Friday, April 29, 2011

Old Kid on the Block

When I was in 12th grade I had a friend named Emma who loved New Kids on the Block. That's right, we weren't 13, or 8. We were in the twelfth grade. Not only that, NKOTB (oh yes, I am abbreviating it, yo) was on the wane, so cool points were in the negative numbers. And let me rephrase my first statement. I was in 12th grade. Emma was a year older than me. Technically an adult. She also happened to be the smartest person (in the conventional sense anyway) that I knew at the time. In a world where not many people left my town, and hardly anyone I knew left the state, she graduated from our less-than-awesome public high school in our less-than-middle-class town and went to the Ivy League. I remember that I used to tease her relentlessly about her NKOTB fixation, and the summer before she left for college, I bought her a cheap-o NKOTB keychain as a joke and she took that shit to college and put her dorm room key on it and was like Hi, college smarty bluebloods, I am from FLINT and I have an unabashed love for Tigerbeat boys and also IN YOUR FACE.

You kind of have to love a girl like that.

Emma took the teasing in stride and not only that, she bought me a matching keychain which I used for a few months in a startling premonition of pre-hipsterism. I didn't like NKOTB, but I was a teen and I was being funny and shut up all you ironic mustache dudes of the 21st century, I got your uncool-coolness before you were out of Huggies. I look back on that and try not to roll my eyes at myself, but it's hard. Anyway, Emma educated me about the basics of NKOTB. Because of her, I know the songs, I know their names, I know that she had Jon picked out for herself (the Shy One) while she couldn't decide whether Donnie (the Bad Boy) or Jordan (the Hot One) was her choice for me, should I be in need of her arranging my marriage. She did not let my gagging noises hinder her pure, true love in the slightest. She was impervious to teen cynical rays, which wow. That's kind of a superpower.

During the spring of my senior year, Mike was one of my closest friends. Mike was not my first gay male friend (it may sound stereotypical but I grew up in theater and dance so I think I knew more gay men than straight ones when I was little, no lie) but he probably was my first gay boyfriend. By that I don't mean that we were dating, but rather that we did a lot of stuff together, just the pair of us. My first actual gay boyfriend was Aaron, a super hot theater boy who I dated in 11th grade theater camp who wouldn't make out with me and I couldn't figure out why until the he came out after high school and all our awkward dates became crystal clear. But I digress. Mike won two tickets to see NKOTB in concert from some sort of contest. I don't know that Mike was a particular fan either, but come on, it was a free show. Also, it is probable that he could not deny the NKOTB teen-gay-cuteness. Mike shopped around for someone to go to this concert with, especially me. To which I said, um, no. Sitting in Emma's room listening to Hanging Tough while I yelled in pain was one thing. Going to a concert? In public? Where people wouldn't KNOW that I was being ironic? I couldn't get with that.

I remember the NKOTB date search becoming a thing. If only Emma wasn't off playing polo in college or whatever they do in the Ivy League, she would have been all over it. I called her and told her about Mike's tickets and she almost cried. For real. She almost cried. I could tell that she thought this was a travesty that we, a couple of ingrates, had tickets, but she begged me to go.

You see where this is going, don't you? I went.

Mike drove me to the stadium, and I remember that we talked about whether or not I was going to prom (Mike wanted me to but I had a strict No Prom Policy), and the juicy details of my romance with a band boy in his early 20s, and who of our friends were going to hook up during the last show we were in of the year. We also got into a big talk about my upcoming graduation (Mike was a year younger than me), and how I was going to leave for college and how we were going to still be friends forevah, promise. There was tension because Mike wasn't really out (in that way where everyone knew he was gay but he hadn't actually said it himself yet) and in the car he was trying to tell me, and I was trying to encourage him, but he just couldn't do it. It turned into a kind of melancholy talk, and Mike and I were seldom melancholy with each other.

We arrived at the venue and suddenly we were awash in a sea of screaming 12-year-old girls and their moms who drove them there. Yep. Tween girls and middle-aged ladies. And us. Me in my Cure t-shirt and Mike in his non-girlness. We looked at each other, wondered what we were doing there, shrugged, and went to our seats. Our really good contest-winning seats.

