Category Archives: The Diary Project
February 26, 2001: Dial-Up
I guess either David B. found out about my secret love for him, or I was too ashamed to talk to him after realizing so many people knew about it. Either way, it was time for the Awkwardness Avoidance Dance.
While this was not my first experience (remember Ryan and the Groundhog Day Dance?) with the Awkwardness Avoidance Dance, it was certainly not my last. I may be an adult (in theory anyway, I’m turning 23 in two weeks – wtf is that about?) but I still do the AAD on a fairly regular basis.
Currently, I’ve managed to do it for almost six months without an awkward run-in. It helps that I’ve moved seven hours away, but Facebook chat is no one’s ally. I spent a lot of time this year staring at the chat screen, wondering if someone would message me. I dreaded it, but then I wanted it to happen. Either way, I certainly wasn’t going to make the first move. It’s some early-2000s AIM shit all over again. The only thing I’m missing is the purple-and-blue sTiCkY cApS proto-emo quotes about love and loss. (But now we have statuses for that.)
Sigh. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
(THIS SONG NEVER STOPS BEING HILARIOUS. NEVER. Especially with the dial-up AOL sound in the background.)
Anyway, today’s entry discusses the Awkwardness Avoidance Dance at its best (and most dramatic).
2/26/01
Dear Diary,
David and I are avoiding each other. He didn’t say one word to me, and I didn’t talk to him.
It was the loneliest that I have ever felt.
I talked to Kit last Sunday. She said some-thing really funny: “you and David have to get married! You’d have the most messed-up kids.”
I was laughing *so* hard!
So ridiculous! Um, David B., wherever you are now, I hope the girl you wife is less crazy than I was. Good lord.
Speaking of AOL, Bunny sent me some e-mail gems from high school! Now these are a little bit older, obviously, but I think since we’re on the subject of awkward internet things, we should take a look at this survey, circa 2003.
Click here for the lengthy and melodramatic pdf.
Do you like our screennames? Aren’t we ~original?
Good lord, I was snarky. I particularly enjoy the part about how I’d kill some girl named Jennifer because she “vandalized” (toilet-papered) my house. What a *bitch.* Oh Jennifer, I no longer resent you. Haters gonna hate.
Another great moment here:
17. Do you have any psychiatric problems? list them
haha. I have lots of irrational fears: underwear shopping, calling boys, the world ending randomly, elevators, etc. ooh and wanna hear about my neuroticism to? i don’t care, you’re gonna! I have to have the “L” of my middle initial in everything I write and if the food touches, I just can’t eat it, and I don’t eat anything that’s been pickeled in a jar or has the ketchup right on it. *smiles* i’m not nuts, really!
No, mini Diane, you are nuts. I promise.
Btw, none of those things are true now. Too many years of awesome diner food has changed my eating habits, and I don’t ever use the “L” in my name unless I’m practicing my autograph during a particularly boring lecture. Also, way to use the wrong “to.” You suck, 15-year-old me.
It’s strange to think that after 10 years of technological advances, sometimes we’re no different than we were at 13. We’re still waiting all night for someone to get online. We’re still quoting passive-aggressive and cryptic song lyrics in hopes our crush will understand the secret message. We’re still updating profiles and sending inside jokes to our friends in hopes other realize how truly awesome we are.
I remember a time when I couldn’t even picture adults using AIM. Now my dad’s on Facebook, and has more Twitter followers than I do. (Hi, Dad!)
I don’t think that’s bad or good, I just think it’s part of internet culture.
I like that we’re always evolving.
But sometimes, especially last semester — when I spent an inordinate amount of time sitting up late at night reading Tumblr, crying at the emo quotes, and hoping my ex would Facebook chat me — I still think my heart’s on dial-up.
February 23, 2001: He loves me, he loves you not
Hello, again.
To make up for my prolonged absence, (I just started a full-time internship and consequently have even less of a life than I did before) I give you a very special and the first of (unfortunately) many editions of: Diane’s Poetry Corner.
In case you didn’t already think I was a complete tool, I will now reinforce it by giving you the half-written poem from mid-February, 2001.
Back when I wore bedazzled jeans and karma beads on a daily basis, I used to think of myself as Quite The Poet. I had a lot of Feelings, and I thought I should express them in stanza form. I rarely rhymed, because rhyming was for conformists who cared more about getting syllables right than expressing their inner angst. A few brushes with perceived classroom success (my poor teachers!) made me think I was The Shit, and so I took every opportunity to stare out the window and brood, scribbling bits of ridiculous metaphor on notebook paper instead of paying attention.
I remember I was picked to be part of a county-wide writer’s workshop. After taking my ego up about ten more notches, I proceeded to pick my best poems and adhere a fake nose stud to my face. Earlier that week, I’d conveniently picked up some fake crystals to put on my nails (don’t even judge me) and proceeded to use some of the nail glue to place one of the larger crystals where a nose ring would be.
I walked around like that alllll day. You know I was awesome.

I probably wore something like this to the writer's workshop, picked especially to coordinate with my fake nosering.
I remember being particularly impressed when some blue-haired guy (oh god, bad choice mini Diane!) complimented my poems. I remember we discussed poetry afterward and it was quite possibly the greatest thing ever. He probably just wanted to hit it. I shouldn’t have been surprised, considering I attracted the fake chain necklace and fake Japanese dragon shirt-wearing dudes even then.
Those writer’s workshops went on throughout the year. I remember loving them, because it proved there were other artsy/fake-goth/ridiculous kids in my area. I desperately wanted to go to one of the alternative high schools in the city, so I could be with others who ~understood me. When I took acting classes in ninth grade, I so badly wanted to be part of the tiny, artsy school located in a renovated warehouse behind one of the city’s teen centers. However, it’s a really, really good thing I didn’t end up there because I completely turned my shit around by mid-10th grade and I would’ve gotten my goody-two-shoes ass beat by some girl in eight-inch platform shoes and a Jack Skellington hoodie. Sigh.
Anyway, enough about my almost-life as a mini hipster.
Here’s “My Poem” (yes, that’s the only title – and it’s scrawled in cursive while the rest is in print):
2/23/01
My Poem
I’m always in the shadow,
Looking to the light.
Watching you across the room
Until the time is right.
I never know what to say,
or think or feel or do.
All I know is my world fades
When I’m standing next to you.
Here we have a rare rhyming example! We can obviously assume this poem is about David B., given the stalker-sounding phrases. Other than that, there’s not much to say except that it’s humiliating and I suck at poetry.
Don’t worry, we’ll have many, many more intricate and awful examples to come! Just wait til the summer between eighth and ninth grade. I had way too many feelings and way too much free time. There’s a little black notebook just filled with these gems. Get excited!
Also: before you judge my poetry too harshly, let’s take a look at Billboard’s top 10 songs of February 2001.
TWO TOP 10 SONGS BY SHAGGY. TWO.
I bet my eighth grade self knows more about rhyming than Shaggy.
And Dream, oh Dream. I did enjoy them. I remember listening to that song in BFF Emily’s van on the way to Border’s. (Where we were likely picking up the next Simon R. Green novel.) The fact that they were dancing around in iridescent pink pleather pants did not seem unusual to me.
Oh, 2001. You were kind to no one.