Dear Diary, a twilight fanfic

Beyond The Story - Forks' Forgotten Friends

Title: Dear Diary

Penname: Lil Miss Golden Eyes

Characters: Jessica

Disclaimer: I do not own twilight…or a Diary…or Lady GaGa but for some reason I do own this…story…if you can even call it that LOL

Dear Diary (if that is in fact your real name),

You have, admittedly, wronged me, and you know it. Ever since the moment I got you from Smiggle, the most fantabulous stationary shop ever, I thought, 'Oh isn't this nice! It's a diary with a voice-activating lock! I can show this off to everyone!' But no, you weren't like that- were you? You know how long it took for me to open you, you stupid diary thing? The answer is a long time. And I don't like to waste time. Really, I don't. You may be all pretty and colourful and covered in sparkles, but you're annoying. Almost as annoying as that Bella Swan. I mean you're all good in theory, but why can you have a normal lock? Everyone knows my voice changes with my moods…

So, I got you for a reason, didn't I? I have to confess all of my secrets and all of my thoughts. Well, here's one to start us all off - I have a stupid zit. And, what makes it worse is that I thought I had gotten out of this awkward teenage stage... I mean I was never really awkward. Lets face it, I was awesome, pretty, popular and I had a boyfriend (even if he was crushing after someone else for most of the time, but no one else really knows that…I think). I had the occasional pimple, but I'm like nearly twenty one years old! I should be over this by now!

You're not the only one that's wronged me.

It's on my freaking forehead, too! It's pretty much a target…smack bang in the middle! Its all high and mighty with its pinkness, and its ugliness, and oh my God it's just sitting there. It's like that one girl, Bella, the one who I mentioned before, from high school, who completely ruined my chances of finding my one super-special soul mate. Well, zit, you've done your job. You've become a Bella. Don't feel proud, though; you'll get a boyfriend as your reward and that should just... satisfy...

My goodness. I just gave my ugly, smelly zit a boyfriend. I could certify my craziness with the simple reassurance that I have a boyfriend, but- newsflash- I don't.

How does my zit get boys to like her, anyway?

Forgetting about my zit's sexcapades, Diary, you have to realize that I'm queen of the crazies. I mean, my one true high-school best friend for forever is an attorney. She just got out of law school and she already makes thousands of dollars. That would make anyone insane- especially me, Miss Hulk-with-envy. I can turn green if I want to, damn it. But I don't want to…I look better with…not green coloured skin. I would never find a boyfriend if I had green skin. Not that I'm racist to people with green skin. I formally apologise to Shrek and to The hulk and to the Oompa Loompas of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory…oh wait they had orange skin… never mind.

I'm still living off of my mom, and she's threatening to cut off the money that automatically gets transferred every week. I mean, thanks for the help, mom, but don't do that. You should love me enough that you can pay my expenses. Even if they do include five different kinds of zit medication. If Proactiv can work for Jessica Simpson, it will damn well work for me, Jessica Stanley…it has to!

I'm sorry! It's the largest, ugliest, stupidest looking little zit on the face of the planet! I swear, if it had a sharpie it would draw a dot and a U right next to it so it would be laughing at me! And I know you're tutting, Diary, but imagine if you had a zit! Look, I'll just get this pen and draw on your cover-

Oh, shit, that's a big dot.

Well, you know, I think it's beautiful! I really do! It frames your square face elegantly, doesn't it? Maybe I'll just draw you some big ol' lips and a nose and some almond shape eyes and maybe I'll give you a wig. Like, glue it onto the top. Except you don't really have a gender, do you?

I'll venture into that later.

So, Diary, guess what? I, Jessica Stanley, have a job interview today. Aren't you excited?! If I ever do draw a face on you, I'll make you a happy journal. Diary. Really, what do you prefer? Diary is a feminine term, but Journal's got this pizzazz. Like, 'oh, I'm a journalist, and I write in a journal! I know! Spiffing, right? Spot of tea and a crumpet, then?'

Confession from Jessica Stanley, international Gerascophobic woman of immaturity:

I am not British. At all. Really, my mother's mother's mother was born in Ireland and my father's father's father's father's father was born in Quebec. So, really, it's a joy that they met and had lil' ol' me. One in a billion-zillion-trillion. Can you count that high?

