Raise your hand if you thought we may be dead. Yeah. For awhile we may have been. It's yet to be determined. But for right now, I'm gonna get back on the horse, because if I don't make it, at least there'll be a record and my story can go on. Don't worry Mom, I'm being hyperbolic. I'm not dying.
So I don't know where to start. It has been two months and we've had dance recitals, beachy retreats, late night roadside rendezvous, deep South discoveries, 80's box office backyard blockbusters, glamorous city gatherings, not so glamorous city gatherings, vibrating explorations, gender confusion, heartbreak, baby teeth, catching up with oldest/dearests friends, gowns and tuxedos, major life decisions, exploding glass, mustachioed children, corn poop, zippers of all kinds, the cheapest dinner we ever ate, the most expensive dinner we ever ate, which just so happens to be the fastest dinner we ever ate, record unemployment turn-arounds, miniature houses, a couple carnivals, luxury automobiles, a janitor's closet, ruptured ligaments, tattoo discussions, Mexican wedding cake, visiting Bostonians, childless peace, a celebration four years in the making, and celebration 87 years in the making, blue jell-O and a bean. There was even an instance where Laura and I found ourselves watching Billy Ocean videos in bed at 2am in complete non-ironic fashion. It's been weird.
And I could just leave it at that, but that would be leaving out so many fun details and memories and I just won't be able to live with myself if I don't write down every last one of them (that I can remember) for future and present generations to say "eh, who cares".
So, strap in, because the flood gates may have just opened...
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