TKOG Who remembers to say thank you

NTKOG #91: The  kind of classy, elegant woman who — not content with merely nodding approval at happy events — dispatches a proper written thank-you on lovely stationery through the USPS.

I am: grateful for all the awesome in my life, honest.

I am not: super diligent about actually putting it in words, though. Or at least not in my crappy third-grade cursive.

The Scene: Coffee table, my apartment, me working through a box of cute thank-you stationery. I purchased it when I moved in in September and set a personal NTKOG goal of actually getting through the box. Put two letters in the mail today and — bam! — it’s done. First time I’ve ever gone through a whole box of stationery, actually, and hopefully not the last. Although if I’m completely honest, I should have gone through the box of ten measly notes within my first week here. Thanks to my sister for concert tickets, various people for housewarming presents, owners of couches I’ve crashed on and parties I’ve attended — there’s a lot to be thankful for.

But these aren’t stories, so allow me to fill my humble space today (and not much of it, I promise) with a public thank you to one of the people I love most in this crazy, mixed-up world: one of my dear friends, and my bff’s boyfriend: Muscles.

Sock portrait self-portrait made by Muscles (who is British and whom we can therefore forgive for not understanding the whole fold-over-the-toe-to-make-a-moving-mouth convention).

Muscles is an up-and-coming theatre manager and was, until recently, a Shakespearean actor (sometimes nude). He is also — in the Elizabethan idiom — a paragon of man. One of those insanely charming dudes who makes the whole room happier when he smiles, and could make a Buckingham Palace guard laugh ’til he got the hiccups. My first hint that Muscles was a prince among men was the day I realized my best friend liked him more than she liked me (THE NERVE!), and I didn’t even hate him for it. Although I did punch him that one time.

He was the earliest and loudest supporter of this silly blog, he always orders the best beers, and he’s totally my pick for benevolent leader if we ever get in a Lord of the Flies situation, ’cause dude could punch out a friggin’ bear. He’s also applying for a few prestigious MFA programs for Theatre Management right now and — I was wondering. I know there’s lots of really heavy stuff going on in the world right now, what with the AIDs and the orphans and the Haiti, but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking just half a second to think: “I hope Muscles gets in!” Sort of an “I believe in fairies” situation? Because I’m a big believer: 1) in positive thought, and 2) that sometimes great things happen to great people, and that’s okay by me.

And if you are accusing me of writing this soppy, lame post just because Muscles had the foresight to send me a box of my very favorite Levain cookies yesterday, to that I can only say: you are suspicious, deeply untrusting, and, what, do you have cameras installed in my apartment or something?! (That said: send a thank-you card this weekend; hug the awesome friends you’re lucky enough to have.)

—

Oh man, all that emo crap. The other huge faction of people I have to thank — continually, continually, guys — is you for coming here and actually reading my namby-pamby prose every weekday. I crunched a few numbers and realized that as of now I’ve written over 100,000 words for this blog, about the length of To Kill A Mockingbird, but with far fewer racial slurs and smokin’ hot lawyers. I mean, holy shit, can we just talk about that for a sec? I’ve never in my life been able to stick with a project (cue a panning shot of melted figurines from the aborted claymation, sonnet cycles abandoned mid-rhyme, my senior honors thesis finished so fast there was literally blood on the pages), but by chipping away that this day by day, I’ve written something of novel length. Blows my dang mind.

So: 1) if you’ve actually read the archives or been here from the beginning, I just about want to smooch you; 2) I read blogs all day like it’s my job, and want to take a sec to make sure I’m reading yours. Do you run a sweet friggin’ blog that is totally bereft of stupid-clever comments by TKOG? If so, I will no longer stand for it! Heckle me in the comments section, please, so I can add you to my (bloated, oozy) googs reader and, subsequently, to my mornings. Don’t be shy!

Tagged as: don't you wish your lawn were this emo?, meta-blogging, schmoopy, seriously all it takes to get a blog post dedicated to you is sending me my fave cookies (and being one the all-time great people)