I was lost, but now I'm found
So, I’ve been away for awhile… but I had a good excuse. I swear.
<dramatic music><booming voice> I was lost in Inner Space.* </booming voice> </dramatic music>
I have a picture to prove it and everything. See?
Inner Space is off 1-35 outside of Austin, Texas
Not what you were expecting? Yeah, even I have to admit that the name seems a bit dramatic for a cave system—especially one under a Texan freeway. I have to give it to the transit authorities for unexpected creativity in cave naming.
What Inner Space really looks like…
The last few days, I’ve been thinking about posting a play-by-play from the Austin leg of “Phil’s Countdown to Medicare World Tour.” So many delightful things were ingested… so much hilarity ensued… and I should absolutely tell you about how I had to give Satan the gas-face** and how Kristina doesn’t know anything about the 80’s. (Despite the fact that I’m pretty sure she was alive and had access to MTV.)
And I promise I will. Later. Perhaps Friday… Definitely not now.
But why, you ask?
It’s simple. My train of thought has derailed… AND IT’S AWESOME.
A few hours ago, I went to my mailbox to retrieve the animal noses and eyes that I ordered from Amazon for my crochet taxidermy (I swear, I can’t make this shit up) and there were two boxes in the package locker.
I thought to myself, “Self, this is mysterious.”
It was dark outside, so I couldn’t really read the label. I thought it might have been a gift that I ordered for Phil, so I almost chucked it into my “need to wrap” pile, but then the light shone upon the label… and I swear someone started playing an ethereal organ somewhere… and think this was the point when I squee’d SUPER LOUDLY.
QuokkasbyQ
ROBERT.SENT.ME.A.CROCHETED.QUOKKA!
(If you don’t know what a quokka is, or why they need hot tub bubble bath parties, see this post.)
So, I rip the box open and then lovingly unwrap the most fucking (yeah, it warrants the f’ bomb) adorable, little, crocheted marsupial that’s ever been ensconced in tissue paper. It has little plastic claws and a little tiny mouth and everything. #toomanycutes.
I might have squealed again. Then I sent Robert this text .
And I was like, “What the fuck? What do you mean who?” right as Robert’s FaceTime came through.
In short, Robert did NOT send me the quokka and we had a mystery on our hands… but also, an opportunity! Each of us had a quokka now. Thanks to the wonders of video conferencing technology, we could totally have a quokka party. So, he pulled a quokka out of his pantry (um… I know… he had a quokka in his pantry) and we had a totally adorable fake marsupial party.
See?
He took a cuter picture but I don’t have it, so….
Once we’d done that, I was like… “Shit… if you didn’t send me this quokka… and nobody else even knows what a quokka is, then where did this come from?”
Time to get sleuthy!
Clue 1: the note.
I’m ashamed to admit that I had been so excited to receive said quokka that I didn’t even read the note in the box.
The reference to structured content had Phil (who had joined our quokka technology party by this time) thinking that my mystery benefactor must be a technical writer or architect. I had a moment of suspecting my friend, and fellow quokka party planner, Valkyrie, of being my secret quokka Santa, but the Valkyrie reference in the note didn’t include a capital V.
That didn’t sit right with me. Valkyrie is cheeky; she would have totally capitalized her own name in the middle of that sentence. Plus, she doesn’t have my address.
Robert and I logged off, but not before he suggested that I do the rational thing and give him a bubble bath.
I didn’t have a hot tub at my disposal, so I decided that my sink would have to do. :/
Of course, at this point it was perfect timing for Outlook to remind me that I had a video meeting to attend. <Sigh>
After my meeting, I promptly went back to admiring my quokka (who I’d sat next to my laptop during said meeting) and finally noticed the sender’s email address on the one and only clue.
Oh, and I melted.
Chris. P. Thompson, I love your stuff. I had no idea you read my blog! And you sent me a quokka on your own freaking birthday?! AND you love structured content?! Hidden depths, dude. You’re the best!!
PS. Send my regards to your Australian valkyrie. Touché
So now the mystery is solved. I have an adorable friend. I did NOT freak out my coworkers by talking in baby talk to a crocheted marsupial. Robert is now kicking himself that he didn’t buy me a quokka first… AND, I got to kind of have an extremely low budget hot tub quokka party.
Life has been kind of sad this last week. A childhood friend is coming to the end of her battle with cancer and leaving behind a caring husband, a world of friends, and a darling little boy. It’s hard to watch. There’s so much good in this world… and so little time to appreciate it.
The big things, the little things, the crocheted things… Take the time to be weird, to hug your people, and most of all, appreciate all those little things that make you happy.
*Proper noun. Intentional capitalization.
** “Giving the gas face” was a term coined in Brian’s big blue van (The Beauville), somewhere in Cupertino, in the nineties. It describes a situation where one puts their hand in another person’s face, preferably when they’re in the middle of a sentence, to denote you’re done listening to them, before walking away. It later came to be more broadly applied to any situation where someone disagrees with another person (using words, actions, or possibly even in their own mind), and then walks away.
