Post by caleb roosevelt , on Aug 9, 2008 0:41:13 GMT -5
*
[/size]Cause I'm comin' home,
I'm comin' home,
*[/size] rudiments - - - - - [/blockquote][/right]
hello, the name's,“My mother named me Caleb the day I was born, he sitting to wonder why- why such an unimportant and plain name for someone of our stature. Not to sound cocky at all, but my family is kind of up their on the list- an old American family with a fine Russian and European history, and more spirit than anyone could hope to gain in a life time. It was only when I was around twelve years old, that she told me why she had that dream. Apparently, my brothers and mine pregnancy was especially difficult on my poor mother, so much so that the doctors wanted her to abort me herself. Of coarse, she had considered the idea. I guess I agree- it is better to have one baby than two sick ones, but my mother said she had a dream. A dream in which the arch angel Caleb came to her and told her of me- and all the wonders I would provide. I used to remind her every day after that, that I was the messiah reincarnate, but she never truly believed me.”
but people tend to call me,“Caleb is quite possibly, one of the most annoying names on the planet, and because of that, I was only able to have just as equally annoying names in my childhood. As much as I hate Caleb, Cal is just as disgusting, if not worse. I literally loathe it with every ounce of my being, and was forced to put on a polite smile when doctors and old men who got a little too close to my cheek bones and boyishly messy hair called me that, even though I was grimacing inside. All in all, nicknames, are a considerable pain in my ass, and I mean that in the most serious way possible. My name sucks, everyone knows it, that doesn't mean that you can give me an equally retarded nickname, and just be like 'Oi mate, it's alright.' Rouge, Rosie, these were things the kids in primary would call me, before I shoved my fist into their face. To my friends, or to the cool ones atleast, it's simply Caleb. Callie was always a nickname my Mum gave me, bless the woman, really, while my father called me Patches. Thankfully, the year I turned ten he stopped all that bullshit. I, am an incredibly good looking individual. Not some sort of unsightly house pet. Ahah, kidding of coarse. People can call me whatever, I guess, as long as it‘s true. I don‘t really think that I am a Patches, though."
I turned ,"Far too old for my own good. If I could count the years as they passed by my head, I would probably convulse into tears at the thought. I feel like my father now, ahah. Really, I‘m not that terribly elderly, but it‘s just such a vast comparison when you‘re looking at how young I was only a short while ago. I‘m twenty two years old, and to be honest, I feel the same as I did when I was seventeen. It‘s just age as a number, it‘s annoying and it‘s frustrating and it‘s obnoxious when someone younger asks you how old you are. Being elderly is alright up until the time you reach twenty one. It‘s at that point, where it‘s no longer amusing to be old. Twenty one is when you get your license, it‘s when you can buy cigarettes and alcohol, and even rent a hotel room by your self. It‘s really the last great milestone of adolescence, and I was glad to tell people my age until that point. What I wasn‘t glad to hear was how I looked so much older than I was- really, now. Who likes to be older? Who pines to look wrinkly and disgusting in their own skin? Surely not me, and I have an increasing suspicion that anyone else that does is also a liar. Twenty two is an age I loathe, and I do suspect it will only get more terrible as I increase in age."
on ,
"March 27, 1960, show me a more feminine birthday if you have one, and it's been nothing more than a life trauma, what with my mother's persistant need to throw me a party every year. No, I mean every year, even when I was sixteen and all about getting drunk. I had to have some sort of debutante bullshit. My ass. I completely understand the influence my family has on the socialite community. Completely and fully. What I do now understand, however, is the constant need for my family to take that need, and make every single person under us our bitch. Everyone know’s who we are, we’re the Roosevelt’s and we know that we’re the shit, but I don’t really think they like extravagant birthday parties at every given opportunity. Granted, me and my brother are my parents only son, and being twins and everything, we always did have large birthday parties, so I guess it‘s perfectly understandable. They spoiled me throughout all my childhood, and while I really should be grateful for all they’ve done for me, on my birthday, all I really want to do is have fun and do things myself, you know, go out with the boys and get drunk and smoke and have fun like normal kids. I didn’t have one this year, funnily enough, but this is the first year I really wish I did. I was sick throughout a lot of my birthdays, so they were never really as fun as it should have been, but I am very grateful. ”
so that means I've been living,“I went to school at Blair academy myself, but only for the first few months of my junior year. Growing up, I never really stuck to one school. I went all over, north to south to east to west, the most prestigious schools and met some truly lovely people. A lot of my education was done via home school as well, whether it was classes of my own or something else extracurricular. I was sick for a fair part of my childhood, but I still came into my own when it came to education. With out meaning to sound cocky, I really did make the best of grades in my school. I worked my ass off in the traditional way, stayed home when there was a party, and I always put my studies first. This may be as cliché as they come, but education is really all you need at the end of the day, and I do whatever I can to get involved into that state of life. Donald Trump once said that people who gravitate money, can have it all taken away, and as long as they have their education, they can gain it all back again. I gravitate towards money second, I gravitate towards intelligence first.”
