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11:36 p.m. - 04.24.2003
Hit on at Denny's
I went to Denny's with Andrea, and some guys were trying to hit on us.

Okay, I'm not racist. Let's get that straight.

But every black guy who has hit on me has, at one point or another, mentioned marijuana.

Look. I'm sorry. I'm not a pothead. I don't smoke marijuana. Never have, never will. Word is marijuana makes you paranoid. And I'm paranoid enough as it is.

"I'm really religious. I go to church every Sunday. They tell us if you do drugs, you're gonna burn in hell."

And if the pot wasn't enough, one of the guys mentioned his two kids. Not that I would never go out with a guy who had kids. But come on. I'm eighteen. I would be so pissed if my mom wanted to have another kid. (Which, by the way, would never happen.) I don't like kids. I don't feel like baby-sitting.

One of the guys told his friend to come over by me and give me a hug.

"No, thanks. I'm good."

He starts taking off his jacket, like he's getting ready to get up.

"I'm saving my hugs for marriage."

All in all, it was a boost for my self-esteem. I guess.

 

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