The Virginity Monologues

Present Mood: IRRITATED.

Why? Because men are so effing stupid. Except Email Boy. He is exempt from this rant.

Oscar and I have been seeing each other for 1 week and a half. Not even 2 full weeks. I've seen him 3 times in that time period. And trust me, that is a lot for me. I don't see anyone that much, unless I work or live with them. I haven't seen him since Saturday and he's getting all pissy with me because I don't call him enough. I just called him on my lunch break (he called me twice last night and I didn't call him back as I didn't have time) and all he did was bitch at me for 'disappearing' and being 'Miss Nonchalant'. I was so frustrated with the phone conversation I was practically in tears, then I remembered that I don't cry over men anymore and I reigned in that emotion lickety-split.

I think I'm going to have to end this. I really like him. I do. But he gets mad at me A LOT. For not telling him things (i.e. what I tell my friends about him), for not calling him enough, for having a smart-mouth (HELLO! Do you know me at all? Smart-mouthing is what I do!) for basically everything. It's ABSURD and it's irritating. I shouldn't have to account for every minute of my life to someone I haven't been dating for a whole month even. I mean, FUCK.

And Cam has come bizarrely out of nowhere and started stalking me. Calls and texts all weekend, which I never answered. Then a text last night, requesting to see me. Whatever. First of all, you don't get to ignore me for an entire month, then pop up out of nowhere and expect me to be available to you. I'm not here for your convenience, as much as that may come as a shock to you. Not to mention, you're terrible in the sack. SEE YA.

The really awesome finale to this rant is that on Monday night, Mr. Wrong called me twice at 2 am and left me these awful drunk rambling messages. I haven't answered his calls in SEVEN months. It's been a full seven months since I told that fucker where to stick it and I still can't shake his ridiculous ass. WHAT DOES IT TAKE?!?!?!?

Sheesh.

Today's Title from: Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance

Labels: Cam, Mr. Wrong, Oscar

I am coming to a interesting realization. The men in my life, really don't go away.

Case(s) in point:

Mr. Wrong: I never talk about him anymore, because I hate him. I haven't answered his calls or hung out with him in over 5 months. I'm not playing a game here. I genuinely don't ever want to see/speak to him ever again. He still calls. He called on Friday night at 3:30 in the morning. At least he has stopped calling 5-10 times in one night. It absolutely stuns me that he is still holding on when not getting even an ounce of encouragement from me.

Scott: Despite not speaking for over a month. I got an email, a text and a phone call from him on Friday. He'd like to start over and take me out on a date. I'm sorry, WTF?

Cam: We still fight, almost daily about the status of our relationship, despite my repeated attempts at telling him that there is NO relationship. It's really starting to irritate me. I may have had very strong feelings for him at one point, but I gotta tell you, all the fighting has really killed all that. He is driving me absolutely insane. I could happily never talk to him again and now that I've blocked him on IM, I hopefully never will.

The one that has disappeared though, is the one that I least wanted to.

Marc.

Not a word from him in the last month. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss him.

Life just isn't ever fair is it?

Today's Title from: Open Your Eyes by Snow Patrol

Labels: Cam, Marc, Mr. Wrong, Scott

Slow down
There's gonna be trouble
You're gonna forget
What you're doing

One false move, baby
Suddenly everything's ruined

Hold on
You're gonna be sorry
You're gonna regret
What you're doing

One false move, baby
Suddenly everything's ruined

And you ought to know
You ought to know
There's only one way this can go
You ought to know
You ought to know
All of the ups and downs, the highs and lows

Slow down
There's gonna be trouble
You're gonna forget
What you're doing

One false move, baby
Suddenly everything's ruined

One false move, baby
Suddenly everything's ruined

-Fountains of Wayne

Labels: Mr. Wrong

I can't believe I'm actually going to admit to the events of last night. Because quite frankly, I feel that I should be blindfolded and shot by a firing range for making such poor, poor decisions.

I got home earlier than I expected last night and was ecstatic because that meant that I could go to Cam's. I'd had a nagging voice in the back of my head all day that he was going to blow me off, but I just chalked it up to residual issues thanks to Scott the Magnificent (read: sarcasm). So, I called him when I got home at 8:30, and he informs me that he has to be at work really early the next morning, so he was planning to go to bed sometime within the next hour. Which in my opinion is a total bullshit excuse and I have to fight myself not to call him back after we get off the phone and scream at him to stop jerking me around. Somehow, I refrain.

