Anything But Mine (790 hits)
Category: UberMadness!Rating: 0.36 on 46 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by UberMadness! (View user info) at 2006-10-24 10:51:00 EDT
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Entry 1
As I lock the door to my two-story, plain house, I count out loud as I turn the key."One, two, three, four, five, six."
I don't think about, it's just a force oh habit, but I can't leave without locking my door, much like others all over the globe. I walk the short distance down the walkway, to my blue Chevy Cobalt, how quaint as well, and press the button to open the door.
"One, two, three, four, five, six."
It takes me exactly 37 steps to get from my car to the front door, from the garage at work to my office, it is anywhere between 236 steps to 519 depending on where I'm parking. I've been in the furthest spot away and also I got to park in the best available spot once, but the absolute best spot is saved for Mr. Reinholtz, who I'd like to bag.
"Good morning, Denise" I mutter to the receptionist who's about as exciting as a bag of rocks.
"G'morning, Jeffery" she stammers back in that annoying, wailing voice that's very similar to Fran Dresher's. I'd like to throttle the fuck out of her neck, but I'm afraid I would get more pissed when I found she sounded like a cheap chainsaw or a weed whacker.
Instead, I adhere to routine, as I'm prone to do and take my 41 steps into my office and slink right into my chair where I wrap my hands around my neck and rub the hangover out, or try to at least. My head keeps on throbbing, making me think that I'm just going throw up and spew all over the place. It keeps feeling like my head is changing sizes.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"Hi, my name is Brett, and I'm an alcoholic..."
"Hi, Brett."
"Well, this is my first meeting and I'm not entirely sure how to start off, but I guess I'll start with when I first started drinking. I first tried drinking alcohol when I was 8 years old and won the little league championship in our neighborhood. I came home and was so happy that I started trying all of the boozes under my mom and step dad's bar. I don't think that I understood the concept at the time, but I always remember them smiling and having a good time so I thought that was what I was supposed to do."
As I finished up saying that, I had a tick, which caused my neck to strain and gyrate and giving me a cramp. I can't control it, although I really wish I could. No one in the smoke filled room that was damp with sweat and smelling of stale coffee sludge knew how to take it. A few people started snickering because they thought I was joking with them, but after they saw me try to shake the tick, stopped abruptly.
I got my coat; I wouldn't stand for getting being made fun of on top of being an alcoholic.
"Brett, please stay, we'd love to hear the rest of your story" belted out the monitor of this AA meeting.
I flopped back into my chair.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"Welcome back, Andrew, how are you doing today?" Asked Dr. Mooney.
"I'm fine, Dr. Mooney, just tired and somewhat exhausted. It's been a long week."
"Well, Andrew, did I ever tell you that fine is an acronym? It stands for fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional."
I hate his fucking anagrams, or acronyms, or whatever the fuck he always says. He's another one I'd like to throttle. If it wasn't for the judge, I'd never be here anyway. This cock sucking moron sits here and tries to break my dichotomy down and says that I suffer, but isn't able to tell me what I suffer from yet, and it gets me so fucking angry every time... I just had a tick again. I slumped back into my chair.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I rubbed my neck as best I could trying to get the hangover to release, but the only thing I accomplished was making myself feel less miserable for a few moments. It's probably time to get to work, and when I scrape myself out of the chair, I sit back in it, repeating my action.
"One, two, three, four, five, six."
I've been working in this office for 7 years, 4 months, 21 days, 2 hours, and 31 minutes and it hasn't changed one bit, because I didn't want it to. I have changed however, and my drinking has slightly increased until I'm at the point where I am now, mixing drinks at work. When you work in an office like me, it is socially acceptable to drink at work and actually seen as a responsible action, drinking and being able to perform at the same time.
I put the ice in the glass, exactly six cubes.
"One, two, three, four, five, six."
I splash the Dewar's scotch into the glass, counting as I do it, until I get close to the top.
"One, two, three, four, five, six."
