<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329</id><updated>2011-08-02T10:10:43.325-07:00</updated><category term='claire danes'/><category term='muffins'/><category term='babies'/><category term='birthday'/><category term='dinner'/><category term='Champagne'/><category term='movies'/><category term='starch'/><category term='wedding'/><category term='savage garden'/><category term='vegan'/><category term='ho&apos;s'/><category term='le monde'/><category term='train'/><category term='Martini'/><category term='jewelry'/><category term='swanky'/><category term='bitterness'/><category term='creative professionals'/><category term='water'/><category term='flossing'/><category term='exiting'/><category term='anniversary'/><category term='plus one'/><category term='mom'/><category term='bus'/><category term='take out'/><category term='art museum'/><title type='text'>Dear Husband</title><subtitle type='html'>(letters to my Someone out there)</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>51</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-3653546274630623316</id><published>2008-04-02T09:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-02T09:58:02.426-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This or That</title><content type='html'>4.2.08&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're an aspiring singer/musician, which do you think is better for your career?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To win American Idol or to have your song on an Apple commercial?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What Husband? I know!&lt;br /&gt;That's what I thought too - I'm a mac fan myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sigh...we're sooooo compatible. (forgive the pun)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kisses,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-3653546274630623316?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/3653546274630623316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=3653546274630623316' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/3653546274630623316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/3653546274630623316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/04/this-or-that.html' title='This or That'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-8618482276002890264</id><published>2008-03-20T12:07:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-20T12:12:34.078-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ommmmm</title><content type='html'>3.20.08&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess what. My yoga instructor also teaches a couples class called Let's Fool Around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What? No I'm not kidding Husband! Wouldn't that be fun?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're just supposed to bring our matts and our "sense of humor". Hahaha. My instructor is so funny. Isn't that great? Laughing together...posing together...gaining the benefits of yoga with your someone special....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bet you can't wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Namaste Husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxoxo&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-8618482276002890264?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/8618482276002890264/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=8618482276002890264' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8618482276002890264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8618482276002890264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/03/ommmmm.html' title='Ommmmm'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-3815429593973264094</id><published>2008-03-19T13:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-19T15:10:43.999-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Levels</title><content type='html'>3.19.08&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spring is almost here, are you excited?? I am. I hope you are not one of those men that put on shorts and sandals upon the first sight of a robin, but that is another story entirely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And being that drinking is often connected with warm weather, I thought that now would be a good time to introduce you to my Levels of Hangover.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a scale of 1-5 where 1 is the lowest and 5 is the highest, the following should be carefully noted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Level 1: Okay. Minimal side effects. Should I take a shower today? Something is just not right, but able to perform all normal daily functions. Ideal hangover for a workday. Cure: Normal black coffee, lots of water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Level 2: Tummy is not happy initially. Did I drunk-text anyone? Waking up is hard, but typically able to rise around 7-8am. Also good hangover for a workday, but not recommended. Cure: Starbucks Latte, water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Level 3: Not good. Why was there so much drinking? Tummy is unhappy, accompanied by puffy eyes and puffy face. Possible vomiting. Reserve said hangover for weekends only if possible. Cure: Starbucks Latte, Selzter water, some sort of big unhealthy meal around 1pm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Level 4: Bad. Vomiting for sure. Bartender, I thought that was juice I was drinking! Not getting up for most of the morning. Talking is unacceptable. Blinds are drawn. Cure: Emergency Diet Coke, dry toast, sleep, real food around 4pm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Level 5: Stupid. Vomiting ad nauseum. Zzzzzzzzzz. Cure: Not drinking ever again. ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't say I didn't warn you Husband.&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-3815429593973264094?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/3815429593973264094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=3815429593973264094' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/3815429593973264094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/3815429593973264094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/03/levels.html' title='Levels'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-2792065289408873244</id><published>2008-02-22T19:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-22T19:51:32.430-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lamaze</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if you've been following the winter we've been having in this oh so cold and lonely city, but I have taken to puffing exhales of short, measured breath to distract myself from the ice and snow, and I realized earlier today, slightly to my own horror, that this tendency resembles birth breathing, practiced round the county by those too inexperienced to know that they will surely have a cesarean and it is all for naught. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also realized this evening that the moon has been full for three straight days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suffice to say, you really should get here. And no, I am not going to search for you on match.com.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-2792065289408873244?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/2792065289408873244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=2792065289408873244' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2792065289408873244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2792065289408873244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/02/lamaze.html' title='Lamaze'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-1731511763982324963</id><published>2008-02-21T15:11:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T15:38:33.121-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oscar Buzz</title><content type='html'>2.21.08&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Oscars are on this Sunday. Are you going to watch them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last year, I watched the blessed event at my neighbor's party. Am still not entirely sure why, as I don't really know my neighbors and I had things to do like wash my hair and rearrange my closet. But I went anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In honor of that gold little statue and thespians in designer outfits, I dressed up, drank like 8 bottles of wine and completely failed my "Oscars Quiz" ( I was never good at standardized tests Husband ). Then, was so dehydrated the next day I considered eating snow on the way to work. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the moral of my story is, just because Jon Stewart is hosting and "Juno" is nominated for Best Film (heeeey Ellen Page...you go girl) does not grant me special drinking priviledges for the evening. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least that's what I'll keep telling myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nominated for Best Potential Companion in this comedy we call Life,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-1731511763982324963?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/1731511763982324963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=1731511763982324963' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/1731511763982324963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/1731511763982324963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/02/oscar-buzz.html' title='Oscar Buzz'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-6574531785844118731</id><published>2008-02-13T09:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-13T10:06:37.164-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hearts and Such</title><content type='html'>2.13.08&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being that Valentine's Day is almost upon us, I thought I would take this opportunity to write. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still not having found you, it will be difficult to express my true love in the absence of having an actual protagonist for this love story, but I will do my best. Instead I will compose a list of gifts that would be adequate to give on this special, albeit Hallmark, holiday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Flowers. Specifically tulips or roses. But if you can't remember either of those, any flower will do as I will just be excited to receive something at work that will make my coworkers think I must be a fabulous and deserving Wife. Please try to limit and/or eliminate the amount of fillers, ie: baby's breath (duh)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. A weekend getaway. Your choice, as long does not involve NASCAR, The Mall of America, or Dollywood. However, I doubt we'd be married if the aforementioned destinations excited you in the least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Jewerly. You know what kind I like Husband. And if you don't, maybe you should stick with flowers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Something memorable of our time together. I will be looking forward to the collection of movie stubs, restaurant receipts, and photos you've stored away over the years. Extra bonus points for things I didn't even remember, but that you cherished most, making you the Ultimate Caring Husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all for now. Must eat red M&amp;Ms and conversation hearts until I hear from you,&lt;br /&gt;xoxoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-6574531785844118731?