Category Archives: Lover

One day I’m going to grow wings

High Fidelity


What’s it like to think about somebody that never thinks of you?

You take very subtle things to most people, as leaps of faith, believing that things will finally go your way.    Your heart begins to race a bit while you maintain your cool, but what you really want to do is grab her in your arms and twirl in circles in an overgrown grass field in the high desert.  You can hear the frogs in the cool summer evening but the warmth of her touch sends every sound away as you hear your smile try to stretch itself a little but further.  You lubricate your thoughts with nostalgic feelings, “I can only hope to come home to you every day.”

What’s it like to love somebody that doesn’t love you back?

Your heart begins to heart and just as you think you will make a move in the right direction, taking that lovesick, heart-wrenching pill, the poison is injected again by a simple smile or the desire to spend time with you.  This person can do no wrong yet they are completely wrong for what is right for you – yet this reoccurring dream will not escape your thoughts.  You only wish the horrible of that taking place during Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.  You must remove those spots; those spots are tumors blinding your health, your soul, your love, and your life.

What’s it feel like when all this happens without reason?

You simply feel let down…let down to the point where every song reminds you of her.  You make connections of the simplest things and tie them to the strongest memories.  You become John Cusack in High Fidelity counting off the five things you love about Laura.

My Five Things:

1) She has stupid pet peeves that are irrelevant to the world we live in but they bother her enough to give her a tone in her voice suggesting she is VERY serious and it is the cutest fucking thing in the world.

2)      While most people tell stories that bore you within seconds, she tells stories that are engaging and captivating having you engulfed and fully aware of the details so you will never forget them.  These details later become inside jokes that make your relationship that much more special.  Given the occasion where the story might be blasé and benign, you still listen because it gives you the opportunity to look into her scenic eyes, loving her perfectly shaped lips, and that funny wrinkle she gets in her nose when she expresses amusement.  Freckles line her soft smooth skin.  You can’t help but keep your eyes on her

3) Her presence radiates energy and permeates beauty to those around her.  She could be wearing old baggy sweats and a hat or enjoying some cut off shorts and a tank top, she is always unintentionally exposing this physique and figure that makes you want to hold her knowing that she will be with you forever.

4) Her hands, oh my, her hands.  She’s got perfect fingers and just the right amount of wrinkles.  Her nails are natural her blemishes are flawless.  You want to reach over while your driving just to squeeze it tightly between your fingers.  That touch and squeeze is just enough to let her know that everything is all right and she knows it.  When you go to bed that hand is there. When you wake up it’s the first thing you look for.  As you depart for your day it’s the last thing you feel on her. When you return it’s the first thing you reach for.  When you are out and about it’s your stronghold, when you love someone, it’s all you need.

5) She’s fun.  She loves to have a good time in a way that most girls don’t.  She is a material girl without material things. She enjoys the simplicity of a book or a bottle of wine, anything more is over the top but she loves you nonetheless.  Everything about her is right.  You get excited when she calls, you get excited when she texts.  Each time you see her you can’t wait to see her again. Every night ends too soon, and while you’re away the time is too long.  She walks with confidence and lets you know how she feels.

She’s the most beautiful girl in the world.

When you feel like this about someone you do not sleep it off.  You don’t take drugs or travel.  You simply do not forget about someone like this.  Do you fight or do you wait?  What do you do?  I cope by hoping that time will tell.  I know this may be the biggest mistake or maybe it will be for the better.  Regardless, I am let down.

Writing this Radiohead’s “Let Down” felt accommodating for the moment.  From the opening picking to the first bass line, the emotions are there.  I am just let down and hanging around.

I just wish I could grow those wings….

Transport, motorways and tramlines
Starting and then stopping

Taking off and landing

The emptiest of feelings

Disappointed people, clinging on to bottles

And when it comes it’s so, so, disappointing

Let down and hanging around
Crushed like a bug in the ground

Let down and hanging around

Shell smashed, juices flowing
Wings twitch, legs are going

Don’t get sentimental

It always ends up drivel

One day, I am gonna grow wings

A chemical reaction

Hysterical and useless

Hysterical and

Let down and hanging around
Crushed like a bug in the ground

Let down and hanging around

Let down again
Let down again

Let down

You know, you know where you are with
You know where you are with

Floor collapsing, falling, bouncing back

And one day, I am gonna grow wings

A chemical reaction (you know where you are)

Hysterical and useless (you know where you are)

Hysterical and (you know where you are)

Let down and hanging around
Crushed like a bug in the ground

Let down and hanging around

“Sometimes I got so bored of trying to touch her breast that I would try to touch her between her legs. It was like trying to borrow a dollar, getting turned down, and asking for 50 grand instead.”


