Thursday, July 31, 2003

What a fucking moron... 

I think most people could tell by one of my links to the right that I'm not exactly a Bush supporter. Heaven knows, practically every day I hear yet another reason to hurl epithets in his direction. But his latest stance on gay marriage, while not surprising, just burns me up. Will someone tell me why it's okay to take the government out of business and drive it into personal lives? I just don't get it.

You know, fuck his ideas of what constitutes a marriage. Tomorrow I'm going to go out and marry my dead gay bonsai. Because I love my dead gay bonsai!

Tuesday, July 29, 2003

Book review... 

I finished reading Sophie's Choice this morning on the bus. It's taken me over a week, which is unusual for me these days, but I suspect it was more due to the fact that the language, while embracing many colloquialisms, is more formal than I'm used to reading these days, filled with words that I've never read before. I also felt that a few scenes could have been edited a bit more, as Styron had a tendency to linger over and repeat details that did not need lingering or repetition. In the end, though, I have one thing to say about it:


I've seen the movie a number of times. In fact, I think the movie is absolutely incredible, so I was familiar with most of the story, but reading the book took me to a totally different level - enveloping me with the sights and sounds of 1940's Brooklyn and Nazi-rules Poland, observing the characters in my mental 360° diorama, even becoming the characters - in a way that even incredible films cannot hope to, despite visualizing the Stingo, Sophie and Nathan as Peter MacNicol, Meryl Streep and Kevin Kline.

(An aside: watching Kevin Kline on Inside the Actors Studio a few years ago, I was amazed when James Lipton said that Sophie's Choice was Kevin Kline's first feature film. What a hell of a first feature role.)

I realized that it had been a very long time since I'd last seen the movie, because there were quite a few scenes that I'm sure were filmed, but which were new to me.

Still, despite both my familiarity with the story and my forgetfulness of much of the details, I found myself experiencing dread as I neared the end. About sixty pages from the conclusion I felt my heart constrict. I remembered what was coming up and I so wanted to put the book down, to not throw myself into the pages as I have a habit of doing, but I knew I had to finish reading. I had to.

And finally I did. I closed it, set it on my lap, and stared out the bus window, supressing the tears hovering in the corners of my eyes, feeling the weight of my emotions, but also feeling a certain lightness, a bit of hope, recalling the final words:

Monday, July 28, 2003


Bob Hope has died. Like many Americans of my generation, as well as other generations, I grew up watching his films on TV, loving every one of them. Not surprisingly, Casanova's Big Night was my favorites (what with the Basil Rathbone factor and all), but I also fondly remember The Seven Little Foys and The Princess and the Pirate.

I was fortunate enough to spy him once upon a time, a number of years ago, on his way to a local coffee shop. He was in the company of a gentleman I could only assume was his assistant. Mr. Hope was looking elsewhere, so he didn't see my smile and nod, but his assistant did and returned my silent greeting with one of his own. Even for that split second I was in awe of Bob Hope's presence.

I doubt I'm the first to say this, and I know I won't be the last:

Thanks for the memories, Mr. Hope. Thank you so very much.

Sunday, July 27, 2003

Just a quick update... 

...about my cool ex Disney boss, Dan, for whom I asked good thoughts. While I haven't heard from him (we've not really stayed in touch over the last few years), a mutual friend to whom I had expressed concerns called to let me know that Dan had left her a message talking about job searching type stuff and not mentioning anything about the accident, which led her to think that his family was fine. I'm sure she's right. I hope to hear back from him at some point, but I'm just happy he and his family seem to be okay.

Big thanks to those of you who wrote me to tell me you were thinking good thoughts for him. I may have a small readership, but each and every one of you rock. Thank you.

Thursday, July 24, 2003

And we'll have fun, fun, fun... 

Fun is good. I have come to the decision that fun is definitely a good thing. Because fun? Is just...fun.

Going for an eight mile bike ride with a friend is fun, even if most of the bike path runs along the 5 freeway and the smell of exhaust and smog interferes with breathing a little.

Meeting a bunch of folks you met over the internet for an evening that you helped organize, then having the folks tell you that they had a good time - that's fun.

Having most of your weekends for the next month and half booked already with outings with friends and family, while a little stressful, is fun.

Having dinner at a good restaurant is fun. Introducing someone to the good restaurant and that person approving your restaurant selection is fun. Watching Pirates of the Caribbean is fun.

