Old News
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Everything hurts. My jaws. My head. My stomach. My back. My eyeballs. My heart. My heart. My poor, bleeding, ripped apart heart. My heart. My unwanted, cast aside heart. My heart. I don't know why I'm doing this. Yes, I do. I loved him. Did love, have loved, will love, must...not...love. What a silly thing, this love. Pah! I spit on it. Oh, but I would have done anything for love. I did anything for you. I wanted to do everything for you. I only wanted one little little little small thing - you. I just wanted you to give me you. I gave you me. Maybe you had no you left to give. Maybe you gave it all away another time. I think maybe, maybe that's it. I have no me left to give anyone. I have no me left over for myself. I have to make a new me. Help - I'm dying for you. Help - I'm pining for you. Help help help - make me mad. I can hate you when I'm mad. But I can't can't can't stay mad at you for long. I can go to bed mad, but I can't wake up mad - I can only wake up sad sad sad sad sad. I sound the wrong kind of mad. I don't know why I'm doing this. I was never like this before. Before, I was you. Before, I was half-pitying, half-sorry, but rather relieved, thinking it was for the best. Before, I yimmered and yawed all that, "It's not you, it's me, I have nothing to give you" crap. Before, I hung up the phone, felt bad, terribly bad, but on the whole not too too bad. I never felt battered and discarded. I was never crushed. I never sobbed so hard my eyes went bone dry and my jaws felt sore from the being in the constant crying-frown-position. I never felt that I would never ever ever love anyone else ever ever ever again. If you still talked to Henry you could confirm how heartless I was. But honestly - you're a fool. Or maybe I'm the fool. Oh I don't know anything anymore. Stupidly, I have nothing left. I reviewed everything in light of you. My life was you. Before you, during you, between you. Now I have to fight the after you. | |
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Dustin: Neoconservative. Smart. Funny. Likes attention. Nerdy looking, but everyone says he is sleeping with the best-looking girl in our class. They sure hang out together a lot. Suspiciously, he's been observed walking out of her apartment in the morning with wet hair. Grade school, high school, law school - the gossip's always the same. DustinAS: yo | |
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
Love What a fucking joke. | |
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Misery It's always at night. The howling voices sweep past the walls of my fortress, so reliable by day. They chase each other giddy in the corners. They swirl around the ceilings, and they slither against the walls. As the dark deepens they grow bolder. They knock the pencil from my hand, and they slam the textbook shut on my fingertips. They dance madly across the laptop screen until my eyes blur in exhaustion from trying to look past them. They poke my arm when I try to sleep, and they nudge my shoulder persistently as I walk around the house. They laugh in scornful glee when I try to drown them with late-night television, and if I open a novel, they shake their heads in mock pity before flipping the book out of my hands. They are killing me. All night long they harass me, and in the morning as they fade away I'm left a wobbly, exhausted mess. I drag myself to school and back, I nod in my chair and ignore the lecture. I wait for breaks and for class to be over, I inhale a dozen cigarettes, I seem to be eating only leftovers all the time. Maybe he did really love me, but I couldn't believe him because I'm crazy. But I'm not crazy. And I can't believe that he really did, no matter what he says. It's funny how I only write during these harsh post-breakup periods. It's funny to read what I wrote almost exactly a year ago, about the same person. Funny in a just-got-kicked-in-the-stomach kind of way.
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Saturday, February 07, 2004
Saturday It's 3:02 on in the afternoon. I just smoked a cigarette, and in its lazy hazy aftermath I am taking a break from my ferocious studies in Crim Law and noticing things. From downstairs, I can hear the muted tones of a television show in Spanish. A woman is murmuring softly, and a man is responding angrily. I can imagine the closeups- the woman's tearful gaze, her perfectly Revlon-laquered lips trembling; the man's furrowed brow, his snarling mouth. There's an airplane flying overhead. From whence did it come, to where is it going? Is there a passenger looking down on my house right now, a little square chip in the midst of a hundred other square chips? Is he wondering who lives in that house, what does she look like, what music does she like to listen to when she lays down to sleep at night, what book has she read over and over? The apartment is a mess. The kitchen table is covered with unopened mail, stacks of catalogues, and brochures from various law schools. They should quit sending me stuff, I'm already enrolled. There's a million magazines - Time, New York, Harper's, the occasional Vanity Fair and Vogue - stacked in piles against the bookshelf. Unwrapped but unused Christmas gifts are scattered about. There's one of those little doodads that you blow into at midnight left over from the New Years Eve party on the computer desk. The fondue pot is getting tarnished. The Ikea box for the chair I bought a month ago is still leaning against the corner of the kitchen. It's very lonely in here.