Rob ~ High Fidelity


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Come Away With Me

When you listen to a lot of music it is hard to distinguish good from great as a lot of it begins to sound the same.  Bands/musicians/artists put their own touch on songs giving the listener the opportunity to decipher beats, chords, drums formulating their own opinion about the music they’ve created.

I could not compile a list of all the sings I am drawn to for one reason or another, but today I heard a song that made me feel good.   As we all very

know the influx talent continues from Manchester, Leeds, Liverpool, London – in this case Oxford.

Foals is another indie/dance/pop/rock band (categorize it as you will) from Oxford.  They’ve received critical acclaim worldwide, are embarking on an international tour and have been nominated for the coveted Mercury Prize, amongst the likes of past winners such as Arctic Monkeys,  Antony and the Johnsons, Franz Ferdinand, PJ Harvey and Primal Scream (The xx edged them out this year, and how the fuck Roni Size beat out OK Computer in 1997 is outrageous – Im sure the panel feels the same way now ).

Sitting at my desk each day I stream Santa Monica’s KCRW hosted by DJ Jason Bentley.  Often I am muting the music for phone calls forgetting to turn the volume back up, but on most occasion, come 11:15, I am able to hear the studio sessions that take place, typically a few days prior to bands arriving in Portland for the west coast portion of their tours.  I’ve lost track how many times I’ve decided to attend a show based solely on a mid-morning studio performance by bands that are still awake from the evening’s van/bus ride from another city.  This is what it means to earn this spot on KCRW.

Now most of you have heard Foals on the radio or seen their name pop up in a number of online (maybe even print) music publications.  Making way into the states via our neighbors up north music label in Seattle, the infamous SubPop Records (See Avi Buffalo, Beach House, Helio Sequence and Wolf Parade in case you’ve been living under a fucking rock the last four years) Foals have gained the attention of people that not necessarily want to hear something new, but something that has been done before better than those that have tried and failed.

Moving on…

The studio session goes like this:  A few songs – interview – a few songs

The first few songs sounded good.  Good like the xx do when you first hear the bass line kick in.  The interview sells half the show as you get to appreciate the artist for who they are  (Sometimes they are real pricks – see Autolux show from last week, I hate that they’re so damn good).

After the interview session in which Bentley asks the questions that let you meet who you are listening to via the airwaves, the Foals, sounding excited and appreciative for all they’ve come into, started their second in-studio set.

The song, Spanish Sahara (lyrics below)

Progressing out of a drum machine and simple keyboard notes lead singer Yannis Philippakis’ falsetto layers the dismal tone with a beautiful sadness.  Then comes a light kick drum and the xx-like bass line and a quick guitar picking/rhythm strumming…break…snare, high e with a delay pedal and repeat (2:44:33 on the live version).  The song takes time to build but as it does enjoy the ride through your memories.

I was in Princeton, New Jersey swinging with friends at 2:30 in the morning.

I was running in the rain along the Caribbean coast of northwest Costa Rica.

I was in drinking Dewar’s between train cars outside of Brussels.

I was travelling through memories that have yet to happen, envisioning someone close, looking back on the memories we had built over the years.

I was dead looking at how fast life passed me by.

The song wraps around emotion, wrings them out and gets you ready to soak up more as the crescendo peaks well into the 7-minute piece.  The live translation of this track has sold me to go see them at the Doug Fir next week.  Something that grants me this joy is worth the price of admission, even if for the one song.  I see myself at the show lost in my own Spanish Sahara reliving moments while mind wandering to new, happily shedding some tears, cleansing the soul for the long winter.

Foals “Spanish Sahara”

For what I heard today check out KCRW

The track starts at 2:42:26 but I recommend you enjoy the 3 hour show.


