Aww
Today's my birthday! I really like birthdays, as it gives me an excuse to be all nostalgic about my last two decades of life. I usually use them as an opportunity to look back at what's happened since my last one. I slogged through the spring semester at USD, and then happily got accepted to the U of M. Not that USD is awful, it just really wasn't the right place for me. I still miss a lot of the people that I met there, and it was nice to be able to see my family more often.
But hey, I moved. I'm in a city of over a million people for the first time in my life. I'm on my own, in my own (messy) apartment, and completely independent. I do need a job, though. That'd be a nice present. Anyway, it's really exciting for me right now. I was in a play a few weeks ago, and I helped Pat with a few of his film projects, which was great.
Tonight, Charlie, Brad, Bill, Andrew and I are watching An American Werewolf in London, and attempting to do a commentary track for it. Then, Rebecca and I are going to a Cloud Cult concert, which promises to be fun, and after that, I'm either going to see a Trash Film Debauchary show, or going to a friends to get, as the vernacular of the time calls it, "crunked".
Anyway, I'm going to watch The Daily Show now, here's my assignment from last night:
Hey,
I’m writing this in response to your letter, which I received, with the bouquet, on Thursday. The flowers were very nice, and I’m sure that you meant with all of your heart what you said in the letter, but I have to tell you to stop. Please, stop.
I’ve received all of your gifts over the past week, and they’ve all been very nice, but frankly, it’s too much. The nine letters that you’ve sent me since we met last Friday have all been very sweet, and I thank you for them, but I just can’t let this go on. I don’t even know you well enough for all of this kindness. Now, before you say anything, I know that you think I’m worth the world, as you said on page four of the first letter you sent me, and I’ve noticed it’s how you’ve ended every letter since, but we hardly know each other, hell, we don’t know each other.
I haven’t done anything to deserve this. All I did was my job. You asked if I would recommend a CD, and I did. You liked it, I’m glad, but just because we have a similar taste in music does not mean that I’m your “Annie Hall” (letter 7, page 3), or that “Rachel knows me left to right/ My love, my smell, my sense of sight” (“Rachel’s Song #5” track 5, disc 2 of the “Rachel, Rachel” compilation set). It just means that we both like Benny Goodman. Okay! That’s it. That’s all there is to our relationship.
I can’t have you in my life right now. I need you to stop hanging around me. I need you to stop following me to work, I need you to stop following me from work, and I need you to stop standing outside my window until one in the morning. Really, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of calling the police, and they’re tired of having to pick you up.
I know how you feel about me. I appreciate how many times you’ve called me beautiful in the past week, I appreciate the time and effort that goes into learning the mandolin, even if only for a single serenade, and while my neighbors didn’t like it, I appreciated having my name spelled out in paint on every lawn down my block. The pictures you’ve drawn are wonderful, and I’ve never had a bust of my head sent to me before, but it was great, and honestly, the tattoo is lovely, but I just can’t let this continue. I can’t be with you.
Now, my roommate’s have told me to file for a restraining order, but I don’t want it to come to that. I think that we can deal with this like adults. All I need for you to do is to stop trying to talk to me. Okay? Can you do that? Just forget we even met, forget about the CD store, and stop going there to get music. I know some really cute girls who work at Sam Goody, with terrific taste in music. I’m sure you’d get along with them.
I’m wrapping this up now, because you’ve started throwing pebbles at my window again. And yes, there’s the singing. This is going to be the last time I write to you. If you don’t stop this behavior right now, I will get that restraining order. Okay, I see that I need to throw this out to you now, as the neighbors have once again called the police. I hope you have a good life, really, I do, but if I can offer a suggestion to your courting strategy: be a tad less clingy. No, clingy isn’t the word I’m looking for. It’s creepy. Be a tad less creepy.
Thank you,
Rachel.
But hey, I moved. I'm in a city of over a million people for the first time in my life. I'm on my own, in my own (messy) apartment, and completely independent. I do need a job, though. That'd be a nice present. Anyway, it's really exciting for me right now. I was in a play a few weeks ago, and I helped Pat with a few of his film projects, which was great.
Tonight, Charlie, Brad, Bill, Andrew and I are watching An American Werewolf in London, and attempting to do a commentary track for it. Then, Rebecca and I are going to a Cloud Cult concert, which promises to be fun, and after that, I'm either going to see a Trash Film Debauchary show, or going to a friends to get, as the vernacular of the time calls it, "crunked".
Anyway, I'm going to watch The Daily Show now, here's my assignment from last night:
Hey,
I’m writing this in response to your letter, which I received, with the bouquet, on Thursday. The flowers were very nice, and I’m sure that you meant with all of your heart what you said in the letter, but I have to tell you to stop. Please, stop.
I’ve received all of your gifts over the past week, and they’ve all been very nice, but frankly, it’s too much. The nine letters that you’ve sent me since we met last Friday have all been very sweet, and I thank you for them, but I just can’t let this go on. I don’t even know you well enough for all of this kindness. Now, before you say anything, I know that you think I’m worth the world, as you said on page four of the first letter you sent me, and I’ve noticed it’s how you’ve ended every letter since, but we hardly know each other, hell, we don’t know each other.
I haven’t done anything to deserve this. All I did was my job. You asked if I would recommend a CD, and I did. You liked it, I’m glad, but just because we have a similar taste in music does not mean that I’m your “Annie Hall” (letter 7, page 3), or that “Rachel knows me left to right/ My love, my smell, my sense of sight” (“Rachel’s Song #5” track 5, disc 2 of the “Rachel, Rachel” compilation set). It just means that we both like Benny Goodman. Okay! That’s it. That’s all there is to our relationship.
I can’t have you in my life right now. I need you to stop hanging around me. I need you to stop following me to work, I need you to stop following me from work, and I need you to stop standing outside my window until one in the morning. Really, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of calling the police, and they’re tired of having to pick you up.
I know how you feel about me. I appreciate how many times you’ve called me beautiful in the past week, I appreciate the time and effort that goes into learning the mandolin, even if only for a single serenade, and while my neighbors didn’t like it, I appreciated having my name spelled out in paint on every lawn down my block. The pictures you’ve drawn are wonderful, and I’ve never had a bust of my head sent to me before, but it was great, and honestly, the tattoo is lovely, but I just can’t let this continue. I can’t be with you.
Now, my roommate’s have told me to file for a restraining order, but I don’t want it to come to that. I think that we can deal with this like adults. All I need for you to do is to stop trying to talk to me. Okay? Can you do that? Just forget we even met, forget about the CD store, and stop going there to get music. I know some really cute girls who work at Sam Goody, with terrific taste in music. I’m sure you’d get along with them.
I’m wrapping this up now, because you’ve started throwing pebbles at my window again. And yes, there’s the singing. This is going to be the last time I write to you. If you don’t stop this behavior right now, I will get that restraining order. Okay, I see that I need to throw this out to you now, as the neighbors have once again called the police. I hope you have a good life, really, I do, but if I can offer a suggestion to your courting strategy: be a tad less clingy. No, clingy isn’t the word I’m looking for. It’s creepy. Be a tad less creepy.
Thank you,
Rachel.
posted by SCY at 8:39 AM
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