Look where I am!

In case you’re wondering, the Empire State Building is lit up like that in celebration of the Yankees winning the 27th world series. Did I say that right? I’m not good at sports expressions and things. (I did. I said it right.) I am in blue for the same reason. (Just kidding.)

Anyhooters, there’s lots more to come.

Plus? I took video, folks.

That’s right. I will be sharing home movies.

Aiiiiiiiiiiiiie!

Co-worker M: “Anything from McBuns, I’d eat it out of a cow’s ass. No joke. It’s that good.”

Me: “Oh come on.”

Co-worker G: “Cow’s ass?” A nod. “Oh yeah. It’s that good.”

*looks to the left*

*looks to the right*

Internet?

*whispering*

Internet, I don’t know how they found me.

*leaning in close*

We don’t get any fliers here at the house, and haven’t done since we moved in, to Doug’s dismay and great disappointment. And yet…

*looks to the left again*

*looks under the desk*

They have found me.

In the mail today, I received a flier from the fancy shoes store, one of the very few fancy shoes store in town, Kadam Shoes.

*bites lip*

It has boots.

It has boots for sale.

A lesser Thérèse would have succumbed, and driven there straight away to check it out.

But!

This Thérèse did not. This Thérèse prevails! And you want to know why? You want to know how I managed this? I will explain.

In three short days I will be joining Doug in New York City for the weekend.

That’s right bitches, I’m going to New York! Aaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie!

Can you tell it’s going to be my very first time there? You can, can’t you. Well, that’s okay. I’m very excited. I’m beyond caring about reigning in my reactions. I’m pretty sure everyone who sees me will instantly know I’m a tourist. And not just because I shall have a camera draped around my neck and shall be screaming “I’M A TOURIST!” but also probably because I will be wide-eyed and staring at everything in a very non-blasé, very non-New Yorker kind of way.

I’m only going to be there for three days, so I don’t have much time, but the time I have, I will be talking about. At the very least, in pictures. So, same bat time, same bat channel, this time next week I will aim to have at least one picture up. See how nice it is to have goals? It’s nice to have goals. Even if they’re basement-y, rather than lofty.

Everyone does this, right? I’m sure everyone does this.

I’m not even going to make that a question, despite the fact that this post opens with that very question. Let’s call it a rhetorical question, because I have no doubt that girls do this.

I said I had no doubt. Forget the doubtful expression there.

It’s like when we hear a song we like, and then listen to it countless times on repeat.

Oh go on. Admit it. This is a safe space.

You’ve listened to a song on repeat five hundred times.  Like, days of the same song. You totally have. At least, you did that when you were a teenager.

I know it, you know it, and your sister, who had to listen to that song five hundred times, she knows it too.

You’ve also taken a narcissistic  series of photographs of yourself wearing strange expressions in the bathroom at 2am on that one day you thought your hair looked particularly nice. For posterity. Cause who knows when your hair will do exactly that again?

And you did it while naked.

Because hey, it’s 2am. Who wants to be wearing clothes at 2am?

Oh, admit it. It’s good for the soul, confession.

Besides, we’ve all done it.

No?

Aw.

Oh, well that’s okay.

I did though!

And so did a couple of my coworkers. It was kind of a team effort.

Here’s Lina:

She kind of looks like she has a generous… a really… I mean, she looks like she has quite the schnoz there. I’m here tell you: actually, she doesn’t.

This was my very first pumpkin cut, right there, caught on camera. My first pumpkin cut, on my first pumpkin carving ever. It was Lina’s first time too.

Anyway like I was saying. It’s okay that you didn’t carve a pumpkin at work today. I mean, it’s okay to be jealous, but don’t feel too bad about it.

After all, not everyone can be me.

Well, it’s more like jokes I say too often. And things. Okay, some of them are not jokes, but are things. And others are jokes. Okay. Okay, so both jokes and things I say too often. I maybe say too often. Maybe.

