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Post by Christen Emerson on Apr 13, 2007 2:04:33 GMT 7
[/i] loving simple ham and cheese sandwiches: they were, after all, fast to make, and effective when it came to making him full, or at least less hungry. And, of course, they did not take much time to make, which was the key element in Christen’s eyes: he was as lazy as a donkey sometimes, and only settled for fast made sandwiches. Unless somebody else was making him a sandwich. Then, it was a completely different story. Looking down on his chariot, Christen let out a pleasant sigh because, for once, he did not have to hurt his mind and brain with all these useless calculations he had always had to do before buying the littlest of things. He had recently finished working on a tiring project, one had been consuming a lot of time and energy from him, and depriving him of sleep for many, many nights: he, in fact, had to design a logo as well brochures, for a local company: it was the first job that he had had in several weeks, but it had at least left him with good ol’ 3000 $ that he was sure to save a sum of for later. He was so excited about it that he even painted his entire apartment in pistachio green. He loved painting his plain, pallid walls: he had often considered it as some sort of good luck charm that would bring him good fortune and, of course, cash for a long, long somewhat imaginary, time. Indefinitely placing his had on the nylon bag of bread, Christen momentarily checked his black sports Casio watch that indicated it was already 9 in the evening; time had passed too swiftly since he was at that car exhibition in New York, photographing the antique vehicles with his phone camera. But that did not matter now. Dinner was still one of the main things that were haunting his mind; while most people liked to spoil themselves by dining at expensive, ridiculously expensive might I add, restaurants, Christen’s idea of spoiling himself was, as silly as it may seem, to eat a good home cooked meal, by his chimney. But not alone. He had spent too many nights dining alone at his home, the past month; more of those would be absolutely dreadful. Of course, there was no one that he knew that could cook good meals, except his mother, his grandmother, and Damien’s ex-girlfriend, all of which he certainly could not ask for such favors. Gah. He had bad luck, but for the past twenty six years, he had strangely gotten used to it. His phone rang briefly, indicating that had just received a message: at that point, he would not even be annoyed by a message from his own mother, that was how he happy he was about getting paid. It was not his mother(and he was thankful for it), however, it was Christiane, sending him a message that said ’mission accomplished, chris, i got my friend to get the book 4 u. take care!!! =D wanna get together this weekend? i could never drink enough coffee, you know…’ Smiling dimly at what the message said, Christen hastily entered Christiane’s number on his phone, and was about to call her, as he felt another hand book another whole wheat bread bag that lazily lay on the shelf: there were only two whole wheat bread bags left on that shelf; all the others were half wheat bread bags, accompanied by several brown kinds of bread. He smiled dimly as he grasped the one that he had already placed his hand on, leaving the other one that was left to the young lady. ”Just our luck, huh?,” he said, smiling dimly at the young girl as he closed the flip. ”I was gonna go nuts if this was the last one in here.”[/ul]
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Post by Rebecca Gunther on Apr 27, 2007 18:42:23 GMT 7
Running errands at the mall; who knew such a seemingly small task could be so hectic and so tiring? For one thing, this was definitely a busy day that had started from one that wasn't meant to be so busy. On one hand, she held three paper bags; one, from Abercrombie and Fitch; another from Victoria Secret; and the last, a bag from Barnes and Nobles holding none other than the Karma Sutra Christiane had asked her to buy, not for herself but for a friend of her brother's. Why he wanted it, was still completely beyond her. On her other hand, however, was her cell-phone.
Rebecca had just ended the long chat on the phone with Christiane and was on her way to the grocery store now, trying to buy the necessities on her list. 1. Tampons. 2. Wheat bread. 3. Pancake Mix. 4. Toothpaste. And the list went on. Becca grabbed a grocery cart and stuffed the paper bags in there roughly, not caring to pick up the book and put it back inside the bag. She shook her pale petite and tired hands in the air for a moment taking in a deep breath as she glanced at the pressure lines coming from the impact of the bag handles being pushed into her skin.