No, you can't. I thought so.

But, anyway, OH MY GOSH I HAVE A JOB INTERVIEW. It's not much- actually, it pays six-hundred a week (all week- but, I am a journalist, so what did I expect?). But considering since I graduated from high school, and I've done like…nothing with my life it's something to look forward too…I guess. I would prefer to be married like Bella Swan…or should I say Bella Cullen…or at least be engaged. Hell! Right now I would even settle for a boyfriend. Oh well…I'll just settle for my job…interview…whatever. Its thirty minutes away from New York- I'm in a hotel right now, by the way, with the little of my money in an account. I've been here for a while actually. It's…okay.

You wouldn't believe what the place I'll live in is called.

Poughkeepsie. I... am going to live... in Poughkeepsie. And write for the Poughkeepsie Times, or the Poughkeepsie Daily, or Life in Poughkeepsie. I forget what it's called. I can really only remember Poughkeepsie. It sounds like a name for a dog. My gosh. But I gotta admit…it's better than my hometown of Forks… that sounded like I lived in a stupid cutlery drawer. I mean, who names a town 'Forks?' honestly! Kinda reminds me about that t-shirt I saw in K-mart the other day… it had a picture of a spoon and a fork and read 'spooning leads to forking' …weird.

If I have a dog, I'm going to name it something NORMAL. Like New York City the pug, or Staten Island the malty-poo. I mean, who needs names like Fluffy and Spot when you have a town named Poughkeepsie? I think I read a story about Poughkeepsie once…I don't really remember it…I think it's about a homeless dude falling for a pretty business women or something. I think it was about a train station though. Not a dog.

Oh, speaking of Poughkeepsie, I'm moving in later this week to an apartment complex. It's tiny, tiny, tiny- the bedroom is big enough for a bed, two little counters, and a closet. One of the counters is for a lamp, the other one's for a small TV, 'cause my living room is going to be my den with my old computer.

I'll have fun deleting the old documents. Or using prompts, when I'm feeling lazy and don't want to write something new. Maybe Mr. Jackson won't notice.

Mr. Jackson is my boss. He doesn't own Poughkeepsie Journal (What is it called? I don't know) but he's my boss anyway and he makes at least three times more than I do. I don't know if I should expect some old snooty guy with a hookah or a rich coattail-riding English man.

I don't have anything against the British. Really, I don't. I mean, my cousin (ADOPTED. ADOPTED.) is British and she's a total 'slag'. She calls me that a lot. I, personally, have no idea what it means. It sounds stupid, though.

But I digress. Anyway, Diajournal, are you ready to hear my plans of the job life? My whole snazzy routine? Because I have one. And it is so amazing I would make your happy face all jealous and stuff. Like, 'oh, she is so great and amazing and has such an organized life and boyfriend but wait she doesn't have a boyfriend but her zit isn't a virgin so why can't I have a zit that is a virgin or better yet not have a zit at all?'

DIGRESSING. I hate this stupid zit. I want it to die in a pile of concealer. Strangled by tweezers, burned in a pile of laser surgery- can you get zit laser surgery? How much do you think it costs? Probably more than I can afford! And do I have a chance at all of explaining how I got from my job routine to zit medication?

Oh, zit medication! The deathly poison of zit medication... a zit's carbon monoxide! Deadly... doesn't smell... and does the job quickly...

OH MY GOSH AM I EVER GOING TO TALK ABOUT MY SCHEDULE?

Okay, so, totally going to wake up three hours before work starts (I don't even know when work starts. From what I've heard, it either starts at 7 or 11. Frankly, I prefer 11, because waking up at 4 isn't my cup of tea). So, I would like write for like an hour- just fun stuff, like my novel or you- and then I would tidy up, like showering and eating and brushing of the teething, and then I would go to the nearest Poughkeepsie Starbucks. Haha I said Poughkeepsie. I wonder if there are any hot boys in Poughkeepsie… I wonder if any hot boys will bring me coffee in Poughkeepsie?