I'm hanging out with my roommate, taking advantage of our brand-new DVR and eating pizza (because I'm an emotional eater and when a boy upsets me, I want pizza). 11:00 pm- my phone rings. It's Mr. Wrong.

Weird, huh?

Sure, we've become friends (through necessity, we see each other every day). But he hasn't called me late at night in a very, very long time. Him and a bunch of friends (I'm good friends with all of them) are hanging out a friend's place near me and they have alcohol. My presence is requested (with an additional request to arrive without panties and a bra).

I tell him I'll be there in a half hour (but I go with all my undergarments on).

We all actually have a really good time, watching The Family Guy and just hanging out.

Then, Mr. Wrong takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom. And the next 5 minutes are the most unsatisfying of my life. Friends barge in on us, not realizing that- thanks to Mr. One-Minute Wonder- we were finished, and chaos ensues.

Mr. Wrong and I start arguing (it may be related to a remark made by me regarding his stamina or lack thereof).

The word "whore" is said.

I gather my clothes and leave in a very angry hurry.

Times he has called me since- approximately 10.

Times I have answered- 0.

I swear to God- I'm never going to learn.

Just shoot me now. Take me out of my fucking misery.

Today's title from: Creep by Radiohead

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Here are the new shoes that I bought this weekend, with plans to knock off socks while in Montreal and then at The Great Birthday Party Extravaganza the following weekend. Incidentally, I know there are readers who live in/near Montreal, so if you have any suggestions of places that I should go, or would like to meet up, please don't hesistate to email, at the email address so thoughtfully provided on my profile.

Because he is a 'friend' and he posted a bulletin about it on myspace, I know that Marc had a rather large birthday party at Lotus. Neither Karen nor I were invited. Thus, reinforcing the conclusion that he is, in fact, as ass-hat. If he were standing in front of me, I'd stick my tongue out at him.

As I'm sure you've noticed, I've been a little melancholy lately. I blame it all on that fucker, Marc. From here on out I promise to be more upbeat and less slit-my-wrists depressing. I'll start with a story that has kept me laughing for the last 48 hours.

Friday night, 3:30 am. My phone rings. I register that its Mr. Wrong before I answer, but am not coherent enough to stop myself from flipping the damn phone open. He is fairly drunk and I am super amused. He begs me to let him come over and I don't even have to think about it, the answer is no. I laugh at him as he attempts to navigate Harlem, trying desperately to remember where I live and failing miserably. He orders me to stop laughing at him, which only makes me laugh harder. I tell him that he has been to my apartment on multiple previous occasions. If he can't remember where it is, he doesn't deserve to come over anyway. More begging. I remain stalwart in my refusal. He finally grows weary of my laughter and hangs up on me. Only to call back 5 minutes later and beg some more. Thanks to Mr. Magic-Dick Scott, I'm not even interested in Mr. Wrong's drunken, half-ass attempts.

Call Will, I tell him and hang up.

Laugh a little more to myself, then fall back asleep.

Thank God for actually learning something from my bad experiences.

Labels: Marc, Mr. Wrong

I was at a party on Friday night, pretty low-key, eating a cupcake, drinking some orange soda, when around 1 am-ish, my phone rang. Mr. Wrong. He was about 5 blocks away from my apartment. Which was unfortunate, as I was in Battery Park City- the opposite end of the island. I told him I could meet him, but I couldn't get there in anything under a half an hour. He tells me to meet him at Will's house, which is a few blocks away from me.

Karen and I leave together in a cab and after I drop her off, I call Mr. Wrong to confirm where I am meeting him, and he doesn't answer. I call Jake, who I know is with him, to see what's going on. Jake tells me that Mr. Wrong had dropped him off, then went to park the car and hadn't returned yet. He had been parking the car for a significant amount of time, and I don't know what's happened to him (anything's possible), so I just go home.

