...because today is the birthday of the man I love and I can't really find the words to fully demonstrate my complete committment to worshipping him.
I thought of a poem. He rhymes with a lot! But it doesn't seem like his style.
I thought of calling him. But that might be tough.
I thought of showing up on his doorstep in that great black wrap-dress I now fit back into. Problem: I don't know where he is.
So like everyone else, which he's SO not, my baby's getting a blog.
I love you.
I love you like I love sunsets (not really) and pure-bred horses (sick) and female Asian newborns (drown those drains.)
Okay, here's how I really love you.
I love you like uniformed servants and that curtain between first class and steerage (when I've upgraded, obviously) and open bars and finding the sale dress I want in my size and New Kids on the Block and onions (God, I really love onions) and pie (in general) and leg of lamb with too much mint jelly and pointed-toe flats and handles of vodka and Vinny, my kindergarten boyfriend who I kissed under a blanket and In the Line of Fire on a Sunday morning and Indian food and cheap Champagne and my blog and PayLessShoeSource and pre-recorded music and driving with my head out the window and cheese plates with a dried fruit component and cuddling and seeing other people's baby pictures and crying for little reason and mocking cripples and standing applause (it feels good after all that time, regardless of the performance) and drinking in the Lodge while everyone else skis.
So basically, I love you more than life itself.
Happy Birthday, Thomas Patrick.
My GOD, Happy Birthday...