Having dinner and watching Pirates with CuteNerdBoy for your (sort of) second date, who greets you with a copy of a previously made mix CD and leaves you with good lengthy hugs and little kisses, making it a little hard for you to fall asleep at night, causing you to walk around the next day with a silly smile as you listen to the mix CD whilst trying to concentrate on work, especially when you were planning to e-mail him to tell him that you had a good time and he e-mails you first to tell you that he had a good time? That's just triply fun.

Fun can stay.

Monday, July 21, 2003

All books, all the time... 

I'm just a book reading machine here. Since the last time I wrote about my rapacious devouring of the written word, I've read:

Brave New World (Aldous Huxley) - a classic, and a very good book, to be sure, but not the gut-wrencher that 1984 is for me. I wonder, if I had read it in high school, would my feelings about Brave New World be on par with my love for 1984, Animal Farm and Catch-22?

Those Who Hunt the Night (Barbara Hambly) - this is a re-read of a vampire mystery that's sat in my shelf for awhile. Upon re-reading, I discovered that I remembered absolutely nothing about the book. It's not bad, with some pretty good characters, but the prose tended to be a little florid and repetitive for my tastes.

The Sorcerer's Stone and The Chamber of Secrets (J.K. Rowling) - since I want to read The Order of the Phoenix, I thought I'd re-read the first two, then move on to the others, since I haven't read them at all. Good books all around. I can't wait to borrow The Prisoner of Azkaban and The Goblet of Fire from my friend Sarah.

The Lost Slayer (Christopher Golden) - I read The Chamber of Secrets in less than a day and found myself bookless for part of my bus ride home on Friday. Since this was not to borne, I stopped off at the Upstart Crow at the Universal CityWalk, looking for something, anything to read. This book caught my BtVS loving eye. Having never read a Buffy novel before, and hearing that The Lost Slayer series was a good one, I was delighted to find all four books reissued in one volume. Good book and an excellent introduction to Buffy novels, with much emphasis on my favorite BtVS character, Rupert Giles. There was even a moment near the end that made me tear up.

This morning I started Sophie's Choice by William Styron. I bought it over ten years ago in a used book shop because I lovelovelove the movie. It's been sitting on my shelf, lonely and collecting dust. A few weeks ago I saw someone on the bus reading it, which reminded me of my own possession, and I resolved to finally take it up. It's a little slow going right now, but I'm sure I'll get into it.


There is one other book that I read that is not mentioned above. There's a reason. Because, despite the excellence of most of the aforementioned books, it is in a league of its own: Why Girls Are Weird by Pamela Ribon. I'm not indulging in hyperbole when I say it is one of the best books I've ever read.

Now, I'm not just saying that because I'm been a fan of Pamie's site since 1999. Or because we've met a couple of times. Or because we briefly shared a karaoke stage in Vegas while attending SquishyCon 2001. I'm saying it because it's the absolute truth.

Sarah had heard about Pamie's book through me and picked it up while browsing in a Barnes and Noble. She lent it to me after she attended Pamie's signing in West L.A. It took me a couple of days to finish it, but only because I had to put it down several times whilst on the bus because I didn't want to start weeping in front of a bunch of strangers. It is one of the funniest, saddest, most hopeful books I've ever read. I sent a very long e-mail to Pamie the day I finshed her book, thanking her for writing it. Because I think I said it best in that e-mail, here's an except (okay, it's most of the e-mail):

I loved reading the reworked Squishy entries. I loved reading about Anna Koval, knowing that she is ficitonal and the story is largely fictional, but seeing the grains of truth underneath all the fiction. Maybe it does mean more to me because I've met the person behind the words, because I, along with so many other people, can say, "I met her when."

But, most of all, because, though the situations were different, the emotions in the book were familiar, the grief and pain and tentative happiness all emotions I've experienced. The pain of break-up, the swelling with hope and self-doubt when confronted with a possible new relationship [...], all old friends, old shirts I put away for awhile until the time comes to wear them again.

And, to a small extent, the grief of losing a parent. [mention of father being cut out of family] So, in effect, I've been going through a grieving process the last seven months in regards to my father and reading about Anna's father [illness and death] [...] strongly grips me, causing me to put the book down several times on the bus to collect myself. Because really, who wants to break down crying in front of a bunch of strangers unless it's pre-scripted and on stage? Certainly not me.

