"You are so sweet, so sweet,

Dancing and moving to that beat, that beat."
I'm listening to the new Regina Spektor album for the zillionth time,
hoping that maybe, just maybe, I'll understand just WHAT THE HELL she is TALKING ABOUT.
But I don't.
And, you know, I still like the album.
And I just keep listening. And maybe
not so that I'll understand.
Maybe, just because I like it.
I've decided to become the next Regina Spektor.
I've devised a master plan to move to Russia
and then the Bronx.
And then...shazam...I'm Reginka.
That's how she signed her name on her "Thank You"s.
Simply, 'cuz she's da bomb.
Maybe, I'll be Audbrey.
Naw. I can't pull something like that off.
We've got two big dogs here,
which, I always wanted another dog,
but this dog we're watching...
is kind of gross.
I love her. She's cute.
Not precious, but cute. And very sweet.
But she has that permanent dog smell.
That one that, once you pet her, you can't rid from your hands.
And I've scrubbed.
Because you just can't avoid petting her.
She rubs her ninety-pound body all up and down your leg.
Sexual healing.
Katie yelled at Rachel for saying "sexual" all the time.
Not "sex." Not "sexy." Just "sexual."
I got a kick out of that.
So, now, we all use "sexual" all the time.
Even when it isn't quite appropriate.
I think my Dad's in on it, too.
But back to that dog.
She slobbers.
And she just came in here for a bit o' lovin'.
And, trying to avoid her, I turned my body,
hoping that maybe a 180 could save me.
But instead of leaving,
she slobbered on my leg.
This, my dear, was about twenty minutes ago.
But, I still have droplets of stickly saliva on my kneecap,
frozen in midair.
Aching to further penetrate the former cleanliness of my calf,
but they can't.
And I'm so freakishly lazy
that I can't get up to wash them off.
And now I'm about to puke,
not from the grossiosity of that hairy mammal (not you, Abby)
but of me.
I've morphed it,
in my head,
into my own error.
Golly.
Regina does a lot of the same stuff on this album,
and the more I listen to it,
the less I respect her creativity.
She wails a lot.
Which is cool, you know, for a couple of songs.
But then it gets old.
Should I stop listening? To preserve Reginka's integrity?
At least, in my head?
I attempted to write down my top colleges.
No luck.
I quit.
I'm going to become a baker.
Aha, "Do you see this body?"
I think I'm going to ride my bike now,
instead of run.
Becuase, I've decided.
There's no escaping it.
I hate running.
I really do.
And whenever I have to, I get this feeling in my stomach.
Like, loser, get enough guts to do something you like.
But I just tie those massive, ugly shoes to my equally massive, dirty feet.
You should come back.
Because I'm bored!
And so tired.
I need my cuddle-wuddle bear!
Just kidding.
Except not really...
so see you soon!
I'm going to go read.
It'll start out with Gone With the Wind,
but I'll be torn.
And whenever I'm torn,
I always end up with Harry Potter.
I'll grow up one day.
But just not yet.
You'll see everyone soon, Abigail.
Not too much longer.
And know
that my adventures
are not quite so complete
without you here.