I like getting reviews, so, I decided to formulate a plan as to how to get people to review. People react well to polls, right? So, every chapter, I'll have a new poll. Okay, here goes.

Every day I have a grooming ritual. It consists of the following.

Wake up

Lie around in bed for about an hour

Stumble out of bed

Lie back down

Stumble out of bed again

Look at self in mirror for fifteen minutes

Brush teeth

Wash face with cleanser

Apply expensive visage cream found in Mom's bathroom

Brush hair relentlessly and compulsively for five minutes

Take shower

Wash hair

Marvel at self nude in front of mirror for fifteen minutes

Apply moisturizer

Marvel at self nude in front of mirror some more for fifteen minutes

Marvel at self getting dressed in some morning clothes (red, oversized tank top and pink panties) for five minutes

Marvel at self dressed for three minutes

Eat breakfast (last night's dinner) while watching early morning HBO on the couch downstairs while giving self manicure and talking on the phone with random telemarketer.

Go upstairs, blow dry hair

Put on make up

Marvel at face for twenty minutes.

Undress from morning clothes

Marvel at self nude

Put on bra, marvel at self in bra

Put on clothing

Go to master bathroom and check myself out in various positions for fifteen minutes

Pack my purse with my makeup, hairbrush, pencil, etc...

Go into downstairs bathroom, apply more lipstick since the old coat is starting to fade

Kiss my kitty a billion trillion gazillion times until have to reapply lipstick again.

Oh shit! I'm late for school!!!!

It takes me more than three hours to get ready for school in the morning, I have like ADD or something... Anyway, I'm lucky for now because for a reason that I will not go into explaining my school starts a 12:30 right now. Next week though, I'll be in one hell of trouble. Anyways, the poll question.

What do you think about me revealing my morning grooming ritual?

OMG I thought cloning was illegal! A

A little too much information...just a bit... B

What size bra are you? C

I hate you! D

Don't really care, I pretty much always skip over this part anyway. E

I'm your boyfriend and we need to have a serious talk. F



Now, if you want to answer my amazing poll, you can leave the letter of your answer in the comments section (wink wink.) If you have something to say about the story, say that too. If you don't, just answer the question, damn it.

Gotta bounce!



Chapter 2

Lila sat on a barstool, looking into empty space, running her finger over the smooth opening of the glass. Her face had sorrow on it, and her mind was racing. This was not the proper scenario. Was it not the man who had to sit in a bar getting drunk, getting drunk because there was no other way to escape, no other way to solve the problem? But Jonathan was at home, Jonathan was the happy housewife and Lila was the drunk. Yet another argument, yet another ordeal. It pained her and for a moment, she felt as if her head was about to burst. Life was so unfair sometimes, so cruel to those who couldn't handle it. Lila hated to think that she was incompetent for the task, but she was, and there was not escaping that. Jonathan was the one who had escaped her grasp long ago, the communication in their marriage had assimilated into thin air, and she longed for someone to understand her. Lila's face stiffened as she remembered Gerald, Gerald with his simple approach, his laid back way of reacting to even the worst of predicaments. What was she thinking on that night when she said goodbye? What was she thinking?

For a moment, Lila wanted to blame Jonathan. It was him and his pressure that made her feel so indecisive. It was Jonathan who told her that she could not live without him, it was Jonathan who made her feel uneven, restrained, controlled. Lila hated feeling controlled; the very agitation frightened her to edge of her seat. It was not as if he really cared about her, he only cared about his public persona, about what everyone would think if the perfect couple fell apart. What kind of inspiration would that be? She didn't want to guess.

The bartender approached and she looked up sheepishly. The young man studied her pretty face, dipped in agony, and his own visage tightened. He didn't quite imagine such a beautiful creature could ever be in some sort of despair. The little brunette who studied him with sad exasperation struck a chord somewhere within. Many people passed through his father's bar, but none held his attention the way did the little princess.

"I'd like another scotch and tonic," Lila mumbled heavily. Still studying her attractiveness with bewilderment, it took the young bartender a moment to comprehend her request. When he did, however, the drink was brought almost immediately.

She sighed sheepishly as he placed it onto the counter before her, and pressed her fingers around the glass. The brown eyes closed, and she gulped down its consistency within moments. The bartender looked at her in fascination.

"Bad day?" he asked, looking around. The bar was empty, except for a few pitiful drunks that crunched in several corners.

"Bad lifetime," she said softly, almost inaudibly, and he leaned his hand in to better comprehend the little voice. The smell of alcohol came from Lila's mouth but the bartender did not care. It was intermixed with a sort of sweetness that could easily act as an aphrodisiac.

"Why's that?" he stood up and began to clean dirty cups.

"It's a long story," she muttered.

"The night is young," he smiled.