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/6574531785844118731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=6574531785844118731' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/6574531785844118731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/6574531785844118731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/02/hearts-and-such.html' title='Hearts and Such'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-8556891329111571375</id><published>2008-01-28T12:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T12:58:00.503-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Taken Care Of</title><content type='html'>1/28/08&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just thought you should know that most women have the names of their children picked out way before ever meeting their husbands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So while I will need you there for the necessary creation of said children, upbringing and overall fatherly guidance, I have their informal monikers all figured out. Please do not lose sleep over such matters. You have enough to worry about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-8556891329111571375?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/8556891329111571375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=8556891329111571375' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8556891329111571375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8556891329111571375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/01/its-taken-care-of.html' title='It&apos;s Taken Care Of'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-990055588129399001</id><published>2008-01-28T12:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T12:50:48.360-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid McSweaty</title><content type='html'>1/28/08&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember when I thought I saw you and you looked like Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I can say with utter confidence that I know now that man is not you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at the gym today and not only did the aforementioned Faux Jake continue to "rock out" to his iPod (see previous letter) he is also That Guy that runs really fast around the indoor track. For a short amount of time. In sequential blasts. Let's not ignore the fact that he also gets all worked up, and huffs and puffs so much that he could potentially blow the house down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so annoyed by him Husband, specifically because I am steady runner, with focus on longevity and distance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I said I'm trying to see the glass half-full in '08, but do you see who I'm working with here?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;all my love,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-990055588129399001?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/990055588129399001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=990055588129399001' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/990055588129399001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/990055588129399001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/01/stupid-mcsweaty.html' title='Stupid McSweaty'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-619819948380980495</id><published>2008-01-15T12:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-15T13:00:54.376-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Intervention</title><content type='html'>1/15/08&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have any friends with substance abuse problems? I ask because I'm insanely concerned about my best friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm certain she was drinking heavily the other day because she sent me an Email Forward asking me to "pass on" said email with receipes (yes, as in "cooking") to share with others on the list. It's that or her email account has been hacked by a suburban Smug Married as she is a fantastic Urban Single.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In any event, the first step to asking for help is admitting you have a problem right Husband? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will tell her you are concerned too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-619819948380980495?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/619819948380980495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=619819948380980495' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/619819948380980495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/619819948380980495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/01/intervention.html' title='Intervention'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-4830635902443516951</id><published>2008-01-15T12:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-15T12:55:24.510-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Keynote Announcement</title><content type='html'>1/15/08&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You may remember me reflecting on my New Year's Resolution in a former letter which was to be Optimistic in '08.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have found a better theme for the year which is: "Over It".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This allows me to still get slightly upset, but for only for a limited time, as must "get over it" in order to rise like the proper phoenix that I am from life's daily ashes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some examples:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I get irritated with people that walk loudly ( like, Clompity-Clomp-Clomp-Clomp-Shut-The-F*ck-Up-Already!)...&lt;br /&gt;2 seconds later and with Zen-like vision - Over It.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I date a man for a bit and then eventually realize he is a Total-Loser-Needs-To-Grow-A-Pair-Imposter Husband...1 week later and various episodes of Sex &amp; The City under my belt - Over It.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See how grown-up and mature I am Husband? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be very easy to get along with in 2008.&lt;br /&gt;Is officially a good time for you to start looking for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;with love,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-4830635902443516951?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/4830635902443516951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=4830635902443516951' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4830635902443516951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4830635902443516951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/01/over-it-in-08.html' title='A Keynote Announcement'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-80271042729940123</id><published>2008-01-08T14:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T14:47:50.305-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Courage to Try Something New</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though its not yet spring, you will be happy to know that I have engaged in various acts of household disgorging as we are finally done with the excesses of the holiday season. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R&amp;R jeans that are getting tired must make way for sweater dresses, flashy gold watches and all things Tory Burch. However, you will be happy to know that I am only acquiring modestly as I am trying to reduce my carbon footprint in 2008, while everything I get rid of is going to the lesser-fortunate and lesser-fashionable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, in all this do-gooding and organizing, there was one toss-away that is still bothering me: all of the holiday cards with the shining faces of little children and little families, captured picturesquely in this suburb or that. I would even be slightly melancholy were it not for the pièce de résistance of holiday cards: Husband, someone I used to know slightly had the nerve to send out a holiday card wishing their friends and family, "The Courage to Try Something New in 2008!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Husband, I trust my life to taxi drivers all the time. My whole life is trying something new. And as if this weren't insulting enough, there was a reply card and a self-addressed stamped envelope asking all aforementioned friends and family to "Write us and tell us a first that you did in 2007," as they apparently, "can't wait to hear what our friends and family have been up to."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, husband, I know we don't get into specifics in this forum, but let me tell you plainly: anything that I have done for the first time in my 29th year as an aging single girl in the city is NOT fit for a self-addresses stamped envelope headed for a farm house in the country where children and dogs reside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While initially indignant, I am rather glad these happily married's took it upon themselves to prove to me once again that I don't actually want to be a smug married. Yet. But husband, promise me we will only send out goofy photos of our children with frosting smeared all over their mis-matched clothing and NO letters or self-addresses stamped envelopes? And I promise you if you would just pop by for a drink I will tell you all of my naughty firsts from 2007....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-80271042729940123?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/80271042729940123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=80271042729940123' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/80271042729940123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/80271042729940123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/01/courage-to-try-something-new.html' title='The Courage to Try Something New'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-2428736297941995490</id><published>2008-01-07T08:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T11:14:27.256-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Full-Frontal Attack</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate Smug Marrieds and football. I hate taking projects at work from someone else. I hate freakishly warm weather in January that causes my apartment to heat up like Miami and prohibit me from sleeping comfortably. I hate having to give my dog like eight baths in one day due to aforementioned weather. I hate engagement stories. I hate the Food Baby in my stomach from eating pizza and popcorn last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh. I hate that I am not on permanent vacation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hair is dirty and I have to teach dance class tonight despite the fact that I feel like a whale. Do not feel like being bubbly and instructor-like to a group of soccer moms and or accounts-receivable personnel looking to get their sexyback. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate wind. I hate traffic and trucks that back slowly into alleyways. My eyes are puffy and I am catching a cold. Could not fall asleep last night and could not wake up this morning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh. I hate that my boss is back from vacation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-2428736297941995490?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/2428736297941995490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=2428736297941995490' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2428736297941995490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2428736297941995490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/01/full-frontal-attack.html' title='Full-Frontal Attack'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-5701460301929824559</id><published>2008-01-03T15:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-03T15:26:08.376-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sigh</title><content type='html'>1/3/08&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time an engagement story gets told, an angel loses its wings.&lt;br /&gt;Or at least it just feels that way lately...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;optimistic in '08,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-5701460301929824559?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/5701460301929824559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=5701460301929824559' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/5701460301929824559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/5701460301929824559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/01/sigh.html' title='Sigh'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-8044548230999122396</id><published>2008-01-03T13:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-03T14:23:19.346-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Holiday Dial</title><content type='html'>Husband:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am really sorry my notes have been sporadic through the holiday season, but you know how it goes; parties, caroling, salvation army bell ringing, reading to the elderly, volunteer gift wrapping for the Humane Society, baking twelve kinds of sugar cookies. It is a busy time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did miss you, Husband. Even more so because I kept getting random holiday dials and texts from former beaus. Surely you've heard of drunk dialing and texting, but holiday dialing and texting, while similar, is ever more sinister because it is motivated by emotion, rather than inebriation. Usually what happens, especially in the case of "confirmed bachelors," is that men who otherwise abhor commitment realize at approximately 4:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve that they have no one to share their life with and feelings of sadness and loneliness ensue for roughly 24 hours. During this time, said men are liable to call any and all currents and formers in an attempt to feel connected to anything with breasts and a pulse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily, husband, it is the one time of year that no girl is caught vulnerable, because girls are inevitably surrounded by friends, family, pets, nieces, homemade candy and lots of booze.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, truth be told there was a gentleman whose repeated holiday dials have left me with a bit of an emotional hangover. Not to fret, I am even more determined to have changed my name and forwarding information to Mr. and Mrs. Husband by this time next year: Holiday dialers beware.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-8044548230999122396?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/8044548230999122396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=8044548230999122396' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8044548230999122396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8044548230999122396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2008/01/holiday-dial.html' title='The Holiday Dial'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-4525518024730685550</id><published>2007-12-29T07:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-29T08:04:55.798-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Santa Baby</title><content type='html'>12/29/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are so many things I've been wanting to write you, but I assumed the plethora of thoughts might overwhelm you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you have a nice Christmas Husband? Mine was fantastic, despite your continuous unavailability. However, I managed to place myself in a happy bubble for almost 24 hours. It was really quite something for the books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you get those letters in your Christmas cards summarizing the sender's year? Do you ever want to write one? I do...well sometimes...but I'm concerned I "can't" because I don't have a "family" and the people receiving it would be a bit puzzled over my self-indulgent novel/Christmas card. Well that's okay I suppose. I can wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do have some exciting news though. My mom and dad said they'd like to take us someplace warm for the holidays one year. Isn't that fab? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the record, it's not like we talk about You that often. The offer was 85% hypothetical and I just thought you should know so you'd have something to look forward to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More later, must work on my fitness.&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-4525518024730685550?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/4525518024730685550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=4525518024730685550' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4525518024730685550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4525518024730685550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/12/santa-baby.html' title='Santa Baby'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-3124675513617031900</id><published>2007-11-28T13:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-28T13:50:51.091-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Out Of My Control</title><content type='html'>11/28/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's no secret that my biological clock ticks away even in your absence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What you should know is that I, along with my other childless friends, have started to blame our random acts of affection, sympathy and all around matronly-gestures on The Empty Womb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As of late, The Empty Womb has been responsible for the following (personal) experiences:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Stopping my car in a bad neighborhood to rescue what appeared to be a lost dog. (AM I NUTS?) Said dog, unimpressed with my feat of urban bravery, ignored my advances and ran into the backyard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Watching Hannah Montana &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Baking 2 days in a row for no reason (Do you think cats like muffins Husband?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really know what to do about it all. Will just continue to play house until further notice from you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-3124675513617031900?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/3124675513617031900/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=3124675513617031900' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/3124675513617031900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/3124675513617031900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/11/its-out-of-my-control.html' title='It&apos;s Out Of My Control'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-378484607520159798</id><published>2007-11-28T13:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-28T13:54:36.362-08:00</updated><title type='text'>If Found, Please Return To:</title><content type='html'>11/28/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ohmigosh have you missed me? I know, it's been forever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have more to to write, but I thought you should be aware of the following, as it is a clear sign that I am officially unable to retain information as I get older. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lost my car at the mall during lunch. No f-ing kidding Husband. Then I found it. After 20 minutes and continous use of my car alarm. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If this continues, rest assured that we will most likely have more in common as men often cannot remember anything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-378484607520159798?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/378484607520159798/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=378484607520159798' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/378484607520159798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/378484607520159798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/11/if-found-please-return-to.html' title='If Found, Please Return To:'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-37876569172626096</id><published>2007-11-15T19:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-18T13:59:49.768-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Test Me, Baby</title><content type='html'>Hi Husband:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been noticing an upsetting trend on the social scene, and I thought I should let you know about it (I am sure it doesn't apply to you).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you know, there is a dating ritual that involves asking for someone's phone number, should you find yourself interested in a certain someone. Now, I know technology is advancing at a rapid pace (some of us remember a time before mobile phones), and it is hard to keep tabs on when to use what device, and in what fashion (hello, phones vibrate). So, keeping this veritable mine field of inappropriateness in mind, I am not quick to judge technology offenders, however, as I said, a trend has emerged that must be checked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the deal: "Boy" flirts with me on any given Friday night. Fine. I am as loyal to you as a laborador puppy, but a girl must flirt. And because I am lovely (all my girlfriends say so), Boy asks for my telephone number. I may or may not be interested, but I am polite, and I give Boy a phone number (heavy emphasis on "a"). Herein lies the problem: Boy tests the phone number. He actually puts it in his phone and presses send!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Husband, this is so uncool. Here's why: if in fact I have fudged, making the last 7 an 8, I am really doing us both a favor by not rejecting Boy openly and to his face. He makes us both look bad by testing the phone number I have given. And, by testing it, if I have given the right number, he is certain to instantly join my screen list.