Her name was "Espresso"

Tricky little one you are. Tricky.

I was walking the busy streets to work one day when she came to me. The smell of smoke and freshly butchered meat came from the factory across the street. I was lacking sleep and my heart would not pump my blood. I wanted to walk faster, but my mind wouldn't let my legs.

She looked at me with those eyes.

She passed me by on the sidewalk. Her hair long and streaming in blonde strands. Her aroma sweet and tempting. Her lips succulent and inviting. It was just a moment, but I could feel the electricity pass between us. My heart began to pump again. I could feel my legs gain momentum. I turned my body around 180 degrees and followed her.

As cold as it was she wan't wearing much of a coat. It looked more like a thin, red button-down sweater. She also wore a skirt which was unusual for this time of year. We both had are hands in our pockets. She couldn't see me.

Stay in the shadows

I followed her past the pizza shop, past the dry-cleaners, past the adult video store. Until she stopped. As she turned around and looked at me her face bared a grin of sinister proportions. Her lips spread across her face in a V-shape. She finally turned a corner and entered into a Starbucks. I followed her in. I couldn't see her anywhere.

Walk up to the counter

I walked forward to the counter and heard a young, squirrely looking man with a high pitched voice say, "Welcome to Starbucks. How may I help you?"

"Did you see a young lady with blonde hair and a red sweater come in?"
"No sir. No one like that came in here."
"Are you sure?"

I looked around where the restrooms were. Nothing.

Then I saw in the corner an elderly gentlemen of about 75-80 years of age. He stuck a long, bony finger out to summon me to come to him.

"Sit down." he said. "You saw a young lady, with blonde hair and a red sweater?"
"I-I think so. I'm not so sure anymore."
He grinned and said, "You saw a ghost!"
"What makes you think that?"
"I know who you saw." He said. "About two years ago a young lady died right outside this store in a brutal car crash. Her boyfriend was in the car with her at the time and he died first (or so the doctors said). Well, she was very close to this kid and she was pregnant at the time, but she hadn't told him yet. People say she roams around this area looking for him, so she can tell him that she was pregnant.

I left Starbucks with my heart sinking. Is this real? Is what he said real? How could she be so real to me and yet a ghost? I could smell her. I could feel her.

I finally got to work. I was surprised they didn't fire me for being late

The inexplainable happens. All we can do is keep the memories and keep the stories and hope that the next perfect girl I meet is not dead.


You walk beside the white picket fence, running your hand lightly over the pointed tops. You reach the gate, and reach over the top to unhook the latch, then push it open easily. Step into impossibly green grass, let the gate swing quietly back into place.

Dogs come romping up to meet you, sniffing your legs and licking your hands, nudging you forward across the lawn, towards the castle.

The castle walls are a bright shining white, and clean as if there were no such thing as dirt or dust. Towers mark each corner, and windows open up in every direction. You are walking along a faint path in the grass, heading straight for the tall, reddish-brown double doors.

A small building connects to the front wall close to the doors. Cats are sunning themselves on the flat roof of this little house. Little doors and windows indicate that this is the animal house – a Boogle house for the dogs and cats of the front lawn.

As you reach the doors, the dogs leave you to go and play again. A guard stands on either side of this entrance: upright blue canines wearing gold-trimmed red robes.They incline their heads to you, their black-tipped ears flipping in acknowledgement. There is a black mask around their eyes, and their long, almost feline, black-striped tails wave gently.

They open the doors for you, and you step forward into a spacious, high-ceilinged lobby. The floor is tiled as a black-and-white checkerboard, and each tile gleams as if it has never seen a speck of dirt. To your right, a white staircase curves away and up, to a balcony from which one can get to each room on the second level.

To your right is a wide doorway, leading into a large, comfortable bedroom. Peeking in, you see a red velvet cover lying atop the king-sized bed, and white silk pillows piled at the head. At the far wall, a great chestnut dresser claims the spot underneath the window. In the corner to the left of this stands a tall polished wooden partition, which turns this corner into a private dressing room.

Standing in the middle of the lobby again, you see a kitchen area straight ahead. There is a woman cooking at the stove against the far wall with her back to you, humming loudly. The aroma of a finely-cooked meal begins to reach you, and you begin to walk forward.

Then from a hall to the left of this kitchen soft footpads can be heard, and a large tiger comes bounding towards you, its feline mouth curved in a smile. He stops before you and paws gently at your leg, wishing to be greeted. You kneel down and hug his warm, furry neck, hearing him rumble happily.