So today I'm welcoming the feeling left over after reading "Why Girls Are Weird". I want to keep this fragile, spent, trembling, laughing, hopeful sensation wrapped around me for at least a little while longer, regardless of the fact that I'm sitting at work in cubicle surrounded by co-workers with their heads bent to their work, as mine should be and will be as soon as I hit "Send".

[...] I'll be purchasing my own copy so that I can refer back to it in those times when I need a little reminder that I'm not the only person who's ever felt that way. [...] Because you? Rock harder than Bob has ever, ever hoped to rock and so does "Why Girls Are Weird".

It's that simple.

Thank you.

So everyone? Read this book. If you can buy it, do so, because I think Pamie should get lots and lots of money (I bought my copy last week, the day I finished Why Girls Are Weird). But if you can't afford it, borrow it from a friend, check to see if your local library has it, ask them to order it if they don't. Women? Y'all will totally identify with Anna. Men? Y'all might just be a few steps closer to understanding what women are thinking.

I kid you not.

Thursday, July 17, 2003

Asking for good thoughts... 

Yesterday's fatal accident at the Santa Monica Farmer's Market is very sad no matter who is involved, but I'm asking for good thoughts to be directed towards my cool ex Disney boss, Dan. His family's farm has a booth at the the Santa Monica Farmer's Market on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I've e-mailed him to make sure that none of his family was affected, but I haven't heard back yet. I'm just hoping that it's because they're very busy and perhaps just shaken up and not for any other reason. I don't know where their booth is located in relation to the accident scene and I'm very worried about them.

*crosses fingers and offers prayers*


As for a real post, it looks like I won't have time for one for a few days. Of course, you could always join my notify list (see the e-mail field at the bottom of the page). I promise I'll let you know through that.

Wednesday, July 16, 2003

Just a quick note... 

I realized that not posting for several days after my last post might cause some disquiet, wondering if I were still alive or if StalkerGuy (from here on I refuse to tag -Boy on the end of his appellation, since that denotes a certain innocence) had come back and stuck me in a meat locker somewhere. Nope, still here, with no word or noise from StalkerGuy. Which is fine with me. I mean, I really am not expecting any physical violence from him, just creepiness, but one never knows, right?

Anyway, I've told several of my friends about StalkerGuy and had offers to stay with me on weekends to witness, if need be. One friend even said I should call if SG showed up again so he could play boyfriend and maybe scare SG off. Considering that said friend is both very gentle and rather gay, with a doting boyfriend, well, it was a bit amusing, but very sweet. Did I mention that I have some kick-ass friends? Because I do. I really do.

Anyway, I'll post something else a little later today or sometime tomorrow, when I have a little more time. But I'm still around and kicking. I'm too bloody Taurean to be anything else.

Sunday, July 13, 2003


StalkerBoy showed up again. It was about an hour and a half ago. I had just stepped out of the shower when I heard the doorbell rang, so I threw on my robe, peeked out my peephole and saw him again. Not wanting to face him with nothing but a robe and wet hair (I've no doubt he would have put two and two together and gotten a little too excited), I went back to the bathroom, continued my ablutions and proceeded to ignore his subsequent doorbell ringing. Yes, I could have just thrown on some clothes and opened the door, but the blinds are still open and there is no door blocking the view of the hall from the front windows. Additionally, my clean clothes that I laundered yesterday were all in the living room and, well, see previous blinds statement.

I don't think he would have bought the "not home" feint, since I had left the living room TV blaring before entering the shower (not something I do often), so I'm hoping that, somehow, he heard the running water and got the message. At any rate, I have no idea how long he hung out at my doorstep, since I couldn't hear him through the aforementioned running water and I only heard the doorbell ring twice (though who knows how long he had been ringing it before I got out of the shower), but I'm hoping that he got the hint pretty quickly.

And next time, if I'm not freshly out of the shower, I will confront him.

Carol, are you home? 

So, what does one do when they discover they have an intermittant stalker?