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Husband, spread the word with all your iphone carrying friends: I don't care if you can create a new republic in the South Pacific with the touch of a button, don't test me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-37876569172626096?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/37876569172626096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=37876569172626096' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/37876569172626096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/37876569172626096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/11/dont-test-me-baby.html' title='Don&apos;t Test Me, Baby'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-2508803634843773170</id><published>2007-11-13T13:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-13T13:54:52.199-08:00</updated><title type='text'>These Are A Few Of My (Un)Favorite Things</title><content type='html'>11 / 12/ 07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In an effort to fully prepare you for our meeting, I thought I should brief you on things I dislike. This list includes, but is not limited to:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- girls who work out with their hair down&lt;br /&gt;- Blink 182-esque music&lt;br /&gt;- those Dr. Phil commercials for Match.com&lt;br /&gt;- financially-dependent-women who say things like "I'm an independent woman" (um, no you're not)&lt;br /&gt;- people who just can't order off the menu - must have super secret unattainable dish that is so good the chef didn't even think of it&lt;br /&gt;- guys who slam down weights at the gym (if it's *really* that heavy...maybe you shouldn't lift it Hercules)&lt;br /&gt;- indecisiveness&lt;br /&gt;- heavy breathers (seriously, are you okay?)&lt;br /&gt;- slow walkers&lt;br /&gt;- unobservant drivers (what lane are you in, and hello by the way, i'm here)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-2508803634843773170?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/2508803634843773170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=2508803634843773170' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2508803634843773170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2508803634843773170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/11/these-are-few-of-my-unfavorite-things.html' title='These Are A Few Of My (Un)Favorite Things'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-8668914340317680747</id><published>2007-11-12T15:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-12T15:34:03.105-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Charm School Graduate</title><content type='html'>11/11/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a new sports bar by my house, have you been there? This place is seriously Mantastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess what I heard there last week...and no, I'm not kidding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend left me alone to get us a drink. I was standing next to a group of guys when one of them announces (unaware of my presence) "Let's look for some hoes!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is what I have to work with Husband. Do you see the urgency in your arrival?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the other hand if this was you, perhaps we can put our impending marriage on hold until you grow up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-8668914340317680747?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/8668914340317680747/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=8668914340317680747' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8668914340317680747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8668914340317680747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/11/charm-school-graduate.html' title='Charm School Graduate'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-290939843007271983</id><published>2007-11-06T19:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-06T19:48:35.786-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Trying</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would say I miss you, but I am honestly only writing you now because I am trying desperately not to check my work email. Because I hate my job. But I am also an overachiever. You probably have a blackberry, Husband, and so do not have this particular problem because you have a tiny alarm going off all of the time so you can't not know when you have work email.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although, I guess if you want to know the whole truth, I am sitting here in front of my computer trying not to check my work email because I am also trying not to dwell on the fact that my yucky ex-boyfriend keeps calling me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Husband, would you come find me already? Then I could quit my job and you could beat up my ex-boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That would rock.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-290939843007271983?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/290939843007271983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=290939843007271983' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/290939843007271983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/290939843007271983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/11/trying.html' title='Trying'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-5722999622225036849</id><published>2007-11-02T08:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-02T08:32:48.675-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stargazing</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not feeling very much like my witty, chipper self today. I am not going to lie. I realize we don't know each other well enough for me to get all, "what does it all mean," on you, but I can't help it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took my adorable pooch out for our nightly walk last night (you'll totally heart her). As usual, I was bundled in sweats and an old knit cap stolen from my last would-be-husband, hearing the sounds of Thursday night revelers a block or so away, and I noticed a star that I haven't seen before. Now, this is not what you think. I am not a wishing on stars sort of girl (wink). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was unusual about this star was how desperately far away it seemed. I live smack in the middle of a big old lonely city, and the only stars that can shine through all the haze are two or three really big stars that are low on the horizon (I think they might be planets, but science is not really my thing). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This star just seemed really out of place and a million miles away. I almost said to it, "But I am never going to get there!" To which it sat silent and mocking. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I am just going to be brutally honest. You seem really far away, Husband, so far, in fact, that today I really feel like I am never going to find you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sad,&lt;br /&gt;Me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-5722999622225036849?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/5722999622225036849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=5722999622225036849' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/5722999622225036849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/5722999622225036849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/11/stargazing.html' title='Stargazing'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-451387825615258179</id><published>2007-10-31T10:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-31T11:58:05.610-07:00</updated><title type='text'>T&amp;A Airlines</title><content type='html'>10/31/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Halloween! Did you dress up this weekend? While participating in all things ghoulish and intoxicated, I hope you did not hit on the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Naughy Nurses&lt;br /&gt;* Ill-Mannered Maidens&lt;br /&gt;* Little "Ho" Peeps&lt;br /&gt;* All of the Above&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, if your devious friends made you drink copious amounts of alcohol, I'll forgive you. You are a free man (not for long) afterall, so who am I to judge?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That being said, I'm going through one of the dryest dating droughts in quite some time. And while I am not going to nag you and say I need you to show up soon (again), I've decided that tonight is as good as any to strut my stuff. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Husband, I'm going to be blunt here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in need of some long-awaited disrespectful attention, and if that means I have to dress up as a Sexy Flight Captain, let's just say I'm not going to hang my head in shame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Try not to take it personally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-451387825615258179?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/451387825615258179/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=451387825615258179' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/451387825615258179'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/451387825615258179'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/10/t-airlines.html' title='T&amp;A Airlines'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-705935423802146826</id><published>2007-10-25T19:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-25T20:24:37.456-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thoughts At Large</title><content type='html'>10/25/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think anyone likes their job? I mean *really* likes it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Underneath all the BS about how "it-is-such-a-great opportunity-I'm-learning-so-much-and-I-think-all-this-is-going-to-pay-off-despite-being-cranky-and-stressed-85%-of-the-day"...do you think people are being truthful to themselves? Or do they just go along with the script they're selling everyone else?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really don't know, which I guess is why I'm asking you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if you like your job. I hope so...they say the average person spends more time at work than with their family. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry Husband, I know I'm rambling...I just have a lot on my mind. You see, I think I'm going to be great at something, I can feel it - the talent, the time I've put into work, the passion...I just don't think I've found my place. Kind of like I haven't found you. I really wish you were here to hug me and say it's all going to be okay, but for now - I will just have to put my faith in the fact that the Universe will bring both you, and the proper career, to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pondering &amp; loving,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-705935423802146826?