Spanish Sahara

See you there my friend












So I walked into the haze
And a million dirty ways
Now I see you lying there
Like a lilo losing air air

Black rocks and shoreline sand
Still that summer I cannot bear
And I wipe the sand from my eyes
Spanish sahara the place that you´d wanna
Leave the horror here
Forget the horror here
forget the horror here
Leave it all down here
It’s future rust and then it´s future dust
Forget the horror here
forget the horror here
Leave it all down here
It’s future rust and then it´s future dust

Now the waves they drag you down
Carry you to broken ground
Though I find you in the sand
Wipe you clean with dirty hands

So god damn this boiling space
Spanish sahara the place that you´d wanna
Leave the horror here
Forget the horror here forget the horror here
Leave it all down here
It’s future rust and then it´s future dust
I’m the fury in your head
I’m the fury in your bed
I’m the ghost in the back of your head

Cause I am

I’m the fury in your head
I’m the fury in your bed
I’m the ghost in the back of your head

Cause I am
I’m the fury in your head
I’m the fury in your bed
I’m the ghost in the back of your head
Cause I am

Forget the horror here
forget the horror here
Leave it all down here
It’s future rust and then it´s future dust
Choir of furies in you head
Choir of furies in your bed
I’m the ghost in the back of your head

Cause I am
Choir of furies in you head
Choir of furies in your bed
I’m the ghost in the back of your head

Cause I am
Choir of furies in you head
Choir of furies in your bed
I’m the ghost in the back of your head
Cause I am

