vendredi 19 août 2005

It's like it's my birthday.

Ducks (and floating heads) at Walden Pond.

I get bored when driving, and sometimes (okay, all of the time), I like to look into other cars to see if the passengers are cute, because I hold everlasting hope that the love of my life is driving right next to me. Preferably in a sparkly nice new car (not flashy. I said sparkly. I don't know really what I mean by sparkly, but I am not looking for someone who just stepped off Pimp My Ride, although having a disco ball and strobe lights with a shag rug in one's back seat could be interesting). And by golly, I found a cute one yesterday. It was practically love at first sight. We made eyes at each other for the eternity that we were stopped at the red light. I waved and he waved back. He smiled when I winked. He laughed; I giggled. It was absolutely lovely. I was completely enchanted.

He had half of his hand in his mouth as he grinned gummily at me.

And then the light turned green.

I turned, while the driver of the car turned left.

Ah, thwarted love.

He was all of eighteen months old. Maybe two years, max.

You know, the age where all they have to do is but smile, and completely win you over.

Anyhow. This weekend is totally like my birthday weekend, except that I'm not turning 25 yet! (Do not post in comments about how we are born and then we spend the rest of our lives dying. That is morbid. Go take a shot of vodka, and return when you are in higher spirits. If you need booze, I have 17 bottles of it here for you).

But why is it like my birthday weekend, you ask? Since I'm leaving Boston, and everyone's all sad and stuff because of course I am the glue that holds our crowd together (really, I am, I'm not kidding), everyone's letting me do what I want. How this is unlike any other weekend, I'm not quite sure because I always get to choose what we do, but it's special because I'm leaving. It's awesome. For instance, last night FB (who actually gets really morose at the thought of me leaving, which amuses me because sometimes, I am heartless like that but if you're me, it's sort of funny, especially when he gets onto his whole"this is not 'farewell' but just 'until later'" spiel) took me to one of my favourite restaurants in Cambridge, all of his own free will. I didn't have to ask, he made all the arrangements (which in my world is rare, as I'm always the one responsible for restaurants and whatnot) and even better, I didn't have to pay. See? Like my birthday! And this weekend promises to be lots of fun, as I get to make everyone heed my beck and call! Really, it's like I have my own little kingdom of which I am despot. I love it.

And to add to the whole birthday feel, well, there's nothing lovelier than unexpected packages. And was this one a doozy of gleeful surprises.

You've seen those before, haven't you? You bet your ass they're even better than they look in pictures. I know, I am eating one while I type this. Quite perfectly shaped, maintaining their traditional madeleine humps even though they were shipped over a thousand miles. The glaze added the perfect tart-yet-sweet touch to a mouthful of buttery happiness. A cup of tea would have topped them off nicely, but don't worry, I am not going to turn all Proustian (Proustienne?) on you. Lord knows, I could barely get through the first chapter of À la recherche du temps perdu without wanting to gouge my eyes out. And there are many volumes! And one of them reportedly has the longest sentence in French literature! Besides, I was a French civilisation major, not French literature. I got to look at pictures of Paris in an architecture course (taught in English) and count it as course credit. That's my alma mater for you.

Moving on.. because you don't think that was the end of it, do you? No, I'm being dreadfully spoiled here.

From left to right, top to bottom..

First, back issues of This City Paris, which really makes me want March to come thatmuchmorequickly. But, until then, these magazines are a great read (even if I'm trying to save them for the flight home). Then you have the three colours trilogy: Rouge, Blanc, and Bleu (and in colour-coordinated cases, which is just the best), which I regretfully haven't seen since they came out. I always mean to rent them, but I never get around to it. Now I have no excuses. I vaguely recall liking Blanc the most back then. It'll be interesting to see if my tastes have changed.

Then, we have the beginnings - the true beginnings - of an herb garden. While I am good at nurturing things, I'm not so good at making them grow in the first place (how that might be an analogy for life - well, I'm not even going to go there). Let's hope that I've gotten better as I've aged and that I can coax these seeds into some semblance of plant life. Finally there's a bath bomb from Lush quite appropriately named butterball. I laughed when I read the card (yes, Snoopy is almost an all-white dog. Almost!), as a better bath item could not have been chosen, given this patent love I have of real butter. It'll certainly be a welcome treat when I'm finally settled in my new apartment.

And to win any girl's heart over, as if the former wasn't enough, everything was wrapped in mounds and mounds of bubblewrap. I love bubblewrap. I'm hard-pressed not to deflate all the bubbles, but that would defeat their current purpose of helping me move. Really, it's too bad DDJ couldn't come out here to pack for me. He'd give the guys at FedEx - who are happily taking my whole summer paycheck as I can't (read: don't have the patience to) pack breakables worth crap - a run for their money, given how carefully everything was packaged. Or my money, as the case may be.

Regardless - really, this was the nicest and most thoughtful present ever, and you could not have made this girl any more delighted in a time of packing malaise.