I Need a Favour. Bitch.

I remember writing in my first or second post that after starting this blog I had worried that I might run out of interesting things to talk about. See. You don’t need to be wacked out on drugs to entertain wildly stoopid thoughts.

My problem, in fact, is I have so so so much I want to share and reflect upon and write about but I simply don’t have enough time. Even whilst on vacation. For example. I haven’t written about my second date as a newly single person with a very cute boy right before I left for New York City. Or the book I just finished reading about the ten-year-old divorcée from Yemen. Or the positive side to my visit to The Guggenheim. Or my visit to MoMA yesterday. Or the fateful exchange I had with an artist, Mark, whom I met outside MoMA as I left.

While out yesterday evening with my friend Shareen (funny how she keeps popping up in my posts!) she suggested that I write about my « crazy raver days. » My head nearly EXPLODED at the idea of WIDENING the pool from which I draw ideas for blogs. No. Effin’. Way. Thankfully each day is more than rich enough that I don’t have to start dwelling on the past. Yet. Though perhaps there’ll come a day…

And then, THEN, on top of all the cool things that happen all around me, I even want to share silly little things, like a random email I sent my good friend John this morning which I prided myself as being Very, Very Funny:

Have I told you how handsome you have been looking lately?
How witty and intelligent you are?
How titillating conversations with you are?

Yeah. I need a favour, bitch.

I didn’t really realize before now that my airbnb guest that is arriving today to my appartment doesn’t check out until Sunday the 17th.
I arrive back to Toronto on Saturday the 16th.
You do the math, sugar.

So.

I land at 5:30pm.
That sweet, baby-faced Intimate Encounter Who Won’t Go Away is picking me up from the airport and taking me to my car.
From there, I guess I was hoping to drive on over for what will be a forced but what can still be enjoyable visit slash sleepover party.
I also need to do a small load of laundry!
Hey.
Go big or go home…might as well ask for a lot and not a little.
It’s how I roll.

Let me know.

Bitch.

Of course if HE doesn’t find it funny I’m slightly screwed.

On verra.

I am sitting here in a Starbucks on Whitehall Street on this my sixth day of eight here in New York City. I came here this morning to sit and write as I waited for the museum to open.

Today’s mission: Fraunces’ Tavern.

Fraunces’ Tavern is where the Book of Negroes originated or was in part written or at least where meetings were held pertaining to it. The book is a register of each Negro who was part of the mass emmigration of freed slaves from New York City back in the something-hundreds. Seventeen-hundred-something. I forget. I’ll tell you AFTER.

Oh leave me alone.

Well it’s past twelve now and the museum is open. Also, my good friend John has replied. He writes:

Here are my rules:

-You must pre-bathe before you enter the premises and every 10 minutes after entering the premises.

-You don’t touch anything.

-In the event you do touch something, you must polish, dust and vacuum said object and place it back in it’s rightful spot.

-NO POOPING…peeing is acceptable if it is in mason jars and you take pictures while peeing…we’ve all been paid to do it.

-Should you need to use the bathroom, there is a gas station across the street.

-Toilet seats must remain clean and remain UP…those are the cats drinking bowls…for real, bitch.

-The hierarchy in the house is: Me, ALL things Madonna, the cats, all my material possessions…then you.

-Speaking of Madonna…you must reject any belief system you have…or adopt the one of my choosing and then publically reject it in honour of the Divine Blonde One and watch no less then 99.9998981% of the MDNA Tour from Youtube (you will be tested afterwards).

-You must erase your footsteps from the carpeting by trailing the vacuum behind you AT ALL TIMES.

-Coasters…USE COASTERS…I can’t stress that enough. We’re not unsophisticated cave people here…nor living in squalor in ghettos of certain impoverished nations whom shall remain nameless. (*coughs* Haiti)

-You must learn Mandarin, because I cannot for the life of me understand my neighbours.

-You must not speak unless spoken to.

-You must be in agreement with 89.789457632% of everything I say…EXACTLY.

-You must agree not to fart, unless it is at an amusing point in the conversation or if we are beat boxing.

-You agree to give me a standing ovation every time I enter the room.

-You whole-heartedly agree NOT to bore me with inconsequential sob stories about how you need a favour or a place to stay EVER again…you KNOW it’s NOT EVEN A QUESTION.

See you Saturday!

Of course I corrected all his spelling mistakes, his erratic use of multiple spacing as well as his omission to use capitals and punctuation at times. But you can’t argue that was the best-ever-written « Of course! » you ever did see. It’s a thing of beauty! Both his email, a small but glimmerinig slice of the humour that IS my good friend John, and the solid reliability of his amazing friendship.

Good Friend John: I love thee.

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À propos de Stina

If I could tell you about me in a neat and tidy definitive statement, I don't think I'd be writing this blog.
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