Today, at fuckoff'o'clock in the morning (tm Sep), otherwise known as 4:30am in these parts, the doorbell rang ever so loudly. I was sleeping on my lovely new-to-me $20 sofa that I bought from a neighbor, as I am wont to do during these horridly hot evenings (the sleeping, I mean, not the buying of $20 sofas), since my bedroom fan stopped working and the only air conditioning in the apartment is in the living room (I even moved my alarm clock to the living room, at least until I can get around to buying a new bedroom fan). I stirred, rolled off the sofa, thanked heaven that my robe was nearby, since the nightshirt I was wearing barely covered my ass, and then only if I didn't bend over or reach up. Pulling on the robe, I padded over to the front door and, disregarding my first instinct to pull aside the curtains on the door window, I instead peered through the peep-hole.

There, standing on my doorstep, was this guy. A guy that I used to know, with whom I had sex once about four years ago (in my old Escort, of all places). The sex was drunken on his part and self-pity-filled on mine. A guy that, though we had exchanged a few e-mails the first year or so afterwards, I've not seen since then, admittedly more from my efforts than his. A guy who had, about one or two years before, shown up on my doorstep in the early evening with no prior warning, spending ten minutes ringing my doorbell and knocking on my door and calling my name through the mail slot and going to my bedroom window, attempting to peer through, then walking back to the front door to continue with the doorbell ringing. I managed to keep hidden, because I was in no mood to deal with him (this was when I was going through my depressed state).

My eyes widened. I couldn't believe that he was ringing my doorbell again, at such an early hour! I probably should have just opened the door and told him I didn't appreciate his sudden appearance when most decent folks were trying to sleep. I mean, unless he carried a weapon, which I doubted, I was sure that I was in no physical danger. He's approximately my height (5'6") and far scrawnier than I am. I probably outweigh him by about 80 pounds. And I'm fairly strong. But that would have involved confrontation and I tend to abhor a great deal of confrontation, especially when I'm barely fucking awake!

No, instead I crept back to my sofa and made myself as small as possible, tucking my feet into the cushions and thankful my robe was covering most of my legs. Then, as the next ten minutes passed and he continued with the calling and doorbell ringing and knocking and such, I mentally smacked myself as I remembered that three of the four living room window blinds were somewhat open and, while two of them were directly over the back of the sofa and I knew that by smushing myself up to the back, I'd be difficult to see, one of the windows had a bird's eye view of the length of the sofa, despite the shrubbery outside. Unfortunately I was afraid to grab the sheet nearby and pull it over myself, because that might make a sound and, with my windows partially open, sound would be bad. So I made myself even smaller as I heard him leave the front door, walk to the aforementioned window, then call my name through it. I couldn't tell if he could see me or not, but I didn't move to check. He went back to the front door to continue with the ringing and the knocking and the calling through the mail slot.

The entire time I was thinking, what if I were in Fresno, like I was originally supposed to be before the plans were canceled? What if I had moved away? Thank heaven I don't have my car anymore, if he went to the back he could see it was carless and maybe think I wasn't home. And does he really think that by showing up unannouced that I'd be inclined to partake of what I can only presume to be a booty call? And what if he's done this before on nights when I really wasn't at home? How many times has he done this, unbeknownst to me?

Finally, after an eternity, I heard the screen door close one last time and I think I heard a car drive away. I think I stayed in that position for another five or ten minutes, I'm not really sure, before I grabbed the sheet, covered myself with it, turned over and fell back to sleep.

Oh shit. I just remembered that on my front door window is an emergency sticker stating how many pets I have so that, heaven forfend, if there's a fire or something the firemen (or whoever) know that I have cats an I want them rescued. And on the sticker is my work number, so that they know who to call in case something happens while I'm at work. Did StalkerBoy take that number? The last he knew I was working at Disney, over two years ago.

I so don't want to have to move because of this. I have a nice apartment that's a great price for today's obscenely expensive rental market. I'm comfortable here. I've been here for over seven years and I'm not really looking to move unless I can get a roommate.

Should this happen again, and it very well might, I will confront him. Because this? Is beyond the pale. I'll just make sure I have my crowbar in hand. Just in case.

Tuesday, July 08, 2003

*slaps forehead* 

Mike Reed's journal reminded me about the passing of David Brinkley and Al Hirschfield. As one of my little hobbies when I was a pre-teen was trying to count the "Ninas" in Hirschfield's caricatures, this oversight is rather unforgivable. My hat is off to these fine gentlemen.

(While I feel a little bit "Hmmm" at Strom Thurmond's death, I was neither surprised [except in a "Wow, I thought he was going around forever, like a roach," kind of way] nor particularly broken up about it. Considering my far left leanings, it's hardly surprising.)


