Morning Sickness.

My dearest Dr. Rob,

I love that you quoted Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Next thing you know, you'll be listening to La Boheme and asking me which Rembrandt I think best accompanies your living room's decor. (My answer to that will always remain The Polish Rider.) Get psyched for next year's Messiah performance. I'm thinking next time around we'll go to Saint Paul.

Also I think that Ajarapoo is pretty much the greatest last name ever. I had a T.A. freshman year whose name was Sunday Goshit. Spelled exactly like that. He asked us on the first day to refrain from making jokes about his first name. FIRST NAME. And I was all like, done and done, buddy.

Yesterday I woke up and threw up. And then I was immediately hungry again, so I ate something. And then I threw up again. And then I was starving. I think I am either pregnant or have a tapeworm. Or I have a pregnant tapeworm. Or I'm pregnant with a tapeworm fetus.

Thank you for not forgetting about me.

xoxo
p.p.

Important Information

Hello again,

I must tell you this: one of Ryan's coworker's names is:

Philip Ajarapoo.

He goes by "Phil," but it works either way.

Sound it out.

Acute Gonococcal Endometritis

Dearest Katy,

I knowest that thou hast thinketh I hath forgotten aboutest thou. Howevereth, tis far from the fanciful truthiness!

Methinks the merriful thoughts ofst thou in The Brothels of the Coldest City on Earth est hilarious.

Yours truly hath shat in his undergarments on twice occasions in dost last several fortnights. This est unfortunate.

What wouldn't Jesus do?
Dr. Phil



"Let no one till his death Be called unhappy. Measure not the work Until the day's out and the labour done."

VZW Navigator's ethnicity?

CONTINOOAWN.

Boys' Night Out.

So first things first.

My friend Joey is leaving for the Navy in four days. I have begged him endlessly to alter his decision, and unfortunately he continues to posit that this represents the best possible move for him at this moment.

I disagree. However, I am attempting to be a supportive friend.

Today, he and our friend Sam arrived in the thriving frigid metropolis in which I currently reside (a city in which you no longer live, just in case you had forgotten) sometime in the early evening. Kent had planned a quiet evening of drinking and merriment for himself, his cousin, Sam, Joey, and me, starting with dinner at a burger joint then relocating to The Library to socialize and check out the local wildlife.

Things were all going according to plan until from nowhere, someone SOMEWHERE in the bar yells 'STRIP CLUB!' This of course planted the seed of BOOBS in the heads of the four gentlemen I was with, and I can hardly blame them. We left the bar about an hour before last call and headed to Deja Vu downtown, where I quickly learned that strip clubs don't vaguely resemble that scene I love so from Varsity Blues.

THEY ARE EXACTLY ALIKE.

Five minutes in the door, Joey buys himself a hundred-dollar lapdance and heads upstairs with a charming young lady (whose name I didn't quite catch). We see him sparingly through the rest of the night and at one point resort to taking away his credit card.

Anyway, my personal favorite moment of the evening was when the five of us were approached by a dancer, who greeted us warmly with 'How are we doing tonight, gentlemen?' before realizing one of us was, in fact, female. This error would have been easy enough to cover up, but (and not to stereotype) I'm pretty sure this particular woman was neither in the appropriate frame of mind nor intelligent enough to avoid babbling apologies when she discovered that HEY YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH TITS AT THIS TABLE.

Guess I really am just one of the boys now.

If you were here.

My precious, charming Dr. Rob,

So things are warmer here (and warmer is obviously a relative concept, since I'm applying it to previous weather patterns in this area, as compared to your radically different climate zone) but it's been raining. Not the good, warm rain, but the kind that keeps your clothes wet for hours afterward and chills you to the bone.

I can see downtown from my window at work and the buildings look angry, silhouetted concrete on a monotone dishwater sky. They are staring pointedly at me, telling me that TODAY IS NOT A GOOD DAY, and I am inclined to not argue the point. If you were here today, this would be a day to snuggle on your extra-long couch and keep each other warm. I think today would be one of those days that MCB would decide that she doesn't like me and I would spend half an hour trying to woo her with little result.

If you were here today, we would probably eat pad thai and you'd make me watch The Soup. We would probably go to Spyhouse at some point and sit in our booth reading our respective books/magazines, stopping every once in a while to say something funny and giggle. If you were here, today would be a day where we both felt low and decided just to wallow, speaking when we felt like it without necessarily saying anything of import.

Do you remember the day that you just crawled into my bed and didn't leave? That is my today. And I wish you were here to lie next to me.

Mas!

Also, since I live so close to Mexico now, and since English is language numero dos down here, I was wondering if you managed to catch that Sabor de Soledad now contains more bull semen.

Puss Paw (Print)

Your last post was great. But I don't have time to think of anything clever. I must nap in the A.C. So once again, I will post a meaningful meaningless picture.

Oh, there you are.

Oh, hello, darling. I didn't see you there. In That Place That You've Moved To. Where you are doing Things That You Don't Tell Me About.

So, my darling Dr. Rob, how have you been? I must admit I am both relieved and disappointed that you didn't get to see my mother, as I would have been able to live vicariously through both of you. Things are progressing well here. I got a new shift at work and have acquired several other additional tidbits (that I choose not to reveal through the blog). For those details you will have to CALL, yes, CALL, me.

They are very interesting indeed.

Recently I have found myself imagining what could have possibly kept you from a) updating the blog b) texting me every time you had a good poo or c) quoting 30 Rock in a variety of different methods of communication. These are the choices running through my head:

1. You have joined a cult, shaved your head and now wear orange, but cannot be prevailed upon to use any sort of communicative device because it indicates devil worship.
-Thoughts on this: I like orange. This may be mildly forgivable, as I KNOW how much you love JC.
2. Your cell has broken and through some strange twist of fate you find yourself the victim of identity theft by some Nigerian prince, bankrupting you AND RYAN of all of your moneys and leaving you unable to replace your phone.
-Thoughts on this: You know that Tracy Jordan has already helped the de-throned Nigerian prince regain his title. Thus, you should have known better.
3. You have decided to run off and join a traveling sex circus, where you ride elephants and horses and tigers oh my! And occasionally they carry you around too.
-Thoughts on this: There is no excuse for this. Being a carny does not excuse you from picking up your new, probably garishly-yellow and covered in fuzzy polka dots clown phone and sending a simple 'I can't talk right now, since Leo needs his 5 o'clock feeding' text.

Please tell me if any of these are correct. You know how much I love being right.

xoxo
your non-doctoral pusspaw.

Geniuses.

Mhmm?

So last night I got drunk at my company party? At my boss's three-story manse on the lake?