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Tuesday, December 30, 2003
New Years Eve Eve I'm back. I've been gone a long long time but now I'm back. I can't say I feel different or refreshed. I can't say things have changed. But things are astir. I'm waiting on my LSAT results. I hope I didn't do too badly. One of my friends just took her GMATs and she has to take them again, and I'm hoping I won't have the same fate. I'll simply die if I have to take that stupid test again. Not that I found it particularly difficult, but it's just such a pain in the ass. And expensive. I'm really annoyed that having applied to only one school so far, I've already spent about $400 on test registration, materials, LSAC registration... Such crap! Anyway, if I did ok on the LSAT there's a slight chance, a very slight chance, that I will be able to attend law school beginning in January, as opposed to next fall. I say "slight chance" because supposedly Cardozo will consider my application even though it was two weeks late, even though they won't get my score until three days before orientation. But the dean of admissions said I could still apply, so I did. I still can't believe I am applying to Yeshiva University. I'm not going to tell anybody that. If I go, I'm just going to say "Benjamin Cardozo School of Law." Also, my brother's getting married. Everyone asks me if I feel weird that my brother's getting married, but I really don't feel weird about it and I think it's high time he finds someone anyway! He's practically 30, you know. So tomorrow night is New Year's Eve. Ben is flying up from North Carolina; I'm going to go to LaGuardia to pick him up tonight with Jay. I'm so excited! I haven't seen him since the Chris's wedding in August. That's where I met his mom. His mom is so cute; whenever I call his house she picks up the phone and chats with me awhile. Last time we talked she told me she loved me. I thought that was hilarious and I think Ben was mortified. She's too nice. Oh yeah, so tomorrow... I think people are coming over. Ben, Jay, Andrew, Andrea, Rob, Andrea's two friends, Kelli, Dominique, Eugene, Chrissie, Nick. Possibly Paul Gomez. Possibly Kurt and Kara. I'm kind of nervous. I have to be a host. It's going to be my fault if everyone doesn't have a fun time. I have to buy lots of champagne-that's a guarantee of a fun time, no?
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Friday, September 19, 2003
boo! ha. gotcha, didn't I. | |
Thursday, September 18, 2003
bored board I am seriously bored. Bored beyond belief. Mind-numbingly bored. Bored to near comatose state. So bored I can't even think of anything mildly not boring to write about. I went on a board hoping for diversion. It didn't work. It's so pointless. I hate jobs.
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Wednesday, September 10, 2003
movies I picked up The English Patient. "C'mon Janet, you know I can't stand stupid shit like that." Right. How come I can sit through Re-Animator and Dawn of the Dead and Slashers, and you can't sit through The English Patient? Although, I guess you did sit through The Road Home. You actually liked it. And He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not. You fell asleep during Amelie, though. | |
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
more I went home today again for dinner. Hey, I'm broke, and my mother's food is delicious, nutritious, and best of all, freeeeee!!! Anyway, as I was sitting there spooning rice into my mouth, my eye fell on this custard bowl. Something about the film on the bowl caught my attention. To confirm my suspicions, I bounded over to the fridge and opened the freezer door. Oh my. Not just one, not two, not three, but four, count 'em, four cartons of ice cream! UMMA!!! What? She came rushing in from watering the plants, wiping her hands on her apron. My poor mom. She's just like me (or, I'm just like her). Ridiculously sweet-toothed. Ma, you're not supposed to be eating this! Four cartons of ice cream? No no, that's for Bible study - someone from the group brought it. Ma. What was in the bowl? I picked up the bowl and shook it at her. I only had a little! Mom! This bowl was full! This is a big bowl! You can't be eating ice cream! It's weird to hear a parent whimper. I only had a little. Did you feel sick after? A pause. A little. Sigh. Kids, even grown-up kids, shouldn't ever have to see their parents get weak. ******** On another note. You've come into my bed, but not into my heart. The door was left open but you can't seem to find your way in. Slowly it will shut against you - you better hurry. ******** That totally sucks. Don't ever ever use that. ******** My girlfriend was telling me about how Korean actresses get their facial bones shaved. Apparently, it makes a big difference- thinner faces, more delicate features. Personally, I think it's pretty gross. I don't want to sound judgmental, but I really think young women who go for plastic surgery are pretty shallow. You can't hold onto your looks anyway, sorry honey, time and gravity will make you ugly. Better work from the inside out. | |