1. “Your back! And your front! They’re both here!”

That joke is maybe… fifteen years old. I don’t care. I still think it’s damn funny.

2. “A neutron walks into a bar…“

I will never forget the expression on that little physics professor’s face, nor the sound of his feet as he shuffled down the hall, chuckling to himself, when I told him that joke.

3. “My skin is green. Yes, I have an olive-toned complexion. What colour do you suppose an olive is, hm? Not the black ones, I mean.”

I don’t even know why I find that so funny and clever. It’s not even funny, or clever. It’s really just fact. I mean… I really am green. Kermit’s got nothing on me. Dammit. I can’t even wear green well. In fact, I should probably avoid most greens, because they make me look greener. But do I? No. No I do not. In fact, I am wearing a forest green sweater right this very moment.

4. “Do you find it smells like… supdawg in here?”

Most people reply to this with: “what’s… ’supdawg’?”

And that’s when I move in with that killer comeback… “what’s up dawg!“

I know. It’s not even that funny. I don’t know why it amuses me so.

5. What’s green with five wheels?

I love that joke. It has moved me to tears on more than one occasion. Two occasions, to be precise. I think I like this one because it makes no sense, and in order to find it funny, you must be as ridiculous as I am. You must essentially be the same brand of ridiculous. Or, possibly, the discount version. (Same stuff, different label. You know how it is. It is the exact same, is how it is.)

I guess it’s a wonderful way of identifying kindred spirits.

Five more minutes in the morning, cocooned in the warmth of sleepy bed.

When Doug pouts. I can’t handle it. It’s too adorable. It destroys me. Like a weapon.

The dog’s innocent stare plus the cocking of her head. I think she knows.

Correcting people when they add “ir” in front of the word “regardless,” thereby making it a non-word full of wrong.

Picking up Sita the cat, even when it’s clear she has other plans.

Playing on the bass guitar Doug is renting. Did I mention that Doug is renting a bass guitar? To see if he likes it? Before he caves and buys one? I can’t believe my luck. Someone who encourages musical education. I can now freely play on my new-to-me piano. And by play I mean practice. And by practice I mean practice with excruciating precision. I’ve chosen some difficult music to learn, but baby, if it’s not challenging, they payback is nowhere near as large.

Singing “Crazy” by Patsy Cline when I’m in the shower. It’s either that or the music from Les Misérables, with special emphasis on “In My Life and A Heart Full of Love”, same as it’s been for the passed 15 years.

Eating the last of the chocolates. Even when I’m full. There were only three macaroons! Who leaves three macaroons? Crazy people. That’s who.

Daydreaming about my weekend in New York. I’m going to New York, did you know? Did you hear? It’s totally true. Doug is going for a conference for work, and I am joining him on Friday morning, and we’re going to be there on Friday, and Saturday, and Sunday. And then we’ll come home exhausted with a million photographs. Excitement!

Listening to just… one… more… song here. They are many of them wonderful. I have three favourites. Nature Boy, Expiration Date, and Hail Mary. And Single Ladies. And La Vie En Rose. And Beat the Horse. Okay, six favourites. At least you can do stuff with music playing the background, or I would be as useless as a baseboard heater that does not work in a cold home office. And that would just be cruel.

Dipping rippled chips in spaghetti sauce. I can’t resist that, it’s delicious. Hey, don’t judge me. You wouldn’t be able to either if you tasted this sauce. Seriously. Come over for dinner. I”ll make you spaghetti. You’ll be ruined for all other spaghettis for a long time.

Giggling when Chanelle the dog makes sleepy snoring and barking noises. She’s quiet, and yet when she’s asleep, she barks sometimes. This amuses me to no end. Even at 4am.

Taking the picture even when I’m almost positive it won’t turn out. The digital age has ruined me. I take photographs with wild abandon. Wild! Abandon! Even if it takes me two months to share them with the Internets.

