Im looking for a bento box, it cant be pinku (thats japanese for pink) or any girl color. It has to be of 2 or more kotoba (thats japanese for 2 compartments) and has be be chibi (small) sized. And has to be really kawaii (cute). Also It has to be about 10-20 bux. And you have to post pics of it first (i want to make shure it's kawaii (cute)). And it would be nice if it came with matching chopstick holder (WITH chopsticks). OH! and it CANNOT have any cartoon pictures, or be made out of plastic. It has to be made of ceramic, or something like that. Also it would be nice if it was made in japan. and not in china or corea (korea) or whatever. I have found a bento box similar to the one im describing in e-bay, but it was 1 kotoba, and i dont want my gohan (rice) to touch my other things (it can get wet and i would not like that, plus 2 compartments looks more kawaii
"Sunset Boulevard" is a great movie! It's about a decent man drawn into a fading actresses life, due to a funeral for her pet monkey, and he becomes her gigolo.
Ok, I have never posted an E/N thread before but if there was ever a time to post one, now is it.
It all started when I introduced my girlfriend to WoW. I got her in my high end raiding guild thinking she would hit level 40 and then quit. She actually became quite involved, and I helped her with quests and such. She made a priest, which matched with my 60 mage in Tier2+AQ gear quite well.
Anyway, fast forward to her hitting level 60. After some convincing I get her into regular BWL raids in shitty blue and green gear. She is auto'd a lot of gear because all of our priests have pretty much everything they want out of BWL, and she is very happy about this.
It was kinda nice, coming home after work, and sitting in the same room with her, being able to share my hobby. I thought it strengthened our relationship significantly. We talked a lot more, spent more time together, and generally got along better. I should have known that when WoW became the topic of conversations 90% of the time that it might be getting too unhealthy.
After she was geared up a bit, she got used to being on ventrillo and chatting with the guild members. Now, I'm not the passive aggressive type so I made sure all of those little nerds knew that she was my woman, and that we lived together. She had a few puppy dogs follow her around, but nothing too serious. However, I began to notice that her and my guild master had been talking quite a bit in tells. Every time I came in the room she would switch to her combat log so I couldn't see what she was talking about in tells. I thought nothing of it, I used to have a nervous tick like that when I lived with my parents.
Well, one day I came home and she was in the bathroom. I looked on her screen and saw some very... sexual and detailed conversation with my guild master. My heart starts pounding.
I storm to the bathroom door while she's taking a shit and start pounding on it, I screamed "ARE YOU FUCKING MY GUILD MASTER" "ARE YOU SERIOUSLY FUCKING DOING THIS TO ME?" Silence. She knew what happened. She knew she should have logged off when she went to take a shit. I guess it was fate's way of clueing me in on what the fuck was going on.
She came out after about 20 minutes and told me that she had fallen in love with my guild master, let's call him "Tom".
Tom lives about 4 hours from us and we had never met, but she later confessed that one of the weekends she spent with her "parents" was actually at Tom's house. She said they had sex, a lot.
I started crying uncontrollably. What was I going to do? We are in a lease contract for another 7 months, how the fuck can I handle this? I went right to bed and locked the door, she slept on the couch that night. Days went by and we didn't talk much, and she slept on the couch. I stopped playing WoW all together.
I thought I could live out the lease until I heard that she is having Tom over. I fucking flipped. She claimed that she had a right to have people over, just like I did. I had to concede and let her invite this fucktard over. When he got there I just kind of glared at him to let him know I was pissed and not having any of his shit. He doesn't say anything to me and then they go in the computer room and shut the door.
I got to my bed and start to cry.
Then it starts. I hear them fucking. I start going insane with jealousy, rage, and sadness all at once. I don't know what to do. I went to the kitchen and got two Unisom, took them, and passed out shortly after.
That was last night. This morning, I logged on to WoW and deleted my mage in a crying fit. I then kicked my computer so hard that the heatsink fell off of the CPU and smashed into my video card, breaking it.
I guess I'm at a loss. I really don't know what to do. I've thought about killing myself, but I don't think it would be fair to me, or my friends and family... what little I have.
I guess you guessed that you would never hear from me again. Sometimes reality tricks our own assumptions. Yes, yes, it’s true, it really is, it’s me, Chloe Dove. Hold on, hold on, don’t get mad or upset. I know you’re reading this and getting outraged, but I beg of you not to, and to instead, hear me out. I know you wish I wans’t back, and that that wish is combined with a massive relief and happiness that I’m back. I know that these conflicting feelings are concocting a color and flavor in your heart which can only be described as bittersweetness. I understand. I know that you haven’t been around on your blog thing because of some things I might have said and done and that you’re hurt and pained by me, and I wont’ deny my actions, but I can say that I own them, and I am who I am. But, in order for you and me to both move on in this world, I have to deliver a blow that may be bigger than any other I have before, and may be the biggest blow you’ve ever had in your thirty-three years. Look, I know that in the past one year and seven months and twelve days, I’ve been a little compulsive and obsessive and possessive on you. I know that. I was young, and a little stupidly blindsided by your exoticness and independence. I latched on to that to fill other voids that were empty in my life, mainly love and compassion and hope and fear and need and more love. I thought you could make me whole, put my broken pieces back together again, or maybe make me understand my purpose on this life place. I realize now that I am partially responsible for our demise and lack of ever beginning. I know that my love is a lot, and sometimes too much for people, mainly you. I know that you could never accept a heart so full as mine, and that because my mom would never let me come and meet you, our not seeing each other face to face made you unable to assess my outer beauty, although you could grow to love the person who was only letters and typing on this blog place.
That’s basically why I’ve had to move on. Look, I decided the best thing to do was to come clean with all my Past, and that includes lovers and flames. It includes not being scared to tell the truth, no matter the pain and sorrow, and it includes knowing that the only way for us to live life from here on out is with clean slates and honesty and openness. So, before I take this next step, I had to approach you again, reappear here, and tell the whole truth and nothing but. However, I warn you to sit down and take a deep breath or have some Wild Turkey or whatever you do whne you’re about to be dealt a major blast. Because this is it, if you’ve never been blasted before like this.
I am getting married.
That’s it, how else could I say it. But just to say it like that. I’m getting married. I know those words pierce you and are difficult to absorb into your skin like lotion, making you slippery and unable to open jars. I know that you are feeling lightheaded and strange right now because you weren’t expecting this information, or maybe you weren’t even expecting me back and to be near you again. But, here I am, and with ALL THIS.