By the time we got to our seats, my melancholy had started to get to me. It was a few weeks before my high school graduation, and the NKOTB concert day was the first day that I started to get really strong nostalgia-in-advance about leaving. I didn't want to leave Mike, I was in a semi-adult relationship, I was growing up. Looking around at all the 12-year-olds, I felt ancient, as only a 17-year-old can. Kid stuff was fading too fast, and being there just made it more dramatic. Not that my high school self needed fuel to increase drama levels.

Then the concert started, and you know how it started? Indoor freaking fireworks.

I had never really been to a concert like that before. Keep in mind that the first concert I ever went to was Dizzy Gillespie. The second was Neil Young. Neither known for fireworks. The biggest concert I had gone to up until then was a Madonna concert in the 9th grade, and that had lots of costume changes, but that was more theatrical than spectacle. NKOTB? I have to admit it. At least to my 12th grade eye, it was amazeballs.

Fireworks, huge dance numbers (come on, you know me, I love a dance number), a big harness thing that carried the singers high above the crowd, and you guys, there were explosions. It blew my hair back.

Being all ironical went out. the. window. Eye rolling ceased. It was like a tidal wave of cheese washed over us all, and we were helpless to resist it. Mike and I got up out of our seats, and we danced, and whooped, and jumped, and sang (thank you Emma, for learning me those lyrics), and hugged, and acted like the kids we were, and just fucking embraced it. I think about that night as I write this and it's so full of how much Mike and I loved each other and how much fun we had and how young we were and how beautiful a night it was.

You heard me. NKOTB was a beautiful thing.

After the show was over, we didn't really talk about the experience. It was as if we had seen each other naked and we just silently agreed that it had been fun, but we were never going to speak of it again.

After the concert, I had gone back to my regularly scheduled NKOTB surliness and never came back out of it. Years later I would tell people at parties about the time I had gone to the concert, like a badge of horrible honor. "That's the worst concert you've ever been to?" I would say, "well, get this- I saw New Kids on the Block!" and my friends would nod at me with a "wow, you win" look in their eye. I treat this concert like an episode of The Office: funny because it's embarrassing.

Last week, I turned my tv on, and you know who was on? New Kids on the Block. Not only that, but apparently they are now teamed up with the Backstreet Boys into a Giant Supergroup Boyband Blob of Doom. I thought "oh jeeeeez" and started to watch them, and I was surprised to find that I found the whole thing super endearing. They are all probably in their 40s now, and you know what? They don't care that they are middle-aged dudes. They still have their motherfucking explosions, and their gelled hair, and their dance numbers, and their tidal wave of cheese. They don't give a good goddamn if they are getting creaky in the knees. Screw it.

I always wonder about the older ladies that still turn into mush when they see Donny Osmond, or David Cassidy, or whatever. The feminist in me thinks STOP GOING GOOGOO OVER SOME RANDOM DUDE AND MAKING AN ASS OF YOURSELF. But when I watched NKOTB the other night, I could relate to those ladies. Not because of the dudes, but it made me remember that concert, and not like I had been telling it at parties. It made me really remember it. Me and my pal Mike, being kids. Throwing our hands in the air, waving them like we just don't care. I didn't care about being cerebral, I didn't care about what it looked like, I wasn't doing anything but acting a fool with my best friend. I guess I'm one of those googoo older ladies now, in a way.

Emma, you were sort of right. Well, you were still wrong, but sort of right. Ok, yes, you were right. Goddamn it.

Next time you feel embarrassed about secretly enjoying something cheesy, just let go. Seriously, let go. Be silly, and love it, and just stop being critical for five minutes.  Like these guys.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

A hundred times

Thanks to those of you who emailed me your weirdo childhood earworms yesterday. I think my favorite story was from Delium, who reminded me of this story: when he was a kid, he and his friends found some sort of coupon that you could send in to get a free pair of ladies underwear from Hanes or something. Which, hi marketing executive who thought of that, you have basically thought up a great way for kids like Delium to play pranks on each other, among other nefarious things. Delium and his friends filled out the coupon with another friend's name and address, thus ordering him some girl undies. Somehow, they knew when the package arrived, and thus began the taunt: Joe got silkies in the may-ell! Joe got silkies in the may-ell!

And so now, Oocha has left the building, but the hot and happening tune "Silkies in the Mail" has taken up residence in my brain. Thanks, Delium!