"What's your name?" Lila looked up for the first time, and he felt transfixed at her angelic gaze.

"Bob," the bartender replied.

"Ha!" she exclaimed loudly, "you were made for this job."

"I can't help but be proud of it," Bob smiled, not taking his gaze off hers.

Lila nodded, "So, Bob, you deal with a bunch of cases like me?"

"Like you? Nah, I don't think I've ever dealt with anyone quite like you before."

She paused, "What makes me so special?"

"You're very pretty, that's enough in itself."

Lila smiled, twisting a strand of her hair with her thumb and forefinger, "Well, Bartender Bob," she said, "Are you hitting on me?"

"I never hit on women under alcoholic influence. It always leads to trouble."

"I'm quite the troublesome gal," she smiled, "I am trouble."

"My point exactly," Bob said and began to dry the cups with a white towel. A silence prevailed for a few minutes, accompanied by the smooth jazz in the background and occasional moans of the sleazy customers.

"I'm married, you know," Lila said at last, impatient, wanting to pour herself out to someone.

"A pretty girl like you," Bob smiled, "why wouldn't you be at such a delicate age?"

"Delicate?"

"You know," he sighed, "the age when your life is made up for you."

"I want to make up my own life," Lila said softly, "I don't want someone else to do it for me."

"Most people are different from you. What was that Russian book? The one that said humans wanted someone else to do things for them?"

"I don't know," Lila smiled, "I don't believe in books. Words on paper, what do they know about life?"

"Do you know about life?"

"I like to think so," she said bitterly, "It's funny how you can spend your whole life trying to learn it, but, in the end you realize that no lessons are found."

"You don't learn?"

"I have a learning disability when it comes to decisions. Every time I always make the same mistake I made last time," she paused and requested another drink, he quickly mixed it and she took a sip, "every time I think it's going to be different. It never is and I continue to lie that there is still possibility to make it work."

"You have faith in people," Bob mused, "that can't be such a bad thing."

"It is when you have too much faith. I don't believe in faith anymore."

Bob leaned against the bar, his face close to hers, as he saw small tears rolling out of her eyes.

"You're crying," he said slowly.

"No," Lila said, "I'm not."

He reached his hand out reproachfully, and touched her cheek, his body shaking. The small hill of salty water broke apart and hugged the inclination of his finger.

"You are," he said.

Instinctively, Lila pulled her head back and reached for the drink, "No, I'm not. Tears don't really mean that a person is crying. Sometimes, tears just come out for no reason at all, just because you've got too much water in your system, and not enough substance to cry it out."

Bob sighed, "This husband of yours, is he a bad guy?"

"No," Lila said hastily, "He's actually the perfect man, and that's what I hate most. I'm like a little tree stumped in his shadow, as long as I'm with him, I matter. When I leave him, I'll be blamed by the entire town."

There was momentary silence.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Lila," she said, "My name is Lila."

"That's a beautiful name."

Lila smiled, "get me a glass of water."

With a good-natured grin, Bob walked to the opposite side of the bar and poured tap water into a glass filled with ice. He returned with a kind expression on his face only to discover that Lila was gone. A burst of disappointment ran through him, and, with a sigh, he poured the water into a sink. Elusively, the liquid quickly found its way down the drain.





"This is a good hotel," Noah said, opening his suitcase and taking out a neatly folded, light blue shirt. Helga resided in a chair, her long legs crossed, her head tilted back. She was resting after the strenuous day. They had gotten to their room only ten minutes earlier. Already, persistent Noah was organizing his life.

"I just don't see why you have to do this now," Helga sighed, mock irritation in her voice, "why can't we just sleep?"

"Oh," Noah smiled, "You're in one of THOSE moods."

"What do you mean those moods?"

"Well," he smiled, "remember that time you got pissed off the sex on the beaches and spent the next day walking around my apartment with a gruesome expression on your face and prairie oysters in hand, saying terrible things?"

"Yes..."

"You're somewhat like that now."

She sighed, "I need a cigarette."

"Oh you're not going to light up a fag in here, are you?" Noah asked.

"Why not?"

"Well, it's such a nice room, you wouldn't want it all to smell like smoke would you?"

Helga sighed, "I'll step out, then."

Noah looked at her longingly, "Are you annoyed?"

"Well," she said, "I'm not pleased."

"Fine! Go ahead and smoke, I don't quite care, really!"

Helga looked down and back up again, she realized that she was compromising her relationship over lung cancer.

"I'll step out," she said, and put a smile on her face for assurance.

Noah watched her leave, and, as the door opened before her thin frame, felt himself uttering, "I love you."

Helga stopped for a moment, not turning back, and then continued out the door into the hall. She found herself smiling uncontrollably. This was the first time he'd ever said those magic words.