We met on account of him being my friend Naomi’s uncle, and his name, my fiancee’s name, that is, is Don. We met at a reunion Naomi’s family was having a few months ago. May 13, to be exact. It was at her home, which isn’t important. What is important is that an incredible spark and sparkle and chemistry and love was floating around me and Don and then somehow connected us like those little telephones you make out of cans and strings. He was metaphorically at one end, and I at the other, and the string brought us together. I guess in simpler terms, the string was like the loveseat we happened to share while Don poured me several margaritas. And then, we wound up seated together at dinner, well, at the table where we ate the cater-style food from Baja Fresh. We shared more laughs and magic and a few more margaritas. I learned about Don’s career and profession as a District Attorney for the city of Irvine. I don’t know how much you know about the law profession, but DA, as it’s called, is a really big deal and he is really respected and respectable, and high up. We flirted that night with our taquitos and Mexican Caesar salads, and I knew that he was interested in me romantically. What I saw in him as we exchanged information about our favorite tv programs (his: ‘Lost’ and ‘CSI,’ mine: ‘Laguna Beach’ and ‘America’s Got Talent’ and ‘Project Runway’) and our life goals (his: to be a wonderful father and a good man; mine: to get an internship at YM Magazine after college, and to wear thongs more often), was a gentle and kind and experienced man who could show me about the life he knew, and someone who would want to walk with me through the rest of our lives together. I heard in his voice the yearning to have someone understand the man he wants to be, and not the man he used to be, and that he could see in my wide eyes the glory and need to find out why I was put on this earth at this exact time, rather than in the 1700s or in thirty more years. I knew he knew I wanted to know, that I’d been questioning that for a while, and I knew he had been taken for granted by other women before; women who saw his profession and job as meal tickets and hope that a white picket fence would make their inability to make their ambitions realities a mediocre second prize. Plus, Don and I both expressed interest in visiting Fort Lauderdale one day for a vacation.
I realize that you may be willing and quick to judge me or him, because he is forty-five and I am twenty-one ,or because he is a DA and I am an ice-cream scooper, though I am about to be promoted to Assistant Manager, or maybe because he is a divorced man with two kids, Toby and Kristin. I have been judged by the few people who know about our love, and I have to face that ignorance and lack of support every f#*(&ing day. It takes a strong woman like me to be able to be involved with Don, and he is strong too, because, as he’s told me, people only think he’s with me for my young pussy. But, it’s not true. Nor am I hustling him like a golddigger Sugar-Daddy seeking vamp. I’m not. What we have is beyond using or abusing or anything behind closed doors. We are a family-to-be and we know that our time here on this planet Earth is a gift, not a priveledge or right, and that if we are meant to be, we are meant to be. The doors Don has opened up for me are large, and sometimes double-doors. And the same for me with him. Like, I can explain to him about the heartache and pain of his prepubescent daughter (I told him that if she gets her period on one of the weekends we have her at our place- he gets them every other weekend- that I could help her with tampons and cramps), while he has turned me on to Eagles cover bands. We are planning a trip to Napa where he can show me about wine tasting, and where I can go to an outlet mall. Together, we compromise and help, complete and support, and balance each other out. You could say we have a father-daughterish relationship, if it’s the kind of daughter who doesn’t mind seeing her father naked. I prefer to think of Don and I as interchangeable student and teachers. I love to hear the giggle in his voice when he explains things to me that “are from before you were even thought about,” and I love to tease him about how he falls asleep around 10pm. Although, some of that is because he’s a high-powered, hard-working career-driven man.
Don and I had a wonderful first few months courting and making love in the back of his PT Cruiser in my parents’ driveway. He sent me flowers at work, and I have had a really successful time lying to my parents about where I’ve been, when I’ve, in fact, been at Don’s apartment or out to dinner with him at Houston’s. In July, at the Fountain Valley Speedway, where one of his friends was racing his stock car, Don told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. Normally, a woman would swoon at this, but I’ve heard this so many times before from so many guys. And, also, to be honest with you, I had been, and then was at that moment, feeling so hestitant about the opinions of people thinking about us and our age difference, and me being so young to be a stepmom, and people thinking that neither one of us knew what we were doing, or that what we were doing was wrong, and I, quite frankly, was scared. Don told me how we could have a wonderful weekend in Laughlin, Nevada, getting married and having a honeymoon, or we could go to Morongo Casino, or, anything I wanted, really, he said. When we came back, he would help me move into his one-bedroom apartment, and we would plan fun activities for the weekends we were with his kids. He knew someone who worked in the OC school district, and they could help me get a job as a middle school attendance secretary, and I could still write and take some classes at night, though it woudlnt’ be necessary for me to have a big, huge career, because of Don’s career, and because he would be able to retire in the next decade or so. As he said these things, and I imagined the two of us living this life, I could only dream of us and see us as plastic figures, going through the motions of a controlling young girl, manipulating her dolls. I knew that what was scaring both of us was Society, and so society is like the little girl in this metaphor- controlling what we wanted, and not allowing us to be real. I knew we both felt the stings of judgement- he from his friends and motorcycle buddies, and me, from everyone. Each time he suggested it, I stalled him, and I could see both pain and understanding in his eyes.
