It broke the spell. It's not that I stopped being happy. I was still inexplicably, utterly happy. But suddenly the happiness had implications.
Rachel CohnTherefore. Ergo. Erg. Argh. Ugh.
Rachel CohnI also feel fairly confident that the original Texaco Salvatore was a good family man, with perhaps a propensity for wearing his wife's panties and betting his kids' college money at the track, but otherwise a solid dude.
Rachel CohnThere. I've said everything I wanted to say without actually having to use the words "please stay
Rachel CohnA bell rings and Pavlov's dog has a fucking seizure on the dance floor.
Rachel CohnI mean, they're only the best punk band out there right now, named for the fucking apathy of a xenophobic fucking nation oblivious to the fucking terror its leaders wreak on the rest of the world because they're too busy worrying if their cat might be stuck up a tree or something.
Rachel CohnPerhaps it's not that I'm frigid-- it's that once I decide I like a guy, I turn into a raging idiot, unfit for public appearances.
Rachel CohnA bum slumped in a corner seat called out, "Give the girl a dance already, ya bum!
Rachel CohnDo you want to guess what's in here?" I asked Dash.
"I think I've got it figured out already. There's a new supply of red notebooks in there, and you want us to fill them in with clues about the works of, say, Nicholas Sparks."
"Who?" I asked. Please, no more broody poets. I couldn't keep up.
"You don't know who Nicholas Sparks is?" Dash asked.
I shook my head.
"Please don't ever find out," he said.
I mean, I think I am basically a cool girl, but I am also a pain in the ass.
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