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
rant rant rant #1. Why all the rants on Craigslist about Asian females dating white males? It makes me feel very self-conscious. It's funny because as a matter of preference I probably would rather date a Korean guy. There's just more simpatico. We can tell each other really cheesy Korean-American jokes, like "Why does everyone prefer Korean tissues? Because they are hyu-ji." We can go eat Korean food together without my having to explain everything on the menu. He knows what I mean when I say I feel ddabddabheh. But whatever. I like my boyfriend, thank you. He's cute, he's smart, he's funny. He's good at crosswords. It's just weird because I never really gave the fact that I was dating a white guy a second thought until I started reading Craigslist. Even the whole Korean preference thing was consciously formed - because I was weighing pros and cons of dating Korean guys versus white guys - directly as a result of reading too much Craigslist! I have a problem because all Craigslisters have a problem. Why does an Asian girl dating a white guy have to mean that the Asian girl is selling out? Or that she is trying to climb a social ladder? Or that she is too ugly to get the attention of a decent Asian guy? Or that she has no pride in her own culture? Or that she is simply a sex object being fetishized by the white guy she's with? It's pissing me off! I am allowing myself to be negatively affected by the stupid tripe of mindless posters. #2. Had a very depressing cry-into-the-pillow type of night last night. This time it was a result of the dinner conversation I had with my mother, not Craigslist (Craigslist would never really affect me that way). I really wish she didn't tell me everything. I really don't want to know. I really want to ignore ignore ignore. #3. I hate my job. It's despicable. Horrendous. Draining. Numbing. As I started my last entry, so shall I end this one.
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Friday, August 15, 2003
s.o.s I absolutely despise my job. My mother came over last night at approximately midnight, braving the dead traffic lights. We sit in candlelight. She says, "Your father has changed since you moved out. He used to love you so much, brag about you all the time, carry your pictures in his wallet. Now he never mentions your name." I say, "I never felt that he did all those things." When she leaves, I cry into my bedcover. But only a little. I'm okay. I'm always okay. I'm tired of New York. There's an MK party tonight at Centro-Fly. I will roll my eyes and go, acting jaded and secretly wishing for some new excitement. I have a stupid stint for the next four Saturdays promoting Levi's Type 1 jeans. The dumb skirt is tight on the ass, loose on the waist. But who says Korean girls don't have booty? That lovin' feelin' is gone...gone...gone...whoa-oo-oohh. Help!
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Thursday, July 31, 2003
reunion I really don't know why we were having a reunion, it was only five years since we graduated high school. I still kept in touch with all my friends from high school on a regular basis and to be mean but honest I thought there was really no one else I cared to see. Actually, that's not true. I did want to see Melissa M. Only because that girl hated me in high school for no apparent reason and still does, even though she's seen neither hind nor hair of me since our graduation. I know this because she happens to be working with my friend Agnes in the same office. Agnes IMed me one day last week to tell me. Vannah: Hey, I just found out one of my coworkers went to high school with you. Appel: Yeah? Who? Vannah: Melissa. Appel: No shit! Melissa M-??? That girl hated me in high school. Vannah: Haha! I can tell. Appel: What? Did she say something? Vannah: No, I could tell by the way she asked 'Are you friends with her?' Appel: Oh my god. Vannah: It was pretty funny. Appel: Did she say anything else? Vannah: Well, she said you were in some snotty clique in high school. Appel: I was NOT! Vannah: That you started. Appel: I did NOT! Vannah: She also told me Dorothy was a lesbian. Appel: Was a lesbian? She probably still is. Who cares? What a bitch. Vannah: Yeah, she seems pretty bitter. She also started drilling me about what you do these days and if you have a boyfriend and such. Appel: What did you tell her? Vannah: I told her I really didn't know. Appel: Good job. Ask her if she's going to the reunion this Saturday. Vannah: She's out to lunch. Too bad Melissa never showed up. I am glad I went though, even if the only reason I did was because Andrea was the organizer and she would have hounded me to death if I hadn't. It really was so cool to see everyone again. Slouching, chubby, shy Dennis, now tall, handsome, confident Dennis. Cathy, the girl who never had a boyfriend in high school, first to be married. Eric, out of the closet and awesomely hip. So many others, some changed a lot, some just a little, some not at all. Fly in the ointment: Dr. Ostfeld didn't recognize me! He called me JiYeon! JIYEON! THEN he later told Andrea he didn't recognize me because I looked so much more mature than I used to! What does THAT mean? Does that mean OLD? Eye cream, eye cream! | |