(click to see a bigger version of this photograph)

Me! Me! Me! Me! Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

It’s entirely true that when I am very, very miserable, I don’t often want to write. I just lose the desire to do anything. Miserable, I’ll write through it. But very, very? That’s more difficult. It involves some honesty that most people wouldn’t want out in the world for all to see.

It’s equally true that when I am very, very happy, I don’t write often. I find that I am busy doing things, enjoying things, and I look up and it’s been weeks. It’s so strange.

I’ll be back. I don’t know when, or what I’ll talk about, but I’ll be back here. I love this spot. I’ve loved it for years.

So I’ll be back.

Be sure of it, oh faithful two readers of mine.

Dear Thérèse:

Today you are 29 years old. Nearly 30. Wow, did that ever happen fast, eh?

Over the last year, my goodness but have there been changes in your life.

This time last year, you were just starting an anything job, and were just getting used to liking your life again.

Now, you’re engaged, you live in a beautiful renovation project that has included tearing up floors, you have acquired a dog, you of course still have a wonderfully entertaining Ridden, and you have gotten promoted to an okay job. Your plans for the future are twenty times as ambitious as they were, and one hundred times more defined than they used to be. You’re happy in your life, happy in your skin, and things are… just wonderful.

Also, you look a little different.

Your hair is shorter than you’re used to, but you are quite adorable. See?

Adorable!

A big part of your life this year has been devoted to the taking pictures nearly every day.

That has been an interesting experience, and you have improved so drastically in the last few months that I can barely believe it.

Please continue taking photographs, even if you don’t continue to do it every day once this project is over.

Seriously.

You enjoy looking at them.

It reminds you of the things that have happened over the last year.

Of which there have been several.

And you’re not alone! There are at least three other people who love looking through your photographs.

Having these visual records will also remind you of the people you’ve seen.

And the fun you’ve had.

Of the ridiculous things that you’ve done.

And the ridiculous thing you did to the cat.

Plus, that thing you taught the dog.

It’s fun.

And you know, looking back on this, it’s… well?

It’s kind of… inspiring.

I know, that’s a terribly pretentious word.

It applies here, though.

Sita the cat can judge you as much as she likes, but she frowns on almost everything. Yeah. So tell her to stick that in her pipe and smoke it.

I was just joking, Ridden.

Anyway, like I was saying, it’s a wonderful creative outlet.

Speaking of which, I think it’s time you owned up to the fact, and really embraced fully, that you are a creative person.

You are artsy-fartsy, you are into the offbeat, you come up with crazy plans and ideas and schemes, and you love every part of the process.

This is an enormous chunk of who you are, and perception of self having in the past focused on what you did, rather than what you think, has led you to perceive yourself in a non-creative light.

It’s time to fully let go of that. You’re creative. It’s wonderful. Embrace and enjoy and channel that. You’ll amaze yourself with the results.

So yeah.

Enjoy your birthday. You’re up at 1:30am writing this letter because you’re up until 3am these days, but later on today, on your birthday, you’re going to your parents’ house to celebrate being engaged to Doug. His family, your family, and your friends are going to be there. It’s a wonderful way to spend your birthday.

Plus, you lovely mother has promised you a piano. Trembling with excitement, beyond your dearest dreams, a piano, a piano, a piano. You didn’t even have to save up for years! That said, use it, okay? Have it tuned and play it often enough that it doesn’t feel like an ornament in the house. Enjoy the music, and write some more of it. Continue in the same vein that you have lately — live your life on maximum volume, cramming as much of the things you enjoy and love and wish to do in your days as humanly possible.

And just so you know, there’s much to look forward to this year. So very, very much.

One more thing, one more very, very important thing. Don’t stop writing. It’s part of who you are. You may write for work, but it is not the same thing. So keep writing. Find time.

And don’t even think of giving up on your novel missy. You’ll get there. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. Just keep writing it, one page, one paragraph, one word, one idea at a time.

Love,

Thérèse