I suppose all kids go through a diary stage at one point or another during adolescence, so I feel no shame in admitting that I kept two in the mid-1980s, though I never really enjoyed writing in them. Today, one would think that, as a travel journalist, I'd keep a meticulous travel journal, but every time I try to do that in addition to writing my assignment notes, I realize that I can't be bothered. I'm normally paid for this sort of thing. Who wants to write down the details of his trip three times (notes, diary, and story)? Not me. So it's no surprise that my diary from the fifth grade is full of entries (like the one at left) that are no longer than a paragraph: short and sweet and oftentimes completely ridiculous. I guess I didn't like writing for free then either.

But since this magazine has put me up to actually auditioning for Mortified, I find myself reaching up into the far heights of my living-room closet, looking for my fifth-grade diary. You see, fifth grade was a rather traumatic year for me. I had managed to finagle my first girlfriend, who, in an even more miraculous feat, also managed to become my first kiss. Her name was Tommy­ York. Go ahead and pause here to laugh. I've heard it all before … to this very day. So, as if my being the only guy in Marion, Indiana (and perhaps in the world), with a girlfriend named Tommy wasn't bad enough, she actually made it worse.

Transcript from my Mortified audition: She owned me. She was more experienced, more street savvy, more assertive. When she said, "Boo!" I nearly jumped out of my parachute pants. When she said, "Jump!" I didn't even wait to find out how far. My mother always called her "hard," which I'm still not sure the meaning of today. She dumped me nine times in fifth grade. NINE! But I loved her and kept going back for more.