WHASSUUUUUUUUUUUUP! Girl, how you is? I am commenting in your journal because I'm not sure which of your email addresses that I have is the current one. I have not seen your punk ass in far too long. You must come over. I'll make tacos. Or spaghetti. Or whatever you want. I'll let you perform surgery on me. Apparently the threats of disembowelment and intestinal festooning did not work, so now I try bribery. Call/email me, ho! Want to come over for dinner next weekend? I have stuff to tell you, and so does Erin. I'm sure she will want to tell you all about her upcoming European summer. Heh. You're 25 now. You're a quarter century. Death looms. Heh. Peace out, home furry toilet seat cover.
Hey homeslice! I apologize for being neglectful in my duties as of late. Between being so disgusted with everything that I do nothing but sleep, being sick, and having spontaneous family time... I have been wiped out. This enticing thought of tacos and surgery is nearly too much to resist coming over right now! This coming weekend I may be potentially going to see Rob Zombie in Virginia on Saturday but how about the weekend after? The best place to email is at work (vomit) since I spend the majority of my semi-concious time there. Yes, the threats of disembowelment are not so imposing when the importance of your own life is ranking pretty low on the totem pole :)
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