Well, that's not exactly true. It's close, just replace working with sitting on my ass eating Klondike Bars and waitress with housewife and, by proxy, legal prostitute and cocktail bar with a socialist country that will never be America, no matter how hard it tries to be. Kind of like a Palm Treo. Ain't never gonna be a Blackberry; also, less expensive with better customer service.
BUT IT STILL ISN'T A BLACKBERRY, DAMMIT.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, the day I met you being all groupiesque like everyone in the goddamn world, I've come to realize, is with you in public. My first clue should have been that I wasn't the least bit nervous or intimidated in meeting you, which has only ever happened to me when meeting the three people who, until .5 seconds previous, were in my vagina. And even that was a little awkward.
But there's nothing in the world better than holding the baby who's been screaming in your face for six hours straight and just puked in your mouth for the 13th time and saying, "Oh yeah? I totally pooped on your face once." It's the little things.
So I met you and you were as gracious as I've since seen you be with everyone who has to take a moment of your life to paw on you, and that's totally your own fault because you are a goddamn magnet. People can't help but be drawn to you. We want to touch you, to stand near you, to hear your soft words and smell your subtle perfume and languish in your gentle presence. You are such a different creature than the one you play on the internet; she is rough and jaded, you are soft and fragile. She is loud and boisterous and headstrong, you are above all other things humble and meek.
And I am in love with the both of you.
I can't put my finger on the moment when you bewitched me, but you have. You just came along with your shotgun and your knitting needles and your squadron of conflicting rebellions and you laced our hearts together. Our lives up until this point have run on the most uncanny sort of parallel, and I didn't realize how much I needed someone who knew, who really knew because they'd been there, too, what is was like inside my head and my heart and my soul. I needed you, and you came along just in the nick of time.
Or maybe it was all the dildo talk, I don't know. Either way, I'm rather fond of you now, and so is my husband.
Anyway, I just wanted to tell you how much I thank the flying spaghetti monster every day that I get to have you in my life, that I have this bosom companion out there and that we actually managed to find our way to each other. Through the internet. I guess I should thank Al Gore, eh? Or maybe Al Gore is the flying spaghetti monster. Oh my god, Al Gore is a deity. And good for him for sticking to the Buddha diet plan rather than that emaciated, nailed to a tree one the Vatican seems so fond of hanging all over the walls. Really, you're the fucking Messiah. EAT SOMETHING. I'm pretty sure they'll let you run a tab if you're strapped for cash. Or hell, I hear Judas has some extra change laying around somewhere. Hit him up.
See, Tanis, my birthday present to you is making a shitload of people unsubscribe from my blog so that you can remain the most widely read blogger in Canada. Also, offending our lord and savior. I love you that much.
So, on your birthday I can only offer you what you've showered me with since the day I met you in a smokey bar in San Franciso just over a year ago, and that is the promise of silly days to come
And love when you are in need
And wisdom and counsel on the days when you are lost
And the courage and strength to get up every day and make it a little better than the one before
But most of all, I promise to be here, always, no matter where the actual "here" ends up being. I'll always be as close as your heart, because I just don't think I could breathe without you. And thank you for that. I needed that the most.