Saturday night I went to a Halloween party with my mother. A childhood friend's madre was throwing it, so we were both invited. I went as the material girl and my mom was Cheech, complete with moustache and a 8 inch joint. My mother never, ever drinks. Whithin an hour of being there, I was involved in some beer-chugging, cup-flipping fiasco with my mom on the other team. I couldn't stop laughing. She was better than anyone playing. I think she's been hiding something. N'est ce pas?

I have a diary that is un-secret, but I dread going to it because I read all the newest entries of the people I know in real life, and they depress me. Even if it's a "happy" entry. Yet, I abhor the thought of trying to analyse myself one more time so I will just trust my instincts that say not to go there.