When my siblings and I were little, we would tend to scarf down our meals, as tiny scruffy rugrats can do. Little kids are very busy and need to get back to important business like ordering silkies for each other, so we have to power lunch, don't you know. My dad used to try to remind us to eat slower by telling us that we had to chew each bite a hundred times. This would make us laugh hysterically because as kids we were a really easy comedic audience. "A hundred times? Daddy, you're crazy!" we would giggle and giggle. But of course then we would try our hardest to see if we really could chew our bites a hundred times, which of course we couldn't, but at least we were chewing more often so who's the crazy one now?

The other day, I tried to work this psychological magic on an adult. Namely, my Nordic Boy. He was leaving for Portland for biznass like he does every week, and right before he left, I said the following.

Me: Call me when you get there.
Him: Yep!
Me: And other times when you're there too.
Him: Uh, yeah.
Me: In fact, why don't you call me a hundred times?
Him: What?
Me: While you're gone, in the next few days. Call me a hundred times.
Him: (silence)
Turns out, the hundred times thing doesn't work on adults. Either as incentive or as comedy. Just in case you were thinking of taking my dad's schtick on the road.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011


I have an earworm today, and it's driving me ker-azy.

As you know, I have a good memory when it comes to my childhood. Actually, a great memory, if I do say so myself. I hardly ever have times when I can't remember something that happened to me. But yesterday I did, and now I can't stop thinking about it.

Last night, Nordic Boy was going to have ice cream for dessert. I was freezing my nuts off so I declined to join. I was rifling through the fridge, looking for a snack, when I came across a lone cinammon roll in the freezer. It was one of my mom's famous cinnamon rolls that I had been saving, like gold, because that's what it is. I looked at it, and thought about heating and eating, but I held out. I need it to last as long as possible.

Seeing that cinammon roll though? Triggered something weird in my memory. Because I said to Nordic Boy the following phrase:

"Oocha ate a seen-ah-meen roll! Ha- haaaa!"

I said it like it was a taunt. Like a little kid tease. In the same sing-song way that a kid might sing to another kid. Like Nelson from The Simpsons.

Nordic Boy: What did you say?
Me: Oocha ate a cinnamon roll, ha- haaa!"
Nordic Boy: What is that, a song?
Me: No.
Nordic Boy: Who is Oocha?
Me: This kid who used to play soccer with my brother when we were little. We called him Oocha.
Nordic Boy: Why?
Me: I have no idea. That wasn't his name. We just made it up?
Nordic Boy: And you'd tease him about eating a cinnamon roll?
Me: Totally. We would chant it. It was nice teasing, he would laugh. But whenever he would walk by we would sing that.
Nordic Boy: Well, yeah, it was nice teasing. It doesn't make sense. How is eating a cinnamon roll a taunt? That's the least lethal teasing I have ever heard.
Me: I don't know what it means. But we sang it constantly.
Nordic Boy: And I really want to know where the hell you got Oocha from.
Me: Me too!

Why did we call that kid Oocha? And why the weird song? OMG THIS IS KILLING ME.

It's all I can think, over and over, in the back of my mind. Oocha ate a cinnamon roll, ha-haaa!

That's what I am thinking today. That is all.

Monday, April 25, 2011


Me: Look at all the people riding their bikes and gardening and walking around outside!
Biogirl: The first sunny Saturday and people are going bananas trying to soak it up before it's gone again.
Me: Totally.
Biogirl: What's Nordic Boy doing today?
Me: Going to the dump.
Biogirl: Everyone has their own way of being excited by spring, I suppose.


Ways in which my weekend rocketh mine hizzy outeth.

1. Sun! Sun! Sun! It was in the mid-sixties, people! And dry! And sun! You should have seen all the Seattle vampires squinting! Love.

2. Biogirl and I went up north and stood around on the grounds of a winery. As you do. There was grass, and ducks, and middle aged white dudes in Tommy Bahama outfits. It felt anthropological.

3. Had a lovely lunch at Cafe Flora.

4. Went with Biogirl to the ice cream joint where we got yelled at that one time. The workers there were super nice today. I felt suspicious of this, like it was a trap or something.

5. Went to Seward Park with Nordic Boy and walked the loop.

6. Walked over to my neighborhood book store and chatted with the booksellers. I love that I have friendly neighborhood booksellers.

7. Walked over to Greenlake, and on the way home, ran into lovely Linda and her cute doggie. I also love walking down the street and seeing friendly faces.