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/705935423802146826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=705935423802146826' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/705935423802146826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/705935423802146826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/10/thoughts-at-large.html' title='Thoughts At Large'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-6926649509752152256</id><published>2007-10-18T12:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-18T12:32:56.198-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Keep It Simple</title><content type='html'>10/18/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we meet, can I just act like I like you right away? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I'm trying to say is, do I have to act like I don't really like you...so that you like me? And then when you *do* decide that it's okay to like me (because of how fantastically mysterious I'm being), then do I have to wait a certain amount of time to show affection in order for you not to be scared and take your Like back?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I just can't do that anymore. The silly acting thing I mean. We spend all this time looking for each other and then when I find you, I'm supposed to pretend that I don't see you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I like you (which of course I will Husband) I'd just like to act like I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If that's alright with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-6926649509752152256?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/6926649509752152256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=6926649509752152256' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/6926649509752152256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/6926649509752152256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/10/keep-it-simple.html' title='Keep It Simple'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-367856880988197124</id><published>2007-10-18T12:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-18T12:04:11.936-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Inquiry</title><content type='html'>10/18/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that show on TLC "Little People, Big World"? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who watches that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me know,&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-367856880988197124?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/367856880988197124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=367856880988197124' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/367856880988197124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/367856880988197124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/10/inquiry.html' title='Inquiry'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-8738931890650727310</id><published>2007-10-15T20:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-15T20:51:27.407-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Weekend Warrior</title><content type='html'>10/15/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How was your weekend? Mine was good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I'd much rather have this conversation with you in person, this little nugget of information will please you to no end. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By weekend day I am a college-football-watching, beer-drinking-Goddess and by night I am a classy-champagne-sipping, stiletto-wearing, clever-conversation-having Lady.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know Husband, try not to shake your head in disbelief.&lt;br /&gt;Pretty soon you'll be ordering the "Um...waiter - I'd like the Best Wife Award please with a side of Can You Believe I Am Married to This Woman?!?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How excited are you? And I don't want to overwhelm you, but the aforementioned personalities can be flipped pending actual day activities. For instance, a night game requiring beer consumption or conversely, a sunday brunch involving champagne. Toasting to our love. As Nora Jones serenades. While riding unicorns to our destination so we don't have to worry about drinking and driving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See how versatile I am? Plans-Schmans. *This* girl flies by the seat of her pants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Just as long as I know one week in advance which pants to wear)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lovelovelove,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-8738931890650727310?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/8738931890650727310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=8738931890650727310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8738931890650727310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8738931890650727310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/10/weekend-warrior.html' title='Weekend Warrior'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-8799866533423657281</id><published>2007-10-12T09:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-12T09:30:54.749-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting To Know You</title><content type='html'>10/12/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot has happened since I last wrote. I accomplished a major athletic achievement and I went on a shopping spree...which some might argue are one in the same, but I beg to differ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I've spent this week recovering (in new clothes nonetheless) and drinking. No reason for alarm, but you have to admit that drinking is fun. Let's not be martyrs here Husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In regards to the subject of my letter, I went out last night and did not meet you. This has led me to the following (positive) conclusions:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You decided to stay home and watch Ugly Betty and Grey's Anatomy. I couldn't be more proud. &lt;br /&gt;(See past letters explaining the importance of said shows)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. You don't hang out in dance clubs because you are so good at dancing, you don't want to embarrass the amateurs. Understandable Husband. Completely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. You were busy volunteering. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. You went to bed early because you had to get up for 5 mile run before spending your day working hard. Again, understandable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In any event, I missed you. Especially amongst the unoriginal-stylisitically-challenged-Button-Down-Shirt Mafia. &lt;br /&gt;Otherwise known as "every-other-guy".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hopefully soon,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-8799866533423657281?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/8799866533423657281/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=8799866533423657281' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8799866533423657281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8799866533423657281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/10/getting-to-know-you.html' title='Getting To Know You'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-8508919396904725666</id><published>2007-10-04T13:12:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-04T13:23:15.484-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Running On Empty</title><content type='html'>10/04/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was jogging yesterday and ran into (literally) someone I used to date. Now while I can't say he broke my heart, I probably did give him more of my time and care than he deserved, and when he decided he couldn't handle it (this way to Baggage Claim) I was admittedly disappointed. Not so much because I enjoyed his company, more so because I enjoyed the idea of him. Am I making sense Husband?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So during said leisurely jog, (which he joined without permission I might add) he was telling me about this and that...basically being a Snotty-Snotty-McDouchebag in regards to his latest athletic achievements. I scowled at him between beads of sweat, but I don't think he noticed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So anyway, my point is Husband, if we ever see him when we're together happily in love, can you do something fun like punch him in the face?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're my hero Husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love always,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-8508919396904725666?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/8508919396904725666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=8508919396904725666' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8508919396904725666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/8508919396904725666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/10/running-on-empty.html' title='Running On Empty'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-903786898518864819</id><published>2007-10-03T12:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T12:07:01.487-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lights, Ornaments, Action</title><content type='html'>10/03/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's almost the holidays. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tick-Tock Husband, Tick-Tock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;with bells on,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-903786898518864819?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/903786898518864819/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=903786898518864819' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/903786898518864819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/903786898518864819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/10/lights-ornaments-action.html' title='Lights, Ornaments, Action'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-7751430394362998611</id><published>2007-10-01T10:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-01T10:33:02.944-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='swanky'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jewelry'/><title type='text'>Swank</title><content type='html'>Husband:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously. Went to swanky jewelry shop opening last week and am v. sick of your continued absence. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will you please meet me in time for any future swanky store openings so as to shower me with love and presents and prevent me from showering myself with champagne in corner while other people happily shop and canoodle? Hmph.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not very happy today, Husband,&lt;br /&gt;Me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-7751430394362998611?