Wrestlemania!

See, I likee the blog, because I think we write more, and more random stuff to each other, using it. Though yes, my email is also empty - but you know, it's often empty. It's only occasionally that you girls appear in it. Tess sends out her random internet links and little photo thingys and suchlike, but she does that anyway. And the blog gets me writing, because I feel like an ass if I haven't posted in the last day or so. And then I write. And everyone rejoices.

That's my side. Not that I'm going to force you or anything. 'Sides, I'd probably keep it up, and you girls would just have to promise you'd look at it so I wouldn't feel it was disappearing into internet neverneverland.

Tess, honey. Move. You're going batshit insane, and that's no good. You do, however, have to be willing to take crap jobs in between regular corporate work while you're job hunting, or ye olde rente will not be paid. You should cobble together a little miniarsenal of crap jobs. Waitressing and retail and coffeeshops and the like. And then you should explode Jesus.

Wait, what? Meh.

Taravitch . . . relax. This is Chris. You're not trying to prove anything to each other - you're experimenting. Experimenting is a ridiculous amount of fun. Also, because you do know each other so well, there's very little that can happen that won't simply be funny if it doesn't work. I mean, I've gotten into S&M a little bit, and here's what happened there: he bit the inside of my thigh pretty damn hard, and the little noise of pain I made sounded like a different sort of noise, and afterward there was a bite-shaped raised welt on my thigh.

The next day it turned into a bruise the size of a fist. His fist, not mine. My fist is way too small for this bruise. This bruise would bend my fist over, call it his bitch, and spank it.

But it's not like either of us were embarrassed by it, it was just a miscommunication and it turned into a giant bruise of doom. And so we're laughing about it. We've bumped each other in the head - I've accidentally kneed more than one guy in the balls while throwing a leg over - I've had my hair pulled and VERY awkward positions attempted. There are things that just don't work - but if you don't give them a shot, there's no fun to be had. This is like that. You're trying to add some fun via the teasing route, which is awesome. And if it doesn't work, okay, there's tons of other stuff you can do. But neither of you is going anywhere. It's not like no sex equals failure. It's Chris. You've had sex with him a lot. You will have sex with him a lot in years to come. This particular time is an experiment, so roll with it. It's not the sum test of your sex life for ever and ever amen. You know?

You know. I'm just saying.

I miss you girls. Taravitch, honey, would you leave me a key somewhere or an open door or a nice neighbor? I'm going to need someplace to crash and apparently Tam's got God's own level of company in the area for her graduation. Also, I will weed your garden and try to discover where you keep your secret store of badass juice. I want to run marathons! I want to run more than three miles, for example, but nooooo . . . Tess, are you going to watch her? And bring bananas and Gatorade? Will you take pictures of the bananas and Gatorade, and oh, I don't know - GIGI??? Maybe? A little bit? And then I will be home on the first. And I will smother everyone in kisses.

Love.