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
mourning Storms are brewing. I know this not just because the air is getting thick and settling damply on my skin like dark furry moss, but because clouds are rolling into my head, roiling and building over my heart, stirring up a tempest inside my skin. I don't know when my soul began to reflect the physical climate, but if this keeps up I am going to have to move to the Tropics. But I wonder if monsoon season would kill me. I bang on my steering wheel and sigh, watching the wind scatter cigarette butts and dirty napkins across the intersection. I want the sun to shine, but not merrily, pouring down cheer and good will. I want shimmering, merciless reflections off the blacktop, chrome, and steel around me. I want the concrete buildings to be blinding. Surrounded by all that sinister light, I can hate him. I can think of all the things he said that were little and stupid and mean. I can see him as an arrogant asshole with more issues than Michael Jackson. But when the sun fades, all of that goes away. The hurts creep in. It's bad when it rains, imagine how it is at night. The drizzle begins, and the edges of everything blurs. This rain is going to build, it's a matter of minutes before fat splashy droplets are going to drum, hard and fast, against the roof of my car. God, remember back in January or so when he went to see About Schmidt? I assumed he was going with Lauren and that gang, but then Lauren asked him that night at Bar who he'd seen that movie with anyway, then looked at me and asked if it was me. He just shrugged and said a friend. Friend? What friend? Was it Liz? I want to know... I don't want to know... I want to know... No I don't... Damn it! How could I be so stupid? Remember how I said loyalty was probably my strongest character trait, and he quickly said well he had no loyalties. Why didn't I think about what that could mean? Why did I ignore it? Why was I so dumb? Remember how he said he didn't want to get too serious, he wasn't ready, what if, say, the summer came around and he wanted to see someone else, hypothetically, he didn't want me to be hurt. God, that was so weird! I thought that was weird back then... What, was he thinking that Liz would probably be back in town for the summer and he would want to see her? Why why why why why did he do this to me? I didn't even like him at first, I pushed him away the first time he tried to kiss me, I dreaded hanging out with him for a week and almost backed out, but then figured hey, I shouldn't be so retarded, this was a college buddy, good friend of a good friend. What the hell! He's stupid, unmotivated, he's lucky he graduated, lazy, he still doesn't have a job, damn it his band sucks, it really does... The rain is defeating the windshield wipers. It's ridiculous. He's not worth this. But then remember, the last time he stayed over, how he smiled up so lazily from the pillow as I bent over to kiss him goodbye before leaving for work. That smile breaks my heart. You know, the world only looks like its dissolving through the windows of my car. I actually am. | |
Tuesday, July 08, 2003
not for nothing do i love the french and more random thoughts Certainly, the most violent grief that can be felt is, for a mother, the loss of her child, and, for a man, the loss of his mother. That is violent and terrible. It overwhelms and rends a man. But you overcome these catastrophes as from wide bleeding wounds. Now, certain meetings, certain things half-perceived, or guessed, certain secret sorrows, certain treacheries of fate which stir up in us an entire world of painful thoughts, which abruptly open up before us the mysterious portal of complex incurable moral sufferings, all the more profound because they seem benign, all the more burning because they seem intangible, all the more tenacious because they seem artificial, leave in our soul an aftermath of sadness, a bitter taste, the sensation of disenchantment from which it takes a long time to be free. Guy de Maupassant - Menuet I think it was May in the novel "The Secret Life of Bees" who felt every sorrow of the world so heavily that eventually she had to commit suicide. How horrible it would be to be May. I only feel May-like when I have some small personal tragedy weighing on my shoulders. I hope the movie tonight is good. Spellbound. I did use to love spelling bees myself in elementary school, so I have to admit I'm dorkily excited about this movie. I invited Jay to come with me and Amanda, so I guess tonight sparks may fly, since Amanda has broken up with Seth since last time she and Jay met.