I've gotten pretty good at estimating how much I need to splash in for it to be exactly six splashes, becoming tired of spilling some on the mahogany desk or drinking half-full glasses of scotch. I don't remember how I settled on six as my number, but it's always six when it is something I can control.
As I take my first sip, I'm having another tick, although, I'm happy it's in the middle of my own office where I'm not visible.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
This is my 231st consecutive day at AA and I met so many neat people, well 78 different people so far, with 47 being regulars like me, but I'm the only one that has made this many consecutively.
I've got my whole alcoholic story down now, but I like to vary it a bit, sometimes I like to tell about certain experiences. When I first started coming to AA, I wasn't able to rehash my whole story, simply because my memory was cloudy from all the years of imbibing.
"Hi, my name is Brett, and I'm an alcoholic."
"Hi, Brett" and "Welcome, Brett" are murmured throughout.
"I've been an alcoholic for some time now, but as of now I'm 231 days sober and don't plan on falling off the wagon."
I wait as the applause congratulations are spread throughout, before I continue to tell my story.
"I wasn't entirely sure that alcohol was a drug and very addicting, but now I know. If we all know, we are one step closer to absolving ourselves of the drinker/alcoholic label that society has put on us. At first I was drinking for pleasure and in the company of what I thought were my friends. As the drinking lost it's novelty for me, I pushed on, drinking because if I didn't I felt like crap, and drinking to find more friends. My so called friends, came and went, came and went, but the alcohol was always there. One day, I woke up and I could tell something was wrong with my liver, I just felt it, and a voice said to me that I needed to stop. That was 231 days ago, and I've made AA every day since then, and I invite you to join with me in striking out against alcoholism."
As I sat back in my chair, I could feel my knees go weak, and the tick was coming on, I knew it. I was just glad that I could make it through my whole speech without ticking once, which if I was done, could probably go mostly unnoticed. People that have been there a while came to under that my tick was just something that came with me.
It hit me.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"Jeffery, my name is Dr. Mooney" the spectacled man said.
"Pleased to meet you, Dr. Mooney, I don't really know why I am here."
"Well, an associate of yours, Andrew, suggested that you come and see me, and I just helped you get here."
I got really nervous at that moment, because I didn't remember Andrew telling me about this doctor. Come to think of it, I don't remember an Andrew at all. I started counting aloud.
"One, two, three, four, five, six."
I ticked.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"Someone get the cops, immediately!" Denise yelled, loudly.
Apparently, I had fallen out, after I mixed my last drink with six ice cubes in it.
"One, two, three, four, five, six."
That was the number of pencils in my desk, also the number of seats in the office, the number of pens in my brief case, the number of coffee mugs in my office, and the number of plants placed strategically around the room.
I was counting to six over and over again, waiting for the ambulance to come and help me, help resuscitate my liver or whatever it was that was ailing me.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"Brett, my name is Dr. Mooney" said the man with wire rimmed glasses.
"It's a pleasure, Dr. Mooney, to meet your acquaintance, but you could you tell me again why I'm here."
"I believe we have a mutual friend and he suggested that you and I have a meeting."
I was taken aback, not because Dr. Mooney and I were meeting, more because I don't remember having a mutual friend of a doctor. Surely that is something I would remember.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"Welcome back, Andrew, how have you been" asked Dr. Mooney.
"Great, yourself?"
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
17 April 2003
Patient is still showing signs of M.P.D (multiple personality disorder), mild schizophrenia, and ticking with amnesiac response. Medical diagnosis unavailable as this case hasn't been seen in my career. Will reference medical anomalies of same characteristics and find best path of medication.
20 April 2003
Patient has been prescribed Zoloft, Paxil, and Wellbutrin. Further psychoanalysis is needed.