Letting out a small sigh, she pushed the cart towards her first destination; the whole wheat bread. Reaching the rack of bread, she noticed that only two were left of whole wheat and quickly reached out her hand to grab it, catching a glimpse of another much more masculine arm reach for the other loaf. She turned to face him, her bright, vibrant blue orbs glazing at the man who at the moment seemed so familiar. Yet, she couldn't put her finger on whether or not she had met him before. There was just something about this aura she could sense coming from him.
She laughed lightly, her wide smile revealing her million dollar smile. Of course, that was just hypothetically speaking. "I know what you mean," she said, carelessly putting the loaf of bread down just next to the Karma Sutra book without breaking eye-contact with the man before her. "I know Christiane would go crazy if I bought her any typical half wheat bread. She's not the type to eat things that are meant for dieting and neither am I!" She quickly added in before breaking eye-contact for a moment, Becca cocked her head to the side slightly as if examining him and extended her right arm yet again for him to shake. "I'm Rebecca, by the way," she said, biting her bottom lip as a habit before furrowing her eyebrows in a confused expression, "Have we met before?"
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Post by Christen Emerson on Apr 27, 2007 19:55:15 GMT 7
[/i] was an adjective that never truly did give Damien any justice, beauty itself was never vital, nor was it radical, in Damien's eyes - all his girlfriends were naturally witted women, gifted with genuine drollness and intelligence. He had great taste in women. Christen would have surely remembered Rebecca, if Damien had dated her. Her face was too remarkable to be easily forgotten. But not her name - it was awfully familiar, to him; he simply could not place his finger on it. As he heard her mention a certain Christiane, a friend of Rebecca's, no doubt, Christen instantaneously remembered Christiane - he still did have to reply to her text message. Could they both be acquainted to the same Christiane? After all, how often did anyone really meet girls named Christiane? As far as he knew, that name was extinct everywhere, apart from France, perhaps, Damien and Christiane's mother's home country. But then again, Huntley was a relatively big city: there surely were more than merely one Christiane in it. It would be too green of him to think that it was not possible, anyhow. "I know someone who's like that, too," he said, referring to Christiane, failing to mention her name. "For someone who loves to eat healthy food, she's really infatuated with coffee," he said, placing his phone in his pocket. "Christen," he said, shaking Rebecca's hand. "I... don't think so. I think I would have remembered you," he said. He truly wanted to say, I think I would have remembered a face like yours, needless to say, however, he decided against it; she could have easily interpreted it the wrong way, as he simply meant that he had a strong memory. Well, maybe not just that. Christen worked in outlandish ways. Checking his watch once more, his gaze indefinitely landed on her cart, seeing the Kama Sutra carelessly tucked behind certain items. Raising his eyebrow slightly, he wondered what such a book would be doing with a young girl like Rebecca, although, surely, just about anyone would be interested in it. Everyone, in fact, loved sex. Nobody ever admitted it, however. Perhaps it was meant to be a gift, like his future book was soon meant to be? "Nice book," he said, checking his watch to hide his dimly blushed cheeks.[/ul]
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Post by Rebecca Gunther on Apr 29, 2007 20:31:27 GMT 7
Letting a small laugh escape her lips, it didn't take a valedictorian to know that Rebecca was in fact, enjoying her small chat with a guy she had just met. All this while, her mother had repeatedly told her not to speak to strangers and until her sweet sixteen when the more, wild and feisty Becca broke out of her hard shell, she has been obediently following her mother's ways. He was obviously much older than herself; probably around Nicklas' age or maybe even older. Still, he didn't send out that uncomfortable aura she sensed coming from older guys and considering Becca was always one to follow her intuition, that was definitely a good sign.
