Illustration by Bob AulSend anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent —to “Hey, You!” c/oOC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627-0247, or e-mail us at le*****@oc******.com.
Remember when we played house, and you played me? You probably don't remember all those times I dropped you off for a “tough day at the office”—and then saw you pass me on the freeway. Now I know you were heading for her place. Remember when you promised me the world? You probably don't remember that you gave me only a little piece of TJ's poorest neighborhoods. Remember that you gave me a boob job? You know the old saying: we get what we deserve. I got tits, and I guess I should say thanks: they'll get me most of my hot dates. Thanks also for confirming the fact that you can trust no one and that everything doesn't always turn out the way we want it to. I came to know the real you. Was that it? You can fool some of the dumb chicks, but you never fooled me? I still see right through you, and so will everyone else—sooner or later.