But, then, something happened to me, something which revolutionized every second of the rest of my life, and revolutionized the time that Don hung an engagement ring from Robbins Brothers on my rearview mirror, and then I found it, to accompany a note in my glove compartment, which Don had hid, asking me to marry him. And it may be easy to cast this off as folklore or a ‘tale’ of sorts, but it remarkably happened to me at this time and for this reason for reasons I really understand. So, I present it here for you to understand, too, in all its glory and in the actuality of how it happened:
Last week, I was sunbathing in my backyard with no top on to get an even tan. I had swum a few laps because before I went outside, I ate two semi-large-sized brownies that someone had left in the kitchen. I felt guilty about my indulgence, and needed to work them off before sunbathing. I was about five minutes into my magazine article about fifty ways to surprise your man with sexual enticements, such as leaving him a sexy note in his lunch, or getting a babysitter and having a ‘parent’s night only’ out, and checking into a motel spontaneously. Out of the corner or my eye, I noticed a small alligator about the size of a shoe box. I was very surprised to see an alligator in my own backyard, and I didn’t know exactly how to handle the situation. We stared at one another for about five minutes before the alligator said ‘Hi, sorry to bother yous.’ I said, ‘No bother, uh, sir.’ ‘Please, call me Bruce,’ he answered. I asked him where he was from, and he said ‘Here’n there,’ which I thought was funny, since I’d only really heard people say that in movies. And, here, was an alligator telling me he was from ‘here and there.’ I went back to my magazine for a minute, but couldn’t concentrate with Bruce nearby. It seemed he had no intention of leaving anytime soon. I had the feeling that he was in need of a friend, a listener, and I had no qualms about serving that purpose for the alligator. Bruce began to tell me about his life. He was born in New Orleans many decades ago, when blues music was as background to the city as its mugginess. He missed those days, he said, ‘when the curve of a woman’s body could slip into a single, drawn out note and harmonize with the sound in the air.’ ‘It’s not like that now,’ he explained, ‘It’s all jyration and staccato nowadays.’ He had a nostalgic look about him, and I knew he missed the Big Easy. He didn’t even have to tell me so. ‘The world was a different place back then, kid,’ he told me. ‘Back then, well, back then, you could walk into a bar and everyone’d look up and smile at ya like it was your last day on earth, or maybe your first. No matter what, they’d look at you like you was the most important gator on the whole damn planet. No matter how many more gators they really knew. And it worked that way with me and them, too. Huh, I’d close a bar down, five, six in the morning, a whole new groupa guys’d come in, some with their ladies, women they’d knew since they was infants, some gals they’d just found on the street. Some, ha, well, some’d be their own damn sister-in-law. But, it didn’t matter back then. They’d come in for another rounda beers, a few more stiff ones, and for another set of chords laid out, and to make a few more moments count, and I’d hoot ‘n holler at them like I ain’t had seen them since we was kids, even if the truth was that I’d seen ‘em the night before. And I tell you something, kid, I remember each one of those damn nights, nights fallin’ inta mornings inta the next sunset and a whole ‘nother night, and I remember each song I ever heard created at that moment, each song I heard trying to be recreated, each time someone’d try to copy someone else’s sound. It’s all up here.’ He tried to point to his head, but it was hard because his little legs weren’t very long. Bruce told me more about New Orleans and music and the many women he’d seduced, and been seduced by, the women who’d broken his heart, the women to whom he’d made passionate, sticky love atop bar stools and drum sets, where the grooves of a harmonica would imprint themselves on the women’s backside, and for a week or so, she’d giggle about the temporary tattoo from the night of passion with Bruce, saying it’d only be a week till she’d be ready for another. Soon, I found out that some years later, as the scene began to die down, and some of his friends moved on to settle down and buy property, or to live in more urban cities and ‘finally grow up,’ Bruce had an intense and exciting affair with a woman from Delacroix, a place where, Bruce explained, ‘ain’t nothing no good ever came outta.’ Well, a few months later, the woman explained to Bruce that she was with child, or child-gator, and that she was planning on having the baby, but because her father did not approve of Bruce’s lifestyle of hanging out at bars, taking odd jobs here and there, she had to take the child on the run, and no, she couldn’t marry Bruce, because her father would kill her and the child as well. She disappeared the next day, Bruce explained, and ‘I aint’ never seen the likesa her since.’ Bruce grew quiet as he told me this and he looked off at what would be the distance if he could rotate his neck that far, but since he couldn’t, he really only stared at our cinder-block wall for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he explained to me that since this time, he has been wandering around America, looking for the woman, looking for his child, whom he feels is most likely a man. He often thinks he sees his kin in the backs of trucks, or at concerts, and in fact, was so sure that he had seen the child leaving a roadside gas station in Safford, Arizona, that Bruce hitchhiked two hundred miles in the back of a truck of pot-smugglers running from the law, putting his life in jeopardy in hopes of catching his son before he was taken to a zoo, or worse.
His travels and search have led him to remarkable places and extraordinary circumstances. He told me a tale of some time in Boise, where he had the opportunity to be involved in some very important, revolutionary reptilian-human scientific research, but he could not make the commitment if it meant he could devote his time to finding his child. In Fayattesville, Arkansas, Bruce was offered the chance to be open for Pat Benatar at a Live Aid style concert, which, he says, was a hightlight of his life. In the Hamptons, Bruce learned to cook five-star vegetarian food from a world-renowned European chef who saw that Bruce’s clawed hands were ideal for the intricate kind of sauce-making and food-plating that humans are normally so clumsy with, and now he can list culinary talents alongside his CPR certification, and being an official ASL interpreter, a skill he picked up in a two-day course in Minneapolis. Before heading down to California, Bruce was in Nova Scotia, where he had aided investigators in the arrest of Robert Fisher, a notorious serial killer who has been on the loose since 2001. In the past few weeks before he came to Orange County, Bruce had been employed as a stand-in for Nicholas Cage in the move ‘Flight 93.’
I asked Bruce if he would ever stop looking for his son. He told me that he never would. He paused again, and stared at the cinder-blocks. ‘You know, somethin’, kid? I ‘m not even sure if Velma’ (that was the woman from Delacroix’s name) ‘was even really pregnant. I think she mighta just been scared. But I tell you something. She gave me hope, and a dream, and I known ever since she told me and I got the notiona follow her and look for them all these years, that it was what I was meant to do. I never been one to follow the system or care about what other people was thinking of me. Heck, if I’d a done that, I’d a signed up to serve in the Marine Corps, or woulda wound up some mental-case straight outta ‘Nam. But I always been different, kid. And not just because I’m an alligator. No, no. It’s cause I always knew that there was something about being given the chance to be alive, and the only time I ever question that is when I think I might have another kid out there, and the only thing I fear is not getting to teach him all this…and I tell you one more thing, if he aint’ really around, and all this been just a big dream inside a simple alligator’s mind, I won’t regret a single moment. Cause ain’t nothing more poisoning than regret, is there, kid? Regret, like war-and I ain’t never been a fighter, with myself nor no one else- is what people think help us progress, to put right was we thought was right at that time, but have since decided was wrong, but there ain’t nothing nor no one out their can judge what’s right nor wrong, but both war ‘n regret don’t do no good in gettin’ us to tomorrow, or worse, on feeling today, they jus’ keep us stuck on yesterday. ’ And a single tear fell from Bruce’s glassy gator eye.