The next day Jake calls me to fill me in on the Disappearance of Mr. Wrong. The idiot fell asleep in his car, which made me laugh so hard I almost cried. I still find it to be spectacularly amusing. The shitty thing is that I've been sworn to secrecy as Jake was specifically ordered NOT to tell me what had happened, so I can't even make fun of him about it!!

God, that's hilarious shit.

The rest of the weekend passed in a bit of a blur. On Saturday I went to Poughkeepsie with some friends, for reasons that are still not clear to me, as all we did was go to the Vanderbilt Mansion and watch The DaVinci Code.

Last night, I went out with Michelle and the boy that she's dating, who is so wonderful that he restores my faith in men. When I was leaving to head back uptown around 12:30ish and was contemplating how to get home in the cheapest and most efficient manner, he hailed a cab, gave the driver some money and told him to take me home. I didn't even know men like that existed!!! I can't even be jealous or spiteful about it, because she absolutely deserves it and I am desperately hoping that it works out for her.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

So, back to Mr. Wrong. I've been stewing over a few things in my head recently. Things just seemed so different this time. Is it because we'd been on a SIX month hiatus and I'd forgotten what sex was like with him? Or had the dynamic of our relationship changed?

The most exciting thing is, I got to try something that I've always wanted to try. There's a position that has always featured prominently in my fantasies. But, it requires a couch and thus far, all sexual escapades have taken place in a bed, or in one instance, a conference room floor. This time, we were a little impatient and the couch was where all the action took place. He was sitting, and I was sitting on top of him, facing him. And I have to say, it lived up to up to the hype in my head.

Also, mid-episode, I remembered something that I read in Cosmo. That men can feel it when a girl flexes her Kegel muscles. I don't know if this is true, but I gave it a go! I meant to ask him if he could tell, but I forgot and now it would be a little awkward to bring it up.

Here's something I don't understand, men and the long hair business. My hair is long-ish. Past my shoulders anyway. And when I'm blowing a guy (this doesn't happen often), my hair is CONSTANTLY in the way. I always end up with hair in my mouth and I frequently have to stop to pull it all to the side. Unless the man is smart enough to pull it back from my face (and maybe tug a little, ROWR), long hair is just a nuisance.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

I washed my hair yesterday, so today was supposed to be a non-wash day. But after activities that involved me being incredibly sweaty at 2 am, I figured it was probably better off with a good scrubbing.

Here's the timeline:
1:00- sleeping
1:05- My friend, Jake, calls me to find out what I'm doing, and I tell him SLEEPING, like most normal people on a Tuesday night at 1 am. He tells me that he's with Mr. Wrong and he's asking for me, I tell him that I don't give a fuck and hang up.
1:10- Mr. Wrong calls and begs, and I mean serious begging. No, no, no, I say.
1:15- Mr. Wrong is home and wants me to come over, he wants to fuck my brains out he says. Copious begging. He actually says, "CHLOE! I'm begging here!" I have to admit, I'm deriving a great deal of pleasure from this.

It's late, my brain is fuzzy and I'm remembering that I haven't had sex in a while and how much I absolutely love his body and that I have been really wanting to have sex, but don't have the time/energy to find someone new, plus I hate adding more men to the already too large number, so it's so much more appealing to hook up with someone already in the Men-I've-Had-Sex-With Club. Especially him, because, Dear God, I love that body.

20 minutes later, I am there and I am remembering how fucking phenomenal that shit is.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Do you ever get tired of holding it together?

I did, last night.

I found out some information about Mr. Wrong yesterday that upset me. About people he was sleeping with the entire time that he'd been sleeping with me, who I am acquainted with. I had that moment of clarity where you realize exactly what a gigantic fool you've been. All the lies that I told myself for so long- I was special, I was different, etc, etc, came crashing down on my head, making me acutely aware of my own insignificance.

Then I went to the gym where the scale showed me that all of my insanely hard work is not paying off like I want it to.

I'm fucking sick of lettuce!

So, I stopped holding it all together. I let go of the string that was holding me together so fragilely. And I silently cried the whole subway ride home.

Then I got up at 5:30 this morning to get to a spin class before work. One step backward? Fuck you, I'm taking two steps forward.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Songs are so powerful. The right ones strike a chord somewhere deep inside that forces you to listen to it over and over again until you've managed to break free from the spell of the truth that it speaks to you.