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/7751430394362998611/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=7751430394362998611' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7751430394362998611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7751430394362998611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/10/swank.html' title='Swank'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-4559813890933251252</id><published>2007-10-01T10:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-01T10:29:51.367-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day Drinking</title><content type='html'>Hi Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How was your weekend? Mine was nice. I went out on a date. Not to make you jealous, Husband, but I do think its important that you understand I am not going to hide in my linen closet reading Bridget Jones' Diary for the 578th time until you magically appear in a life-sized Fedex package.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a nice time on my date. We went day-drinking, and again, not to make you upset, but you should consider day-drinking for a first or second date activity when we do finally meet. I am just saying. Could be in your best interest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yours, as always, despite any current extra-curricular activities,&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-4559813890933251252?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/4559813890933251252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=4559813890933251252' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4559813890933251252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4559813890933251252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/10/hi-husband-how-was-your-weekend-mine.html' title='Day Drinking'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-7486367511928077402</id><published>2007-09-28T11:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-28T11:32:16.817-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Way You Call Me Baby</title><content type='html'>9/28/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you seen those new Old Navy commercials? I know, I'm sort of "eh" about Old Navy too - their clothes are cheap and fall apart in the washer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I digress...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so...said commercials feature Cute Girl in her new Old Navy sweater, while Loving Boyfriend drinks his coffee and gazes at her, obviously contemplating her amazingness. Que magical-romantic-chic-song and it is practically the dreamiest scenario ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can we play autumn dress-up too when we meet Husband? I don't ask for much, but I can't wait to be with someone I love during my favorite season. Well, any season really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pumpkin lattes and sweaters in the fall, snowball fights and tree decorating during the holidays, (getaway trip to some fantastic island in the dead of winter), farmer's markets in spring, and barbeques and fireworks in summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to future traditions.&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-7486367511928077402?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/7486367511928077402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=7486367511928077402' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7486367511928077402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7486367511928077402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/way-you-call-me-baby.html' title='The Way You Call Me Baby'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-7358543811086463063</id><published>2007-09-25T18:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T18:17:21.087-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Same Page</title><content type='html'>9/25/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have something serious to ask you. Do you eat carbs?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, it's not that I do, like...everyday or anything...but I just kind of can't imagine my life without them. Sort of like how I can't imagine my life without you someday Husband. I mean, it's not like college when we ate bagels 4 or 5 times a day. No way, that was a totally different time entirely. Everyone experiments in college. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the occasional pasta dish and/or cupcake is alright..isn't it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought so too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so glad we're on the same page.&lt;br /&gt;But I guess that goes without saying...duh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lots of love,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-7358543811086463063?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/7358543811086463063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=7358543811086463063' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7358543811086463063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7358543811086463063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/same-page.html' title='The Same Page'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-2912677457311645790</id><published>2007-09-25T12:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T13:21:26.302-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Casting the Net</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, I ran into a guy I used to date, and it reminded me of something I've been meaning to talk to you about for a while. I know it upsets you to think that I am dating other boys, especially boys who do lame things like sending cast the net texts, but it happens, and the only way to stop it is for you to sweep me off my feet in a whirlwind of nuptial bliss, and then we'll have a good chuckle over silly kids who do things like cast the net.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, I thought you might be curious about casting the net, since its definitely NOT an activity of which you would partake. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is casting the net, you ask? Well, it is when Boy (I am not discriminating, women just don't do this) sends a universal text message to say, 5 or  6 women in his mobile phone book. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It will probably be a Saturday afternoon, and Boy will text something like, "Hey lady, I am riding my motorcycle past your house. What are you up to later?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, what happens next is predictable in a sad discovery-channel-nature show sort of way. Once the text is sent, there is a good chance that at least 25% of the women texted will respond, and that a further 25% of that population will even plan to meet Boy out on said Saturday evening, resulting in a final 25% of this second population running into Boy, mathematically 1-2 girls, and Boy will have his Saturday night sleep over (hopefully one or 0.5 of our gazelles will flee from Boy in the nick of time, living to graze another day).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, unfortunately, casting the net leads to a relatively high rate of return. And I am not worried at all telling you about this, Husband, because I know you are staying in this Saturday night and wondering where I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-2912677457311645790?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/2912677457311645790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=2912677457311645790' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2912677457311645790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2912677457311645790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/casting-net.html' title='Casting the Net'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-7111756497196570589</id><published>2007-09-24T16:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T17:02:57.183-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Excitement</title><content type='html'>9/24/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you watch shows? And by shows, I mean Grey's Anatomy, Desperate Housewives, Project Runway, America's Next Top Model,  and Ugly Betty....you know Husband, the usual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What? You don't? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry, but this letter was supposed to go to my real Husband, who everyone knows would watch the aforementioned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It must have reached you by mistake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With irritation,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-7111756497196570589?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/7111756497196570589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=7111756497196570589' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7111756497196570589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7111756497196570589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/excitement.html' title='Excitement'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-2583963241012747680</id><published>2007-09-21T19:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-21T19:39:06.230-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='le monde'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='starch'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='train'/><title type='text'>Were you reading Le Monde this Morning?</title><content type='html'>Husband:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I rode the train to work unusually early this morning. I know, you are probably thinking, "Poor darling, don't work so hard!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But sometimes there is just no help for it. And anyway, riding the train at 7 a.m. is an absolute revelation! So many crisply starched and yummy young men reading the Wall Street Journal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A gentleman sitting next to me was even reading Le Monde. I knew it wasn't you because you wouldn't have shown off like that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xo&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-2583963241012747680?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/2583963241012747680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=2583963241012747680' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2583963241012747680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2583963241012747680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/were-you-reading-le-monde-this-morning.html' title='Were you reading Le Monde this Morning?'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-27674602395908742</id><published>2007-09-20T06:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-20T07:12:00.295-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Unintended, Possibly Intended, Neglect</title><content type='html'>9/20/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You may have noticed that I haven't written in awhile. I'm sorry, and I really don't have any good excuses. As previously mentioned, work is stressful and life in general has become a bit beige.