- VS -
Entry 2
I sat there transfixed as the bald black bear of a man laid into the keyboard with his massive paws. Above his closed eyes, beads of sweat stood out on his brow, shining in the spotlight. The air in the basement bar was rippled with smoke and the sound of the baby grand. The bar conversation and noise of chipped glasses sliding on scratched tabletops had simply faded into the background, all I could hear, and feel, and taste was the music.I held my breath as his hands raced in a final blinding crescendo from the depths of the bass to the highest end of the ivory. A brief pause and they came down in a final triumvirate of chords. I exhaled as his eyes opened. He gave a small nod to the piano, before standing and stepping slowly from the stage.
Applause crackled as the spotlight faded behind him. Unconsciously I had already stood and joined in. Then, as if in autopilot, I drained the bitter dregs from the beer I had been nursing and made my way back to the bar.
He was already standing there, his six-and-a-half foot frame leaning against the aging woodwork. A match flared in the crinkled recesses of his hand, followed by a puff of blue-grey smoke from the cigar hanging in his mouth.
The paunchy, ruddy little barkeep turned from the register and looked up at him.
"What'll it be Julius? Just the usual?"
He nodded.
"Let me get that." I call across the bar "And make it two. Please."
They both look over at me. I smile weakly. "I'm a jazz fan." The black man grins, a brilliant white smile splitting his face, and he gives a nod to the barman. I trade one of my last notes for two glasses of light brown liquor. The change comes back - far more than I expected. I shoot a quizzical glace to the back of the barkeeper, as a huge hand comes to rest on my shoulder.
"My drinks are on the house, son. But it's always nice to meet a fan." He wanders to a nearby table and motions for me to join him. I collect the squat glass from the bar and take the seat across from him. The tip of the cigar glows orange as he takes a long drag, studying me as I take a sip of the liquor - which burns ferociously as it goes down. I try very hard not to cough, and almost succeed.
Plumes of smoke snaking from his mouth, he grins again. He looks much older close up, with wrinkles deepening all over his face as he smiles.
"What y'might call an acquired taste. Prob'ly why I'm the only one here who usually drinks the stuff."
His voice is deep, rasping. Like it had been soaked in a barrel of moonshine, before hanging in a smokehouse for a while.
"So," he speaks slowly, deliberately "What's your name, jazz fan?"
"Zack."
"What brings y'here, Zack?"
"The music." I gesture to the piano. "I play too. Nothing like you, though. At least, not yet."
He nods. I see it as permission to continue. Spurred on by my nervousness, the words just tumble out.
"I come from a small town. Way upstate. Nothing but banjos, pickup trucks and jokes about married cousins. My uncle had a piano - an old upright - he taught me to play when I was little. It was my way of escaping the hick redneck stereotype environment." I take another sip of the liquor, and grimace.
"He died six years ago - left me the piano, his gramophone and a collection of old jazz records. I would play, for hours at a time. Pretty soon, I ran out of sheet music and began improvising and playing the tunes I heard on the vinyl." He nods again, and I take another sip.
"My uncle used to tell me about the jazz clubs in the city, and how one day I would come down here and make a name for myself. Soon as I finished school, I took my savings and hitchhiked down here. That was nine weeks ago, though, and things aren't moving as quickly as I had hoped."
Bravely, but foolishly, I take a larger sip. After the ensuing coughing fit, I keep talking.
"But you know what? I'm going to do it. I'm going to make it. I don't care how long it takes me - this city'll be mine one day."
In the pause that follows, I realise how arrogant I must sound, and become self-conscious again. I need to change the subject.
"Julius, right?"
He nods.
"What can you tell me about yourself, and this city of yours?"
My request amuses him, and smoke trickles out his nose as he chuckles quietly to himself.
"This city of mine?"
He shakes his head.
"I'm more than a fraction like you, Zack. I rode into this city, smuggled in the belly of the daily northbound train. I stood on the steps of Central Station that day, my eyes brimmin' with wonder, and my pockets brimmin' with not much at all."