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Thursday, July 03, 2003
The Break-Up Well, I suppose it wasn't really a "break-up," since we had "broken-up" a full ten days earlier. But this was a little different, in the sense that this put the relationship irrevocably in the dead zone, in the no-chance-in-hell-of-us-getting-back-together zone, the no-i-really-mean-we-are-going-to-be-just-friends zone. We were driving. The conversation started off innocuously enough. We were talking about his sister and how she couldn't get over her ex-boyfriend. They had broken up several months ago but had continued to jealously guard over each others' hearts. But now the ex-boyfriend was dating someone new, and she was heartbroken. I mean, of course it's hard, but she has to put her mind to it. And give it time. It might take a year, but it will happen, I said. Yeah, but she was in love with him, he said. So? I asked. So you can't force yourself to get over someone, he said. You can't? This was news to me. I had forced myself to get over every single ex-boyfriend I had ever had. What was I supposed to do, listlessly pine away? Of course you can, I said. Otherwise what are you going to do? Stay in love with someone who doesn't love you anymore? He shrugged. I continued, So then how did you get over Liz? Or are you not over her? I turned to look at him. His hands gripped the wheel, and his ears pinked. What? he asked. Are you not over her? I heard my voice involuntarily rise, just a wee bit. Then, as is my customary habit, I excused, Well I guess you did go out with her for five years, as I turned to look out the window again. Six years, he said. It was a long time. I agreed. It was a long time. I fell silent, looking out the window, suppressing an urge to cry, while he rambled on about showing me where his band practiced, what kind of beer should he get for Craig's party, he hoped the party would be good. I nodded assent whenever it seemed appropriate, and continued looking out the window. Well? he said. I took a breath and turned back to him. We were in the parking lot of the liquor store. I'll wait here, I said. You go in. He looked at me. What's the matter with you? Why are you so quiet? Nothing. Then let's go. No, I'll stay here. Come on. You're scaring me. What's on your mind? Nothing. It doesn't matter. What doesn't matter? The fact that you just told me you're still not over Liz. He started the engine back up and started leaving the lot. Where are you going? I asked. Why aren't you getting beer? I don't feel like it anymore. Maybe I'll get it later. Look, you shouldn't worry about Liz. She has nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with me, I screamed in my head. What does that mean? How could he say that, when for the past seven months we were supposed to be falling in love? Was she the reason why we didn't fall in love, and only I did, alone? Was she the reason why I finally broke everything off, having gotten too hurt after seven months of feeling his indifference? I wanted to rage at him, kick and scream and punch. But instead I simply said, You're right. Let's not discuss this, it doesn't really matter. What do you mean, it doesn't matter? He at least knew me well enough to hear the tone in my voice that said it did indeed matter. It doesn't matter because we're not together anymore anyway. It's nice to know I made the right decision, and this explains a lot about our past relationship anyway. Like what? Like the fact that I always felt like you didn't care about me. He said, you know that's not true. I like you, I really do, why do you think I spend so much time with you? I turned to face him. So much time? I asked. The week I broke up with you, I saw you on Sunday, didn't speak with you until Tuesday, when you came to my apartment to wake me up at two in the morning when you knew I had work the next day. Wednesday and Thursday, I didn't hear a word from you. Friday we were supposed to hang and you ditched me for your Paul and the 18-year-old girlfriend. This time it was his turn to look out the window. Listen, he said, I really miss you. I was hoping we could work things out. What is there to work out? I asked. You are still in love with your ex-girlfriend. Do you expect me to compete with six years of your life, to kick her out of your memory? The tears spilled. You like me, I'm sure, but what's the point of me being with you when I'm sure all it would take is a phone call from her for you to forget me. I turned to face him. It doesn't matter if we have the best relationship or the shittiest. What would you do if she called you tomorrow and said 'Hey, I miss you. I want us to be together again?' I would say...What are you doing? No. His voice cracked and wavered. What are you doing? I deadpanned. I don't believe you, I whispered. I faced the window, feeling my face harden with hurt and anger. Look, he started. His voice faded as he watched me watch the wind sway the glossy green leaves of the bushes on his lawn. I guess it's all fucked up now, huh. Yes, I said. Not just our present and our future, but our past too, I thought.