I had been really happy and smiling up until that point, but then, all of a sudden, my cheeks started to hurt, and I felt as if a large marshmallow had been laid out on top of me, and I felt unable to breath and I was confused. I couldn’t feel anything in my body right then, and everything became blurry. I looked down for a few minutes, staring at my magazine, hoping the pictures would come into focus. But they wouldn’t. I felt dizzy, so I put my head in between my legs, and noticed that my bikini line needed a shave desperately. I sat this way for what felt like an eternity, and then I suddenly felt sunlight and a breeze came by, and the pages of my magazine blew fast from one side to another. I thought of Don and us and me and the two of us dancing to blues music in a seedy bar, not knowing or caring what time it was, singing karaoke songs like ‘I Just Want to Keep On Loving You,’ and laughing until dawn broke, and then driving fifty miles east to get some pancakes at an even seedier diner, where no one knew us, but the people were friendly and would call me ‘honey.’ I thought of all the hesitation I had felt before, and wondered who that was that was running away, being chased by other’s opinions, because I’ve never thought of myself as a run-awayer before, but, instead, a run-to-er, and, so, I thought, instead, of myself running in a field of billowing cornstalks, where a storm was about to break out, and in the background, ‘Buckets of Rain’ is playing loudly (this is a song by popular 60s’ musician, Bob Dylan, which Don turned me on to), and in this vision of the new me, I don’t look back toward who or what is chasing me, I just go straight ahead, and as I’m running, I pass Ronnie and Mom and Dad and you’re there, too, but I keep running, and Gerald and Lorie are coming toward me, too, from the sides, and everyone I know is coming from distances on the sides, towards me faster and faster and the music is getting louder, and I’m running, and I trip a few times, but I keep going forward, and the music creshendos and finally, just when I think I can’t run any more, it’s Don there, with his Doobie Brothers t-shirt from the Orange County Fair from 1987, and he’s smiling and his arms are out to catch me and I do, and it’s us like that is the next step, not the one before. The one right now, and only right now.
I was weeping by this time, by the end of my vision, and my magazine pages were getting wet, and the sun was shining hard on me, so I rubbed the tears out of my eyes as i said “Bruce, that’s it, you’re right, it’s supposed to be me and Don, no one else. This is my life, here, right now, and I can’t let go of that…” I looked over to where Bruce had been, but he was gone. I got up and frantically called out ‘Bruce! Bruce!’ I turned over stones and checked under the lounge chairs and in the swimming pool to see if Bruce had gone for a dip. But he was no where to be seen. I stood frozen in the backyard worried that Bruce had gone somewhere dangerous, and I tried to think how much more dangerous it was for someone so small and able to fit in a crawl space, and I really began to panic, but then Ronnie came outside with McFarlane and Alfonso, because they’d heard me screaming, and then Ronnie told me to put my ‘lopsided, not-even-one-handful-with-both-in-one-hand tits away,’ because ever since he realized that I wear a padded bra and that my left breast is lower than the right, he has not been interested in watching me change my clothes anymore. I looked down, and had forgotten that I was still semi-nude, which means that I had spoken that entire time to Bruce without my top on. But, I didn’t care, I was so effected by all that I had heard and thought and felt. I began to shriek at Ronnie and McFarlane and Alfonso about Bruce and everything, but no one was listening, they were just giggling and I noticed Alfonso had a sizeable boner. I was disgusted by the immaturity of my brother and his friends for not understanding anything beautiful. Finally, Ronnie explained to me that I had eaten the brownies that he and his banda had made, and apparently they were laced with marijuana that Alfonso had stolen from his dad. According to these boys, my encounter with Bruce had not been real at all, but rather, the effects of a rather intense drug trip. They left, laughing, and I could have sworn I heard McFarlane ask if Ronnie had ever tried to stick my nipples between the prongs of a fork. I started to get my stuff together and before I went inside, I took one last look around the backyard. I noticed that where I remembered Bruce to have been earlier, was a large oversized dried leaf from our neighbor’s banana tree. From a certain angle, it did look remarkably scaly and stoic, not unlike Bruce himself. It would do no good to have been sad about the truth of Bruce, because it would have been exactly the opposite of what he was teaching me about regret. What I did do after that night, though, was tell Don I was ready to marry him.
So, I’ve been engaged for one week now, and though plans aren’t settled and I haven’t told my mom I’m even with Don, I knew the first step was telling all the people from the past, the ones I felt had been chasing me in my drug-induced vision, and coming clean with them that they were and are just like Bruce explained, only the past. So, that’s what I’m telling you now, in case your hopes were up or you were having more feelings about me. I think you, too, might benefit from Bruce’s wise words about Yesterday, and I think it would do you good to put me in that category. It’s harsh, but true. However, I do intend on inviting you to the wedding, when we make our plans, because I honestly think that Don and you meeting is the only way for Tomorrow to happen. You know, if we let go of the past. So, just let me know what weekend before Halloween is good for you, and if you have any transportation problems getting to the OC, because if so, I can make arrangements to have you picked up at the train station or airport, if you have the means to take a flight.
Oh, one more thing: Don and I recently rented a movie from Hollywood Video, entitled “The Usual Suspects.” It involves a complex plot where people die and identities are eskewed. In fact, the idienties are so skewed that it is not apparent until the final moments of the movie that Hollywood It-Actor Kevin Spacey is really a mastermind behind a group of hoods. There are facts along the way that the audience does not recognize because THEY ARE NOT LOOKING, but at the end, we realize that the so-called ‘made-up’ culprit of Keyser SOze is, and always was, a one Keven Spacey. I hope I have not spoiled this movie for anyone, but I had to make this point, because the point is that no one thought to think of Kevin Spacey because they were so bent on thinking he was someone else, and they were so swept up in what they wanted to believe, and they had the guy sitting and pretending to gimp, right in front of them. In the end, he gets away, and although they know the truth of who he is, they are not able to come to terms. They will all live their lives not knowing what it would have felt like to have known that the others knew exactly who they all were. So, I guess, I’m just curious: would you want to know if someone wasn’t’ really who they said they were? Like, if someone was acting like one way but were really someone else, would you want them to, metaphorically admit to being Keyser Soze? Just curious. . I think it’s only apropros that the piercing words of Keven Spacy at the end of the movie are: “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he did not exist. And like that... he is gone.”…. Oh, also, do you think Ronnie or Don’s roommate from college, whose name is also Don, should be my Don’s best man? We can’t decide.
Your not-quite-blonde, Psyche!-you-thought-I-was-gone, quick-n-easy-causer-of-a-hard-on, soon-to-be-Mrs.-Don, Chloe Dove
PS: Have you ever tripped off marijuana? If so, are you comfortable sharing the experience with me?
PPS: We’ll probably be registered at Bed Bath And Beyond for our wedding, just in case you wanted to know.
PPS: If you come to the wedding, you probably can’t bring a guest, because that would be weird, but I think you might get along pretty well with Naomi, or maybe Caitlin. I wouldn’t be jealous or anything, since, you know, I’d be getting married and all.
9 comments:
I think it's one step from these tests to livejournal.com.
P.S.
"Sunset Boulevard"?
