All American Kid
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There's a scene on this one episode of Sex And The City. The whole episode is filled with references to that old Barbara Streisand/Robert Redford movie, "The Way We Were". They sing the song. You know, the one that goes; "Memories, misty water-colored memories, like the corner of my mind?" And they're talking about the differences between Carrie ( Read more... )

It's hard to say. Not that I'm like actively thinking that maybe I would. I wouldn't. At least I hope I wouldn't. But that's a loaded question. It's one of those things that people sit around and talk hypothetically about, but who can be sure what they'd really do when actually in the situation. I mean, it's easy to sit there and say what you would ( Read more... )

In the middle of all the craziness and the chaos of my intro post, I noticed Kennedy's resident smirk slowly fade into something darker until a frown preceeded her slamming her laptop shut. At that point, I wasn't exactly in the greatest mood myself. All this talk with my not-so-evil twin that was halfway across the world from me right then was ( Read more... )

I'd say I hate making introductions, but I think most of you have already covered that so I'll just stick to the basics and move along ( Read more... )

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For over a year, every time she closed her eyes, she saw Hallie's face as it slipped beneath the surface of the lake. The water dark and glittering as it slid over her beautiful face, melting the lines. Her long blonde hair would spread out like a halo that lacked illumination and her eyes, wide and brown, stared upward without seeing. She would ( Read more... )

It's not bad advice, per se. It just wasn't helpful. Nothing in this life works out the way it was meant to. Even good intentions fail. We have to roll with the punches, get back up when we're knocked down, and generally accept that nothing is ever going to be the way we wanted it to or thought it would be. There may be a grand plan, but plans ( Read more... )

My parents hated my boyfriend. Like, I mean, they really, really hated him. He wasn’t good enough. Not for me, but for them. My mom’s an anthropologist, and my dad’s a psychiatrist. They have PhD’s and feel comfortably suited for the title of “Dr.” They always wanted the same for me, though it was a constant war over whose footsteps I’d follow. (My ( Read more... )