In case I haven't made this clear: I love presents. Big presents, small presents, cheesy presents, even ugly presents, because if you read my re-gifting blog, even the ugly ones have their place in usefulness.
Presents in the mailbox are even better because usually it's just bills and/or flyers and/or magazines that I haven't bought a subscription for. After we first moved here, and I was in the tenth circle of Dante's inferno job hunting, Annette sent me a cheer-up package that included a bunch of The Office themed stuff; a Michael Scott mousepad, a Dwight notepad, an "I Love Jim" coffee mug. My reaction was to burst into hysterical tears, because I missed her so much. Kind of scared Brian a little. Grace sent a birthday box that included all kinds of awesome little things that only she would know I'd love, that comes from knowing someone for over twenty years, everything from homemade picture frames to my favorite Hershey's white chocolate Cookies & Creme and poppy seedballs Brian still needs to plant for me.
And now Heather in the past few days has spoiled me silly with two books, a Stephen King movie and a JAY & SILENT BOB T-SHIRT FROM VULGARTHON. From now on, even though we like all the same things, I can't tell Heather when I like something or I might find it in my mailbox the next day. Not that I'm keeping score here, but the things I've sent her so far DO NOT measure up, and being the guilty Jew I am, that makes me uncomfortable and itchy. She also invited us to Thanksgiving dinner at her house. I know an 800 mile trip is not realistic right now, but don't think it's not tempting me this very minute. I've always wanted to go to Indiana and damn it, someday I will.
Sundry's Wasted Adrenaline post the other day made me remember a story I'll now share with you.
Sometime in the Fall of 1991, my sister and I were on our way to Delorme's house. Without incriminating us too much (I believe the statute of limitations has passed anyway), we were baked. To put it mildly. Fairly normal occurance for us back then (please don't judge, Judgey McHypocrite).
We stopped at a small gas station in Floral City. I got out to pump gas and Sister sat in the car. This was before pay-at-the-pump, at least in Floral City, Florida, so I went inside to pay. I came out and Sister was no longer in the car. Panic set in immediately. I started inconspicuously (sure) walking all around to look for her without drawing too much attention to myself. Please remember my state of mind when I tell you I shielded my eyes and was peering into a creepy-looking van's tinted windows because I knew my sister was in the process of being kidnapped right then and there. In broad daylight. At a crowded gas station.
Which is when she walked up behind me and said, "Um, what are you doing?"
I turned around and screeched, "Where the hell were you?"
"I went to the bathroom."
Me, practically in tears, "Oh my God, what the hell - I thought you were being kidnapped!"
And then she realized what I was doing looking into the van and why and started laughing at me. Seventeen years later, she's still laughing at me. All one of us has to say is, "Remember the kidnapping?" and at least ONE of us laughs uproarously.
Don't do drugs, kids. Even the non-harmful ones that should be legalized. Eventually you're just going to make a fool out of yourself and odds are you'll have an audience.