Im looking for a bento box, it cant be pinku (thats japanese for pink) or any girl color. It has to be of 2 or more kotoba (thats japanese for 2 compartments) and has be be chibi (small) sized. And has to be really kawaii (cute). Also It has to be about 10-20 bux. And you have to post pics of it first (i want to make shure it's kawaii (cute)). And it would be nice if it came with matching chopstick holder (WITH chopsticks). OH! and it CANNOT have any cartoon pictures, or be made out of plastic. It has to be made of ceramic, or something like that. Also it would be nice if it was made in japan. and not in china or corea (korea) or whatever. I have found a bento box similar to the one im describing in e-bay, but it was 1 kotoba, and i dont want my gohan (rice) to touch my other things (it can get wet and i would not like that, plus 2 compartments looks more kawaii
shitsurei shimasu. gomen nasai, otearai ga ugoki masen. kohhi gyunyu o kudasai. domo arigato, Cooley-san. domo, domo...
Cooley-
"Sunset Boulevard" is a great movie! It's about a decent man drawn into a fading actresses life, due to a funeral for her pet monkey, and he becomes her gigolo.
Are you ready for your close-up?
Just notice actress should be possessive...but it was early this morning...does Houseman even read/post to his blog anymore?
welp, I'm probably due for an MBA
Ok, I have never posted an E/N thread before but if there was ever a time to post one, now is it.
It all started when I introduced my girlfriend to WoW. I got her in my high end raiding guild thinking she would hit level 40 and then quit. She actually became quite involved, and I helped her with quests and such. She made a priest, which matched with my 60 mage in Tier2+AQ gear quite well.
Anyway, fast forward to her hitting level 60. After some convincing I get her into regular BWL raids in shitty blue and green gear. She is auto'd a lot of gear because all of our priests have pretty much everything they want out of BWL, and she is very happy about this.
It was kinda nice, coming home after work, and sitting in the same room with her, being able to share my hobby. I thought it strengthened our relationship significantly. We talked a lot more, spent more time together, and generally got along better. I should have known that when WoW became the topic of conversations 90% of the time that it might be getting too unhealthy.
After she was geared up a bit, she got used to being on ventrillo and chatting with the guild members. Now, I'm not the passive aggressive type so I made sure all of those little nerds knew that she was my woman, and that we lived together. She had a few puppy dogs follow her around, but nothing too serious. However, I began to notice that her and my guild master had been talking quite a bit in tells. Every time I came in the room she would switch to her combat log so I couldn't see what she was talking about in tells. I thought nothing of it, I used to have a nervous tick like that when I lived with my parents.
Well, one day I came home and she was in the bathroom. I looked on her screen and saw some very... sexual and detailed conversation with my guild master. My heart starts pounding.
I storm to the bathroom door while she's taking a shit and start pounding on it, I screamed "ARE YOU FUCKING MY GUILD MASTER" "ARE YOU SERIOUSLY FUCKING DOING THIS TO ME?" Silence. She knew what happened. She knew she should have logged off when she went to take a shit. I guess it was fate's way of clueing me in on what the fuck was going on.
She came out after about 20 minutes and told me that she had fallen in love with my guild master, let's call him "Tom".
Tom lives about 4 hours from us and we had never met, but she later confessed that one of the weekends she spent with her "parents" was actually at Tom's house. She said they had sex, a lot.
I started crying uncontrollably. What was I going to do? We are in a lease contract for another 7 months, how the fuck can I handle this? I went right to bed and locked the door, she slept on the couch that night. Days went by and we didn't talk much, and she slept on the couch. I stopped playing WoW all together.
I thought I could live out the lease until I heard that she is having Tom over. I fucking flipped. She claimed that she had a right to have people over, just like I did. I had to concede and let her invite this fucktard over. When he got there I just kind of glared at him to let him know I was pissed and not having any of his shit. He doesn't say anything to me and then they go in the computer room and shut the door.
I got to my bed and start to cry.
Then it starts. I hear them fucking. I start going insane with jealousy, rage, and sadness all at once. I don't know what to do. I went to the kitchen and got two Unisom, took them, and passed out shortly after.
That was last night. This morning, I logged on to WoW and deleted my mage in a crying fit. I then kicked my computer so hard that the heatsink fell off of the CPU and smashed into my video card, breaking it.
I guess I'm at a loss. I really don't know what to do. I've thought about killing myself, but I don't think it would be fair to me, or my friends and family... what little I have.
August 29, 2006
I guess you guessed that you would never hear from me again. Sometimes reality tricks our own assumptions. Yes, yes, it’s true, it really is, it’s me, Chloe Dove. Hold on, hold on, don’t get mad or upset. I know you’re reading this and getting outraged, but I beg of you not to, and to instead, hear me out. I know you wish I wans’t back, and that that wish is combined with a massive relief and happiness that I’m back. I know that these conflicting feelings are concocting a color and flavor in your heart which can only be described as bittersweetness. I understand. I know that you haven’t been around on your blog thing because of some things I might have said and done and that you’re hurt and pained by me, and I wont’ deny my actions, but I can say that I own them, and I am who I am. But, in order for you and me to both move on in this world, I have to deliver a blow that may be bigger than any other I have before, and may be the biggest blow you’ve ever had in your thirty-three years.
Look, I know that in the past one year and seven months and twelve days, I’ve been a little compulsive and obsessive and possessive on you. I know that. I was young, and a little stupidly blindsided by your exoticness and independence. I latched on to that to fill other voids that were empty in my life, mainly love and compassion and hope and fear and need and more love. I thought you could make me whole, put my broken pieces back together again, or maybe make me understand my purpose on this life place. I realize now that I am partially responsible for our demise and lack of ever beginning. I know that my love is a lot, and sometimes too much for people, mainly you. I know that you could never accept a heart so full as mine, and that because my mom would never let me come and meet you, our not seeing each other face to face made you unable to assess my outer beauty, although you could grow to love the person who was only letters and typing on this blog place.
That’s basically why I’ve had to move on. Look, I decided the best thing to do was to come clean with all my Past, and that includes lovers and flames. It includes not being scared to tell the truth, no matter the pain and sorrow, and it includes knowing that the only way for us to live life from here on out is with clean slates and honesty and openness. So, before I take this next step, I had to approach you again, reappear here, and tell the whole truth and nothing but. However, I warn you to sit down and take a deep breath or have some Wild Turkey or whatever you do whne you’re about to be dealt a major blast. Because this is it, if you’ve never been blasted before like this.
I am getting married.
That’s it, how else could I say it. But just to say it like that. I’m getting married. I know those words pierce you and are difficult to absorb into your skin like lotion, making you slippery and unable to open jars. I know that you are feeling lightheaded and strange right now because you weren’t expecting this information, or maybe you weren’t even expecting me back and to be near you again. But, here I am, and with ALL THIS.
