes me feel wild & reckless & sad, and last night I needed to either have sex with Robbie or RUIN MY LIFE. So I chose Robbie.

Here's what happened...

Middle of the day yesterday, Daddy is lying on the couch under a blanket, watching his Touched by an Angel recording while trying to hide his party size bag of Life Savers lollipops. Kippy is sitting on top of the blanket at his feet chewing on a fake bone, and Mama is at the kitchen table with her Bible and a mess of handwritten notes, cigarette blazin', clueless to the world. I had just come out of my room like a freight train. I needed to get outside—sprint to the end of the block, push the car or something, BUT FIRST, I wanted some of the candy Daddy obviously had.

So, I sit on the back of the couch and start a silent negotiation. I hold up 7 fingers. He signals he will give me 3 pops, no more. I counter by looking over my shoulder at Mama, slowly opening my mouth to rat him out. He grabs my arm, eyes wide and I stifle a laugh. I signal 5 lollipops, but all cherry. Daddy finally agrees, slowly pulling each pop out of the bag, careful not to let the plastic rustle. I shake my head at him-- a grown man hiding sugary sweets from his woman. But he isn't fazed one bit cuz' all he needs in that moment is his dog, his candy and his TV show. If I'm being honest, it made me jealous. I have some things I need too. But I can't have them.

I get in my car and speed over to Robbie's house, weaving through traffic, scream-singing along to Robyn's, "Show Me Love," my bracelets vibrating fast against my wrists. Robbie's mom answers the door and invites me to join them for a late lunch. It's salad covered in avocado, black beans and pineapple, and while Robbie picks at it unenthusiastically, it's my first bit of food for the day and I quite enjoy it. My hands stop shaking.

I lean over and whisper in Robbie's ear, "Come over to my place after 10 for a little fun?" He turns to look at me, shock and hunger painted on his face—we are supposed to be over and done, just friends. Under the table he squeezes my knee in agreement and, I swear to God, he blushes. I have to look away because it makes me feel like a loser and a predator. Picture a pathetic shark. I'm miserable, but I've still got all these teeth.

At 10:02 pm Robbie is at my house. I let him in through my bedroom window and we get to it. Note— when I say get to it, I actually mean we open a couple cherry lollipops, take a billion shots of peach vodka, play Connect Four and checkers at the same time, and talk. . . for 4 hours. Then he says he likes my bracelets, which is the lamest line, but it's all I need to hear. I jump into his arms. Including the time it takes to deal with the condom it's over in less than 120 seconds.

When it's time for him to go, my drunk-ass slides the window open with wild abandon, as if freeing doves from a cage at my own wedding. The window screeches into the night shattering the silence for 10 square miles. I hurl myself into bed leaving Robbie to fend for himself. He throws himself out the open window into the bush as Daddy bursts into the room, Kippy at his side. He's holding a shotgun.

*         *          *

(' ᴗ｀✿)

To all my fellow lezzies, gays, queers, pans, aces, transqueens, kings & everyone in between. I see you. <3

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