Scott "Gonzales"

This is my good friend Scott. We work together, and have class together. And live right across the street from each other. I had to interview two people for my Spanish class who were Hispanic/Mexican of some sort. I literally walked around downtown for 40 minutes asking random people to let me videotape them. And I got rejected. Again. And again. And again. So Scott helped me out, kinda.


"They're like the Spanish version of a horseback-rider."

A letter to a loser.

I tried uploading a funny video of my friend Scott pretending to be Mexican. BUT. My router decided to stop after 20 minutes of loading, so I gave up. Instead, this is a note I scribbled in class today. It sounds depressing and horrible, and I feel like it makes me seem a little crazy, but I like it. So there.

I think about you often, in a variety of ways. Sometimes I reminisce with my memories, thinking about the fun we had and missing the positive feelings I once had for you. Sometimes I think about the future. I imagine bumping into you somewhere, myself being beautiful and different--happy, fun and being in the ultimate moment any person would want to be in for a reunion with a past "lover," particularly one who broke your heart. In these thoughts, my goal is to make you feel regret, to realize you made a mistake in letting me go. I then want to smile, act like my heart isn't pounding out of my chest, and brush you out of my life. Again. I know this is childish and silly, and quite ridiculous, but I don't care. Sometimes, as wrong as this sounds and as wrong as I know this is, I feel the need to make you feel at least some of the anguish you've made me feel. Then there are times I think in the present. The conversation last week--should I let it all go, break down and call you? Do I allow myself to think about you and I as a unit in the future? Do I allow myself to think about you at all? I feel sad at times, especially at night when I'm missing the conversations we had as I fell asleep, when I'm missing you. Then I stop. I sigh and realize that aspiring towards any legitimate future with you is as silly as imagining a future with Brad Pitt. I feel no sadness at this point, just the blunt nudge of reality.