We met on account of him being my friend Naomi’s uncle, and his name, my fiancee’s name, that is, is Don. We met at a reunion Naomi’s family was having a few months ago. May 13, to be exact. It was at her home, which isn’t important. What is important is that an incredible spark and sparkle and chemistry and love was floating around me and Don and then somehow connected us like those little telephones you make out of cans and strings. He was metaphorically at one end, and I at the other, and the string brought us together. I guess in simpler terms, the string was like the loveseat we happened to share while Don poured me several margaritas. And then, we wound up seated together at dinner, well, at the table where we ate the cater-style food from Baja Fresh. We shared more laughs and magic and a few more margaritas. I learned about Don’s career and profession as a District Attorney for the city of Irvine. I don’t know how much you know about the law profession, but DA, as it’s called, is a really big deal and he is really respected and respectable, and high up. We flirted that night with our taquitos and Mexican Caesar salads, and I knew that he was interested in me romantically. What I saw in him as we exchanged information about our favorite tv programs (his: ‘Lost’ and ‘CSI,’ mine: ‘Laguna Beach’ and ‘America’s Got Talent’ and ‘Project Runway’) and our life goals (his: to be a wonderful father and a good man; mine: to get an internship at YM Magazine after college, and to wear thongs more often), was a gentle and kind and experienced man who could show me about the life he knew, and someone who would want to walk with me through the rest of our lives together. I heard in his voice the yearning to have someone understand the man he wants to be, and not the man he used to be, and that he could see in my wide eyes the glory and need to find out why I was put on this earth at this exact time, rather than in the 1700s or in thirty more years. I knew he knew I wanted to know, that I’d been questioning that for a while, and I knew he had been taken for granted by other women before; women who saw his profession and job as meal tickets and hope that a white picket fence would make their inability to make their ambitions realities a mediocre second prize. Plus, Don and I both expressed interest in visiting Fort Lauderdale one day for a vacation.
I realize that you may be willing and quick to judge me or him, because he is forty-five and I am twenty-one ,or because he is a DA and I am an ice-cream scooper, though I am about to be promoted to Assistant Manager, or maybe because he is a divorced man with two kids, Toby and Kristin. I have been judged by the few people who know about our love, and I have to face that ignorance and lack of support every f#*(&ing day. It takes a strong woman like me to be able to be involved with Don, and he is strong too, because, as he’s told me, people only think he’s with me for my young pussy.
But, it’s not true. Nor am I hustling him like a golddigger Sugar-Daddy seeking vamp. I’m not. What we have is beyond using or abusing or anything behind closed doors. We are a family-to-be and we know that our time here on this planet Earth is a gift, not a priveledge or right, and that if we are meant to be, we are meant to be. The doors Don has opened up for me are large, and sometimes double-doors. And the same for me with him. Like, I can explain to him about the heartache and pain of his prepubescent daughter (I told him that if she gets her period on one of the weekends we have her at our place- he gets them every other weekend- that I could help her with tampons and cramps), while he has turned me on to Eagles cover bands. We are planning a trip to Napa where he can show me about wine tasting, and where I can go to an outlet mall. Together, we compromise and help, complete and support, and balance each other out. You could say we have a father-daughterish relationship, if it’s the kind of daughter who doesn’t mind seeing her father naked. I prefer to think of Don and I as interchangeable student and teachers. I love to hear the giggle in his voice when he explains things to me that “are from before you were even thought about,” and I love to tease him about how he falls asleep around 10pm. Although, some of that is because he’s a high-powered, hard-working career-driven man.
Don and I had a wonderful first few months courting and making love in the back of his PT Cruiser in my parents’ driveway. He sent me flowers at work, and I have had a really successful time lying to my parents about where I’ve been, when I’ve, in fact, been at Don’s apartment or out to dinner with him at Houston’s. In July, at the Fountain Valley Speedway, where one of his friends was racing his stock car, Don told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. Normally, a woman would swoon at this, but I’ve heard this so many times before from so many guys. And, also, to be honest with you, I had been, and then was at that moment, feeling so hestitant about the opinions of people thinking about us and our age difference, and me being so young to be a stepmom, and people thinking that neither one of us knew what we were doing, or that what we were doing was wrong, and I, quite frankly, was scared. Don told me how we could have a wonderful weekend in Laughlin, Nevada, getting married and having a honeymoon, or we could go to Morongo Casino, or, anything I wanted, really, he said. When we came back, he would help me move into his one-bedroom apartment, and we would plan fun activities for the weekends we were with his kids. He knew someone who worked in the OC school district, and they could help me get a job as a middle school attendance secretary, and I could still write and take some classes at night, though it woudlnt’ be necessary for me to have a big, huge career, because of Don’s career, and because he would be able to retire in the next decade or so. As he said these things, and I imagined the two of us living this life, I could only dream of us and see us as plastic figures, going through the motions of a controlling young girl, manipulating her dolls. I knew that what was scaring both of us was Society, and so society is like the little girl in this metaphor- controlling what we wanted, and not allowing us to be real. I knew we both felt the stings of judgement- he from his friends and motorcycle buddies, and me, from everyone. Each time he suggested it, I stalled him, and I could see both pain and understanding in his eyes.
But, then, something happened to me, something which revolutionized every second of the rest of my life, and revolutionized the time that Don hung an engagement ring from Robbins Brothers on my rearview mirror, and then I found it, to accompany a note in my glove compartment, which Don had hid, asking me to marry him. And it may be easy to cast this off as folklore or a ‘tale’ of sorts, but it remarkably happened to me at this time and for this reason for reasons I really understand. So, I present it here for you to understand, too, in all its glory and in the actuality of how it happened:
Last week, I was sunbathing in my backyard with no top on to get an even tan. I had swum a few laps because before I went outside, I ate two semi-large-sized brownies that someone had left in the kitchen. I felt guilty about my indulgence, and needed to work them off before sunbathing. I was about five minutes into my magazine article about fifty ways to surprise your man with sexual enticements, such as leaving him a sexy note in his lunch, or getting a babysitter and having a ‘parent’s night only’ out, and checking into a motel spontaneously. Out of the corner or my eye, I noticed a small alligator about the size of a shoe box. I was very surprised to see an alligator in my own backyard, and I didn’t know exactly how to handle the situation. We stared at one another for about five minutes before the alligator said ‘Hi, sorry to bother yous.’ I said, ‘No bother, uh, sir.’ ‘Please, call me Bruce,’ he answered. I asked him where he was from, and he said ‘Here’n there,’ which I thought was funny, since I’d only really heard people say that in movies. And, here, was an alligator telling me he was from ‘here and there.’ I went back to my magazine for a minute, but couldn’t concentrate with Bruce nearby. It seemed he had no intention of leaving anytime soon. I had the feeling that he was in need of a friend, a listener, and I had no qualms about serving that purpose for the alligator.