"I don't blame her," she added, "Coffee is pretty addictive. I'd know, I've got this huge fetish for Starbucks. Coffee Bean's not too shabby either, but Starbucks is definitely better." Realizing she was pretty much rambling on and on about how much she loves Starbucks, Rebecca stopped midway and smiled sweetly at the man standing before her. She ran her free left hand through her hair, smoothening it slightly, before cocking her head to the side at the sudden mention of his name; Christen. How it reminded her of someone so familiar, yet she just couldn't put her finger on it.
Deciding to brush away the thought before it could start agitating her even more, Rebecca looked down at the Karma Sutra book in her cart that had just happened to make its way out of the paper bag, revealing itself to everyone. Feeling the heat on her cheeks as it slowly turned a light shade of pink, she quickly made a move to carefully put the book back where it belongs before turning back to face Christen, still blushing and feeling embarrassed. Becca couldn't help but to wonder how many others had noticed it before him, and the first though that had crossed their minds at the time. She bit her bottom lip lightly before looking back up at him with those vibrant blue orbs of hers.
"Oh, I can assure you it's not mine!" she quickly stated, shaking her head along as she spoke. "It's actually for a friend of a friend of... a friend?" Furrowing her eyebrows as she spoke, Rebecca mentally slapped herself. And now he probably thinks I'm a lunatic.
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Post by Christen Emerson on May 17, 2007 3:11:26 GMT 7
[/i] friend. She'd probably tell you everything about the way your body actually gets addicted to things, and how it's bad for you, even though she's addicted to coffee as well,"[/b] Christen said, smiling dimly to himself, rubbing his neck slightly. "No, I didn't mean to- uhh-," Christen said in response to Rebecca's subtle shyness, feeling somewhat responsible, somewhat guilty for ever bringing up that damn Kama Sutra book. It was exceptionally ironic, however, coincidental being perhaps a more appropriate term to use in this case, for an absolute stranger to have bought the Kama Sutra on the same day that he had asked Christiane to buy it for him. Had he not intended to buy the Kama Sutra for Damien as a welcome back gift, he had thought lowly of Rebecca, surely taking her for a pervert: he knew, however, that he himself was not a pervert, which could only mean that she indisputably had her reasons, as well. He laughed faintly to himself, damning, or perhaps even thanking himself for never having taken the apposite time to truly go through the Kama Sutra before. If some had told him eight years ago, that eight years from then, he would be buying a Kama Sutra for his friend, he would surely laugh: Christen and Damien were a unique pair, however, even though they were not the best of friends, no matter how close they truly were: back at Rutherford, they were not quite the 'hunches' that they now were. Never got dates. Never got laid. Never knew how to get laid. Hence why the Kama Sutra would be the perfect gift for Damien: to remind him of the old, bitter, good times. He even knew exactly what to write on the package's cover, as a dedication: 'If only someone gave this to us back at Rutherford'. "I'm sorry, it's just that," he said, feeling momentarily overwhelmed by his own thoughts. "Let me see it up close," he added, gingerly taking the book out of its paper bag, holding it in his hands with genuine interest. He had to admit, he felt fairly nervous, holding that book for the first time, in the presence of a complete stranger, no less; as intimidating as it may have seemed, however, Chrsiten was only interested, or so he would admit, in what seemed to be the fascinating facade and garish colors of the cover of the Kama Sutra. Who knew that a mere sex book, supposedly made for perverted men who masturbated on their own in their pitiful little toilet, was originally made with such exquisiteness. Art had peculiar facades, at times. "Interesting choice of color," he said, tapping the silver and golden bold letters, tainted with jade green and ashy gray. "Perfect blending," he said, opening the book to page 1, paying close attention to the amalgamation of the yellows and the whites drawn beautifully on the pallid skins of the lovers in Missionary. "This is beautiful. See? The way the yellow, the green and the blue are combined? Yeah, it's perfect for Da- ...your friend," he said, closing the book, handing it back to Rebecca with a small smile drawn on his face.[/ul]
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