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Friday, June 27, 2003
friends and lovers So last night I went to watch "Blind Spot: Hitler's Secretary" at Makor on 67th Street. Originally it was planned that Amanda, Andrea, and I would go together, but Andrea flaked and so I invited Jay to accompany Amanda and me. After the film we went to Panchito's for margaritas, which turned out to be not margaritas but banana-strawberry pina colada. A pitcher of it. Now, Amanda is one of my closest girl friends. We are part of the same crew from high school, and though we drifted during our college years we've always kept a connection that is at its strongest now. Jay is a college buddy; we bonded over our year abroad together in Scotland. I value him as one of my few "guy friends." I say few because platonic opposite-sex friendship is a rare and exotic specie in my world, difficult to obtain and even more so to maintain. So imagine my shock when Jay leaned across the table towards me after Amanda had excused herself for the ladies room. So what was she saying about dating other guys? he asked. I arched an eyebrow. (Ok, I didn't, because I'm physically incapable of it, but if I could've, I would've.) Why, are you interested? I asked back. Maybe. Hmmmm. This was... a development. Two days ago I had introduced Jay to Alison, a coworker that I was friendly with. Friendly with, not friends with. Not close friends with. I wouldn't have minded my close guy friend dating my coworker, but did I want my close guy friend to date my close girl friend? The answer was no. I tried to explain to Jay later, on the train home, that Amanda was 1) currently dating a guy anyway, and 2) that if he did date her, he and I could not possibly maintain the same friendship, because how could I be close to her and him separately if they were together? If they started going out, I couldn't call him up and ask him to meet up with me for happy hour, or have him come over and watch "Best in Show" or just hang out alone in general. He would become "Amanda's boyfriend" and the nature of our relationship would totally change. Didn't he CARE? Apparently not. He said I was jumping the gun and supposed he wouldn't ask her out for drinks because she was seeing someone at the time anyway, but he was going to send her an email to tell her he had a nice time that night. Email? How did he get her email? Oh yes, I had forwarded him the exchange of emails between her and I concerning the film and where to meet. I grit my teeth. I guess I should be a grown-up about this and not care, and I'm sure a week from now I'll look back at my silly anxious left-out and unloved feelings tonight and laugh, knowing that this is a result of a combination of my totally unrelated feelings of insecurity in the current boyfriend, workplace stress, and probably fluctuating hormones. But for tonight, I think I'll sulk and glower, and just dare my friends to like each other. | |
Thursday, June 26, 2003
this and that What is it about shopping that is so therapeutic? I know its such a sad little cliche, depressed woman goes mad in department store, but its so true. All my friends are guilty of it, from the vegan ones to the trendy Korean ones...ESPECIALLY the trendy Korean ones. I actually hate malls, but thanks to the Internet and ever-increasing credit card limits, I am guilty as of two minutes ago as well. I must say, after my little spree on Bluefly.com I am feeling somewhat sunnier. I should ride my bike tomorrow morning before work so I can look semi-decent in my newly purchased bathing suit by 4th of July weekend in South Beach (a bachelorette party for yet another soon-to-be-yoked-to-in-marriage friend). Haha. Okay, let's be honest, it's past one in the morning, I'm a little drunk, and there's no way I'm going to wake up by five or six or some other ungodly hour so I can sweat before getting ready to be in the office by 8:30. Whoa, I just tried to Xangazon search (or whatever it's called) for Life of Pi by Yann Martel for currently reading and NO MATCHES WERE FOUND! What a travesty. The NO MATCHES, not the book. Everyone should read this book. Well not everyone, but someone I know so I can pepper them with questions about it. It's a book that merits discussion. Ok, so what's with this Friendster thing? Granted, I am a very old lady and not hip to the whole internet community (or any community, really) but I mean, really. I don't need to go to some website to find out I have a gazillion contacts but only 1 friend, and that I should request friends to be friends so they can confirm friend status and up my friend number, and wonder why such and such person got such wonderfully nice testimonies and I get just okay testimonies and get all tied up in a knot over it then read my old flame's and his girlfriend's testimonies to each other and break down into tears over that and then call a friend to vent. (I didn't do any of this. The friend who introduced me to Friendster, which I checked out for two minutes before pushing the cancel button on my account, did all this.) Currently Playing: Songs for the Deaf
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posted by J. at 6:35 PM
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