"Back home, I'd heard names like 'Lieutenant Jim Europe', 'King Oliver' and 'The Duke' spoken in revered, whispered breaths. My neighbours down the street would play their jazz records until late at night. I used to sneak out and to beneath their window and listen - more than once, my father found me asleep there the next mornin'."
"Sweet jazz, hot jazz, I couldn't get enough of it. I knew my way around the keys, and had an aunt here in the city, so I made my way up here when I'd had enough of school - determined to have the folks down home whispering my name in the same tones as my heroes'."
He puts down his cigar in the ashtray and puffs his chest.
"Emperor Julius" He smiles "That's what I wanted to hear them whisper. That's what I wanted to be - like the Julius Caesar of jazz."
He picks up the cigar and inhales deeply before continuing.
"Seven long years I worked in the bars and clubs of this city, sweepin' floors, wipin' tables and servin' drinks. Don't get me wrong though, I did hear some of the sweetest sounds the world has to offer. Eventually, I even found a club owner who would let me play during open hours. Only when it was late, mind you, and only on the quiet nights - but it was a start."
"Then, one cold November evenin', this city gave me my break. We had a big name booked, but on the way to the club he was in an automobile accident. The house was full - there were even a couple o' reporters - and I was the only act the manager had. After he gave an apology to the crowd, and promised some free drinks to make up for the inconvenience, I stepped out onto that stage, sat down at the piano, shut my eyes in fear and dived right in."
He leans in, and lowers his voice - like he is telling me an old trade secret.
"One problem with playin' in this city, Zack, is that folks hear average music every day and good music quite regularly - a few of them are even fortunate enough to know what genius sounds like. So when I finished, and stood on the stage, I wasn't surprised by the silence I received. I'd seen it happen dozens o' times before. The crowd gets somethin' so mediocre, they don't respond at all."
"So what did you do?" I refuse to believe that this is how the story ends.
"Nothin'. I just lowered my head and started to slink offstage. Then it happened. They started to clap, and cheer - I thought I was in a dream. The folks that were sittin' down actually stood up and applauded. They made me come back and do an encore. I was so full of emotion that I had tears pourin' down my face, but I still shut my eyes and played."
The old jazz man becomes visibly more animated - like he is reaching his favourite part of the story.
"Things moved fast from there. The reporters in the crowd gave me good enough reviews that I started to get regular gigs. I stopped wipin' tables and started playin' for a living. Soon, folks started knowin' who I was - I would hear them talk about me on the street - whisperin' my name, just like I used to dream about."
Julius stops, downs his drink in one sip and waves at the barkeeper for a refill. I just sit there, eyes wide, longing to hear more.
"You got a girlfriend, Zack?"
"Not right now. There was a girl back home, but she didn't want to come to the city with me. I think she thought I was nuts doing this. I haven't met many girls here. Yet." I grin at him. "I bet you met a few once you got famous."
The barman delivers another glass of liquor and Julius smiles, a glint in his eyes.
"It's true. I did. I lost count years ago - but there's one I remember above all." He leans back in his chair, creaking ominously beneath him and looks up at the dim ceiling lights. "She was Elouise. She would sing at some of the clubs I played - had the voice, and the heart of an angel. I fell in love the first time I saw her on stage. I used to buy her regular accompanist so much booze he'd be unable to play, and I would graciously offer to fill in for him."
"Took me four years of nervous dates 'fore I got up the stones to ask her to marry me. When she said 'yes' I felt like I was back on stage at my first concert listening to the applause. The city was makin' all my dreams come true: I had a job that I loved and a gorgeous wife that I loved even more. Some cats even started calling me 'The Emperor'. For a while there, it felt like this city really was mine."
"Then, one night, I was doin' a gig - just up the street from here as it happens, when the police meet me backstage after my performance. They politely informed me that there'd been a fire in my building and seventeen people had died. Elouise among 'em. My life crashed down on me, hard."