I've been agonizing a lot over Mr. Wrong lately. I look at him and think about how desperately I want him. It always gives me a start to remember that I've had him. Multiple times. That he is the one that I lost my virginity to. Why can't I purge him once and for all?

This is the song that I can't escape, even when I'm not listening to it. It describes perfectly how I feel about everything that has taken place with him.


I remember when you filled my heart with joy
Was I blind to the truth just there to fill the space?
'Cause now you have no interest in anything I have to say
And I have allowed you to make me feel dumb
What kind of fool am I that you so easily set me aside

You made a fool of me
Tell me why
You say that you don't care that we made love
Tell me why
You made a fool of me.. you made a fool of me

I want to kiss you
Does she want you with the pain that I do?
I smell you in my dreams
But now when we're face to face you won't look me in the eye
No time... No friendship... No love

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Okay, so everyone said that the pain of getting a tattoo is not so bad, which I agree with. It was not even half as painful as I expected. What everyone failed to tell me is that there is residual pain that takes a few days to go away. Every time I lift my right arm, I feel it acutely. Yeow!

Now, I want to talk about kissing.

Mmmmmm. I LOVE kissing. It's probably my most favorite activity in the whole world. I can kiss for hours and hours and never get tired of it, if it's good.

There's all different kinds of kissing. Greeting/goodbye kisses. Long, slow, melty I-think-you're-swell kisses. Can't-get-our-clothes-off-fast-enough-kissing. Perfunctory foreplay kissing (no real effort into this kissing- these guys just want to get to the main event). etc, etc.

Friday night, Mr. Wrong kissed me with those slow-melty kisses. I felt them everywhere- the good places (my heart) and the naughty places (you know what I'm talking about). He was kissing me for everything he was worth and even did my most favorite move ever the bottom-lip suck. Oh how that gets me every single time. And it just went on and on and on.

Kissing like that is a double-edged sword. It's certifiably earth-shaking. It fills those spaces in your soul and serves as a reminder of what passion is really about. But when it's over, and you're still alone, it makes the loneliness even more unbearable. Knowing what you've had and don't have anymore hurts like a bitch. At night, you just lay in bed, remembering what it felt like to have your souls joined together like that no matter how brief it may have been, knowing that while it lasted you were his and he was yours and the rest of the world crumbled away in irrelevance.

That's what kissing is all about.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Damn it all to hell and back! Mr. Wrong is so FUCKING hot. Hot, hot, hot!

I'm shouldn't even be indulging in this line of thought, but I'm going to anyway.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how HE feels about me, as opposed to my incessant analysis of my own feelings for him. Am I simply a girl to fuck? Or, is there more than this?

Let's examine the evidence-

Pros to my being more than just a vagina (with tits attached) to him:
*He gets territorial, SERIOUSLY territorial when we are out together. He has thrown a guy off me. Literally.
*He unnecessarily comes by my desk a million times a day, and gives me shit about eating a frosty then going to the gym.
*He remembers random comments made AGES ago. He brings up my family (which I told him about in passing at least 7 months ago when I was trying to get him out of my apartment before my roommmates stumbled upon the strange, handsome black man). He brings up the reasoning that I gave him for giving him my virginity (which was a COMPLETE lie, by the way). I have a weird, weird memory and have an ability to recall minute details, he remembers more than me.
*He is ALWAYS bringing up how I feel about him. Like I previously posted- last time we had sex he made me tell him that I was in love with him before getting down and dirty.
*First thing in the morning nookie- both of us completely sober and had morning breath. He couldn't get enough.
*We met up at a party once. Women THREW themselves at him (this happens a lot!), and when he was leaving, he only wanted to leave with me, even though this was never implied all evening and I had spent all night talking to someone else.
*The first night we ever spent together- there was no sex at all. He spent all night with his arms wrapped tightly around me. Even after we started having sex- there has been repeats of this just-cuddling all night phenomenon.
*He talks about me to other people. Regularly. I am constantly hearing about it.

Cons- or He Just Wants to Fuck Me
*We've never been on a date, ever
*He generally only calls me when he's been drinking, as a matter of fact, I don't think he's ever called me sober.
*I catch him checking out my boobs constantly.

