"there are oceans and waves and wires between us" - rilo kiley
My Deareste Nicke (don't question the Old World spelling),
After dancing gaily and being much overjoyed from hearing from you in two rare Internet hijinxes, I have finally sat myself back down in front of the computer to let you know of my spring break doings.
Not much has happened since my last update, besides that gig at a birthday party. It was a pretty abysmal cesspool of technical mishaps and crushed Technicolor confidence. The three songs we played were very quiet and melodic and clashed with the hard, pseudo-punk audience that just sat there, judging us with their eyes and sipping their sipping drinks and smoking their smoking smokes. Jenny and Lila came to see me, but they missed our show.
Afterwards, because we were much in need of something cold and dairy, the band, Lauren (Eve's mom, not to be mistaken with the other Lauren), Lila, Jenny and I went down the street to Baskin Robbins. I had a cappuccino blast. It was good. A bit too watery, though. We enjoyed icey things together, but Lauren had to go somewhere, and she was the band's ride so they all left.
Jenny, Lila and I proceeded to watch "The United States of Leland." I liked the main character, Leland, but sometimes I felt the movie was making him too special and different. Like we should smile and be interested in his thoughts because he said things like, "I know what they want from me" and talked funny. He was interesting, but he reminded me so much of Charlie that it wasn't that amazing or anything.
I'm happy to see that you've joined the dance of the Irish people, or at least the area in the corner reserved for tourists. Nevertheless, I miss you and am experiencing the severe side effects of Nicklessness (i.e. gnashing of teeth, tearing of clothes, moneylending). I had a dream about you, but, promising as that may sound, it had something to do with your mom getting mad at me for not bringing watermelons to your birthday party. And then we were plunged into a Star Wars-esque realm of brown, barren landscape, abandoned spacecrafts half buried in the sand, and a vague sense of duty to fight against some oncoming evil. Maybe this means that Choochie is in trouble. Please write back soon.
Love,
The One and Only Rebecca
After dancing gaily and being much overjoyed from hearing from you in two rare Internet hijinxes, I have finally sat myself back down in front of the computer to let you know of my spring break doings.
Not much has happened since my last update, besides that gig at a birthday party. It was a pretty abysmal cesspool of technical mishaps and crushed Technicolor confidence. The three songs we played were very quiet and melodic and clashed with the hard, pseudo-punk audience that just sat there, judging us with their eyes and sipping their sipping drinks and smoking their smoking smokes. Jenny and Lila came to see me, but they missed our show.
Afterwards, because we were much in need of something cold and dairy, the band, Lauren (Eve's mom, not to be mistaken with the other Lauren), Lila, Jenny and I went down the street to Baskin Robbins. I had a cappuccino blast. It was good. A bit too watery, though. We enjoyed icey things together, but Lauren had to go somewhere, and she was the band's ride so they all left.
Jenny, Lila and I proceeded to watch "The United States of Leland." I liked the main character, Leland, but sometimes I felt the movie was making him too special and different. Like we should smile and be interested in his thoughts because he said things like, "I know what they want from me" and talked funny. He was interesting, but he reminded me so much of Charlie that it wasn't that amazing or anything.
I'm happy to see that you've joined the dance of the Irish people, or at least the area in the corner reserved for tourists. Nevertheless, I miss you and am experiencing the severe side effects of Nicklessness (i.e. gnashing of teeth, tearing of clothes, moneylending). I had a dream about you, but, promising as that may sound, it had something to do with your mom getting mad at me for not bringing watermelons to your birthday party. And then we were plunged into a Star Wars-esque realm of brown, barren landscape, abandoned spacecrafts half buried in the sand, and a vague sense of duty to fight against some oncoming evil. Maybe this means that Choochie is in trouble. Please write back soon.
Love,
The One and Only Rebecca