TeeHee! And *snort*.

Hello, my name is Carol... 

... and I am a fraud.

Well, maybe not a fraud. Just a little on the weak side. See, since 1996 I've been a vegetarian and I've self-identified as an ethical vegan since 1997. I was pretty hardcore for a while, feeling good about myself for my decision but trying not to be too obnoxious to others about their dietary choices. After all, who wants to hang out with a self-righteous vegan? I sure as hell don't.

Over the last few years I'd slipped off the vegan wagon a bit, usually with a non-vegan bread product here, a little bit of cheese there, occasionally a dollop or two (or four) of ice cream off in that dark corner over there. But, though I was standing on the running board of the wagon, I still had it in my grasp, able to pull myself back on for a little while longer before sliding back out. After all, it's not like I was having cheese omelets.

Now? Now I've been flung off into the bushes, landing hard on my tailbone, still on the vegetarian road but watching the vegan wagon trundle off into the distance. And I tell ya, the dust it's throwing up in my face, while admittedly rather tasty, isn't sitting well in my stomach.

In the last week I've had cheese and veggie omelets on three separate occasions, twice with buttered sourdough toast. I've eaten garden cheeseburgers. A Haagen-Daaz ice cream bar. I don't think the tahini that I had with my falafel burger was strictly dairy-free either. And that dinner that I had with CuteNerdBoy a couple of Sundays ago? Featured a creamy pesto salad dressing and spumoni. (What? It came with the meal!) Oddly enough, I still prefer to use soymilk in my decaf lattes, or will have my coffee or tea with just sugar if non-dairy creamer is unavailable. I never said I was consistent.

I think part of it is that I've significantly stepped up my exercise program. Previously I got maybe 30-45 minutes of exercise a week. Over the last month I've averaged 30-45 minutes a day 5-6 times a week, not counting the walking to and from the bus stops (okay, sometimes running to and from the bus stops) or the stairs I take whenever I'm not wearing heels. As a result I may be craving more protein, something that my eating habits decidedly lack, due more to my own laziness than anything else - I mean, I actually like tofu, I just never prepare it.

But it does seem to be getting harder to resist the lure of the dairy and eggs, despite the fact that dairy does awful things to my sinuses. And despite the bad taste left in my mouth when remembering the original reasons I gave up all animal products, mainly the mistreatment of the animals in commercial factory farms.

Maybe its just time to revisit those reasons, because I'm not happy with my laxity in the vegan arena. And then, when the vegan wagon comes back 'round again, I can hoist myself up and plant myself firmly in the driver's seat.

Until that stupid Haagen Daaz coffee ice cream bar with almonds spooks the horses again.


I finished Carter Beats the Devil yesterday during my lunch hour. It was definitely one of those "try to savor as long as possible, but read each page as fast as you can" type of books. I was actually sorry to finish it because I really enjoyed the time I spent in that world. Much of the action played out like a movie in my head, as befits a book by an author who has written for TV and films, read by a woman enmeshed in the entertainment indusrty. Sweet, occasionally breath-taking, with a few moments of "What?!" thrown in there for good measure. And since I've always been a sucker for fiction using historical people and events as the driving plot and characters, well, it's not surprising how much I enjoyed this book. I'll definitely keep an eye out for Mr. Gold's next novel.

Next on the reading list: Brave New World. I know it's criminal that I haven't read it before now, but I just picked it up from the library and I'm looking forward to this classic. I've been told that, as an ardent lover of 1984, the book should be right up my alley.

Monday, July 07, 2003

It's a logical faith... 

I have received the TPM service medal for "outstanding service on the intellectual battleground."

Rock on.

(When I have more time I'm going to further explore TPM Online. It looks to be exceedingly cool.)


As has been noted everywhere else but here, the past few weeks have been pretty tough in regards to the passing of creative legends. Katherine Hepburn, Hume Cronyn, Gregory Peck, Barry White, Buddy Hackett and now Buddy Ebsen. While I never felt any strong connection to any of these legends (well, except maybe Hume Cronyn, there was always something about him that made me smile), I can certainly feel a sense of loss for the entertainment community. It's been said that "they don't make 'em like that anymore."

Ain't that the truth.

Rest in peace, oh legends of the arts.