when the days over i like me some ,“When it comes to sex, I’d have to say yes please and in large amounts. I’m a bit of a playboy, I won’t lie, but only when it comes to the women. Incredibly good looking, attractive women are the ones that make my heart sing, although that’s not even a requirement. I’m not really a personality guy, I definitely look for looks before I look for anything else, but at the end of it all, looks can only get you so far, and that’s the truth. Intelligence is something that goes hand in hand with looks, as in one can’t survive with out the other. It’s a rather classic and gentlemanly way to look at things, but I really do what I can when it comes to the two things. One night stands require no brain, but dealing with me requires a lot of intelligence.”
[/color][/font][/size]I've seen a palace in London,
I've seen a castle in Wales,
*[/size] skin deep - - - - - [/blockquote][/right]
[/i][/size][/color][/ul][/font]
well, my hair is,
His hair is the most fair color of chocolate brown, boyishly misplaced on his head. There never seemed to be a hair in the correct place- instead, soft chocolate locks are all over his head. In an attempt to tame his hair, he keeps it worn short and neatly clipped in the most business of ways, making sure that he is always clean cut; looking like someone he would hire if they came into a job interview for him, and not like some no one on the street. It’s straight, but has the slightest amount of curl to it in all the wrong places, making it stick out at awkward angles, but still looking desirable none the less. "My hair is seriously, a hot fucking mess. Throughout the years, I've really just given up on it and deemed it as a hopeless case. In the wintertime, it's really the darkest shade of brown, disgusting and it always looks greasy even though I take a shower every fucking day. Right now, though, in the summer, it's when it's all nice and brown and all over the place. I got a haircut a few weeks ago for graduation, and since then, it's just been all fucked up. I mean, really. It's all uneven and all over the place and incredibly unattractive, wait no- nothing looks bad on me. I'm just amazing in that area, but theoretically, if my hair had it in it to be able to relax and just chill out for a little while, I'd be a lot more good looking, if that were even impossible. Actually, it's not even. I'm as sexy as it gets, end of story. I don't even know what I was talking about. Ahah, jokingg."
and I love my eyes, they're,
Chocolate and haze; eyes are hardly anything to be excited about, piercing and sharp- so much so, they could cut you with a knife at any given moment. Long lashes give him a heavy-lidded look, seemingly feminine in truest form. Filled with demure and grace, his eyes can be playful and shy one moment, but so frighteningly dark the next, they'll stop you in your tracks. “Ah, the eyes. I swear the girls are all about the eyes. Am I complaining, hell no, but I’ll be the first to admit, that when it comes to that one feature on my body, that one small little thing, I don’t really understand what all the hustle is about. I mean, they’re just plain. Plain hazel eyes, they’re not a pretty green, there’s nothing pretty about them. They don’t enthrall, they don’t captivate, they don’t seduce. They’re just two oracles tainted all different colours, that I use to see far more beautiful things through. Blue to brown to green, they’re nothing more than a genome mutation, that everyone fawns over. Really a metaphor for this fucked up world, yeah?”
