So fuck. I went to a party last night with Steve. It was nice. A lot more fun than I would have expected. And I didn't spend any money, which is even better. I'm starving and I ran out of both pasta and cereal. Don't know quite what to do about this. But the party was cool. A bit of wine, two hot guys. Both straight, but what's new? Story of my life. What a bitch. Steve gave me a book on the history of math. That rocks. I'm reading Christine de Pizan for this fucking class, and I'm all for feminist literature, but this is so damn inane. I trudge through the prose like I plod through the snow on my way to the corner store. Slowly, without enjoying it much.

I'm starting to get paranoid about housing. We still haven't found a roommate, so I'm starting to accept that I will have to move shortly. That will suck. But oh well. I'll probably end up getting a studio on my own. Not that I can afford any studios in Manhatten, but we'll see. I'll come back from Christmas and look frantically, I'm sure.

Don't really know what to write about. I'll write about something that happened to me a long fucking time ago. It's why I hate meeting people from the internet. I was a seventh grader. I was just beginning to fuck up. I used to frequent chat rooms. You know, ones for gay kids. There was this guy from Orinda, we ended up meeting. He was my age, 13. We were sucking each other off within half an hour. Then we went to his boyfriend's house. His boyfriend was 29. He was a self-proclaimed pedophile. We had a threesome.

Then I did it again a week later.

Then I came to my goddamned senses and never spoke to him again. His name was Chris. It was the first Chris I dated.

The second was equally disastrous, but way less scary. I guess all dates are scary.

Ok, I'm going to go do my homework.