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  1.  
    • CommentAuthoradmin
    • CommentTimeNov 27th 2007 edited
     

    Paste your essay as a reply to this thread. As long as the email address you signed up with is valid that's all you need to do. After that you can just sit tight and refresh your inbox until we send you an email to let you know that you've won! Or not! Because you might not win!

    Also, feel free to respond to other contestants entries.

    The Essay:

    The December issue of Self magazine declares Long Beach women the unhappiest in America. In an essay of no more than 1000 words, tell us what it takes to make a Long Beach woman happy: Editors of the District Weekly will choose one winner in time for Christmas, but not Chanukah. And that one talented essayist will win the Nirve 'Cannibal'!

    Essays must be received by MIDNIGHT on FRIDAY DECEMBER 7th, 2007 to be considered. To win, you must be able to pick the bike up in Long Beach, CA.

  2.  

    Oh Self Magazine, thank you so much for telling me—once again—what I already know. Long Beach women are unhappy?! You’re kidding? You mean that the lady who drops off my mail, who always ignores my greetings, has a permanent scowl on her face and insists on smashing my important letters into little contorted paper balls isn’t just playing around with me? You’re saying that the gal who works at Vons—the one who scans things twice, never smiles, never laughs, never makes small talk—is unhappy? Thank you for opening my eyes.

    First of all I’d like to find out how they managed to pin-point Long Beach as the nation’s center for the most depressed and malcontent females. What, did they knock on every door and just happened to get shot more in Long Beach? Something doesn’t quite add up. In fact, the more I think about it this is probably just some elaborate scheme concocted by The District Weekly staff to get advice on how to make a woman happy. If that’s that case it would have been cheaper to rent What Women Want. Not only would you have saved a lot of time, but you’d get to see Gibson dance with a hat rack.

    For arguments sake here it is, what makes a Long Beach woman happy. I can tell you that this is the definitive list. I did a study of the city’s happiest females and these are the answers they gave explaining their euphoria. It’s science.

    -It takes a warm shower in the morning. Cleaning off the smell of everything else—the night, her boyfriend, husband, boss, all of the above—and knowing that she is starting fresh as just herself. No excess.

    -It takes a good bar of soap.

    -It takes an iPhone.

    -It takes hearing a few kind words, sincere words.

    -It takes knowing that when someone asks how her weekend was it isn’t just so that they can tell her about theirs.

    -It takes a couple of really solid friends. Friends that will be around when she falls down the stairs for the third time in one day. Friends that will eat the food she makes when she decides on a whim that she’s going to quit her job to become a chef in France, and who will laugh when she tells them she’s serious—then talk her out of it. She needs her job, she’s broke.

    -It takes money.

    -It takes a Jane Austen optimism and Virginia Wolf realism.

    -It takes a great dress that always fits her, even after three helpings of tiramisu.

    -It takes good health.

    -It takes some clean ocean water for crying out loud. For once she’d like to buy a nice bathing suit and not have it be ruined by the green sludge of the misleading blue shore.

    -It takes an imaginary cruise on the Queen Mary during a lunch break. The seagulls screaming, the wind blowing the salty air through her hair, and the sound of a champagne bottle breaking on steel—not the sound of her phone alarm telling her that lunch is over.

    -It takes a family that loves her. Whether it’s a family of wolves, or trolls, or people she works with.

    -It takes the understanding that there are some things that she can control, but others that she just can’t. Knowing that she can’t control the way other people perceive her, traffic jams, no parking spots on Pine Street, the weather that makes her hair go flat or frizzy, or the color of her eyes, her skin or the sky.

    -It takes an occasional slow dance with the opposite sex, and if one is not available then yes, a hat rack will do.

    -It takes hope for happy endings.

    -It takes a bike ride down 2nd Street past the dogs tied up on parking meters. Past the windows full of expensive rags and pizza slices. Past the job, the debt, the bad breakups and skinny billboard models. Past the arguments with roommates, dirty dishes and crusty laundry. Past the cold pasta leftovers, the upset mailwomen, the disgruntled supermarket employees, and past that shore that looks so blue but isn’t.

    -It takes a warm shower in the evening. Cleaning off the smell of everything else—the day, the imaginary lunch, the bike ride—and knowing that she is going to bed fresh, just herself. No excess.

    -It takes a good bar of soap.

  3.  