and my skin colors this really cool,
As fallowed: incredibly. good. looking. Yes, I understand that’s incredibly vague when it comes down to just how attractive I am, but what can you do. I’ve been told I’m indisputably sexy, infallibly attractive, dazzlingly darling, and I never try to even to talk the people who say these things out of it. As far as I’m concerned they’re just incredibly bright individuals who know an equally as attractive person when they see them. God bless. I really just want to see how long I can go on thinking of how good looking I am. Really, I don't think I'm that attractive, but it's a gimic, you know- like, something that identifies my personality, aha. I'm pale as sin, end of story."
mainly because I'm ,
“I come from a very long line of good, honest Americans, a direct descendent from both Theodore and Franklin Roosevelt. Granted, neither or my grandfather or anything, more like a great, great uncle that I never got to meet, but can still carry the family name with a more than brilliant smile. Before coming to America, I do believe we were mixed with English, as most good American families are, but also a bit of Danish and Norwegian. It would make sense, considering my very white English pallor and my darker hair and eyes. Out past descendents features have been passed down from generation to generation, so now we’re just fair skinned people with insanely good cheek structure.”
I measure up to ,
Height and weight were always something that came to his advantage and disadvantage in high school- at the staggering footage of six foot one, he was always picked first for basketball, but his pants were always tailored. With the all too thin weight of one hundred and forty pounds, he was always picked last for football, and tended to blow away in the wind on especially breezy days at the beach when there was little tree cover.
but it's kind of cool that I have ,
When you are introduced to Caleb Roosevelt for the first time, he is exactly that. Caleb . He is polite and proper, casual and so charming it hurts- he has a way with words that can only be awed at. The way he speaks is melodic and beautiful, and he knows the effect he has on people. He is charming Mister Socialite, he has a way with words that is unforgettable, he has confidence that none can compare to. He is the one the women dream of, and the one the men get. Once he leaves the party and goes to have a cigarette and a glass of brandy in the billiard room, he becomes someone very different, he becomes Caleb, the kid you don’t want to fucking mess with. He has influence, he has guts, and he has a temper that will cause a gun to be pulled on you in ten to none. He can be Mister. American Dream with the ladies, but once you get behind the family walls, he’s Patches, and you better watch your back.
and my style blows yours away ,
There is nothing too unique about his clothing style. His idea of 'dressing down' is American Eagle, and you will never see him in shorts in public. Flip-flops are a never. Dickies and Dockers are his clothing of choice, no acceptions. Rarely is he found in anything other than a long sleeved basic. He doesn't wear short sleeves for more than ovbious reasons; cut marks and cigarette burns are hardly the makings for polite conversations. In fact, they are simply rude. Granted, none of these things were around in the seventies, but he dresses appropriately, incredibly high stance for his line.
but people say I look like , mathias laurisden .
[/blockquote][/color]
[/size]but I'd rather wake up beside you
and breathe that ol' familiar smell,
*[/size] personage - - - - - [/blockquote][/right]
[/i][/size][/color] because, he doesn't let anything get in his way .
I love, »mint meltaways
»grandpas magical toys
»black licorace
»puppies
»converse tennis shoes
»pizza
»ROOTS
»sunflowers
»crayola coloring books
»question marks
»math
»science
»not knowing the answer to something
»puzzles
»romantic movies
»mexican eateries
»corn on the cob
»friendship bracelets
»chicken noodle soup
»winnie the pooh
»quidditch
»charles dickons
»beowulf
»the canterburry tales
»emily dickenson
»the big ten
»michael phelps
but I really despise,
»tight pants
»rainbow bright
»sunny hot days
»cocoanut
»hairspray
»cars
»toasters
»bubble gum suckers
»rainbow bright
»onions
»'brotha music'
»being cold
»clammy hands
»football
»clams
»oysters
»seafood
»itchy grass
»being alone
»loud noises
»aurors
»dinosaurs
»carnivors
»manipulation
I personally think I'm pretty good at,
»he intimidates people like woah
»he can use his charm to get anyone in bed
»he is as social as paris hilton x574
»he's more badass than john cena
»he'd beat slivester stalone into the ground and back
»he has excellent marksmenship
»he makes a mean tuna cassorale
»he's fluent in five different languages
»the smell of axe kilo sweats from his pores
»he puts the fun in disfunstional
»he can tango with the best
» he calls sirius black one of his best friends
»hes never gotten a girl pregnant [hey, thats counts as two]
»he puts the bitch in habitual
»he can stare at a television screen for years
»he gossips more than perez hilton
»he can make tiny little 'o's'with his cigar smoke
»he appriciates a glass of fine russian brandy
»he can do his girlfriends makeup better than his girlfriends
»hes fergilicious
though I should really work on ,
*chocolate icecream
*7/11 slurpees
*anything cold
*scarface
*cursing
*sunny delight
*carnations
*italian leather
*history
*getting into agruments
*classical music
* palmolive dishsoap
*the smell of vanilla
*christian bach
*anything illegal
*the concept of something interesting
people tend to tell me I'm ,
hard headed[/font] because, people have to be wrong, even when they're right around him.