What can I say? I love their frappuchinos. And I know, I know, I'm sorry I'm not more exciting and don't get some drink like black coffee with Sweet-N'-Low with some blond toupee on. For your information, Diary, I have all my hair. And my blood sugar is fine, so I'll just get some of that sugary cold drink, please-kay-thanks. Oh and im not blonde either…ew. I can't believe I almost forgot to tell you that. I am a brunette beauty. But not like Bella Swan brunette. More like yummy chocolate brunette. Kay? Hmm…yummy chocolate. Maybe I'll get a hot chocolate instead…

You know you love it too. Unless... well, are you allergic to milk? Diary, are you lactose intolerant? Am I lactose intolerant? Because, you know, that could totally be causing the zits. The whole milk thing.

Maybe I'll just have one of their chocolate muffins and water. Healthy and decently delicious.

OH! Oh, Diary, how could I almost forget, I HAVE TO PICK OUT AN OUTFIT! Something frilly and business-like. Perhaps, Angela (The Attorney) could 'lend' me one of her really nice suits (you haven't taken clothes from anyone, Diary? What are you, lonely?) But she doesn't really live close to me any more… oh well there goes that idea.

Of course, there is always this amazing, beautiful, Mickey Mouse T-Shirt that I got in Disney a few years back. Maybe a T-shirt isn't the best etiquette, but what do I know? I'm going to live in Poughkeepsie. Maybe the men all wear lady's clothes. HOW WOULD I KNOW? YOU CAN'T GIVE ME RESPONSIBILITIES LIKE THIS, POUGHKEEPSIE!

Damn Poughkeepsie and its stupid dressing etiquette. I wonder if I can make it to the mall and get like a jersey or something, so I can fit in…

See, now I'm just scorning Poughkeepsie. I'll quit my job in three months, I'll bet you. What do you bet? A gender change? Because I will get you a pretty polka dot cover, Diary. And I'll name you Dia-nna, or Sharma, forbid. I mean, Sharma, really? Is that Irish? It definitely doesn't sound Irish. Jessica makes sense, you know, because it's very ... common. But Sharma? I mean, if I wanted zing, they could have just named me like... Threeleaf.

I'M SORRY, THAT WAS AN UNINTENDED, RUDE COMMENT ABOUT THE IRISH. I LOVE THE IRISH. LIKE THAT MOVIE, THE LUCK OF THE IRISH. WHAT A GREAT MOVIE. THE KID THAT WAS A MIDGET WAS NOT BAD LOOKING. WHY CAN'T DISNEY PLAY THAT MOVIE ANYMORE?

Oh I also like that Irish dude out of the second Charlies' Angels movie… can you say HAWT!

Okay, I am done. But I will get back to you. It'll be our little thing- "Irish Names That Would Totally Be Better than Sharma, Maybe Even Better Than Jess, But Sharma Seems To Be A Much More Exotic Name Than Jess Because Everyone Accepts Jess Because Who Isn't Named Jess Now-A-Days?"

I think it could work out.

INTWTBBTS,MEBTJ,BSSTBAMMENTJBEAJBWINJ N-A-D.

I can memorize that. And you probably can too, because you're lonely and you never steal your friend's clothes. And you live in Poughkeepsie, so there probably won't be any man journal to catch your eye, ooh. Or if you're a man, you're probably going to end up gay listening to my boy analysis. I mean, wow, what a hunk-of-sweet-lovin'.

Well, Diary, I would write more, but I have an interview to get to. And I am just going to wear the Disney shirt, because it's creative, right? And they like creativity? Well, they should. I'm not that great with headline news. In fact, I don't know jack about anything minus... food. And short story hour, and horoscopes…OH! I can surf…maybe I should tell them that! That will probably think I mean surf the web, not surf the ocean and that would like totally make them think im like good at research! SCORE!

I'll check my horoscope, Diary, and yours. You are... a Leo, methinks. And I am a Pisces, so let's see just how lucky our horoscopes should be... I mean, since I write them, I always give the Pisces something really good... like, 'Your wealth shall splendor the mountains'... of course, here I am, ready to move to Poughkeepsie...

But maybe it'll be a good thing…

Maybe some homeless guy will fall in love with me, like that story I once read… or maybe I am the homeless? I mean I live in a hotel or is it motel? I never know the difference… I have like no money and a crappy soon to be ex job. Soooo maybe some rich handsome guy will fall in love with me and we can get married and have pretty babies and live happily ever after! THE END! Oh who am I kidding…probably will never happen.