"I found the bottle, and held on tight for longer than I care to remember. I couldn't work 'cause I was usually too drunk to balance on the piano stool. It only made me want to drink more. One afternoon, I beat the daylights out of a barkeep who stopped servin' me. Then I went upstate, and spent a number o' months as a guest of the federal government in a tiny grey cell."
"I came back sober, but at the bottom of the heap, sweeping floors and playing only on the quiet nights. Took me another few years to get to where I am now, and it looks like I've done my dash." He take takes a final drag on his cigar and stubs it out in the ashtray.
"Which is why, young Zack, you're going to finish that drink and play us all somethin' on that piano up there."
"What?" A horde of butterflies erupts in my stomach "But, why?"
His face cracks into another smile.
"'Cause you took the time to listen to this old man talk, and I want to help you on your way. Sometimes this city gives, Zack. The trick lies in rememberin' that she can take away just as fast."
I throw back the final mouthful of liquor, willing my legs to stop shaking long enough for me to make it to the stage.
"I hope you do make this city yours, son. 'Cause if there's one thing I've proven over the years, despite what some folks - including myself - have believed, this city really is anything but mine."
I put my glass on the table, and stand. Still seated, Julius is almost as tall as I am. He nods, and I start striding towards the stage.
Entry 1:
BadAssJulie
darko
EchoBoxing
exposed
JoeyG
JonnyX
LovelyLady
MandaPanda
nrduncan
Orgasmatron
stevie_says
TigerLilly
12 eligible votes (12 total) *
Entry 2:
apollo88
august_sobriquet
Bigmike
Bubba2341
CaptainThorns
coley
Coyote
Crystle
Davros
DrogoRoch
ghola
helbling
Hirilnara
HotWillie
Impassive-Digressive
indoninja
intellismartness
Jack_McCallum
JMG114
Kre8rix
lechuza
MadameDestrukt
Magicaddict
NerfHerder
nitty34
Pentameter
redskieslookfake
sicosemen
sparkle_pink
SPECIALk
Stagger_Lee
supadupapupa
Susie_Derkins
30 eligible votes (33 total) *
* Eligible votes are those made by users who had either (A) posted 3+ messages OR (B) written 100+ [lowered from 750+] reviews as of the beginning of the UberMadness! competition.
User Reviews
Submitted by Impassive-Digressive (user info) at 2006-10-27 18:38:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Top work to my opponent in Entry 1. It's a shame one of us has to go.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-10-27 10:00:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Entry 1 was a good idea, but some mistakes and the abrupt end counted against it.
Entry 2 was damn good.
-Dave
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-10-27 09:26:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-10-27 05:29:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by NerfHerder (user info) at 2006-10-26 22:18:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
#2 was just better.
Submitted by TigerLilly (user info) at 2006-10-26 15:08:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2006-10-26 14:57:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
The ending of Entry 1 just left a terrible taste in my mouth...and the rest of the story was as confusing as hell. With some more work, this could have been an awesome story.
Entry 2 was just all around good stuff.
Submitted by lechuza (user info) at 2006-10-26 13:26:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No comment
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-10-26 12:14:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2006-10-26 10:56:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by august_sobriquet (user info) at 2006-10-26 09:46:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
sorry author one, but no contest here really. The first on was good but the second one was great.
spectacular stuff in # 2
The description of the man's voice was interesting.
The two characters were written so well, their stories from such different points in life, it was awesome.
Submitted by helbling (user info) at 2006-10-26 09:18:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by intellismartness (user info) at 2006-10-26 06:08:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment.
Submitted by supadupapupa (user info) at 2006-10-26 04:48:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
lovely story #2, and #1 weren't bad either
Submitted by coley (user info) at 2006-10-26 03:37:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-10-26 02:52:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
The other day in my clarinet lesson, I fucked up this one passage and all just started moving my fingers randomly. Cris, my teacher, was all 'How delightful! You know, that sounded very jazz inspired! Why don't you have a jazz hour??'
And then was I was all 'I HATE JAZZ' and we laughed and laughed.