inspiring[/font] because, he has a happy way of looking at things.[/ul][/font]
but basically, I'm ,
When you’re spoiled rotten from birth to boxers, you tend to come off a little- harsh. Caleb takes that impression, multiplies it by ten and then throws a stack of one hundred dollar bills down on it, just because he can. He’s the type that will sit and make little origami creatures out of his Jackson’s, and then use them to start a fire. He won’t even dare look at a person with out them being with in some social range of status that he is as well. He expects the best, and will stop at nothing to get it. He achieves everything he sets his mind to, by using his money, his charm, and his looks which are all tops of the charts in his eyes. He uses everything to his advantage, and does what he has to with out disposal and with out pretenses. He doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process. They’re just another person on his ’boo hoo’ list that he can make fun of when he gets with his tight-knit group of friends. He doesn’t care if you like him, the point is that he likes himself, and hes the one that has to look at him in the mirror every morning.
Charm is something that cant he faked or fabricated. It has to be true, and Caleb Roosevelt isn’t lacking in it by any means. He has the ability to burn a city and rebuild it with his words, and he can make a person fall in love with him in moments because he can simply speak so well for himself. He can describe any emotion, anything, in great detail with his words and vocalizations alone. Pet names are nothing new to his vocabulary- baby and sweetheart are a drug that is on his lips more often than not, and keeping a conversation is never a problem for him. He isn’t book smart, but he is certainly street smart and can talk about any amount of subjects possible. From World War II to Scuba Diving, he’s either done it, been there, or knows about it, and would love to tell you about it, in detail, and then watch you writhe in jealousy.
‘Grant my last request and let me hold you” is the perfect phrase to describe how Caleb can get when he’s in certain moods. When he finds someone he likes, and think’s is worth it to waste his time on, he can be the most romantic guy in the world. Flowers, candy, and candles don’t even begin to summarize what he can do to the female and male psyche- for him, it’s whatever goes although he feels no physical attraction to the female standards. He loves nothing more than to hold and be held- he loves physical contact, and not just in the sexual manner. He’s perfectly fine with just having a moment so adorable and sweet that it could send a diabetic into a glucose coma so quickly, there wouldn’t even be time to call an ambulance, which really- was the way he preferred it. He liked to take care of things himself, though he wasn’t a secluded wall by any means. If you asked him something, he would tell you with little hesitation. Very few things met his standards. Very few things he gave acceptions to. If you were in his arms, he was on the top of the world, and there was not a wider smile than his for miles.
Caleb Roosevelt is a fine young socialite, with all the love needed to pull it off at a moments notice. He loves the fancy parties, he loves the lush atmospheres and the drama. He loves the suits and the coat ties, the cummerbunds and greased down hair. He loved the delicious looking girls in their dresses and sex behind the water fountains in the large garden, across the veranda. He loved the limelight, the celebrity, the special places he got to attend, the strings that were pulled and his friends who were just as equally glamorous. He loved every single aspect of the lime life and every single aspect of living the lime life. He couldn’t imagine anything sub par to what his life was now, and he didn’t even want to. He was perfectly happy with his lavished life filled with nothing more than the glory that his parents had supplied for him, and he used it to each one of his efforts. Nothing was better than cocaine lines in the bathroom before the big party, and ecstasy trips before they went out to the club, getting in- underage of coarse, because they were just that good.