I can't believe I'm even doing this. I need to be shot. Or just get laid by someone else, preferably.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Mr. Wrong.

I'm lusting after him again. I was looking at him yesterday thinking what an absolutely beautiful specimen he is. While I may be ever-so-slightly clouded by the fact that I lost my virginity to him, it cannot be denied that, well, he's pretty.

Last night right before I was going to sleep, I couldn't stop thinking about the last time we had sex. First thing in the morning nookie- initiated by him. I don't know that I've ever enjoyed waking up more. I was remembering how the night previous, I had told him not to even try to take my shirt off, cause it's delicate and he's, well, not. So I stood with my back to him, and pulled off the shirt, oh so carefully, and turned around as I was pulling it over my head and he stood there- transfixed- staring at me, and how, as I started to unbutton my pants he was across the room in a flash to give me a hand. And how he made me tell him that I was in love with him before he would have sex with me.

Despite everything- I cherish these memories.

He's not my boyfriend. He never will be.

But occasionally he makes me feel like the most treasured woman alive.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Oh my gosh. Here are the temptations that I had to combat last night with Mr. Wrong: touching- constant and incessant, on my back, my arms, my ass and an occasional surreptitious boob-grab; hands- running through my hair, extoling the virtues of it's softness; at least a half hour discussion about how much he loves my ass; and the grande finale- as he bent down to grab something that had fallen under the table- he pushed my skirt up and bit me on the inside of my thigh (seriously). Oh and those arms! They were everywhere!

But guess what?

I went home alone.

Hardest thing I've ever done.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

I need sleep. I need to learn to say 'no' when people ask me to do stuff. I need a few days of doing nothing. That's not going to happen anytime soon.

It's letter time again.

Dear Mr. Wrong-

I can't say no to you, it's unfortunate that you know this. Please don't call me anymore. My poor little heart can't take it. I am emotionally attached to you. It kills me that I am only a piece of ass to you. You don't respect me. You just want me. I need you to leave me alone. Please. It's the only way that I can get you out of my brain. I'll never forget you because you took my virginity, but please leave me to my pleasant memories and let me move on. I deserve more than this. I deserve better than you.

Sincerely,
Chloe

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Holy shit. I am a stupid girl.

Last night. Birthday party gathering for a friend- Michelle and I are the only females and the only white people there. Awesome. Mr. Wrong was there, but relations have been strained between us. It may be because I have been calling him an asshole and telling him that he's a worthless excuse for a human being. But I'm not sure. Despite how much I hate him, I still love him. And I want to say no to him, but don't know if I really can. So Michelle and I leave, to go bar-hopping in the West Village. 5 minutes after we leave, I get a text message. It says, 'I'm sorry I'm an asshole'.

Long story short, him and few others come to meet up with us. But, it always takes a long time for them to get anywhere and in the interim, a man has joined us and has his hand running up and down my thigh under the table. Interesting. I see Mr. Wrong. I call his name, he doesn't hear us because the music is loud. Michelle goes to get him because I am trapped in the table with Mr. Hands, who is realizing that there are other men here to see us and decides to make his exit. We exchange phone numbers and as Mr. Hands is getting up, Mr. Wrong comes over, takes the seat next to me and stakes his claim. One arm draped around me and another on my thigh, he couldn't have made his presence any more felt. It felt kind of nice. To be wanted. And staked.

I ended up in someone else's apartment. Having fantastic sex with Mr. Wrong. I loved every second of it. I loved sleeping in his arms. I loved fighting with him over the covers. I loved the jokes about my unshaved legs (I had purposely not shaved to reinforce my determination to not go home with anybody. Clearly, that works well). I loved his arms and the way he looked into my eyes and the way he kissed me.

How am I ever going to get over this man?

Labels: Mr. Wrong

I am a mess! A total mess! I'm smack in the middle of about a million different crises. A friend is going through a weird stalker situation, so I'm staying with her for a few days. I'm smack in the middle of a major financial disaster thanks to major errors by my bank and my landlord. Awesome. Work is kicking my ass. Royally. At the end of every day, I feel as though a very large vacuum has attached itself to an orifice on my body and sucked every single drop of energy out. And all I've wanted is someone, a bad-for-me-in-every-way someone, to just put his arms around me and make all the bad stuff go away. If even for a few minutes.