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And while I don't like to point fingers Husband, I've lost a little bit of faith in you, and I think it's your fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not entirely of course, trying to focus whole-heartedly on the moniker "Love Yourself &amp; Others Will Follow", but honestly...I'm at a loss. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now, I just don't have a lot to say to you until I know you're listening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-27674602395908742?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/27674602395908742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=27674602395908742' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/27674602395908742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/27674602395908742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/unintended-possibly-intended-neglect.html' title='Unintended, Possibly Intended, Neglect'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-4537076542122285299</id><published>2007-09-13T15:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-13T15:47:35.469-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Flexible</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the thing. I work really hard. And I work out like eight times a week. And now that I am (gasp) approaching the end of my 20's (think distant horizon, not this Tuesday), my body is starting to talk back to me instead of just letting me do whatever I want to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other morning I woke up and I couldn't turn my head because my neck hurt so badly. Even though I have been working hours on end with people who sold their brains on Ebay whilst there are millions of dollars at stake, I personally think it's because I spend so much time wondering where the h*ll you are, husband. I don't mean to sound bitter, but I had to buy BenGay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BenGay, husband. It's a wonder I didn't ask the pharmacist's assistant come home with me out of the sheer fear of mortality that it provoked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for your information, I am not a BenGay girl, husband. I don't break easily. I am flexible and supple. Elastic, really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not trying to pressure you. I am just saying, look, husband, I would prefer that we meet each other while we still want to rub kamasutra oils all over our bodies as opposed to BenGay Maximum Strength on each other's necks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-4537076542122285299?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/4537076542122285299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=4537076542122285299' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4537076542122285299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4537076542122285299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/flexible.html' title='Flexible'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-2713342349628968585</id><published>2007-09-10T09:35:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T11:07:34.127-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Leap of Faith</title><content type='html'>9/10/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I RSVP'd to aforementioned wedding invitation with a Plus One.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to hoping...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-2713342349628968585?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/2713342349628968585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=2713342349628968585' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2713342349628968585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/2713342349628968585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/optimistic-expectations.html' title='Leap of Faith'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-4666235776038466038</id><published>2007-09-09T19:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-09T19:25:42.144-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Martini'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Champagne'/><title type='text'>Vodka and The City</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why does everyone think I like martinis so much? I must have approximately 48 martini glasses in my kitchen. I receive them for nearly every occasion, and often more than one set per! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe its yet another repercussion of the highly acclaimed television show--Sex &amp; The City--that I am forced to endure daily, years after the show ended. Thanks to Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte, those who do not understand single people (aka all of my suburban relatives and highschool friends), are under the misapprension that single people do nothing but drink martinis. Day and night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Husband, honestly, I think you should be concerned. After all, you don't want me to be a vodka hag before you even meet me! So, if you see any of my family members, friends, or coworkers, please tell them not to buy me any more martini glasses. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Champagne flutes, on the other hand, are another story. I am always in need of champange flutes because they seem to jump straight to their deaths from my countertops of their own free will... You were worried, weren't you, husband? Thinking I break champagne flutes with regularity becaues I tend to swill as though it is forever New Year's and I am Freddie Mercury. No. fear not, dear Husband. I know when to say when to the tiny bubbles. Honestly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't worry, Husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xxoo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-4666235776038466038?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/4666235776038466038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=4666235776038466038' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4666235776038466038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4666235776038466038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/vodka-and-city.html' title='Vodka and The City'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-5437072806987254261</id><published>2007-09-07T13:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-07T13:47:55.159-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So Many Imposters</title><content type='html'>9/7/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you come into my work today?&lt;br /&gt;Did you recognize me when we were introduced? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If it is you, Husband, I think you're currently dating someone. But go easy on her when you break up with her for me. She'll understand when she meets *her* real husband someday. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also thought I saw you at the gym during the lunch hour. Do you look like Jake Ryan Husband? You know, from Sixteen Candles?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only problem was when I saw you resting between sets, you were...well, you were "jamming" to your iPod.&lt;br /&gt;Like, in public.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And...I just don't think you would do that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-5437072806987254261?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/5437072806987254261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=5437072806987254261' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/5437072806987254261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/5437072806987254261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/so-many-imposters.html' title='So Many Imposters'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-1803215241218832414</id><published>2007-09-06T08:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-06T15:47:24.363-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wedding'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='plus one'/><title type='text'>Plus One</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to RSVP to another wedding. What should I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate bringing guy-friends as they are typically are bored and would much rather be watching SportsCenter (I don't blame them) than dancing and eating bad wedding food. And if I bring a fellow I'm casually dating...they think that my invitation to said wedding (gasp!) is a hint that we may be the next to walk down the aisle. Let's not flatter ourselves, shall we?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I *don't* respond with a Plus One, will I be sitting at the kid's table? Will I not get to sit with all my friends who are married or in relationships? We can always wave to each other across the over-decorated, centerpiece saturated, jordan-almond invaded tables...but really, it's not the same. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still have one more day to respond. Maybe I'll run into you tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-1803215241218832414?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/1803215241218832414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=1803215241218832414' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/1803215241218832414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/1803215241218832414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/plus-one.html' title='Plus One'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-5780096226810701472</id><published>2007-09-05T14:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T20:37:24.792-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='movies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='take out'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='claire danes'/><title type='text'>Take Out</title><content type='html'>4:46 p.m.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we were already married, I would call you at your office right now and ask you if you wanted take out for dinner. You would probably say yes, and also assure me that you would much rather watch an illegal advance copy of "Evening" that my gay assistant Anthony stole for me on a trip to Tokyo, rather than the US Open. That's how sweet you are. You know how much I love Claire Danes and we would have already watched "The Hours" like eight times. You would agree with me that Claire and Hugh Dancy are a GREAT couple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since we haven't met, I am going out to dinner with friends... but you know who I'd rather be snuggling with, Husband :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kisses,&lt;br /&gt;Me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-5780096226810701472?