His charisma was something you swore, he would have practiced, standing in front of mirror and talking to himself just like he would to one of his friends- he instead just practiced his endearing skills in the same manners that he always had before. With as much grace and provocative that any single human being could muster he spoke with beauty and practiced ease. He could hold a conversation with anyone in moments and he could talk about anything in the same provocative manner that just made you hang off every word regardless of what he said. Something that he didn’t even work at, he simply had to practice over and over again- and he did so by talking to anyone and everyone that came is way- as long as they were up to his social standards.
Friendly and quiet are two personality traits that don’t usually entail with aggressive, but in some weird twist of fate, Caleb was born with the trio. He knows what he wants in life, and he isn’t afraid to go out for it. Weather it’s in academics or in sports, in clubs or extracurricular, he is aggressive in it all. Competition is one of his favorite words in the human language [apart from cooperation], and although he plays a gentleman’s game, he isn’t afraid to bend the rules, never break them. In dating, he can be a little more subdued, but aggressive none the less. Once he finds something he likes, there is no getting it out of his mind. He just thinks and thinks and thinks until it slowly maddens him, and he cant help but want it- weather it be people or prize. In his book, they’re both the same thing and neither outshine the other. He read ‘The Prince’ when he was younger, and he firmly believes that ‘The Ends Justify the Means’. He’ll take one for the team if it benefits all, and he expects others to do the same. Perhaps the most unselfish person to date, in the fact that he doesn’t care about himself once he steps into a contest. It’s the team, it’s the main goal, it’s the combinative effort, its all or none; either he has it all or nothing; he perhaps, takes this into his social interactions as well; trust is his most important thing in life; he is aggressive in trusting people, and he is even more aggressive in loosing it. Once people stab him in the back, he never forgets, he never forgives, he simply basks in his own wounds and pray that they heal before the next one comes along.
Caleb has certain qualities that can be called admirable, things that are key to him and no one else, and leaves others feeling more in envy than anything else. He has an undeniably magnetic way of bringing things onto himself, boys and girls and business partners, he seems to attract the most wealthy of things, from business to pleasure to anything and everything in between. He wants the best in life, and he wants to have it now. It only is fitting that he would work his ass off just to get it. He also, is a businessman in his genetics, in his blood, in everything and anything that has to do with his being. Everything about him reflects the mood that he is in and how good his business is doing. If he is upset, he’s stressed, and he will say things that he doesn’t mean. He is one of the most mature people on the planet, and he has a light mystique that is about him, a way of making casual of hard situations, and always looking at the bright side of things. He treats others how he wants to be treated- which is like gold.
[/blockquote]
[/size]I never thought you could leave me,
I figured I was the one ,
*[/size] background story - - - - - [/blockquote][/right]
[/b]? [/ul]
I came from, manhattan.
well my father .. ,
coming in at , fifty-five .
he supported us by , founder of Roosevelt INC.
all in all, he's pretty , good at being a dad[/ul]
onto my mother ,
coming in at , fifty three .
she helped too, by , heiress .
in the end she's quite , the admiral mother .[/ul]
and then they had kids ,
then it was time for my own ,
and my one and only pet(s) ,
charlie, dog .
& the good and the bad,
There must have been something wrong with the world the day I was born.
Whether there was a dismal overcast, masking the sky above the tiny little town where I came to be, or a certain smell in the air, hinting that something was off in the atmosphere, I’m fairly uncertain, but something must have been terribly wrong. It is, perhaps a negative thing to say, to imply that I was the reason for all the oddities that may have struck through London, England on that day, but realism is always held above optimism, and negativity is all that I had to go on.
Of coarse, as a child, I had no idea what my true persona was. Everything was butterflies and rainbows, orange kittens looking as adorable as ever playing amongst the children across the street- I was painfully aware of the good things, and just as unaware as the bad. Naivety was my only weapon, and confidentially, my saving grace. I grew up in a very- normal family, or at least it was normal to me. We didn’t do much with our time, we had parties and we enjoyed our wealth, because it was all we really had to get through the day. I guess me and my brother, twin by the way, Nickolas, did get a great hand dealt when it came to having a perfected life and a perfected childhood. We were born twins, he six hours older than me, though I was right behind him. A little smaller than he- always a little smaller, but still perfectly healthy. My mother, Alaina, was a Vanderbilt, and my father a mutt Rockefeller and Roosevelt- we had genealogy that reeked American wealth, and for that reason, we had the best in life. The best education, the best playmates, the best food and friends and parties, everything was the best, and I was immediately addicted to the lifestyle that we had.
