A Post to Begin All Posts

We're going to make this first post a color-coordinated one. Bear with us.

As soon as Reneé suggested the color-coding, I immediately demanded to be green. She countered by demanding red. I was simply not going to have the first post in this blog laden with Christmas colors in the middle of August. Some of us have class. We compromised on green and purple. Very English countryside. And heterosexual, if you're wondering.


Unfortunately for Zach, I'm all about independent thinking. ("Independent thinking" in this case used in place of the more common "lying".) (It's only "lying" if I didn't have my fingers crossed when I told you I'd be purple.) Anyway, we've decided to begin a blog. For our sakes, because we're way too self-indulgent not to have one, and for the sakes of our far-away friends and family, because we love you guys (and ladies) like a panda cub in a bathrobe.


Unfortunately for Reneé, she doesn't realize she just told every middle-aged Vermont man in his underwear coming across this blog in the middle of the night while googling for information on a little-known Libertarian blog about government interference on free trade in the gold chain industry ("The Sin Tax on Bling", of course) that she loved him like a panda cub in a bathrobe. I don't think she really gets that everybody can read the Internet.


It seems that I am blogging (and co-habitating) with the Czar of Long Sentences. Okay. So, we got back yesterday from Indiana, where we attended Zach's ten-year high school reunion. I met his friends, grandmothers (so cute; I want to carry them both in my pocket), and sister, and got hella drunk at a Mexican restaurant. It was a good, good trip.


I'm going to write a separate post regarding the "Tequila Reneé" incident of Sunday night, but suffice it to say, she just casually glossed over what may well have been the highlight of the entire trip in but a few words. She's a keeper, this one. Anyway, yeah, the reunion was fun.


I did miss my cat. (Here's the thing. I've been told that I should refrain from writing about Bean in this blog. I have the tendency to talk and write about her so much that there exists a drinking game, thought up by Erica and Leah. A shot every time Reneé talks about her cat. So even though I promised Zach that I'd try to keep it in check, you might want to unlock your liquor cabinet at the beginning of these posts. Just sayin'.)


You know, if you remove the excessive parenthetical from that last statement, you sound like a crazy person.


You say the nicest things.


Anyway, thanks for reading our ridiculous diatribe. I can't promise we'll always be this entertaining, but I can promise you we'll use a lot of words trying. I've heard word count is all that matters when you die.


What he said. Thanks, guys.


What did I just say about word count?