Decidedly untoward.

So you're gone, officially. I think that you should have probably reached That Place That You're Moving To, which I guess I will have to refer to as That Place In Which You Live from now on.

Already the city seems a little less bright, a little more closed. I tried to go to that coffee shop that we used to go to--not the one where we went, but the older one--but couldn't go in. Also I only had a credit card. I still don't know what's with that whole $7 minimum thing. So maybe I'm being a bit dramatic. I know that it was hard for you, being here. I know that you told me I kept you sane while you lived here.

But maybe you did the same for me. Without having haunt me with spontaneous singing (most of the time). Everyone else seems to think that the best way to cheer me up is through song.

When did I ever give the impression that musical theater lightened my spirits?? WHEN????

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Passing thoughts on mortality.

My dearest Dr. Rob,

Isn't that a super-pretentious title? I love it.

Anyway, you know what it's in reference to, and we are both aware that there is no inherent pretension in the sentiment. You could be leaving tomorrow. It's not a guarantee or anything, but there's an outside chance that tonight will be the last night you sleep in this city as a resident.

Think about that.

Maybe think about it some more.

Okay, that's good. Enough.

So now that you've thought about it, consider this list of things I will do (or not do) if you agree to stay:

I will fold your underwear for a year (pointedly not commenting on your very obvious skidmarks)
I will promise not to gasp in horror when you make me listen to techno
I will come out even if I have to work early the next day, even if it means paying cover, even if it means dancing with strange men
I will always share my rice krispie treats at the coffee shop--and by this I mean I will only eat my half of the rice krispie treat that you bought
I will never again make you watch baseball on your own television, even if it's playoff season
I will buy your next set of jumper cables when your car dies in 35 below weather, whether they're $45 or not
I will love you forever.

Pretty good, huh? Yeah. I thought so.

I'll probably love you forever whether you stay or not. But I'll feel a lot better about it if you do.

Now That's Class.

I will take you off this Earf.

Dearest darling Dr. Rob,

Today is the one week birthday of our blog. If our blog were a baby, it would be small. And probably do nothing but cry and poop. So it's not an entirely unfitting comparison.

Tomorrow you leave for a job interview in That Place You're Moving To (I am trying not to say its name) and whilst I am excited for you, I can't help but feel a little jealous that you will be in a location where you could safely wear a thong outside due to the weather.

Well. Maybe not safely. Your ass is dangerous.

Anyway, it's another weekend that I'll be working when we could be playing, and another weekend removed from the ever-decreasing pool of time we have together before you leave. If it were for any other reason besides livelihood I would not support this decision.

Tell Ryan in That Place You're Moving To that I said hi. Call me when you get back to the frozen North.

Damn straight. I'm delightful.

So on Monday, after having gotten home from work, I decided to take a walk. At 2 a.m. It was still snowing and really pretty and sparkly outside, so I walked the path that goes through the Art Institute and back around to MCAD. It being 2 a.m. and all, I wasn't really paying attention to whether there was anyone out, because who would be out that late/early on a Monday night?

There was this awesome pile of snow that someone had made while shoveling off the sidewalks, and without thinking I ran and jumped into it. I fell. Of course. But I laughed out loud, because I was so pleased with myself.

That's when I noticed the random dude standing 30 feet away from me, smoking a cigarette outside. Laughing at me. Yeeeeeah.

Spyho - The Blog Birthplace.

This is what I will do to you.