    What do women need? By Google
    The top site that came up when I googled this question was by askmen.com
    Askmen.com sat a group of 15 women together in a room and asked them “What do women want?”
    Sincerity and honesty ranked high in their responses.
    "I don't want anymore bull from men. No more 'it's not you it's me' crap. I want the truth. I want the guy to be open and honest about his feelings with me," explained Sarah, one of the women in that room.

    I fell for this honesty thing once when I took the advice of a gay friend who told me to tell the girl I wanted to break up with the truth. “Tell her that you want to date other women,” he said. “And tell her that you haven’t dated anyone yet, but that you’re going to.”
    “You’ll look like a hero for not cheating on her,” he assured me.
    Her response to my heroic bout of honesty was that she wished I would drive my car into a tree. I was scared to death of driving for months afterward. I mean she actually used one of her wishes on this! The whole thing left me wondering why I took advice on a girlfriend from someone who might have a pretty selfish reason to see me estranged from her. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—it was actually pretty sly--but I really should have known better.

    The Boston Globe comes in with the 6th most popular search result by rewording the question to: Do women need regular bone density exams? Kind of off the topic, but if you guessed yes, like I did, than you are correct. Women over the age of 65 should get checked.

    Result number #8 changes my original question to a topic related, “Do I need a women’s specific mountain bike?”
    I don’t myself, but if that were the prize offered I would take it. After all I could always give it to a women who needs it and have--at least in that instance--the answer to the essay question.

    I guess there probably are many different answers to the question, none of them being exactly right for each individual woman and what she desires.
    I think the closest we can get to the answer is--to quote pdoggg from askmen.com—
    “Women want what men want-to be loved. The rest is conversation.”

    • CommentAuthormelissa
    • CommentTimeDec 5th 2007
     

    What it takes to make a Long Beach woman happy.
    (for Maggie)

    When my baby is happy she is; in her clothes – but sometimes naked.
    When my queen is out she smiles behind her dark sunglasses as her lips shine with gloss.
    White skin hips (and ass) bound with electricity as girl laughs about lotto-scratchers and bubblegum.
    The lady loves it when the music is loud (Bad Brains) and when she is first to spy a sweet parking spot.
    She is sipping “middle” coffee with a nosh of lox, bagels and 1-2 things of cream-cheese.
    She likes it when I choose the movie (and that I know she will most likely fall asleep before the title sequence begins).
    This woman (in this town!) enjoys seeing her tattoos on (“semi-reflective”) surfaces while cruising downtown at night on her punk bike.
    She digs good sex, good bottled water, a good conversation with god and sometimes she likes to be left (the fuck) alone.
    Really, her passion is relationships and friendships and pirate-ships.
    Love your heart Long Beach Woman.

    XOXO
    E.M.
    December 5, 2007

    • CommentAuthormalt
    • CommentTimeDec 6th 2007 edited
     

  6.  

    what it takes to make a long beach woman happy:

    well for me, it would take nothing short of an ideal reality, according to my standards of ideal. a list of demands to be met is below, but first a disclaimer. being unhappy isn't necessarily bad. in a way, it's an important element and impetus to striving for better. unhappiness leads to challenging the status quo, rebelling against the rules, demanding the impossible, changing the world. how utterly complacent and boring and plastic would our lives be if we were actually happy. who proclaims to be happy nowadays anyway except maybe the vacuous conformists who get their book recommendations from oprah and never second guess anything and have all the trendiest products of mass consumption. those for whom I have utter disdain.

    the absolute basics for my ideal reality:
    1. air that we can breathe without developing asthma or lung cancer
    2. the ability to safely stumble home at night after a drink or two without getting mugged
    3. the excommunication of all people who don't pick up after their dogs, especially when the dog makes a poop in the middle of the sidewalk
    4. a giant carwash tunnel, made specifically for homeless people to walk through to get a quick wash and dry. if we have to have homeless people, let's aim to have the best smelling homeless here in long beach.
    5. the return of peasant revolutions. didn't we use to have these in the early days of our country? what happened? i wanna grab a rake... and make demands ... and jolt the socioeconomic consciousness of our community... and then light the couch that's been sitting on the sidewalk for a month on fire.
    6. the implementation of the entire policy platform of the green party: this includes full legal and political equality for all persons; elimination of weapons of mass destruction; decentralization of wealth and power; an ecological balance that is sustainable and energy efficient. etc.
    7. roads that are reclaimed by bicyclists - we get the wide double triple lanes with responsive traffic signals and reserve a tiny narrow lane on the fringe of the streets for cars... but after about a half mile the piddly car lane disappears completely
    8. legalize it
    9. and please let the poor hungry rabbit have some trix. i never understood why those kids kept denying the rabbit the delicious cereal that he was trying so hard to promote. they had a whole box full for crying out loud and couldn't share one bowl. mindboggling.

    though there are bright moments of happiness to be had in long beach:
    1. finding a first edition truman capote book at acres of books for just five bucks
    2. anytime spent at fingerprints
    3. seeing a woman at house of hayden pull two tomatoes out of her bra, lay them on the counter, proclaim 'these are my tomatoes! you can't eat them!' then put them back in the depths of her shirt
    4. the random installations of public art throughout long beach, yes even the sperm sculptures in the east village
    5. reading the district weekly. i'm serious. not brownnosing. promise. well except for the issue when debro saad and star harris were on the cover. i mean university by the sea was the upcoming weekend, but their crack story makes cover? certainly not the same cover caliber as cold war kids.

    so yeah, maybe i'm not happy. but then again, we're losing lives in an unjust war, the dollar has sunk to new lows, poisons in the ocean are killing our marine habitat, health care is an unaffordable pie-in-the-sky expense, global warming is melting our ice caps and causing extreme weather patterns, i can't afford an alternative fuel car to help, but i can't afford gas either as prices continue to climb outrageously, there's a water shortage crisis, not enough parks and open space and bike lanes, i've seen way too many roaches and insects in this city, i'm quite tired of spam phishing emails, how the heck do these people get my email address when i change it, and i'm even more tired of those blasted email forwards with those words of wisdom and humor, take your syrupy nonsense and shove it. i'm better off being not happy. because ultimately being unhappy is validation that i am struggling. suffering. thinking. being.

    • CommentAuthorRedRyder
    • CommentTimeDec 7th 2007
     

    Happy? I’m sorry, did you really say happy? Ok, I’ll play along. What does it take to make a Long Beach woman happy… Well first to ensure what may possibly make me happy, I’d like to tell you what doesn’t make me happy. If we can fix any of these in a timely manner, I may get up the urge to burst with fruit flavor. Heck, I may even muster up a grin.

    First of all I work for a passive aggressive boss that sometimes makes you feel 2 inches tall, then gets upset at you for feeling that way. I spend most days toiling through lunch, only to get the evil eye because I am leaving early, which by any standard means exactly on time. I am surrounded by eager beavers who take it upon themselves to stay late and look good for the boss, because they are new. Come on! I put in my time, almost 3 years and where the heck did it get me I ask? I know inside they want to scream, I know because I was one of them.

    Then, I finally get home just in time to finish my homework and go to bed, Going back to college is my tiny savior, my light at the end of the tunnel.

    Okay, so then Friday rolls around, I’m trying to get my career in order, but as if that were not enough, I am starting to get pressure to find a mate before I am too old to even be in the running. So, Alex’s? Second Street? The V Room? All places I used to love, but with this new pressure, am I supposed to start going to museums, book clubs, dare I say it, church?? By this time I am tired, and play with the idea of going out and dudding up.

    Then comes to mind, what do I wear? So I am not going clubbing – hate that now, just another fun side effect of getting older, the things you used to like, you wake up and Voila, no more. And I realize fashions have been changing lately, but if I go too young, I end up looking stupid, cover it all up and I look matronly. Then of course there are always the 21 year-old bubbly girls. I see them out, they look great in everything. They are not jaded yet. They are new to the scene and really haven’t lived many of life’s experiences. I hate them but secretly admire their zest for life, poor things, they have no idea what’s about to hit them. But that’s another story, another time, let me get back to my point.

    On one hand, I do like to consider myself an optimist that’s just sprinkled with pessimistic thoughts here and there. Really, I think its just my sense of humor, not that funny you say, well to each his own.

    I am aware that I may sound like an aging ranting lunatic. Let me assure you that I have a pretty good head on my shoulders. I believe you should make change happen, and if you feel need a new life, then you should go out and get one.

    On the other hand there is just good old fashioned fate, which by the way “Hello, here I am, I’ve been standing in a very long line fate, I think you forgot me, or is it that you are saving the best for last?”

    You know what would make me happy, I’ll tell you. I’d like not to live almost pay check to pay check. And, If I do continue to do so until I graduate (again), I’d like a little more joy in my everyday. Even small things make me happy, like having time to have dinner with friends, or meeting for a cocktail, heck I’d even take a tango class.

    I’d like not to receive the animosity-filled eye every time I pass my employer.
    I’d like to be able to leave at 5, and enjoy lunches without feeling guilty. Writing this all out, well perhaps I need a new job. Hell, if you print this, I may to HAVE get one.

    You know what else, I’d like a real man to take me on a real date. I’m tired of these men with the Peter Pan complex, who seem to run rampant all over Long Beach. It’s not that I am looking to be a soccer mom with the mini van and rug-rats in tow. I’m not sure I am ready for the marriage part, but it would be nice to meet somebody who you simply just like spending time with. Someone who will take me somewhere other than where they know their ex-girlfriend will be. Yeah… that happened to me. T-A-C-K-Y.

    So there you have it, it’s simple in fact. What would make me happy is a little less stress, a pretty new dress, and a date with a real man. And to top it all off? A shiny new bike I can ride around town on, shouting about how absolutely happy I am now.

  8.  

    I woke up this morning and admired how the sun shone through the palm trees casting floating zigzag shadows across my sparsely furnished apartment. I smile contentedly at the peace and tranquility that is my life. Unfortunately the alarm rudely interrupted my bliss with the reminder that admiring sun shadows was not on my schedule for the day.

    With reality bearing down on me to get moving and get to work, I go through the routine, dress the part, and commence assimilation in the corporate majority. I pass all the “independent” workers who stroll for coffee at random hours of the morning untethered by deadlines and clock watching. They remind us how we once dreamed of being the rulers of our chronological freedom and how that dream of being a writer/artist/small business owner/music producer/actor has faded into oblivion taking hope and happiness along with it.

    Long Beach has bred unhappiness not because its and unhappy place, but more so because it’s quite the opposite. It’s a dominion of achievement. It harbors flexibility. It highlights and embraces the unlimited fulfillment of genuine dreams. It’s a veritable cornucopia of that kind of success that has no monetary measure. It’s LA without the flash or fame. In this one city you can live in a variety of lifestyles ranging from urban density, suburban sprawl, beach bliss, pub crawling, art district, high brow, low brow, any brow you want you can get it. All this has summoned the successful, the happy. It has lured them here to flaunt their smiles that shine mental peace in the face of those of us still wrestling with the obligations and duties of existing in whatever demographic we happen to fulfill at the moment.

    True, most of us are not miserable, but nothing helps you complain like having the very thing you want displayed in your neighbors window. Ignorance is bliss. If I could not see the beach and the Palm trees throughout the 9 months of summer, I wouldn’t dread going to the office. If rain wasn’t such a novelty, I wouldn’t spend each rainy day longing to be cuddled up in a blanket or being disappointed that I only got to use my umbrella from the door to the car. If I didn’t live among tots, teens, and grayhairs I wouldn’t envy their innocence, their youth, and their wisdom respectively. If my office didn’t have such a fabulous view from every possible angle, I wouldn’t feel like I was missing so so much. If I wasn’t so spoiled, I wouldn’t feel so cheated.

    When I am one of the late morning strollers, I too, will smile that smile of contentment as the cars rush by me to their regulated existence. And that would make me happy.

  9.  

    I think that SELF had low readersip in LA and Long Beach (there are so many other BETTER rags to read!) until NOW thanks to The District Weekly!

    • CommentAuthormagarrido
    • CommentTimeDec 7th 2007
     

    I haven’t lived that long in Long Beach, roughly six months. My boyfriend and I decided to move here from L.A., where I had been living for five years. I'm from Boston, so I thought Long Beach would remind me of my childhood home near a busy harbor. We didn’t have much money between us, and I had spent the first half of the year waitressing in a restaurant in the neighborhood where my parents lived.

    In L.A., we each had a car. Then through a series of separate and stressful family quarrels, our cars were gone. Fortunately Long Beach is the perfect city to be car-less. I dusted off an old and functional racing bike that I had built in college and started exploring my new home.

    I work at a restaurant on Pine Ave. It’s an honest living and allows me to do what I want. I usually ride my bike down Ocean, into downtown, and hope that I would go home with more than minimum wage to make up for all the crayons I’m going to have to pick out of booth cushions. My boyfriend plays poker. Sometimes that goes well, and sometimes it doesn’t.

    A couple of months ago, the wild fires were raging around us and as usual I rode to work and locked my bike at a meter. After a couple of hours and a fruitful seventeen dollars, I saw that my bike was no longer at the meter. I looked again and around me to make sure that I wasn’t experiencing a momentary high relapse. But it was not there. I have never had anything stolen from me before so it was an unwelcomed lesson. I was pissed. I looked around at people as if the whole thing had happened recently and anyone riding a bike past me earned my scrutiny.

    When I got home, I broke down and had a good cry when I saw the empty spot where my bike used to rest. I felt betrayed by my new home. My boyfriend, a native of Long Beach, decided that we needed to get some air and clear our heads. We left our apartment, crossed Bluff Park and walked down to the beach. The sky was hazy, and otherworldly. The Santa Ana winds were at their height, and the heat was weakening. The Queen Mary, and that dome where the Spruce Goose once was housed was still and felt calming. On the concrete path at the beach I saw cyclists and strained to see if the bike they were riding was mine.

    I am sentimental about the bike because it was something that I earned for myself. It wasn’t given to me or forced on me. I earned the money during college working at a deli in a library. The frame, the seat, the pedals – everything about it I had to chip away for slowly. When I finally put it together, I logged in about 800 miles and during that time, sprained a broken ankle, broke a helmet and received a mild concussion for thinking that my road bike could handle a grassy bluff. When I left Boston I took it apart and reassembled it again when I moved to Los Angeles. I would ride it around the La Brea tar pits, slightly high and in the dead of night.

    When I moved to Long Beach though, my bike became necessary. I took it seriously, yet I would feel a peaceful happiness every time I would ride it. It helped me earn a living. Now, it was gone. I decided to do what every good citizen would do – call the police and report it stolen. After all, there are security cameras everywhere on Pine Avenue, and it was proudly touted on the police website. The officer on the phone asked if I had a bike license, and I didn’t, having recently, as I’ve mentioned moved to town. After that, he refused to listen to me, and started barking procedures that prevented me from getting a word in. I told him I called because I thought the security cameras would help in getting a look at the thief. He stopped me short and denied the presence of any kind of cameras on Pine. I told him it was advertised on the police website and the frothing of the mouth seemed to stop.

    I have reconciled the fact that I won’t see my bike again. “Probably gutted”, a coworker told me. She had her bike stolen from her when she was working her other job at another restaurant. It seemed that a lot of other bikes have been stolen in the area. It just plain sucked that no one seemed to care or help. At the end of that day though, I felt fortunate. People had their homes burned down at that time and I looked around me and found comfort seeing my boyfriend in our apartment with our cats, feeling well if not one bike short.

    It isn’t so bad. The Passport is efficient, and walking doesn’t hurt. The light during the winter is great, and the sea looks glassy. I like living here, and right now the winter is much more pleasant than on the east coast. I still like walking along the beach with my boyfriend, looking at all the ships coming and going and seeing if the cats that live in the brush along the bluff are well fed. The overall quality of our lives has been pleasant since we moved here. Long Beach isn’t perfect. Its people aren’t either but if you can accept that, you are rewarded thoughtfully, in small and infrequent ways.

    • CommentAuthordreemyDEE
    • CommentTimeDec 8th 2007 edited
     

    SO LET IT BE KNOWN. MY ESSAY should be [ here ].

    Said essay, SUBMITTED AT 11:59, with a certified 999 words, was denied, due to being 500 or so characters over the limit. Characters?! But I swear. I use small words. And I swear, I was at least 90 seconds ahead of deadline. And like a word and a half under the max.

    I turned to Letters to hook me up and look out for a LB gal. Please ask. Dreemydini--that's me. Maybe even in the junk mail box if it's sensitive to porn offers? (i'm oft misunderstood).

    Thanks, District, for looking out.

    edit (admin December 13, 2007 2:08 PM): Here's the Essay:
    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Happy is important. True. But first, allow me this digression: Barbie Sucks.

    I say this, because fifteen years ago, my mother was afraid that Barbie would distort my self image. Possibly, she biased my opinion.

    Barbie.

    An obnoxiously top-heavy doll made of PLASTIC. That comes in a box. Even as I played so convincingly the role of irrational teenager, I saw the disconnect between beauty standards and the little doll on my bedroom floor.