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/5780096226810701472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=5780096226810701472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/5780096226810701472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/5780096226810701472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/take-out.html' title='Take Out'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-7361744575956655175</id><published>2007-09-05T11:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T11:59:40.988-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='anniversary'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mom'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='birthday'/><title type='text'>Save the Date</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you ever wonder when our anniversary will be?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope it's not on some inconvenient date like Christmas, or your mom's birthday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know, because you'd probably forget it with everything else that's going on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-7361744575956655175?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/7361744575956655175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=7361744575956655175' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7361744575956655175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7361744575956655175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/save-date.html' title='Save the Date'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-7243701608604008158</id><published>2007-09-05T10:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T11:27:48.786-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='water'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='creative professionals'/><title type='text'>I Heart Water</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you the water guy in my building? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If so, you are extremely hot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;much love,&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ps. I don't mind if you are a water guy, I'm sure you are just paying the bills with your water-delivery. Everyone knows you are a fantastic (enter-creative-art-profession here), and you'll make it one day. I just know it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-7243701608604008158?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/7243701608604008158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=7243701608604008158' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7243701608604008158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/7243701608604008158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/i-heart-water.html' title='I Heart Water'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-6428558042062490778</id><published>2007-09-05T09:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T11:07:47.430-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vegan'/><title type='text'>P.S.</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always wanted to try being a vegan. Do you want to be vegans together?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-6428558042062490778?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/6428558042062490778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=6428558042062490778' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/6428558042062490778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/6428558042062490778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/ps.html' title='P.S.'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-3696398014915459431</id><published>2007-09-05T09:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T11:07:24.375-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ho&apos;s'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='savage garden'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='muffins'/><title type='text'>All the Babies we will have together!</title><content type='html'>9/5/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Coconut Muffin:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it too soon for endearments? I know we haven't met yet, but I already feel like I know you. Just like that song, "I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You," by Savage Garden. Kirsten Dunst was in the video. Do you remember it? Its okay if you don't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am really tired today, Husband, are you tired? I hope not, as it would mean you were probably out with one of your skanky ho's that you are sewing your wild oats with before you meet me. Oh, Husband, you are so crazy! As soon as you see me you are going to realize you don't want to w*ore around ever again. I am so excited :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my friends is trying to get pregnant. When I am pregnant with our baby, Husband, will you rub my feet and also go out to get me ice cream at odd hours of the night? I live in a pretty good neighborhood, so it should be safe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many babies do you want, Husband? I want three, and then I want to adopt a few more. Maybe from Korea, or Guatemala. But you can help me pick. Also, I have only chosen like three baby names, so if we have more babies than that, you can pick a name!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, back to work, I guess. I can't wait until we get married and I can be done with work 4-ever!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-3696398014915459431?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/3696398014915459431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=3696398014915459431' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/3696398014915459431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/3696398014915459431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/all-babies-we-will-have-together.html' title='All the Babies we will have together!'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-5076977143694923010</id><published>2007-09-05T09:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T09:46:47.710-07:00</updated><title type='text'>6am</title><content type='html'>9/5/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How is your day going? Mine is going great. I'm sure you probably had anxiety last night, and you didn't even know why. I think it's because you had sympathy anxiety for me. I had a bad day at work yesterday, so naturally I was concerned about today, but I totally redeemed myself by getting here at 6am and kicking some serious a$$ in completing my project. You would have been so proud of me Husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I promise that when we do finally end up together, those early-morning starts are gone. Unless of course, you are an equally hard worker, which I know you are, and then you'd probably understand. Don't worry, I'd be really quiet while getting ready as to not wake you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isn't it hot out Husband? I can't wait until it's time to wear hooded sweatshirts. Hopefully I will have met you by then because I know you love to wear them too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until later,&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-5076977143694923010?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/5076977143694923010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=5076977143694923010' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/5076977143694923010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/5076977143694923010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/6am.html' title='6am'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-922740734146318345</id><published>2007-09-05T09:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T11:06:36.003-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bus'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='exiting'/><title type='text'>Not You</title><content type='html'>Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I saw you on the bus today, but then you elbowed me in a mad dash to exit the bus, and then I realized it wasn't you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-922740734146318345?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/922740734146318345/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=922740734146318345' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/922740734146318345'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/922740734146318345'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/not-you.html' title='Not You'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4627116487520858329.post-4246611293070288191</id><published>2007-09-05T09:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-02-03T08:23:26.671-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bitterness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art museum'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flossing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dinner'/><title type='text'>Do You Floss Husband?</title><content type='html'>9/04/07&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are you doing this afternoon? I am at work. I work at an art museum. It kind of blows, but I am sure when I first meet you, I will pretend to be incredibly passionate about both art and the museum I work at. This will be so that you are not overwhelmed by any displays of intense bitterness too early in our relationship. I won't be trying to fool you or anything, it's just been my experience that men don't like girls who are too bitter. I probably won't really complain about anything until we've been dating for a few months. And I probably won't pick restauarants either. Usually, I can't make decisions about what I want to eat. It's frustrated past boyfriends, but I know you won't mind, because we are meant to be together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, I am going out to dinner with my friend Meg. She just got married. Husband, I can't wait until you and I are finally married and we can go out on double-dinner dates with all of my friends in relationships.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that I am the last one or anything. I still have some single friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I wear five different face creams every night so that I will still look young when we meet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you floss husband? If you don't you should start. We are going to be married for a long time. You should probably rinse with Listerine too, just in case. And if you haven't tried it, the vanilla flavor is yummy, and I don't even usually like vanilla-flavored things. Haha. I wonder if you will feel the same once you try it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Probably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4627116487520858329-4246611293070288191?l=dearhusband2007.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/feeds/4246611293070288191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4627116487520858329&amp;postID=4246611293070288191' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4246611293070288191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4627116487520858329/posts/default/4246611293070288191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dearhusband2007.blogspot.com/2007/09/do-you-floss-husband.html' title='Do You Floss Husband?'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10663398323221644437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