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Little Boxes

Little Boxes
The summer months moved along awfully slow.  In fact, every hour of every day seemed to have no end.  My sleep was little and my pain was great.  The tears rolled down my face each night as I searched for a moment of comfort and relief; they were far and few between.  The pain I felt was one of which I would not wish upon my worst enemy, in this case myself.
I first felt the pain on Sunday, May 29, 2005.  I sat in the front seat of my father’s forest green Jetta and stared at across the Columbia River.  The River stared back but said nothing.  The Bridge of the Gods sent a whisper through the wind that entered the car and shook me cold.  I felt a bite to my lower back and right hip; I shook it off by demonstrating minor discomfort.  This had to be a result of sleeping in a field the night prior.
The Sasquatch Music Festival was an event I tried to be part of as often as possible.  Usually held around Memorial Day weekend, the industry’s latest greatest indie rock bands arrived to George, WA to play what has become one of America’s most treasured venues, the Gorge Amphitheater.  Settled above the banks of the Columbia, thousand of people came each year to indulge, imbibe, and get away from the little boxes.
The years I attended, a trip to Seattle was always in store pre-festivities.  My old childhood friend and I would collect some liquor, bags of drugs, pack up the car, and anticipate a memorable weekend that we would talk of for years to come.
In 2003, my friend was still at the University of Washington.  A quick trip up the corridor put me in Seattle with just enough time to stockpile a weekend of fun.  After a nap of a few hours, we woke in the dorm room, packed our bags, and thought for good measure, we might as well two a couple bumps of cocaine since we had a long drive ahead of us and no coffee; a sound justification at the time.
This year we had moved the party up a few hours by splitting a double stack ecstasy pill the night before.  We danced on the rooftops of Seattle and shot the moon with our thoughts.  We owned the night.  It was what we did.
The festival was no different.  We set up camp in the heat of the early afternoon sun.  Some cocktails and victuals were in store; God forbid you drink and drug yourself on an empty stomach.  We had no reason to split a pill this time, we were about to party with rock stars for ten hours; party we did.  Falling asleep in a tent that rest on an uneven field of long grass was surely why my back gave me so much discomfort.
The rest of the year passed.  My daily run turned into a daily bike ride.  The pain from running was unbearable.  Every now and then I would feel cured and kick a soccer ball around with friends, but that only lasted moments of every month that came.  My justification and blame for back pain soon left central Washington and became much more immediate.  I was without a car and thought I would better myself by riding my bike to and from.  I had a decent road bike that always showed me a great time.  I dedicated myself to riding, rain or shine.  Occasionally I would negotiate a ride, but for the most part I was riding a few miles to school and then an additional nine miles to work across the river.  My back was becoming incredibly sore; it must certainly be all the riding.
X-rays and physical therapy all blamed my lack of flexibility for back problems.
“You have to do these stretches for an hour each day,” the therapist would bark.  “The pain in your lower back is caused by the tightness in your hamstrings and gloots.”
I continued the stretching, the riding, and the pain.  I was losing weight and satisfied with my results.  The bike riding, though painful, was paying off.
“If I am losing all this weight and becoming much more flexible, why does this pain in my back keep getting worse?”
2006 finally came.  I was working as editor-in-chief for the Clark College student newspaper to keep fresh on my practice of journalism. This was merely a hobby and a social experiment.  I attended Hofstra University in Long Island, New York University in Manhattan, lived in Costa Rica, traveled the world, and had a number of memories to make this time redeemable.  I did not have control of my pain and therefore had no control of my life.  This newspaper gig gave me a bit of much needed control that was so desperately needed.  I could no longer earn any transferrable college credit, but the job paid and allowed me to write, design, and edit, but most importantly, take my mind off the pain that was worsening with each passing day.
It soon turned to be that the only comfort I found was on my bike.  Being outstretched and hovering over the white frame of my bike gave me a feeling I only used to know so well; what I would do to have that feeling come back for good.  The winter and spring quarters passed and I lost of all of what little control I had.  I continued to visit the doctor and continued to hear the same fucking bullshit.  What was happening to me?  Nothing could help the pain.  Neither whiskey nor pills could alleviate me from the vise that was on my spinal cord.  Sleep was now unknown.
When I did sleep I would shiver and sweat as if possessed by an internal demon.  I would be too cold to grab another blanket and so tense I feared breathing.  I would wake up soaking wet and confused with what was fiction and what was reality.  Did I just feel those demons or was it all a dream?  Was I sweating from nightmares or did I have a fever?  I spent many nights in the bathroom, sitting on porcelain, lost in auburn squares of tile trying to find answers.  I would not be able to pass a bowel movement and urination felt like rain trying to make its way through a leaf filled gutter.   There was no pain, just no satisfaction.
I would return to bed in agony, tears of frustration rolling down my face.  Piling a mountain of pillows and blankets onto my bed may look odd to the outsider.  I would lay face down on top of this mountain, ass in air, and find some rest in this awkward position.  It was the only way I could have some piece of mind.  It was mid-July and I hadn’t slept more than two hours without interruption since early spring.  I had no motivation and no thoughts on life.  I wanted no more of what I was feeling.  Suicide was never a realistic idea, but the thought of being better off dead certainly crossed my mind.  I would just sit on the recliner and watch endless episodes of sportscenter.  Eventually I would doze off only to find myself in this angered state of sadness and bemoaning.  Life was passing me by and I did not care.
August was approaching and I had had it.  I approached my boss and asked for two weeks off to see if I could heel my back from any pain.  Kaiser finally schedule me for an MRI since I filed a workman’s compensation claim, again thinking the pain was coming from an event at work.  I primarily did this to earn some benefits of seeing doctor’s without having to pay out of pocket, seeing as it may truly have occurred at work.  My boss gladly gave me the two weeks and immediately I felt the pain ease.
This is what I needed; a much-needed break to relax, enjoy the hot August sun, and hopefully get some rest.  The MRI was scheduled for Friday, August 4, 2006.  My father was going to drive me; that was how bad the pain had become.  I had trouble getting in out of the car, up and down the stairs, and certainly into a fucking tube for an hour at 7:30 in the God damn morning.
I did not really wake up early that morning, rather just waited for the sun to come up so I could start a new day.  Sleep had long since disappeared.  I slipped on some baby blue scrubs that my step-mom had brought home from work.  She was a nurse at Kaiser and just happened to have picked up a shift at the Salmon Creek location where my MRI was scheduled.  I through on a t-shirt, pulled a black hooded sweatshirt over my head, slipped on a black pair of Crocs, grabbed my Dodger’s cap, and wobbled to the car.  All I could think of was the French toast and sausage I was going to eat after the MRI.  My father and I did not speak of much on the way to the hospital.  We discussed the potential results and the worst-case scenarios.  At this point, the worst-case scenario would have been the best possible outcome compared to the news I was to hear in a matter of hours.
Arriving at the hospital, I checked in and followed the doctor back to the MRI screening room.  I made my way to the table and rested on my back.  Trying to find a position of comfort was damn near impossible.  Trying to find a position of comfort for an hour was a fucking impossibility.  I had to put a pillow behind my knees and out stretch my arms over my head.  I knew the pain was coming and just had to fucking deal with it.
The tube seemed to get smaller as I inched my way in.  My saving grace was the window just beyond the end of the tunnel.  If I pushed my eyes to the top of my skull I could see the sky blue sky and the branches of a tree waving in the wind.  The sunlight would break through the branches and smile at me, telling me everything would be ok.
The MRI finally ended and I made my way out to the lobby where my father patiently awaited.  The gentleman who conducted the scan smiled, shook my hand, and told me he would be back in a matter of moments with a scheduled follow-up doctor’s appointment.  I wanted some mutherfucking French toast!  A short while passed and the gentleman returned.  He told me that there was a doctor waiting to see me upstairs.  This was great.  I had a scan and would be seen that same day to figure out what was causing me this grand discomfort.
I walked up the stairs and checked into module A.  Here I waited amongst noise.  Although I was nervous to find out the results of my suffering, I was anxious to get this problem resolved.  The nurse called my name.  I made my way down the hall and passed my step mom along the way.  She offered a smile and told me everything was going to be ok; she had the same tone the sun had.
I sat on the table and waited for the doctor.  I never could stand that fucking paper they laid across the examining table.  It always made me angry.  A five-foot nothing man from Vietnam walked into the room.  His coke bottle glasses and side part suited his white coat.  He looked like he came from a family that had nothing. He looked like he made his way through medical school and residency on the thoughts of his parents back home.  He knew they wanted nothing more than for him to have a better life than they could give him; he would never forget that.
His name was Doctor Vu V. Ngo.  He had broken English and wore a smile.  He brought up my results on the computer and asked me a few questions.  He typed away without ever looking at me.  When he finished questioning me he continued to fill out some notes and casually proceeded to tell me I had cancer.  What I felt at that moment is something I hope to never feel again.  I died.
There wasn’t going to be any French toast today.
I sat there and looked at this guy as if he were a heartless, soulless, piece of shit immigrant that I wanted to fucking choke and slam on the ground.  That lasted for about 3 seconds.  He then looked at me and asked if I was ok.  Oddly I was.  I was reborn.