Maybe I will get this job and my boss would be super duper hot (way hotter than Mike Newton my ex…but let's not even go there) and he can like totally fall in love with me but be in denial and we can totally have this love-hate relationship full of hot sex and secrets…hmm…sex… maybe in his office! On his desk! Diary, I really need to get laid. Maybe that can be my horoscope for next week!

"You've got to take a good look around you and figure out who could really use your help and who's just whining. Once you've made the call, you can throw yourself into their business wholeheartedly."

Oh, yeah, totally. I bet now I'm going to meet some jerk off who whines and whines and whines thanks to this stupid horoscope. I'm a cursed woman, Diary! I just said I needed to make my horoscope sexy and sultry! I am cursed forever and ever by the Ring and the Mordor and stuff! I don't want a whiny Poughkeepsian! Why me?

And let's see what your horoscope is, my dear Dianna Diary, for I am sure you will be assured a loving man waiting for your tender touch and sweet, sweet loving. I'm sorry, but when you're a journalist, these things just come out like wildfire. Burn, baby, burn!

Oh, I'm sorry, you're a Cancer, Diary, how dare I. Man, I haven't written a horoscope in nearly forever, right? So I have to go to Horoscopology or whatever it's called... I can't be expected to know these things! I like memorizing movies, not Japanese culture!

Although I love their food. Yum, right?

"You're all about your iPod or books or Myspace today..."

I'm sorry, Diary, but oh my God I am ... laughing

Way too much. I apologize for my cruelty. I just never knew you were into music. I mean, the books part wasn't surprising, and the Myspace, well, who doesn't like Myspace, but an iPod? I can just imagine you, decked out in those fancy 500 buck headphones and listening to some crazy band like... What would you listen to, anyway, Diary? High School Musical? Because I TOTALLY WOULD NOT SUPPORT THAT. Also…come to think about it…Myspace is pretty crap these days…I think peeps are all about the Facebook… ew no one would want my face on their book at the moment…stupid zit. Do you think Zac Efron has a Facebook?

You're going to have to make a living, Diary, if you're going to be listening to Zac Efron's electronically created voice. I mean, I understand about this whole mixing voices thing, because he's probably not a good singer, but really? Suck it, Zac, now everyone's going to have expectations of you. I mean we all expected you to hook up with Vanexxxa Hudgens (thanks Perez).

Don't make fun of me Diary! You're probably LOLing at me right now. I know that look, Diary. You give it to me so. It's all, 'You're so messed up with your stupid zit and all'.

I hate this zit. I want it to leave my face. It's terribly unattractive and I've had to use concealer all week. It has even made me cry. I don't like looking like this. Angela thinks that my red eyes (cause of the crying…not drugs) are due to being dumped. I know, it's not much of an accusation, as I don't have a boyfriend…now, or anymore, but I am very sick of hearing ATA talk about her fantastic fiancé, Ben. Luck, thou loathe me.

ATA - Angela the Attorney. Pull it together, Diary.

Oh, yes, my phone's ringing. I got a new ringtone yesterday, Diary, and it is just so catchy that I wanted to listen to it a little but no one has called me since I got it. In fact, I probably have like three contacts on there- home, ATA, and Voicemail…I deleted Mike the Newt and Bella the Swan a while ago, otherwise I would've had five. What is with people I know having animal last names?

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah!
Roma-Roma-ma-ah!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your bad romance

Stupid Lady GaGa and her songs getting stuck in my head.

You know, I should probably pick it up... I'll transcribe for you, okay, Diary?

"Hello?" (yes, I am very for -

Diary, I'm late for my interview. Why did you keep me writing in you for extra long? I mean, I know we were talking about ringtones, and then horoscopes and the Irish and all this super-duper fun stuff, but you can't just cant do that! It's mean. Unfair. Un-

No, I mean, I'm really late.

) (I had to close up the parentheses! They're in love!)

- Jess (ica) – see they did it again! I told you they are in love!

Thanks for reading! Hope you got a little bit of...ahem...insight into the mind of Jessica Stanley, and what she's been up to since graduating from FHS!

Dont forget to review!