Bruce began to tell me about his life. He was born in New Orleans many decades ago, when blues music was as background to the city as its mugginess. He missed those days, he said, ‘when the curve of a woman’s body could slip into a single, drawn out note and harmonize with the sound in the air.’ ‘It’s not like that now,’ he explained, ‘It’s all jyration and staccato nowadays.’ He had a nostalgic look about him, and I knew he missed the Big Easy. He didn’t even have to tell me so. ‘The world was a different place back then, kid,’ he told me. ‘Back then, well, back then, you could walk into a bar and everyone’d look up and smile at ya like it was your last day on earth, or maybe your first. No matter what, they’d look at you like you was the most important gator on the whole damn planet. No matter how many more gators they really knew. And it worked that way with me and them, too. Huh, I’d close a bar down, five, six in the morning, a whole new groupa guys’d come in, some with their ladies, women they’d knew since they was infants, some gals they’d just found on the street. Some, ha, well, some’d be their own damn sister-in-law. But, it didn’t matter back then. They’d come in for another rounda beers, a few more stiff ones, and for another set of chords laid out, and to make a few more moments count, and I’d hoot ‘n holler at them like I ain’t had seen them since we was kids, even if the truth was that I’d seen ‘em the night before. And I tell you something, kid, I remember each one of those damn nights, nights fallin’ inta mornings inta the next sunset and a whole ‘nother night, and I remember each song I ever heard created at that moment, each song I heard trying to be recreated, each time someone’d try to copy someone else’s sound. It’s all up here.’ He tried to point to his head, but it was hard because his little legs weren’t very long.
Bruce told me more about New Orleans and music and the many women he’d seduced, and been seduced by, the women who’d broken his heart, the women to whom he’d made passionate, sticky love atop bar stools and drum sets, where the grooves of a harmonica would imprint themselves on the women’s backside, and for a week or so, she’d giggle about the temporary tattoo from the night of passion with Bruce, saying it’d only be a week till she’d be ready for another. Soon, I found out that some years later, as the scene began to die down, and some of his friends moved on to settle down and buy property, or to live in more urban cities and ‘finally grow up,’ Bruce had an intense and exciting affair with a woman from Delacroix, a place where, Bruce explained, ‘ain’t nothing no good ever came outta.’ Well, a few months later, the woman explained to Bruce that she was with child, or child-gator, and that she was planning on having the baby, but because her father did not approve of Bruce’s lifestyle of hanging out at bars, taking odd jobs here and there, she had to take the child on the run, and no, she couldn’t marry Bruce, because her father would kill her and the child as well. She disappeared the next day, Bruce explained, and ‘I aint’ never seen the likesa her since.’
Bruce grew quiet as he told me this and he looked off at what would be the distance if he could rotate his neck that far, but since he couldn’t, he really only stared at our cinder-block wall for what felt like an eternity.
Finally, he explained to me that since this time, he has been wandering around America, looking for the woman, looking for his child, whom he feels is most likely a man. He often thinks he sees his kin in the backs of trucks, or at concerts, and in fact, was so sure that he had seen the child leaving a roadside gas station in Safford, Arizona, that Bruce hitchhiked two hundred miles in the back of a truck of pot-smugglers running from the law, putting his life in jeopardy in hopes of catching his son before he was taken to a zoo, or worse.
His travels and search have led him to remarkable places and extraordinary circumstances. He told me a tale of some time in Boise, where he had the opportunity to be involved in some very important, revolutionary reptilian-human scientific research, but he could not make the commitment if it meant he could devote his time to finding his child. In Fayattesville, Arkansas, Bruce was offered the chance to be open for Pat Benatar at a Live Aid style concert, which, he says, was a hightlight of his life. In the Hamptons, Bruce learned to cook five-star vegetarian food from a world-renowned European chef who saw that Bruce’s clawed hands were ideal for the intricate kind of sauce-making and food-plating that humans are normally so clumsy with, and now he can list culinary talents alongside his CPR certification, and being an official ASL interpreter, a skill he picked up in a two-day course in Minneapolis. Before heading down to California, Bruce was in Nova Scotia, where he had aided investigators in the arrest of Robert Fisher, a notorious serial killer who has been on the loose since 2001. In the past few weeks before he came to Orange County, Bruce had been employed as a stand-in for Nicholas Cage in the move ‘Flight 93.’
I asked Bruce if he would ever stop looking for his son. He told me that he never would. He paused again, and stared at the cinder-blocks. ‘You know, somethin’, kid? I ‘m not even sure if Velma’ (that was the woman from Delacroix’s name) ‘was even really pregnant. I think she mighta just been scared. But I tell you something. She gave me hope, and a dream, and I known ever since she told me and I got the notiona follow her and look for them all these years, that it was what I was meant to do. I never been one to follow the system or care about what other people was thinking of me. Heck, if I’d a done that, I’d a signed up to serve in the Marine Corps, or woulda wound up some mental-case straight outta ‘Nam. But I always been different, kid. And not just because I’m an alligator. No, no. It’s cause I always knew that there was something about being given the chance to be alive, and the only time I ever question that is when I think I might have another kid out there, and the only thing I fear is not getting to teach him all this…and I tell you one more thing, if he aint’ really around, and all this been just a big dream inside a simple alligator’s mind, I won’t regret a single moment. Cause ain’t nothing more poisoning than regret, is there, kid? Regret, like war-and I ain’t never been a fighter, with myself nor no one else- is what people think help us progress, to put right was we thought was right at that time, but have since decided was wrong, but there ain’t nothing nor no one out their can judge what’s right nor wrong, but both war ‘n regret don’t do no good in gettin’ us to tomorrow, or worse, on feeling today, they jus’ keep us stuck on yesterday. ’ And a single tear fell from Bruce’s glassy gator eye.
