We have been engaged for 48 hours and we’re drinking coffee and writing blood oaths and looking out at the ocean, and any other couple in the world would be planning some zip lining adventure, but we are planning on making a fake reality show video about our engagement. Like seriously… how the fuck did I find you? You’re just as crazy as I am. I didn’t think that was possible.
Um yeah no big deal but like……… I asked you to fucking marry me today. I mentioned our Blood Oaths in my proposal and got down on one knee and showed you the dopest engagement ring ever and you said yes and we texted our friends and went out to dinner and ate steak and Mahi Mahi and came home and had hot sex and then, in the most Kevin / Ryan-Ashley move ever, ended the best day of my life by watching a documentary about the JonBenet Ramsey murder because we’re sick in the head and perfect for each other and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.
We are leaving for Costa Rica tomorrow. You keep calling it Puerto Domingo and I know you’re fucking with me, but I’m not 100% sure you actually know where we are going, and I think it’s hot as fuck that you trust me that much… to buy us tickets, make reservations at a hotel, buy a bunch of sunblock and say, “Let’s go,” and you’re like, “Hell yessssss. But be warned, my bikini game is strong as fuck.”
You are such a good writer. I don’t think you fully realize how good you are yet. I don’t mean that to sound condescending… just that I feel like I’m watching a fucking genius finding her legs, trusting her voice, and already the world is like, “Who the fuck is this???” You’re 3 for 3 in your submissions, and I know this is only the beginning, and that’s so sexy.
I’m having a hard time writing new stories because all I want to write about is you, but I don’t know how yet. I’ve never written about being happy before. I have to discover a whole new language and new rhythms and new jokes because my sad characters aren’t sad anymore. They keep smiling, and I don’t know what to do with them.
At midnight tonight, we’ll have officially been dating for three months, which is funny because there is no fucking way we’ve only been dating for only three months. No seriously. How is that possible? We’ve been dating for three years or thirty or we broke time entirely and we’re drifting sideways in non-time, fucking in some vortex where the world appears to be moving but every day is the same and it’s the best day of my life.
We got Covid shots and felt achy so we ordered ramen for delivery and made margaritas and watched a TV show about Northern Ireland and fucked twice and you squirted the second time and I took an Advil and my headache is gone because you said, “Why don’t you take an Advil? No seriously, take an Advil.” I think today was the best day of my life.
We went to see Michael Hurley, but I could barely pay attention because you had the hiccups and then you got the giggles and I’ve never been so in love with you and then we went to your place and I said, “Bobbie has fleas,” and you laughed so hard you could barely breathe, and I couldn’t stop laughing because it wasn’t even funny. Bobbie doesn’t have fleas. You do. You’re covered in them, but I love you anyway.
We fell behind a week on our blood oaths. The response from our readers was overwhelming. “Where are you?” they wondered. “Come back! Tell us about your love and your oaths!” No wait. We haven’t told anyone about this yet. It’s just us, oathing into the void, writing these declarations for each other. I keep waiting for someone to find this website. To stumble on it and say, “Who are these beautiful, hot motherfuckers?”
I’ve never been so hot for you as I am when we are editing a story or essay together on the sentence level, breaking that shit down with a kind of specificity that very few people in the world can do, and then we also get to fuck. I definitely died at some point and this is the afterlife and I’m in heaven and it’s goddamn wonderful.