Too many e-mails

Check out my grandparents on the internet!

MOTHERLAND!

They are the only two people on that part of the site. There are also some select pictures from our house. Namely, that ginormous picture of the Virgin Mary is in the room I sleep, and that one with the table and wardrobe is labeled "a village house interior," is the one where my grandpa sleeps. But you can't see the bed. So basically, second row, middle and picture on the far right, third row, first picture, my great-grandparents, middle picture, last row, grandparents. They've been "married" for 63 years now. Holy mother of God.

What happened is that the town decided to make a webpage, and since they are the oldest living couple in the town, my grandparents probably gave 6 year's worth of income during the 60s to erect a big stone cross at the cemetery, and because they are quite colorful people, they got to be on the website. No. They have never actually seen the website. But they deserve their place.

Instead of writing a response to some sort of silly paper I have to do in the computer lab, I decided to go through some old e-mails to delete them. I saved this part of a conversation with Stacy on Tuesday, May 10, 2005. Evidently, I found this important enough to e-mail it to myself:

piggyluver529: yeah well i'm staying here so mineswell (wow
how do u spell that)
GhibBby: might as well?
piggyluver529: i always just say it as on ebig word

Then I also saved THE EMAIL from my Medieval Art teacher last year. Remember her? Remember:
Frankly, I'm a little shocked you're even asking.

Then I've got some swell e-mails from the summer with such subject lines as:
Julie has aliens in her boobs
in a state of animated suspension...or something
too many friggin' weddings
Adrianne likes it in the butt
Julie's right armpitt
THIS IS AN EMAIL ABOUT POOP

And the first email I have saved on my sbc account is from Sat., Jan 4, 2003. I guess I am a virtual packrat. And a packrat in reality as well.

And because EVERYONE CARES, here are some random sentences from emails.

My life is extraordinarily complex right now. During the week I wake up and go for a nice long hike.

And Adrianne is a stumbling drunk.

This is most upsetting because it means we are no longer spectators to the man-candy parade that he brings up to his love nest.

Honey, can I just see some tits?

I ate cottage cheese the other day and there was a curd the size of your face

I've taken to calling my cat muffin head or muffin face.

As these e-mails progressed, they became more extraordinarily incoherent and random, and if I would have posted some more, had I not been in danger of revealing the authors.

So I like e-mails. I miss getting them. And I miss the summer when I had things to talk about.