When you stand up, he leads you to the kitchen, to a round white table where another blue wolf sits, reading a newspaper. As you approach, he looks up and smiles at you.

“Welcome home.”

Yesterday, I came across a new website: www.hellokitty.com. It was so cute!! I signed up for the free trial e-mail, and I chatted with the people on the message boards. They were kind of strange, but I met a few cool people. I even talked to my best friend on there last night. There are games and even things that you can buy on the website. Like, Hello Kitty lunch boxes, pens, back-packs, and little tupper ware containers. Everything is so cute, it's like a 6 year old girl's dream, except for the e-mail and chat rooms.

Working and living in Washington, DC offers its share of surreal moments. Such as seeing Ralph Nader on the street every day, who attempts to hide behind a conspicuous floppy felt hat, or discovering that the unassuming guy you bump into every night when you walk your dog is in reality the political operative who spearheaded the war on John Ashcroft’s nomination. Walking home every night on 17th Street, I look at the after-work crowds sprawled out on restaurant patios and wonder who they really are -- what good or evil do these people commit every day in the halls of Congress?

Yesterday, I was introduced to a new colleague at work -- a guy who spent the last thirty years in journalism and politics. Noticing the Howard Dean paraphernalia stuck to my office door (as well as the embarrassing poster advertising EA’s “Return of the King” video game, a game I don’t even own), he told me that he just doesn’t like Dean.

“He’s just a rich guy he said, a Yale guy. He’s the same as George Bush.”

“Who do you support?” I asked.

He hemmed and hawed about Gephardt, but then told me, “Joe Lieberman has been around awhile, he’s a good man.”

I continued to grill him on his political interests, a subject he was delighted to discuss at length, despite the fact that he had to leave. What struck me most about the exchange, though, was that he wasn’t the least bit interested in why I like Howard Dean -- he could have cared less about my political beliefs at all. You’d think that if he disliked Dean as much as he said he did he would have been interested in just why I liked him -- but that didn’t seem to be the case.

And therein lies the problem with the Democratic Party -- its longtime members and leaders have no interest in what young people (and I’m nearly 30, so I’m not that young, anymore) have to say. They expect to field people they like -- like Joe Lieberman -- simply because of time served, and not because of the issues. And we’re expected to blindly go along with it and vote for whomever they’ve prescribed for the rest of us to support.

Is it any wonder that young people feel disconnected from the political process?

Wedding Prep 101

As background, I am getting married. This day log starts today and will take you through all the events of planning, preparing, and having the wedding. Plus, I may also add a bit of the honeymoon.

Now then, let's get started.

Today, I was crushed. My mom sent me an email saying she didn't get me the dress I wanted online because she didn't get my e-mail saying I liked it in time. Internet is so irritating sometimes.

However, on a better note, we have picked out the rings. He wants a black titanium ring. Mine is white gold.

We also have the caterer hired. His aunt, Amy is doing it for us. My friend Summer's mom is my florist. So those two problems are taken care of anyhow. I do however have a huge list left to do. Here goes.

  • Buy a dress
  • Get said dress fitted
  • Make a guest list
  • Send out invitations
  • Get bridesmaids dresses
  • Hire a DJ
  • Hire a photographer
  • Hire a priest
  • Rent a hall for the reception
  • Set up the honeymoon
  • Look for limo prices
  • Pick a cake design
  • Buy gifts for bridesmaids
  • Make appointment for make-up
  • Make appointment for hair
  • Get a brazilian
  • Tan
  • Lose 50 pounds
  • Get acrylics

And I'm sure I'm forgetting stuff. *sigh* I have so much to do.

It's hard to say why you suddenly feel love for someone, at least to come up with the reason quickly is hard. First off, I think I am the kind of person who can feel love quite easily, without necessarily feeling I have to spend the rest of my life loving someone or just loving one person at a time. I love a lot of people, some less and some more.

Given that, it's not too odd to find that just a breif encounter with someone online can make me feel a kinship and love for that person. So, yclept, I find that I love you. It has to do with your intelligence, your wit and your sincere will to help others, to befriend others. All this is obvious when one views your catbox chatter and other doings here on E2, such as:Vote Giant Squid 2004.

I felt I owed it to myself and to you not to make little of my comment the other day but to try and be clear about it. I hope you don't mind.

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