letter to dennis
Wednesday, Apr. 27, 2005 - 9:13 p.m.
dear dennis,
i just wanted to say thank you for showing so much interest in my life, and reading my diary. just to let you know, i have a new diary now. it's not on diaryland. it's on my space. got a pen handy?? look up a little and to your right, see the black coozie, it says platnum showgirls on it, there is unsually a pen in there, and grad an envelope out of the garbage to your lower left, and right this down. www.myspace.com. i'm not sure how you can search for me, maybe my e-mail address. do you remember my e-mail address?? maybe by the town i live in. other people in town have sites there too. amanda does. that's why i moved there. and yes, there is a picture of me, and no it's not to pick up guys. i don't wnat to pick up guys, i don't want to skinny dip with anyone. i'm still ashamed to weigh 142 pounds, and i hate getting naked infront of you nevertheless a stranger. so. stop thinking shit like that. AND, i would like to tell you that i live with my familym remeber little autty, way too grown up for her own good caitlyn, and hunter. YOU, YOU live with gregg. gregg, whose girlfriend, not girlfriend, wife, whatever she is today hates him because he sleeps with girls from bars. and still you are the one that worries. I have the wedding planned. outside, in your mam's back yard, with a big pig to eat, and lots of beer, cheap wedding, big fat wedding, so we can invite all the people we like, and feed them and not worry about paying for catering, or a hall, just food, and beer and people, and staying up late and having a fire, and laughing, and frail groping on me even though i'm married to you now, or i will be someday. and you're worried. and snotty to me. well, i want to be snotty with you, and tell you how hard it is for me to let you stay at todd, on the couch. like you did with lindsey fox. i'm sure you did lots of sleeping, or and todd was the reason i have a hard time trusting all of this in the first place. but i do, and i don't get snotty with you. k.
