I've got an airport shuttle coming for me at 7:15am sharp, spiriting me away to Denver on a work trip, so I won't be around for a few days, you see. As my parting gift, however, I've got a little something for you. You don't even have to water my plants in return.
I can't remember how it came up, but I asked Sean recently if he used to watch Beavis and Butthead back when it was on in the early 90s, and---despite being its target demographic---he said didn't much because he didn't find it that funny, and I said "are you kidding me? It was hilarious! I used to stay up late to watch it because it came on at midnight in England! And if I couldn't stay up that late? Then I'd videotape it!"
I haven't quite decided yet whether a blog is supposed to be a collection of moving and sensitive and humorous personal essays, each of them singular and separate from the next, or whether it's more like that one long email you send to a friend you haven't spoken to in ages, chock-full of updates and apologies for not having written back sooner.
Here is the cure: stay in a hotel where you are given a room with two bathrooms. TWO BATHROOMS. For just you! How are you supposed to decide which bathroom to use? Should you alternate? Will one of the bathrooms feel left out if you just use the other one exclusively?
And come to think of it, which TV should you watch? There are three, after all. And one of them is actually IN one of the bathrooms---in the mirror, no less!
I guess that settles which bathroom you should use. I mean, you'd hate to miss a moment of CNN while applying your mascara, right?
When, at age 14, I had the opportunity to choose whether to study Spanish or German at school, I chose German. This was pretty much for two reasons: first of all, I think German accents are quite possibly the funniest thing in the world and I knew I´d have a lot of opportunity to hear the word ¨vodka¨pronounced ¨wodka¨ if I chose to spend the next four years of my life studying the language. (I was right.
Oh Internet, I hope you're buckled in, because this is going to be one wild ride. I've told you a little bit about how Sean and I met, I think, but I'm not sure I've gone into it in as much detail as is warranted. I don't think you've really felt the pain of my 16-year-old self sufficiently yet, and since this month marks the anniversary of the ELEVEN YEARS I have now known Sean, we're going to take a little trip back in time.