I had been really happy and smiling up until that point, but then, all of a sudden, my cheeks started to hurt, and I felt as if a large marshmallow had been laid out on top of me, and I felt unable to breath and I was confused. I couldn’t feel anything in my body right then, and everything became blurry. I looked down for a few minutes, staring at my magazine, hoping the pictures would come into focus. But they wouldn’t. I felt dizzy, so I put my head in between my legs, and noticed that my bikini line needed a shave desperately. I sat this way for what felt like an eternity, and then I suddenly felt sunlight and a breeze came by, and the pages of my magazine blew fast from one side to another. I thought of Don and us and me and the two of us dancing to blues music in a seedy bar, not knowing or caring what time it was, singing karaoke songs like ‘I Just Want to Keep On Loving You,’ and laughing until dawn broke, and then driving fifty miles east to get some pancakes at an even seedier diner, where no one knew us, but the people were friendly and would call me ‘honey.’ I thought of all the hesitation I had felt before, and wondered who that was that was running away, being chased by other’s opinions, because I’ve never thought of myself as a run-awayer before, but, instead, a run-to-er, and, so, I thought, instead, of myself running in a field of billowing cornstalks, where a storm was about to break out, and in the background, ‘Buckets of Rain’ is playing loudly (this is a song by popular 60s’ musician, Bob Dylan, which Don turned me on to), and in this vision of the new me, I don’t look back toward who or what is chasing me, I just go straight ahead, and as I’m running, I pass Ronnie and Mom and Dad and you’re there, too, but I keep running, and Gerald and Lorie are coming toward me, too, from the sides, and everyone I know is coming from distances on the sides, towards me faster and faster and the music is getting louder, and I’m running, and I trip a few times, but I keep going forward, and the music creshendos and finally, just when I think I can’t run any more, it’s Don there, with his Doobie Brothers t-shirt from the Orange County Fair from 1987, and he’s smiling and his arms are out to catch me and I do, and it’s us like that is the next step, not the one before. The one right now, and only right now.
I was weeping by this time, by the end of my vision, and my magazine pages were getting wet, and the sun was shining hard on me, so I rubbed the tears out of my eyes as i said “Bruce, that’s it, you’re right, it’s supposed to be me and Don, no one else. This is my life, here, right now, and I can’t let go of that…” I looked over to where Bruce had been, but he was gone. I got up and frantically called out ‘Bruce! Bruce!’ I turned over stones and checked under the lounge chairs and in the swimming pool to see if Bruce had gone for a dip. But he was no where to be seen. I stood frozen in the backyard worried that Bruce had gone somewhere dangerous, and I tried to think how much more dangerous it was for someone so small and able to fit in a crawl space, and I really began to panic, but then Ronnie came outside with McFarlane and Alfonso, because they’d heard me screaming, and then Ronnie told me to put my ‘lopsided, not-even-one-handful-with-both-in-one-hand tits away,’ because ever since he realized that I wear a padded bra and that my left breast is lower than the right, he has not been interested in watching me change my clothes anymore. I looked down, and had forgotten that I was still semi-nude, which means that I had spoken that entire time to Bruce without my top on. But, I didn’t care, I was so effected by all that I had heard and thought and felt. I began to shriek at Ronnie and McFarlane and Alfonso about Bruce and everything, but no one was listening, they were just giggling and I noticed Alfonso had a sizeable boner. I was disgusted by the immaturity of my brother and his friends for not understanding anything beautiful. Finally, Ronnie explained to me that I had eaten the brownies that he and his banda had made, and apparently they were laced with marijuana that Alfonso had stolen from his dad. According to these boys, my encounter with Bruce had not been real at all, but rather, the effects of a rather intense drug trip. They left, laughing, and I could have sworn I heard McFarlane ask if Ronnie had ever tried to stick my nipples between the prongs of a fork. I started to get my stuff together and before I went inside, I took one last look around the backyard. I noticed that where I remembered Bruce to have been earlier, was a large oversized dried leaf from our neighbor’s banana tree. From a certain angle, it did look remarkably scaly and stoic, not unlike Bruce himself.
It would do no good to have been sad about the truth of Bruce, because it would have been exactly the opposite of what he was teaching me about regret. What I did do after that night, though, was tell Don I was ready to marry him.
So, I’ve been engaged for one week now, and though plans aren’t settled and I haven’t told my mom I’m even with Don, I knew the first step was telling all the people from the past, the ones I felt had been chasing me in my drug-induced vision, and coming clean with them that they were and are just like Bruce explained, only the past. So, that’s what I’m telling you now, in case your hopes were up or you were having more feelings about me. I think you, too, might benefit from Bruce’s wise words about Yesterday, and I think it would do you good to put me in that category. It’s harsh, but true. However, I do intend on inviting you to the wedding, when we make our plans, because I honestly think that Don and you meeting is the only way for Tomorrow to happen. You know, if we let go of the past. So, just let me know what weekend before Halloween is good for you, and if you have any transportation problems getting to the OC, because if so, I can make arrangements to have you picked up at the train station or airport, if you have the means to take a flight.
Oh, one more thing: Don and I recently rented a movie from Hollywood Video, entitled “The Usual Suspects.” It involves a complex plot where people die and identities are eskewed. In fact, the idienties are so skewed that it is not apparent until the final moments of the movie that Hollywood It-Actor Kevin Spacey is really a mastermind behind a group of hoods. There are facts along the way that the audience does not recognize because THEY ARE NOT LOOKING, but at the end, we realize that the so-called ‘made-up’ culprit of Keyser SOze is, and always was, a one Keven Spacey. I hope I have not spoiled this movie for anyone, but I had to make this point, because the point is that no one thought to think of Kevin Spacey because they were so bent on thinking he was someone else, and they were so swept up in what they wanted to believe, and they had the guy sitting and pretending to gimp, right in front of them. In the end, he gets away, and although they know the truth of who he is, they are not able to come to terms. They will all live their lives not knowing what it would have felt like to have known that the others knew exactly who they all were. So, I guess, I’m just curious: would you want to know if someone wasn’t’ really who they said they were? Like, if someone was acting like one way but were really someone else, would you want them to, metaphorically admit to being Keyser Soze? Just curious. . I think it’s only apropros that the piercing words of Keven Spacy at the end of the movie are: “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he did not exist. And like that... he is gone.”…. Oh, also, do you think Ronnie or Don’s roommate from college, whose name is also Don, should be my Don’s best man? We can’t decide.
Your not-quite-blonde, Psyche!-you-thought-I-was-gone, quick-n-easy-causer-of-a-hard-on, soon-to-be-Mrs.-Don, Chloe Dove
PS: Have you ever tripped off marijuana? If so, are you comfortable sharing the experience with me?
PPS: We’ll probably be registered at Bed Bath And Beyond for our wedding, just in case you wanted to know.
PPS: If you come to the wedding, you probably can’t bring a guest, because that would be weird, but I think you might get along pretty well with Naomi, or maybe Caitlin. I wouldn’t be jealous or anything, since, you know, I’d be getting married and all.
dog hates ambulance becuase it thinks it can run faster and bark louder
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