8. Got all the weekly chores done. Groceries, menu planning, laundry, cleaning, bills, done. Look y'all, I am a grown up!

9. Sat on my stoop and talked to my folks on the phone, barefooted. Did I mention there was sun?


It's now Monday and back to rain, but that's ok. I'm still feeling weekend afterglow. I'll be back to my regularly scheduled rain rage tomorrow.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Consumables #38

You know how, when you go swimming in a cold lake or ocean for a while, and then you get out of the water and sit in the sun and that super pleasant feeling of warming up and drying out happens? There is a moment when every Seattle-ite feels that very thing, amplified. After months of rain, mist, sprinkles, storms, gray, wind, and just WET, a day will come along (or, let's face it, maybe just part of a day) where it is warm, with clear skies and sunshine, and there are mountains everywhere you look, and the water is a deep steely blue, and the buildings looked scrubbed and glisteny, and you realize just how SOAKED you have been for so long. So so long. I remember growing up in the Midwest when that spring feeling would finally come after being in a deep freeze for months on end. It's similar to that feeling, but different. The Seattle spring feeling is more about moisture and sun. In a Midwest winter, you are much colder, it's true, but you still have cold sunny days sometimes. And snowy days can feel super dry. Out here, we are soggy and sun-deprived. And then, all of a sudden, we're not. And it feels delightful.

That was the feeling I had this morning. Walking down the street on my way to work, everything just looked gorg-wah to me. The sky, the water, the shiny building where I work. And that made me think about my awesome co-workers, who really do amazing things every single day for the people of my city no matter who those people are, and the art I get to see, well everywhere I look, really, and my beloved loved ones who make me laugh so much each day, and my Nordic Boy who kicks ass, and ... birds in the sky you know how I feel...

I am totally getting UNSOGGIFIED, people. And yes, I know it's probably annoying. And it will rain again in about 5 minutes. La la la. Whatevs.

Consuming lately? Ah yes, that.

I finished watching all of The Wire again. I think we should have a therapy session about who broke your heart the most in that show. For me, it was Dukie. Seeing it a second time, he still tore my shit up. Who was it for you? There are so many to choose from.

On the brighter side, while I was watching it all again, there was just something so familiar to me about Prez. What else has he been in? Where have I seen him before? Finally, I looked him up on good old IMDB. You guys, guess what? I KNEW THAT GUY. Like, I knew him in real life. It was a long time ago, in the early 90s when we were both little bitty fresh-faced youngsters, but he dated a friend of mine. That frigging BLEW MY MIND. This is what happens when you were an arty/theater nerd. Every once in a while, you see someone like that, and it never ceases to be banana-nut-cheerios. Look at that! He's Prez! Shut up!

The Killing
Sometimes when things are set in cities that I know well, I can get distracted by location shots and trying to figure out if they are actually on location in the city that they say they are in, and if so, where are they exactly? Since this show takes place in Seattle, but is shot in Vancouver, it bugs me. THAT AIN'T SEATTLE! I want to say, when basically I just need to get over it. Oh, yeah, and also, the show is pretty good. If that's what you want to know.

Party Down

Parks and Recreation
I think I am Leslie Knope in some ways, you guys. Seriously. I'm pretty sure I am.

Fucked up underground Wizard of Oz story. There were things about it I loved (come on, you just have to love Neil Gaiman, it's like, a librarian law or something), and a few things about it I didn't. The good news is that the things I didn't love, I still felt engaged with. Like, I wanted to argue those things with someone. I hate not caring about what I'm reading, and that wasn't the case here.

Disreputable History of Frankie Landau Banks
I got to hang a bit with E. Lockhart last week because she was doing an event at my library. It reminded me how much this book rocked it. Plus, she's a nice lady. Nothing worse than meeting an author that you admire and finding them to be unbearable.

I have kind of been only listening to Robyn this week. I don't know what that says about my mood, but I am on an all-Robyn diet of some sort.

Hope you're having a great week!

Monday, April 18, 2011

Things to yell out

As you know, I don't sleep much. Or rather, I don't sleep well. Never have since my teens. My insomnia has no long term patterns, just short term ones. This past week the pattern is me, getting up to visit the loo at 3 am. And it's always at 3am. I don't see a clock from my side of the bed, but when I wake up, get up, walk around the bed to get to the hallway, I look at Nordic Boy's clock and it says 3am. Not 2:57. Not 3:01. Three. I told Nordic Boy about this, and although he pretended to believe me, I don't know if he really did. A couple of nights ago, when I got up, he sat up, looked at the clock, saw 3am and said yelled "HOLEE SHIT." Which made me almost crap my pants with fear because I didn't even know he was awake.

Last week, Nordic Boy was driving us to work, and traffic was pretty light. This one car merged, perfectly and at very appropriate speeds, in front of this SUV. I don't know why, but the SUV person went berserkers. She pressed on that horn and held it. And held it. And held it. HOW DARE YOU MERGE APPROPRIATELY? said the horn. And then Nordic Boy said, in a cheerful voice: "You do it, lady! That's right! Take every last ounce of calm and tranquility that you may have had this morning and wring it out before you get to work! All of your patience must be spent by 8am! Wring it out! Your co-workers will love you for it! Wring it all out, I say! WRING IT!" You probably had to be there, but I about died when he did that.

Biogirl was taking out her trash over the weekend, and she opened her front door to find some neighborhood Christians canvassing for Jesus. She wasn't expecting them to be standing there, so in her surprise, she yelled out in fright: "JESUS!"

The canvassing Christians came to our house too, only we weren't home to yell the savior's name to their faces. They did leave us a pamphlet, which included a drawing of Jesus only really it looks more like James Brolin in his "Hotel" days, wearing a nightie. Since we got it, Nordic Boy has taken to putting that photo wherever I am. In my bag, or next to my toothbrush. Last night, when I had sort of forgotten about Nightgown James Brolin, I got ready for bed. Each night, when I am washing my face, Nordic Boy gets whatever book I am reading, and my phone, and puts them on my nightstand for me with the light on next to it. And now, apparently, James comes along too.

Happy Monday everyone! Holee shit! Wring it! Jesus!

Thursday, April 07, 2011

Playground Day

I am about to get mushy. I'm just warning you. Ready? Ok.

This past weekend Nordic Boy and I celebrated our 97 billionth anniversary. See, we were barely out of puberty when we met each other and started our shared partnership of zany hijinks so when we say we want to grow old together, hell, we are well on our merry way compared to where we started up. Because of the way in which we met and the years following that and all the aforementioned hijinks that have ensued, plus also we are lazy, we only celebrate one anniversary. The day we met. It's just easier. Plus it also makes sense in a poetical romantical sort of way because we were joined at the hip since the day we laid eyes on each other, even though there were times early on when we weren't dating.

I was out to dinner with a bunch of friends last week, and one of them asked another one of them the story of how they met their partner. She told us the story, and when probed for more detail, she said that there were things that she just couldn't remember any more, because she and her husband had met around 35 years ago. Although Nordic Boy and I have not been together for 35 years, I could relate to that. Part of why we don't celebrate other milestones is that it's hard to remember them all. Also, when you've been together for a really long time, and seen each other through so many ups and downs, it's hard to know when things actually start. When did we start to love each other? The first time we said so? The first time we laughed really hard together? When we decided to move in? It's all such a long continuum that when we want to pinpoint a day to commemorate, it's not so easy. It's not just one day that needs commemorating. It's all the days. And when did all the days start? The day we met.

During that same dinner with friends, one of them asked me if, when I first met Nordic Boy, did I "just know." This is something that gets asked to couples a lot, at least from what I see. "Did you just know?" Sometimes I say yes to that question, and sometimes I say no. Not because I am a filthy liar, but because that question seems kind of unanswerable to me. Trying to put myself into the frame of mind of my 19-year-old self, meeting Nordic Boy for the first time- kind of impossible. On the one hand, when I met him I was kind of sprung and totally infatuated in a way that I had never been before or since. On the other hand, did I think- the moment we met- that we would still be yukking it up almost 2 decades later? No, I didn't. I wasn't thinking about decades then. I couldn't see past lunch then. Still can't, to be honest.

