Well That Went Well,

Twelve days later,

It's safe to say,

That went very well.

The at home life is pretty much exactly the same,

In case you were wondering.

But, see that's the point.

We looked around at our home one day,

And said, hey,

This is a marriage.

Lets be publicly in love.

Lets do this.

Completely.

With the best of intentions.

So now,

We have the same ol' familiar package of bacon,

And the same drawer of underwear,

Except,

Now resting on the basement of this one particular weekend of awesome memories to have and to hold till death,

And not really even death,

Personally, I'm promising all of eternity.

One.

Two.

Jump.

We've enjoyed sleeping in,

And drinking whisky,

And having Christmas,

And breaking from the grind,

And singing hilarious original songs,

Tonight we're thinking of driving to Rockford for dinner.

I love, and love, and love,

Him,

Skin & Toast

I love my friends.

Dear Grandma Miner,

I am sorry that you are not here tonight.

I am sorry that your daughter is not ever here.

I apologize with the depths,

the deepest parts of my self,

the breath, and width,

and depth,

of me.

I know that I have said some very mean things,

I know that I have been very immature,

and I'm sorry.

I didn't mean them.

Any of them.

I don't know what happens when you die.

I don't know what happens when I die.

But, I think that I might have loved you once.

On a lake in Canada.

And I know that I would like to take harmonica lessons at old town.

And I love my friends so much,

With the breath,

And width,

And depth,

of me,

Skin & Toast

Remind me to get my eyes checked.

Thank You Secret Santa,

There is a plate of soft cookies on my table that somebody else took the time to make,

For me,

There is an orange kitty on my bath mat,

My kitty.

There is a jug band at the Grafton tonight,

And I'll see my ol' friend,

And I'll blink my eyes,

And I'll take as little time as possible in the bathroom,

And I'll put the front of my toes on the tops of my feets,

And pay no never mind to the polar bears or the forest fires.

Bless the students in Virginia,

My prayers.

Got the license today,

No lines,

Its off season,

Had a lot of fun getting up early and getting the coffee and taking the train,

I'm talking painful stomach fun,

I'm talking people looking at us fun.

Number one most awkward question in the universe: What is your occupation?

Despite our writer/performer/waitress/painter/free lance/child care/barista/teacher answers to these questions;

Self employed is typed in black ink on lines seventeen and eighteen of the certificate.

Did I mention I plan on wearing combat boots and a jean jacket?

Did I mention this is all that I am and all that I have.

Skin, Toast, Humans.

I have to say

just like they tell you in therapy,

this is not my fault.

Sure, my anger always gets the better of me.

But, I love my anger,

I don't want it to have the worst of me.

And its all very ironic and strangely timed

Tied in tune with the step of a mere ten days before the linens are rolled out and pressed into

Plastic marbles and bubbly stem cells, staircases, lashes, really great lashes.

At the end of the night you always meet the back of the toilette and kick as hard as you can.

Just like they tell you in therapy,

They say,

Don't speak out, you have no proof and you're not strong enough.

So it all manifests into small voices and acne, Paul Simon and tall buildings.

And non linear monologues with very clear endings.

And isn't it funny when the bald headed polar bear retreats slowly away,

Completely and utterly free as a Scott.

And we're the ones left.

Doing the work.

For nothing.

Barely even the tightly wound Lebanese tortilla that got me here in the first place.

Here I am drinking whisky with my friends till its all the way out.

Into the minutes.

The pajamas.

The parking space.

The next day phone talks.

The early bird cinemas with pops.

The playlist.

The ghosts.

The jeep.

The long houses close to the ground,

Spiraling back at you,

Winking at the blades of grass on the corners of your eyes.

Chanting into the tin cans around your heart,

You can have one some day promise.

Promise all that you are and all that you have.

And the women. Women. Women.

Free parking,

Skin and Toast