Dear Teenage Diary,

One thing goes right and another problem comes along, typical! Denise called round on Friday asking to talk to me. I went out and we had a long talk and ended up making up. Sheila didn’t like it one bit. Apparently she told Denise not to talk to me and then when she did, she told Denise she wasn’t speaking to her any more. Oh well, at least Denise had the sense to talk the problem through.

I went to Sally Foster’s birthday party on Saturday. I did invite Noah, but he was going to another party so couldn’t make it. The party was crap to say the least. I mean when you’ve got people like Marvin Goose and Hortensia Moon there you can’t exactly have a good time. Marvin was hanging round me all night, I swear he was chatting me up. He failed, to say the least. Sally made us play pass the parcel, which says it all really. The only added bonus was that there were dares with each layer. Mind you they were totally crap. I had to pretend to be a kangaroo for 5 minutes. Great huh! Sheila did actually speak to me, which surprised me no end. She’ll probably treat me like shit on Monday though.

Noah phoned me up on Sunday to tell me he’d go to the gym if I wanted to. He sounded awful, because he had a hangover from last night. He smoked his way through a packet of 30 fags and a couple of cigars – no wonder he felt so bad. Sheila also phoned asking whether I wanted a lift to the gym. I told her I was getting a lift from Mum. Anyway, I went to the gym and Sheila did speak to me quite a lot, but I felt so awkward because I had the pressure of trying to talk to her as well as the pressure of trying to talk to Noah. I swear Noah was getting really pissed off when me and Sheila were talking, because he must have guessed we were talking about him. Then when Sheila left with her mum, I  had to wait 15 mins with him. He was really quiet, well OK so was I. Then we waited outside because it got really hot. We sat down and we just started taking the piss out of everyone who walked past. Then Mum arrived so I got up to go and said bye.

I can’t figure him out. I don’t know whether he likes me as much as I like him. I don’t know whether we’re going out with one another. Whenever I ask him if he’d like to go out somewhere, he can never seem to make it and I get the  feeling he doesn’t want me to meet his mates, as though he’s ashamed of me.

 

*All names have been changed from those in my monthly teenage diary to protect the not so innocent.

Remember to come back Monday for the next installment of my 1995 teenage diary.


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Author Bio

Becky Stafferton is a full time blogger over on her website The Art of Healthy Living, mum of 2 and certified Queen of the hashtags. She continually strives to promote a realistic, sustainable and positive image of how to lead a healthy life. When she’s not writing or reading her teenage diary she can be found swigging Prosecco from the bottle, running through muddy puddles, making lists of lists, having a good old moan, scoffing flapjacks and squatting like her life depends on it.





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