About a year after me and that dude got acquainted, I was going through a rough patch in my life. Actually, it was more like a war zone. I had lots of bad relationships- boys, friends, family, school, work, money- plus other drama that is way too complicated and way too ugly to get into now, but let's just say that pretty much any part of my life that you could name was falling apart. I felt really alone a lot of the time, and was trying to put on a brave face (because hi, have you met me?) but really everything was a royal pain in the bootango and there was no getting around that fact. I had gotten to a place where things that shouldn't become normalized totally were. I cried a lot. I yelled at my then boyfriend a lot (not Nordic Boy, I was dating this other clown because I was a first class dumb ass), and he yelled at me. I slept a lot because that's what I do when I am depressed. I stopped talking to my friends, except for Nordic Boy who would not leave me alone, because that's what he is good at: not leaving me alone. Not just me, either. That guy is the Prime Minister of Being There. Ask any of his peeps.

One day during this period, I went to work, totally dragging my ass. I was a tired worn out grumpypants. I held it together for work (again, hi, have you met me?) but inside I was a mess. When I think back I can't even remember the specifics of what particular sadness was happening that day, but I wasn't in good shape. After work (Nordic Boy and I worked for the same theater company) he asked me if I wanted to go get something to eat. We went to some sad fast food restaurant (ok fine I do remember that it was Taco Bell) and I bought my forty-nine cent burrito and ate it pretty much in silence. "I just need a minute," I remember saying to him. So we sat, and chewed, and everything was silent, but ok. Things between us, even then, rarely got tense. We just ate.

After we were done, we climbed into his ratty old truck and headed toward my apartment where I had big plans to put my head under the covers and not get out until the next day. It was a sunny summer evening, and I looked out the window and didn't see any of it. It took me a few minutes to realize that we weren't going to my apartment at all. I snapped out of it when I saw that Nordic Boy had parked us at a park.

He got out of the truck, and so did I. I don't remember if anything was said. I want to say that he grabbed my hand but to tell you the truth I can't say for sure if he did. We walked in the direction of one of those mammoth playground structures, which was mostly empty at that time of the evening. When we got there, Nordic Boy started climbing. So did I. I don't know how long it took, but it didn't seem like long before we had played on every part of that structure. We got on the swings and swung as high as we could and then jumped off. We ran up ladders and down slides. We swung by our arms across vertical ladders. We leaped off one side and skipped up another. We ran around, and ran some more. We laughed that sort of goofy little kid laugh, where you are so out of breath that you can barely get your guffaw out. He started it, and I couldn't help but join in. There was the part of me- that inner 14-year-old that we all have inside of us- that wanted to cross my arms and sulk and not be moved. But I didn't want to do that. I wanted to play.

We ran around like this for at least an hour, maybe more. Then we sat on the grass and talked and made silly jokes. He never asked me what had been wrong earlier. I never said either.

We got back in the truck after the sun went down, and he took me home. Before I got out of the truck, he said something that I will never forget, and I still think about often. I said "thanks, that was fun." And he said, in that understated, non-dramatic way that he has, as if he is talking about the weather: "I just wanted you to remember who you are. See you tomorrow." And I felt stunned by this, and I didn't say anything back, and I got out of the truck, and I went home.

Just like that. Off the cuff he was, easy peasy, see you tomorrow.

I just wanted you to remember who you are.

I don't know the details of the first conversation we ever had. I don't remember the first I love yous exchanged, exactly. I don't remember what we said any time we made formal committments to each other in any way. But I remember that sentence, on an ordinary day, in a year that I'm not 100% sure I can identify. It didn't have to do with us making a promise. It didn't have to do with the future. But it was significant. I've never forgotten it. And it's funny, the act of reminding me who I was? Made me see who he was too.

Tuesday, April 05, 2011

My Own Roger Ebert

Biogirl: I went to see that one movie. You know, with the Hangover guy in it. He played Will in "Alias." It was the movie about the brain and the pill and the thing. It was eh.

This description of the movie "Limitless" has inspired me to always describe movies in this way.

It was the movie about the alien and the Reese's Pieces and the thing. With the kid from Firestarter.

It was about the dreaming and the spinning top and the thing. With Luke from Growing Pains.

It was about the dancing and the boobs and the thing. With Kelly from Saved by the Bell.

It was about the steeple and the heights and the thing. With George Bailey.

It was about the millionaire and the sled and the thing. With the guy from the wine commercials.

Seriously, I could do that all day long. Care to join me?

Saturday, April 02, 2011

Anniversary Toast

(Glasses raised)
Me: Here comes another year!
Him: Balls to the wall!


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