Submitted by SPECIALk (user info) at 2006-10-26 00:20:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
1 was good, but i had trouble understanding the ending
2 was a nice story...good use of the title
Submitted by Magicaddict (user info) at 2006-10-25 21:05:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I didn't think anything would beat #1, exceptionally intelligently despite its lack of adherence to the title. Then I read #2, and felt great about life.
Really good matchup, pity either had to lose.
Submitted by MadameDestrukt (user info) at 2006-10-25 18:19:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by DrogoRoch (user info) at 2006-10-25 06:47:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Two good entries, again. #2 by a whisker.
Submitted by Hirilnara (user info) at 2006-10-25 06:45:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I really enjoyed entry 2 - it seemed to flow more smoothly.
Submitted by stevie_says (user info) at 2006-10-24 23:47:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Liked it even though I hated the ending.
Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2006-10-24 23:45:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-10-24 21:45:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Both good. Jazz for the win.
Submitted by Impassive-Digressive (user info) at 2006-10-24 17:52:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Jazz it up.
Submitted by LovelyLady (user info) at 2006-10-24 17:35:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by BadAssJulie (user info) at 2006-10-24 17:33:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Better picture
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2006-10-24 16:42:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Both of these were good, but two was slightly less a typical UM entry than one. One was clever but predictable. Two was also predictable but I think it accomplished what it was supposed to do. Plus, I like jazz.
Submitted by HotWillie (user info) at 2006-10-24 16:30:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2006-10-24 16:15:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
#1 was too predictable.
Submitted by Kre8rix (user info) at 2006-10-24 16:03:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-10-24 15:54:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I thought #1 was a bit more creative with the title. The narrator's real name is Tyler Durden, isn't it?
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2006-10-24 15:43:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-10-24 15:32:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
.
Submitted by exposed (user info) at 2006-10-24 15:27:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-10-24 13:52:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
could read number 2 slighty longer.
Submitted by EchoBoxing (user info) at 2006-10-24 13:48:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
zach and dr. mooney are fags.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-10-24 13:40:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
#2 had a 'seen it before' quality, but it was a damn sight better than #1.
I had a hard time following #1... although imparting SOME confusion may have been part of the point.
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2006-10-24 13:40:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2006-10-24 13:30:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Gotta love a schizo story.
Submitted by nitty34 (user info) at 2006-10-24 13:30:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Walking alone beneath the lights of that miracle mile,
Me and Mary making our way into the night,
You can hear the cries from the carnival rides,
The pinball bills, skee ball slides,
Watching the summer sun fall out of sight,
There's a warm wind coming in from off of the ocean
Making its way past the hotel wall to fill the streets
Mary is holding both of her shoes in her hands
Said she likes to feel the sand beneath her feet
And in the morning I'm leaving, making my way back to Cleveland
So tonight I hope that I will do just fine
And I don't see how you could ever be anything but mine
There's a local band playing at the sea side pavilion
And I got just enough cash to get us in
And as we are dancing Mary's wrapping her arms around me
And I can feel the sting of summer on my skin
In the midst of the music I tell her I love her,
We both laugh cause we know it isn't true
But Mary there's a summer drawing to an end tonight
And there's so much that I long to do to you
And in the morning I'm leaving, making my way back to Cleveland
So tonight I hope that I will do just fine
And I don't see how you could ever be anything but mine
Ooooooooo..
And in the morning I'm leaving, making my way back to Cleveland
So tonight I hope that I will do just fine
And I don't see how you could ever be anything but mine
Mary I don't see how you could ever be anything but mine
Submitted by MandaPanda (user info) at 2006-10-24 12:46:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-10-24 12:22:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
It's interesting that you both really struggle with comma usage.
Submitted by Susie_Derkins (user info) at 2006-10-24 11:35:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2006-10-24 11:12:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Entry 2 had some typos, and way too many adjectives in the beginning, but set the mood nicely and the tone for emotion came through.
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-10-24 10:55:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment