Rihanna-Chris Brown: What really happened?

LATEST UPDATE: Aubrey "Drake" Graham denies making it with Rihanna the other night at Lucky Strike. "It's not like that at all," says Drake. "I'm being honest. [She's] just a friend, that's all. A great artist. Nothing at all [happened]. I have the most respect for her. I think she's so talented."

What you've just read is from a blog from blahgirls.com summarizing the unfortunate event that happened between Rihanna and Chris Brown.

I was browsing through some Hollywood gossip websites, when I've come upon this blog that summarizes the Rihanna and Chris Brown breakdown. It was a long read (I can't believe so many things happened after that night) and yet an entertaining one if you love gossips. The blog contains all write-ups on the Rihanna and Chris Brown issue from all magazines and websites that you've probably already read. The accounts written mustly involves about where Rihanna went with whom; where she ate and partied; what Chris Brown had said and how he behaved; what Jay-Z, Mike Tyson, Will Smith, Hilary Duff and all other celebrities who are not really involved think about the issue, some updates on the court proceedings and just everything that mentions both Rihanna's and Chris Brown's names. It was arranged chronologically so you wouldn't have a problem guessing which event comes first.

Click here to see the blog and enjoy reading!

What can a book club do for you?

Ok. So here is the deal. If you are not familiar with Jane Austen then you better stop reading at this very moment.

I've just finished watching this new movie. Not an Austen book adaptation. Not on the life of Miss Austen. But about the lives that were touched by Jane Austen. It's titled The Jane Austen Book Club. Not so creative title but definitely a very appropriate one.

It's a story that revolves around the members of the book club. There was Jocelyn, the dog lover who does not settle for second best and that includes love. There was Sylvia, a new divorcee who is struggling to let go of her lost love. Allegra, Sylvia's hasty daughter who prefers women and loves adventure. Prudie, the high school French teacher who was never been to France and is fantasizing about her hot student. Grigg, the science fiction fanatic who only joins the club because of Jocelyn. And there was Bernadette, the most uncomplicated human being in the group who was making marriage a habit. As the book club progressed from Emma in February, Mansfield Park on March, Northanger Abbey in April, Pride & Prejudice on May, Sense & Sensibility on June and lastly Persuasion on July; they are not aware that they are not reading but living the lives and learning the lessons from Jane Austen's characters.

This is one of the movies that made me not drag the slider of my player to forward the events. And for me, that's a big plus. It's an all-in-one movie. It deals with matters involving love, homosexuality, adventure, contentment, attraction, shame... and the list goes on. The characters are never boring and I was satisfied with the acting. I personally love Jocelyn. It reminds me of someone a know. This movie makes me want to read Jane Austen's books. Unfortunately, I've only read Pride & Prejudice and that was a long time ago so this movie is an eye opener for me. It made me see my own ignorance and neglect on the finer aspects of literature.

So, back to the movie... What can I say?

Heart-warming, unpredictable, wholesome and simple... Just like Miss Austen's famous characters...

I may mess up this review but please, I really mean please, don't let this be one of the reasons not to watch this classic because you will surely regret it.

Why am I so fucked up right now?

The answer? Well, there's really nothing happening in my life right now aside from being bothered by the annoyingly and pathetic snickering that I'm currently hearing somewhere at the back of my cubicle. So here I am. Turning up the volume and listening to someone singing about how summertime guys are so cool. Summer. Is that word supposed to be synonymous to the word fun? So not true right now.

But here I am. Stucked. And hating it. My life for the past 8 months has practically been a routine. And not a very exciting one at that. Why can't life be just easy. Why can't we just have 4 hours to go to work and the remaining hours to learn about ourselves. Life is definitely a bitch. I mean, I don't know how many hours the Caveman people worked during the Ice Age but I know for sure that their work actually developed them for who they truly are. Hunting makes them more patient and resourceful. So, here I am. Sitting in my cubicle. Thinking about my freaking work. Doing nothing about it. I'm just hoping that it won't hunt me in my dreams tonight because if it does then I've probably pull that trick Veronika did in Veronika Decides To Die. So how does my work help me develop myself? Well, aside that it definitely makes me fat by sitting all day drinking bitter sugarless coffee, it's supposed to make me a better strategist. You know, thinking of some ways to be able to explain some incomprehesible codes that I did not make and never dreamed of making. Yeah. Like that's really helpful. Aside from that it helps me develop a not-so-severe-and-painful yet intolerable headache, it definitely did not help knowing something about my inner self. You see, my work actually involves finishing some tasks within a very strict schedule so that some people in Japan could be their shopping experience more efficient.

With a job like this, I'd probably die not knowing anything about my inner self. How pathetic.

I definitely need a change...

I'll be working on it...

I'll make it happen...

I won't die a pathetic bitch who has only seen the four corners of her boarding house...

I'll stop ranting and get back to my miserable work...

Where are you?

To my one true love,

I don't know who you are. That's for sure. You could be someone from one of Jupiter's moon, you could be a sexually confused person who loves to watch porn, you could be someone from a country with a name I can't pronounce, you could be a foodie who eats fried worms for breakfast, you could be a cynical traveler who has been to Angkor five times, you could be a jaded photo journalist, you see... you could be anybody from anywhere. But you won't be just anybody for me, you will be SOMEBODY.

Somebody who is decent enough to hold a conversation that may lead to the topic that involves the feces of either human or animal but then make it so interesting that the conversation won't stop there but lead to more grim topics like Ken and Barbie's relationship or the invention of the not-so-loved subject - calculus. Somebody who laughs on his own casual stupidity but sobers up on jokes about his own country. Somebody who thinks profoundly and does not acknowledge the shallowness of a malicious story but then delves deeper for the truth. Somebody who is not perfect but confident enough to know that his imperfections is what makes him perfect for his loved ones. Somebody who gets hurt but then will immerse himself into that feeling because for you, it is a feeling that needs to be conquered. Somebody who acknowledge his own weaknesses and shortcomings. Somebody who is spontaneous. Somebody who is passionate. Somebody who is cavalier. Somebody who is honest and true. Somebody worth loving. Somebody like YOU.

I don't know if you exist. I don't know if you WILL exist. All I know is that I will wait for you and I wish that you will wait for me too.

Yours forever,

Your Lover

Who needs a freakin' review anyways?

NICK on her Ex-Bitch

I try to hear her voice, try to separate that single pitch from the shouts and applause. But she’s as lost to me as she was the night I cried and she didn’t turn back to see if I was okay. Three weeks, two days, and twenty-three hours ago. And she’s already with someone else.

My eye is still used to searching for her in a crowd. My breath is still used to catching when I see her and the light is angled just right. My body is still used to hers moving next to mine. So the distance—anything short of contact—is a constant rejection. We were together for six months, and in each of those months my desire found new ways to be fueled by her. It’s over can’t kill that. All of the songs I wrote in my head were for her, and now I can’t stop them from playing. This null soundtrack. I’m tired, she’d said, and I told her that I was tired, too, and that I wanted to take some time for us, too. And then she’d said, No, I’m tired of you, and I slipped into the surreal-but-true universe where we were over and I wasn’t over it. She was no longer any kind of here that I could get to.

One of NICK & NORAH's enlightening conversations

“What are you talking about?”
“The Cure. What do they think they’re the cure for? Happiness?”
“This coming from the bassist for The Fuck Offs?”
And I can’t help it. I think, Wow, she knows our name.
“Dev’s thinking of changing it to The Fuck Ons,” I tell her.
“How ’bout simply Fuck On?”
“Maybe one word? Fuckon?”
“The Friendly Fuckons?”
“My Fuckon Or Yours?”
“Why is he such a fucking Fuckon?”
I look at her. “Is that a band name or a statement?”
“He had no right to do that. None.”
We break into silence again. I lob a question right into it.

From the burly bouncer dressed in a Playboy Bunny outfit

“There’s no such thing as ready,” she says. “There’s only willing.”
She reaches over and puts her hand on top of mine. She’s not making a pass at me—she’s trying to pass something on.
“I have all the proof I need,” she says. “The proof is always in the dancing.”

NORAH says

“Look,” she says, raising her Tina Colada, “I owe you a kind of explanation. I know you probably think I’m a horrid bitch from the planet Schizophrenia, but I’m honestly not trying to mess with your head. I’m just messing with my own head and I seem to have dragged you along for the ride. I think you’re nice to me and that scares the fuck out of me. Because when a guy’s a jerk or an asshole, it’s easier because you know exactly where you stand. Since trust isn’t an option, you don’t have to get all freaked out about maybe having to trust him. Right now I am thinking about ten things at the same time, and at least four of those things have to do with you. If you want to leave right now and drive home and forget my name and forget what I look like, I wouldn’t blame you in the least. But what I’m trying to say is that if you did that I would be sorry. And not just sorry in an I-apologize-I’m-so-sorry way, but sorry in a sad-that-something-that-could’ve-happened-didn’t way. That’s it. You can go now. Or we could stay for Where’s Fluffy when Toni’s set is over. I think they’re playing a surprise show here tonight.”

NICK answers

“No,” I go on. “It does. And if I left, you’d probably want to give me my jacket back. And if you did, I wouldn’t be able to put it on, because the whole time I’d be knowing how perfectly it fit on you. How even though the sleeves are ridiculously too long and the collar is all fucked up and for all I know some guy named Salvatore is going to come in this very club in two minutes and say, ‘Hey, that’s my jacket’ and strike up a conversation and sweep you off your feet away from me—even though all those things are true or possibly true, I just can’t ruin the picture of you sitting there across from me wearing my jacket better than I or anyone else ever could. If I don’t owe it to you and I don’t owe it to me, I at least owe it to Salvatore.”

While Where's Fluffy is playing

Dev’s elbow hits my back and I press forward and she’s right there and I’m reaching out and she’s right there and right at that moment the amps amplify and the music takes on such a pulse that it becomes my heartbeat and her heartbeat and I know it and she knows it and this is the point where we could break apart and that would be it, totally it. But I look into her eyes and she looks into my eyes and we recognize it—the excitement of being here, the excitement of being now. And maybe I’m realizing what a part of it she is and maybe she’s realizing what a part of it I am, because suddenly we’re not crashing as much as we’re combining. The chords swirling around us are becoming a tornado, tightening and tightening and tightening, and we are at the center of it, and we are at the center of each other. My wrist touches hers right at the point of our pulses, and I swear I can feel it. That thrum. We are moving to the music and at the same time we are a stillness. I am not losing myself in the barrage. I am finding her. And she is—yes, she is finding me. The crowd is pressing in on us and the bassline is revealing everything and we are two people who are part of a lot more people, and at the same time we’re our own part. There isn’t loneliness, only this intense twoliness. There’s only one way to test it, and that is to dare a movement, to push it farther and see if she wants it to go there. I find her lips and I make that kiss and she’s pulling my hair and I’ve got the fabric of her jacket bunched in a fist and it’s nothing like talking and it’s right there and we’re taking it and taking it and taking it. And my eyes are closed and then my eyes are open and I see her eyes are open and there’s a part of her that’s pulling back even as our bodies are pressing and it’s the fear, of course there’s the fear, and I just hold her close to tell her I understand.

NICK with Dev

“‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand.’ First single. Fucking brilliant. Perhaps the most fucking brilliant song ever written. Because they nailed it. That’s what everyone wants. Not 24-7 hot wet sex. Not a marriage that lasts a hundred years. Not a Porsche or a blow job or a million-dollar crib. No. They wanna hold your hand. They have such a feeling that they can’t hide. Every single successful love song of the past fifty years can be traced back to ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand.’ And every single successful love story has those unbearable and unbearably exciting moments of hand-holding. Trust me. I’ve thought a lot about this.”

NICK while waiting

While they’re in the bathroom together, I try to distract myself by coming up with a list of things that could be worse than having your vehement ex drag your current she’s-so-frickin’-cool girl away for some cubicle camaraderie (or conflict). I come up with the following:

• Having your pubic hair trimmed with garden shears.
• Having your pubic hair trimmed with garden shears by a frat guy who’s had twelve shots of Jägermeister.
• Having your pubic hair trimmed with garden shears by a frat guy who’s had twelve shots of Jägermeister during an 8.6 earthquake.
• Having your pubic hair trimmed with garden shears by a frat guy who’s had twelve shots of Jägermeister during an 8.6 earthquake with lite jazz playing.

I have to stop there. It’s just too horrifying.

Still waiting

Maybe this is my way of creating the illusion of control over something I have no control over. Like, if it’s just a story I’m telling or a song I’m singing, then I’ll be okay because I’m the guy who’s providing the words. Which is not the way life works at all. Or at least not when it’s unfair.

The Song

March Eighteenth

The way you’re singing in your sleep
The way you look before you leap
The strange illusions that you keep
You don’t know
But I’m noticing

The way your touch turns into arcs
The way you slide into the dark
The beating of my open heart
You don’t know
But I’m noticing

NORAH on being Jewish

“Tikkun olam,” I repeat.
“Exactly. Basically, it says that the world has been broken into pieces. All this chaos, all this discord. And our job—everyone’s job—is to try to put the pieces back together. To make things whole again.”

NICK on NORAH being Jewish

“Maybe that’s it,” I say gently. “With what you were talking about before. The world being broken. Maybe it isn’t that we’re supposed to find the pieces and put them back together. Maybe we’re the pieces.”

NORAH's discovery

I can’t think about what Dad did because the skies have suddenly opened up and it’s a hellacious downpour, but what is Nick doing? He’s dancing a jig at the curb, his arms outstretched, his face tilted upward to receive the splash. Joyful.

I don’t tell Nick my call is finished. I just watch him. A while ago when I looked at Nick, I felt inspired by the line from that Smiths song playing earlier at Camera Obscura where Morrissey sings about how what she asked of me / at the end of the day / Caligula would have blushed. I don’t know that I care anymore about piecing together whether Nick’s straight or gay or somewhere in between. I’m thinking I would like to dance in the rain with this person. I would like to lie next to him in the dark and watch him breathe and watch him sleep and wonder what he’s dreaming about and not get an inferiority complex if the dreams aren’t about me.
I don’t know if Nick and I are going to be friends or lovers or if he’s going to be Will and I’m going to be Grace, which will be disappointing along with boring, but whatever Nick and I are going to be to each other, it can’t be—it won’t be—just a one-night-stand thing.
I know this.

NICK

Singing in the rain. I’m singing in the rain. And it’s such a fucking glorious feeling. An unexpected downpour and I am just giving myself into it. Because what the fuck else can you do? Run for cover? Shriek or curse? No—when the rain falls you just let it fall and you grin like a madman and you dance with it, because if you can make yourself happy in the rain then you’re doing pretty alright in life.

The make-out

He pulls me back up so our lips meet again, and I’m lost all over again, lost inside his mouth, feeling his breath, feeling his heartbeat against my hand pressed on his chest. My hands want to wander all over him, but his lips are sliding so sweetly around my own, my hands can’t focus. His hands focus just fine. He’s definitely a breast instead of thigh man. Only his hands go slow, caressing and teasing instead of Talpillaging (good job on the breast tutorial, Tris), and I can feel my chest straining to high attention, wanting, more more more. Then Nick’s hands move away and I want to murmur, No no no, come back, hands, but my mouth is too busy occupying his. As Nick’s hands fumble and smooth over my back, clearly looking for a bra strap to unclasp, my lips can’t bear to pull away from touching him to tell him, Honey, it’s a front-clasp bra.

An infinite playlist by NICK

When we get to Ludlow, I remember the song I began to write, in an hour that seems like weeks ago now. Can so much really happen in a night? The song was never really over, but now I have the ending—I don’t know how I’ll phrase it, but it will involve our returning, it will take in the strange pink light and the Sunday-morning quiet. Because the song is us, and the song is her, and this time I’m going to use her name. Norah Norah Norah—no rhymes, really. Just truth.
I shouldn’t want the song to end. I always think of each night as a song. Or each moment as a song. But now I’m seeing we don’t live in a single song. We move from song to song, from lyric to lyric, from chord to chord. There is no ending here. It’s an infinite playlist.

NICK

My heartbeat accelerates. I am in the here, in the now. I am also in the future. I am holding her and wanting and knowing and hoping all at once. We are the ones who take this thing called music and line it up with this thing called time. We are the ticking, we are the pulsing, we are underneath every part of this moment. And by making the moment our own, we are rendering it timeless. There is no audience. There are no instruments. There are only bodies and thoughts and murmurs and looks. It’s the concert rush to end all concert rushes, because this is what matters. When the heart races, this is what it’s racing toward.

NORAH

I hesitate even though I know my wavering could cost us the approaching train. If I make this jump, then this is real, he is real. I will have broken the law for him and that will bind us together forever, outlaws, like Bonnie and Clyde. And look how that worked out for them.

If I do this, it will be like jumping into the middle of the mosh pit. Dangerous. Exhilarating. Terrifying. It’s only a fucking turnstile, but what if I don’t make it to the other side. Some people never make it out of the mosh alive.
The deafening screech of train brakes announces the train is in the station.
Nick says, “Are we in this or not?”
To throw myself into the breach of our great divide will be a leap of faith.
I grab hold of his warm hand. Deep breath.
Ready.
Set.
Jump.

Me on NICK AND NORAH'S INFINITE PLAYLIST

So, who needs a fucking review of this book?
Read it.