Dennis, oh Dennis, I used to love you, but I think the bloom is off the rose.

Musical interlude... 

I held you close to me
Once in a distant dream
Far from the shores of my fear
I sailed on this ocean
Where all I imagined could happen
And now you are here
It's so hard to touch what is out of our hands
To know and to trust what the heart understands

Only the ones who believe
Ever see what they dream
Ever dream what comes true

Life gives us magic
And life brings us tragedy
Everyone suffers some loss
Still we have faith in it
Childlike hope
There's a reason that outweighs the cost

And gravity throws all these rules in our way
And sometimes the spirit refuses to play


Oh Love
Turn me around in your arms
And in this dream we share
Let us not miss one kiss

And add my regrets to the tears in the rain
That's what the color of roses contain


The Color of Roses - Beth Nielsen Chapman (from Sand and Water)

I've completely and irrevocably fallen in love with that song over the last week. It breaks my heart and fills me with joy and wonder each and every time I listen to it. Here are the artist's thoughts about it (from Beth Nielsen Chapman Online):
“The Color Of Roses was written with Matt Rollings; it was very subliminal in terms of the way the lyric presented itself. The vowels seemed to have been lined up in place on the early work tapes where I tend to just sing nonsense syllables prior to having lyrics. I noticed this after the lyric was finished and happened to hear an old work tape from months before. I love what this song says. That to believe is to manifest, and that in spite of all we must grieve, there is incredible hope and beauty in life.”


Wednesday, July 02, 2003

I feel the need... 

... the need to read! And I'm totally excited about the need to read.

I've been an avid reader for many years, ever since I first picked up Red Light, Green Light in kindergarten. I devoured books, always wanting to cram more information into my developing brain. I frequently shut myself in my room during my pre-teen and teen years due to my then-extreme shyness and my desire to live in other worlds in my head, aided by the magical invention of words on bound paper. While I eventually lost most of my shyness, my fascination with the written word never ceased.

But over the last two years my desire to sit and read anything besides magazines, newspapers and websites dropped off sharply. There were stretches of time lasting months when I didn't pick up a book at all. A highly unusual occurance for me. I had started reading books more often about six months ago, but it still took me weeks to finish novels which previously would have been polished off in less than a week.

So, what's changed, you ask? Well, bus commutes lasting two or more hours certainly have something to do with it, I'd say. But I find I'm getting excited about books again. Part of it may be the new Harry Potter book, which I'm hearing is terrific. I've only read the first two, so I don't want to pick up The Order of the Phoenix just yet. But I do want to go to the library and check out the first two for brushing up, then borrow Books 3 and 4 from my friend Sarah as soon as possible. However, during my lunch hour today I felt an overwhelming desire to stop by the local Barnes and Noble and buy Carter Beats the Devil. I've heard wonderful things about it lately from friends and acquaintances, then, yesterday at the MetroRail station, I spied a rider carrying it and was overcome by the need to read THAT book. So now I've got it in my possession and have already started it, reading the first seven pages on the walk from the Barnes and Noble to my office. Yes, it does look interesting already.

It's nice to be excited about reading again.


Game Night on Friday turned out well, I'm happy to say. A smaller crowd than last time, despite the higher number of RSVPs, but I didn't mind that so much because it was less crowded this time around. I welcomed, I circulated, I played Mille Bornes in a decidedly ruthless manner and Scrabble in a rather befuddled and frustrated manner and had fun. I think I was even hit on by one of the LAPC participants. All in all another successful evening. Last Saturday's turn as make-up person went so well that I'll be performing the same function for my friend this coming Saturday in Redondo Beach. And the movie and dinner with the Jill Sobule lyric-sending friend (hereon refered to as CuteNerdBoy) on Sunday went very well. As a matter of fact, the evening had a few date-like aspects to it that I was rather pleased with. I had suspected that it might, but was unwilling to admit it to myself or anyone else because CuteNerdBoy and I had previously agreed that we would like to be friends again. We'll see what happens.

I'm off until next week (a rather busy four day holiday weekend lies before me), but a hearty "Kick-Ass Fourth of July Weekend" goes out to all of you. And for those not in the U.S., have a great rest of the week and weekend!

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Carol/Female/36-40. Lives in United States/California/Los Angeles/San Fernando Valley, speaks English. Spends 40% of daytime online. Uses a Normal (56k) connection.
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