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I spent the day in the New York apartment with Myrtle, along with the McKee's and Myrtle's sister Catherine. Oh, and of course Nick "Can I come?" Carraway. That guy. I know he's Daisy's cousin, but that doesn't really explain why he's come over to our house every weekend this summer. It's sort of weird how he just sits there watching everyone. Just, like, observing. I know the guy just moved to Long Island and everything, but I wish he'd get his own friends.

Anyway, I bought Myrtle a dog and then broke her nose on purpose.


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Another solid Gatsby rager tonight. Oranges and lemons and spiced baked hams as far as the eye could see! (Assuming those eyes are wearing spectacles that represent the moral distortion of modern American society, obvs.) Also, Gatsby has real books in his library. Actual books! What!? I mean, he didn't cut the pages so you can read them or anything, but still. Pretty nuts.

When I was in there I met this Midwestern dick who was going around asking everyone how they knew the host. Acting like he was soooo special because he got a personal invite to the party. Sor-ry the rest of us just showed up, you know? The invite SAID "bring everyone." Screw him.


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I finally got to go over to Jay's house today with my cousin. It was pretty obvious that Jay and I wanted to be alone, but Nick "Clueless" Carraway did not take the hint. AT ALL. Well, he left for a couple minutes to go hang out under a tree (?!) in his backyard, but then he came back without even knocking, which, AWK-WARD.

I wanted to be like, "Uh, thanks for giving us an alibi so Tom doesn't know we're doin' it, Cuz, but your work is done. You can go now!" Oh my god, and then he actually had the nerve to act like it was strange when I cried for ten minutes about how fancy Jay's shirts were.

He finally, finally left after we, like, basically started doing it right in front of him. I felt bad, but come on. Learn to read the room, guy.


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I think I need to move. My neighbor will NOT leave me alone.

Honestly, if he keeps it up, I'm gonna have to fake my own death or something. Maybe I'll get Wilson to "shoot me" and leave me "floating in the pool." Bet that'd get this guy to stop calling me up all the time and telling me how great I am.

I mean, what kind of a nutjob stalker stands around in a backyard WATCHING me for an hour when I'm having my nightly stare-intensely-at-the-green-light-of-my-ex-girlfriend's-dock-and-think-about-how-I-lost-her time? Just seems a little creepy, is all. Someone needs to get a life.


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I tried to get things going flirt-wise with Nick at Gatsby's party tonight – I have a golf tournament tomorrow and I like to get the tension out beforehand, if you know what I mean. But every time there was a romantic silence and I started to lean in, he asked me if I thought Daisy was in love with Gatsby, or if I knew how exactly Gatsby was involved with Meyer Wolfsheim.

And I was NOT being subtle. I had one of my boobs mostly out. I'm not sure if he saw it and just didn't care, or what. He just complimented me on my "little brown suntanned hands" and wandered off after Gatsby. I ended up making out with Klipspringer in a spare bedroom, which was gross. Seriously. That guy leaves his tennis shoes everywhere.

Anyway, I think Nick's definitely gay.


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Met my neighbor's wife's boyfriend's wife's cousin Nick today. Fuck that guy.