    But that was then.

    Now, Barbie has been replaced by the real people we read about in magazines and see on the web.

    NOTE: "Real" denotes actual humans who have or (even worse!, have not) been enhanced by surgery; who have been dressed by, and shopped for, and done up by an army of professionals. People who have been photographed in fake rooms, and lighting, and make-up, by an army of professionals who know exactly how to produce Fabulous.

    Except that then we see neighbors who look just like these real people buying groceries and walking their toy pets down to Liberty Park. And then we really know that these people are real. Just like us. Living. Breathing. Except skinner. And prettier. And happier.

    And the magazines love to report how these real people are just like us. They take their dogs out for strolls. They drink coffee. They...except that I shouldn't know this because I shouldn't be reading these magazines. I should be deeper than that. My self esteem issue is a personal flaw. It's my own fault really, because If I had any substance at all, I wouldn't read the magazines because I wouldn't really care.

    Because I live in Long Beach. I am not LA, comfortable in its infatuation with Famous. I have a war to worry about. People in the world aren't eating. Web 2.0 is the wave of the future and I can't figure out RSS feeds. I'll get fat. I'm already fat. I'll become obsolete. I work too hard. I'll never make anything of myself because I'm lazy. I'm wasting my money on rent. I should buy a house. I can't afford a house. I'll succeed professionally only to find myself alone and unfulfilled. I worry too much.

    But if I'm not out-prettied, then I'm out-cooled. It's Long Beach after all, which means I know people who know so much more about everything in the world that it's all I can do in a day to pretend, to keep my fingers crossed that today won't be The Day I'm Found Out. Because you're either pretty or smart. Or you're cool. Three choices.

    But I'm not cool. I don't shop at Fingerprints. Instead, I listen to the radio, gladly, commercials and all. Shhh.

    And I've never been to any of the amazing vintage stores on 4th street. You know, the ones where people get fabulous clothes for nickels? I do the Ross thing.

    And I spend my lunch break reading about RSS feeds instead of imagining all the fabulous places the Queen Mary might take me. Shhh.

    And I subscribe to the word of the day from dictionary.com, but have yet to learn wit. I read wit and hope that it's catching. But the wit of the "LindonLolyGagger", and "The District" and "Open" bead off me like water on latex.

    And I don't go to the farmer's market. Not on Fridays and not on Sundays. And you know? When I went finally to the Richard Goad theater to see Shakespeare, I left after the second intermission because I was tired and it was late.

    I also missed those indie twin sisters who sang at the Prospector that one night they made exception to their LA fans and played in my town. Please don't tell.

    And to be honest, I have never found a signed first edition copy of the Bible at Acres of Books as so many others seem to have. When I went there to find graphic design books, I could find nothing other than dated Communication Art annuals. I left empty handed, because I'm not a fan of the 80's neon aesthetic.

    But I should be. Because Que Sera has Sucka Free Sundays every Sunday. And Sucka's not till Sunday PM, which means that I should really stop by Alex's Bar first for their BBQ's. But until I do, I'll keep my mouth shut and send the ambiguous half smile when the subject comes up.

    I live in Long Beach, which means that any night of any week there's something to do. There's coffee to drink, on Second or on Pine or in the East Village Arts District. Or we've got bluffs in which to view the sunset, and a ferris wheel in which to take a date. We do, but I have Netflix and a couch. And after nine hours at the office, nothing sounds better.

    But it should. Because I live in Long Beach.

    Right? Because in Long Beach, we're ecclectic. Diverse. Anything goes. Be yourself*.

    Barbie's bust be dammed. That I can handle.

    Today, "yourself" need be greater or equal to: a socially active, cultured member of the world community, whose wit and charm is surpassed only by her fashion sense. To-the-moment-hip paired with no-nonsense econmony. An envied wardrobe acquired for the cost of a ice-cream cone. One who gets drunk gracefully and knows semi-famous bands and authors who pen Profound. And one who eats fabulous food at best-kept secret foodie places, and has a blog.

    But that's not me. And I don't think that, deep down, that's truly many of my neighbors.

    You want to make us happy? Either tell us, and believe it yourself, that none of it really matters, or promise, just PROMISE that we'll never be found out.

    • CommentAuthoradmin
    • CommentTimeDec 8th 2007
     

    The contest is now closed, thanks to all of those that entered!

    We'll let you know the results as soon as we have them.

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