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‘Til Death Do Us Part

Next Thursday at 7 a.m., I will be dressed in scrubs, stuffed into a tube, trying to stay still with my arms outstretched over my head for 45 minutes, as a machine takes a look at my lymph nodes.  I don’t speak of this all that often, but my doctor suggests the ventilation of anxiety and thoughts may help clear my mind; I think she is full of shit and has nothing else to offer me but anti-anxiety drugs that make me drowsy.  She means well though, and I wouldnt be here without her. Thanks Dr. Trubowitz.

It is weird who you share these things with.  I am making this public by posting it on a blog, but who reads these things anyway?  I hope someone going through the same situation happens to stumble upon this, giving me their routine and rituals.  It is so hard.

I went out to catch up with a friend last week.  We had been meaning to catch up for some time and had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I was excited to talk to this person, share life experiences, and what was happening with one another in our paths of existence.  Although I dont know this person all that well, there is a sense of security, allowing yourself to say things to someone who is willing to listen.  Old friends and family members listen, but always feel that they have to say something afterward, usually resulting in an awkward conversation, or an accidental inappropriateness that leaves them uncomfortable.  It is nice when someone just listens, knowing that you just have something to say.  It was here that I just said, “I don’t know if I can do it all over again.”

It comes down to the fact of being uncertain I could tolerate treatment a second time.  The luxury of being lined up in a row next to sick patients plugged into machines absorbing bags of poison is one thing;  bed ridden, counting on your own bone marrow to work an autologous miracle for you is another.

Life has been treating me well and my momentum is carrying me in the right direction.  It took everything in me to get rolling and moitivated to push through the first time around.  My family and friends were there, but I kept them hovering above the surface, hiding my fright and weakness during 8 months of chemo.  Part of my insecurity and stubborness is terrifeied to be out of control, unable to enjoy this beautiful ride we are on.  What I am most afraid of is not accomplishing all the things I have longed for.  I want to be here and I want to be there.  I want to see this place, dine here, hold her hand, hold my child, remodel my kitchen, take him to his first day of school, scrapbook first, second, and third birthdays, stay up all night with a sick and helpless infant that cant communicate, and grow old with my best friends.  I have tried to pretend that death doesnt scare me, but every time I get ready for a scan, the thought fucking terrifies me.