Last night I was at a friend's house, exhausted, beat, praying for death. I hate her stairs. Last night on my way out, I fell down them, again. Seriously banged up my right arm. I picked up my phone to call my best friend to tell her of my stair woes, on the long haul to the subway, and there was a text message. From him. Mr. Wrong-but-so-wishing-he-were-right. Don't be confused. I'm in love with 2 men. One is great and wonderful and respectful and will never date me. The other is none of the above and is constantly trying to get in my pants. Mr. Wrong wanted to know where I was, what I was doing and if he could come. I didn't answer. I went down into the subway. By the time I got out, he had given up and gone home to Brooklyn. I needed to say no. I've never wanted to say yes more. Did I mention that he has really nice arms? Fantastic arms. I've seen him do push-ups. I think I orgasmed on the spot. I honestly thought that everything in life would be better if I could have just spent 10 minutes in those arms. I went to my friends house, waited for her to get home from work, watched Love Actually, ate french fries and cried. I blame the tears on The Pill. But the french fries? All him.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

The guy that I'm secretly in love with? He called me on Friday night and wanted to know what I was doing. I was going to a housewarming party, and I told him so. He wanted to know if he could come. Sure, I said. He showed up, with 2 friends in tow. And then proceeded to ignore me the entire time! And flirted with other women all night long. The cherry on top- when he was leaving, and I was pissed at him, he thought he could make everything better by putting his arms around me and offering to go home with me. What did I say? Don't ever call me again. Get the fuck out of my face.

Everyone I know, hates this man. He's only good to me when it's just the two of us. People tell me over and over again- He's not good enough for you. How do I make myself believe it?

I'm wearing eyeshadow to work today because I have a lunch date and a dinner date. Please. Please let at least one of them treat me with respect. Please let them understand that I have a big and sensitive heart that can't handle being trampled on anymore. Please let me steel my heart against the jerks and the dogs of the world and finally put my trust in someone who actually deserves it.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

There was a man dancing on the subway this morning. At first I was abhorred, I mean, he had no rhythm, but I've been thinking a lot lately about how my first inclination is to always be critical and judgmental of people that veer from societal conventions. And I realized that maybe I should be admiring this man, for his willingness to put aside all cares and worries and let himself really get into his music. Do I ever let myself go that much? No. Not even when I've been drinking heavily. We're so weighed by our need to not rock the boat that I think that we often lose some of the greatest joys in life.

I talked on the phone last night to the man that I've been crazy about for a very long time. We have a complicated relationship, which has been semi-detailed on these pages. A lot of the complication arises from the fact that I have never been honest with him about anything. About my feelings for him, about why I chose him to lose my virginity to. Last night, I laid all my cards on the table. I told him pretty much everything. We talked for a long time, and laughed a lot. I've never felt more exposed and vulnerable and I've never been more in love with him. Where will we go from here? Nowhere, I'm sure. A real relationship isn't in the cards for us. But at least I stopped letting myself be governed by fear. It's all a part of my new embrace life program. Pretty soon, I'll be dancing on the subway.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

It's official, I am the biggest goober on the planet. I have come a long way from who I was in high school/junior high, where I was the self-esteem equivalent of pond-scum. I am much more confident in who I am and my worth as a human being. I still have a strong need to make people like me, but it doesn't bother me as much when they don't and I no longer buy into the cool kids concept that some people seem stuck in for the entirety of their lives.

Something about Mr. Wrong sends me careening back into high school days. He is the star of the basketball and the football team and I am, once-again, the Vice-President of the Math Club (don't laugh, I really was). I just saw him, after a week and a half drought of each other's company, and I said NOTHING. Not one word. I just stood there tongue-tied, feeling like I was 15 all over again, and I had just tripped going up the stairs and sent all my books scattering across the hall.

What is it about this man that does this to me? I should have been able to get something out along the lines of- How was your trip? Miss me much? But no, I just stared, at the face and the arms and the eyes and felt as though my whole soul had exposed itself to him, transmitting how much I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him how much I missed him. Then the elevator door closed, leaving me bereft of his presence and my hands shaking slightly.

Labels: Mr. Wrong