Even when I was a little boy, I strived to do everything I could to keep myself busy. I was never really hyperactive, actually, I was really show for my age, and really exhausted half the time, but I was determined. I knew exactly what I wanted to do since the day I was born. Take after my father’s business- he built a fortune five hundred company that is basically, made up of hundreds of small companies. Everything you could ever think of, my father probably provided for the world around him, and I wanted to be like that. I convinced my dad of a lot of things, when my adolescence came, and he hired me from a very young age. When I say hired, I mean interning at the age of fifteen getting his coffee and doing other nameless chores for people I didn’t know, but cared about more than most of my own family. I had tasted success from the womb, and had fallen in love with it. When you’re in love, you can’t eat, you can’t sleep- all you can do is stay awake at night staring at the ceiling waiting to see something again, and that was how I felt about business. I was addicted. Totally and completely addicted.
My parents had be at a younger age in their life, my mother was twenty three and my father two years older, but we were still a very happy family. We had game nights and went out to dinners, and we never had really any large trauma until I turned ten. That was when my mother got tired of my exhaustion, of my migraines, of my throwing up in the middle of family dinners because I couldn’t keep my food down, and she really got tired of my cut- I buseted my hand on a old garden fense when I was trying to catch a little snake- boys will still be boys and all that, and it seriously would not stop bleeding.
Five days later, I was on chemotherapy.
Family interactions were something that only the most genius of ancient philosophers could understand. The demise of my family was solely, placed with my fault to blame- which was fine. I’d take the blame for the collapse of my family, because it was partially mine. Not entirely, but partially. I never said anything about it, except small little manifestoes spouted from my mouth in the company of close friends when I’d had one too many to drink, or the arguments had stressed me out for the worse. I learned my lessons quick in life, things that I didn’t understand until I was older, but should have known when I was younger. Family was often, not as close as you wished it to be, and friends were often more important. My friends quickly took the place of my family, in emotional ways. It wasn’t until I lost every friend that I had, through my family, ironically, that I realized how much I loathed the latter and loved the former. I contributed to the destruction of my family, and I knew it. Leukemia was something that’s always been a part of my life, and I’m sure it will be until he day it kills me. Some people go into remission once and never hear from it again, but not me. I’ve gone through dozens of rounds of chemo, I’ve gone into remission nine times, and every time might be my last. The second time I relapsed my mother’s heart broke.
Of coarse, by the time I was sixteen, my family started to heal. I was never really affected or damaged by my illness, it was just something that hit me, and I could either roll into the corner with it, or I could make the best of whatever life I had- and I chose to do it my own way. My life was very normal, if not cookie-cutter. I did things my own way, and I did them to the best of my ability. I had a good time in school, I was popular, I went to parties- but the one thing that never went the way I planned, is when my father got sick. Not with the same illness as I, but something similar, and he couldn’t work anymore.
I was not placed first in command. Nickolas was. I was never jealous of my brother until that moment. I never was jealous of anyone until that point.
And I will get that position. Soon.
[/blockquote]
[/size]but I understand your sadness so
I guess I should just hold my tongue ,
*[/size] all about you - - - - - [/blockquote][/right]
[/size] hello, I'm your name here[/color]. I play character name here[/color] and his/her playmates, any other character names[/color]. I myself have seen your age in letters here [/color]summers and I plan to see a lot more, living the good life up in your time zone[/color]. I've been in this part of town for role playing years [/color], so I know the area pretty well. oh! and did I mention that how you found us[/color] told me about this island resort? he/she's a gorgeous thing. stalk me? well, my aim is AIMs/nifapplicable[/color], my msn's MSNs/nifapplicable[/color], and my email's EMAILs/nifapplicable[/color], . but, of course, you can always PM me. au revior !"[/size]
*
see carver or paris.
[/blockquote][/color]