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Top 10 (Women)

10) ______ ____  

This girl still drives me nuts.  I havent seen her face in months and have no idea where she has gone off to.  She used to work at Crow Bar and she would always serve me with a smile.  It is her job to keep customers happy and keep her tip jar filled.  She was shy but had a sense of confidence about her that made her so sexy.  Her blue hair turned black, straight hair turned curly, she would lean one hand against the juke box, dirty bar towel in her back pocket, and pick some Motown classics that filled the dead, dark room with soul.

I have described her to some of my friends receiving mixed reactions.  Those who understand the image I am trying to portray, see it, and love it.  Others are too immature and call me childish  names.  I will see how well I receive the description from the readers.  It is fairly simple.  The best way to describe her, apart from being beautiful with a perfect neck, and sexier back, is to compare her to someone.  Now the only person I can think of is a man, which immediately sends mixed messages or confusion.  From a completely straight standpoint, demonstrating confidence in my sexuality, she looks like a female version of Gael Garcia Bernal.  I must admit, he, like Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp, and Chris Martin,  is a very handsome attractive human being.  Bernal has a feminine look to him that she takes on in full effect.  She has that powerful smile that reveals no teeth.  Jeans fit her well, and her voice has a tone to it that you would like to hear when you wake up in the morning.  Sadly, I do not know what happened to her.  I am happy to have known her and exchanged minimal bar talk about family and friends.  I just wish I could see her again.


9) Eva Mendes

Mendes makes the list for pure sexiness and carnal desires.  An early scene with her and Joaquin Phoenix in We Own the Night exposes her bare beauty.  She has the skin tones and the eyes that are sure to only get better with age.  Her Cindy Crawford-esque mole adds a touch to her natural beauty and her lips are perfectly shaped.


8) Jenny Lewis

I met Jenny Lewis in Glasgow, Scotland when Rilo Kiley was opening for Modest Mouse at King Tut’s.  It wasn’t until I heard her voice and saw her eyes that I immediately developed a crush on her.  Over the years she has progressively made great music and continued to use her sex appeal on stage.  Seeing her hold a guitar is an automatically granted spot on the list.


7) Eva Green

She makes the list simply for her classic beauty.  Something about the slight droop in her eyes drives me nuts.


6) Gwyneth Paltrow

No explanation.  She is a timeless beauty that regardless of her role in films, brings out the best of each character.  Christ Martin is lucky man.


5) Sienna Miller

A girl with a few freckles on her nose is perfect.  Sienna Miller was not a pick until I saw her on a Late NIght Show.  She seemed like a real person with a great personality that loved to have fun.  Her entire segment was entertaining, showing that she was smart and loved adventure.  But those freckles…mmm.


4) Michelle Monaghan

Monaghan has that blue-blood All American look.  She too has the freckles, pale skin, and perfectly shaped eyebrows. She has a smile and sexiness that I have only seen in Liv Tyler.  Her beauty comes from looking so normal.  


3) Olga Kurylenko

She was the new Bond girl.  Her accent and natural beauty make her a classic fit for the 22nd Bond installment.  She is a bit more exotic that the prior women, and her full lips and perfect skin make her most desirable.  


2) Mila Kunis

This girl used to bug the shit out of me.  I couldnt stand her in That 70’s Show, and her voice as Meg in Family Guy was unbearable.  After seeing Forgetting Sarah Marshall, all opinions prior disappeared.  She is perfect.  I dont know what else to say, If it werent for Deschanel’s attitude would have slipped into the number one slot.


1) Zooey Dechanel

She is so sexy.  Her voice is deep and monotone, and she rarely smiles.  She has small roles in movies that carry more power than others could bring.  Her role as She in She&Him has lifted her to the indie music world spotlight with M. Ward.  Her black hair and blue eyes on top of that bleached skin, has me wanting nothing more than to have the opportunity to sit down and have a cup of coffee with her.



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