My dad taught me to drive, and to do Sudoku puzzles, and how to shade the iris of an eye in a life drawing to make it look real. He taught me to pack a suitcase properly, and how to ski better, and when I was 13 or 14, he taught me how to play the guitar. The first thing he showed me was a series of three very easy chords; the kind of thing everyone learns to play in the beginning.
There are two famous people in Charleston today: Martha Stewart and Dick Cheney. One I'd like to poke repeatedly in the eye with a sharp stick, the other I'd like to ask about fashioning cute placemats from leftover grosgrain ribbon. I'll leave it up to you to decide which is which.
I have paid an exorbitant amount of money to look like a little French boy. True, it's an improvement over the last haircut I got, which was sort of verging on Lesbian Cruise Ship Director, but still....I wish someone had told the stylist that Frere Jacques wasn't exactly the look I was going for.
Internet, this is an emergency. A fashion emergency, that is. My sister Susie, who lives in Singapore, is searching for a dress for her summer formal---she is 16, so this is the most important! thing! ever!---and I have volunteered to help her find one. (From 30,000 miles away, yes! Isn't that how you do your shopping?) The other day, though, she sent me an email with a few pictures of styles she thought might be cute, and I yelped. YELPED!
This is going to be a long one. I'd get a strong drink now, if I were you, and also perhaps some pita chips and some other sundry supplies to keep you going at your computer---like maybe a tent and a camping stove, since I'm not sure how long this is going to take. You might also need some flares. (The kind you have in your car for roadside emergencies, I mean, not the pants. You can bring the pants too, if you'd like, but be warned that we'll probably all make fun of you. Also, you should know that they're totally not flattering. Widens the hips, I think.)
Oh, Internet, I hardly know ye. No, seriously, I don't really know very much about you at all, and yet you know that I have a set of days of the week knickers and that I prefer to watch shows where roses are handed out at the end. I'm feeling that this relationship is a little one-sided, aren't you?
I don't often get homesick because, quite frankly, I'm not really sure where to call home. Technically, home at the moment is Charleston---which is where my apartment and my job and my boyfriend and, more importantly, my pink Kitchenaid mixer are---but my family lives 30,000 miles away in Singapore. Moreover, I spent my childhood all over the place---France, Holland, Hong Kong, Abu Dhabi, Connecticut----which sort of confuses the matter.
Thank you, Internet, for all the lovely birthday wishes! You were all so kind, and you made me want to bake and deliver each of you a cake for your own birthday!
You know what's pretty awful?