The superior cure for a hangover.

Tuesday afternoon I check my email and find that Gems has left me instructions for package pick up. The lucky little bugger found another letter carrier… And to think that I originally thought it was spam due to the title. (marathon gas& *caf, hwy65 ext13) I’m grateful I didn’t immediately delete it. I knew I couldn’t get to it that day, it was BassFace’s birthday. Hungover the next day, I head out to find the package.

Nearly two years ago (strange isn’t it?), I told Gems how I was saddened that no one wrote letters and sent them via messenger anymore. It was decided that we would relive those traditions. Not as simple as you may think, considering he resides in Nova Scotia, and I’m here in Indianapolis.

He’s been far more successful than I, having found two men at random traveling through Indiana. The first one tried to convince me to marry Gems, and the second one… well, I’ll just let you read for yourself.

But, even though I’ve lacked in carriers, I made up for with this. Of course it happened when we met up in Savannah (my soul city) on my birthday last year.

And to think, it all stemmed here.

Magical, serendipitous, lucky… yes it all is.

I pour an early drink for you, dear boy.

How delightful it was to walk into the gas station/cafe and say to the workers, “This is strange, but I was told I have a package here. It’s a book. My name is Shari.”

When I finally found an employee that knew what I was talking about she told everyone the story and became excited. “That’s her! That’s the one!” They pointed me to the highest bookshelf where the book was pinned between a kitschy piece of shit and a fake novel. (I’m sad I didn’t take my camera on the journey there.)

I started laughing… there was nothing else I could do. I laughed and laughed, and they went right along with me.

Glorious. Simply glorious.

As per Jeremy’s request, I showed him boobs. I spent three hours surfing the internet for pictures of just boobs. It’s not as easy as you’d think. Finally, 186 images later, I collaged them and sent it on its way. What’s better than one set of boobs? 186 other sets.

Cheers darling.

(Or not. But do be well.)