No note. No letter. No nothing. I mean clearly though, this thing truly speaks for itself.
In that vain, here's what it does not say:
I might note that since I hate my roommate and have thought I was going to move out on at least 2 occasions, I have officially forwarded all of my mail to my office. Imagine my co-workers' collective surprise when I opened up this package yesterday. I might be wrong, but it was quite similar to the look on the faces of the people sitting next to me last night at dinner when I pulled it out to show Cesar.
She usually decorates her packages and envelopes with various sparkles, colors and stickers. My favorite design is the one that bares a Jesus sticker right next to the postage stamp. She circles the Jesus sticker and places an arrow at the postage stamp with a message reading, "This is the real stamp! This is the only stamp that matters!" Or something to that extent. I'll have to scan one of those when I get home later. It's pretty important material that you shouldn't be deprived of.
My mom is a funny lady to say the least. While we're on the subject of dear mother, I should let you in on the jist of our past 4 conversations. And when I say conversations, I also mean 10 minute voicemail messages she leaves that might make an outsider wonder whether or not she knows she's not speaking to anyone:
"Hi Gigi, I need you to go to the store right now and buy lycine for the coldsores you get on your lips. If you take one a day, you'll never get one again. I have one right now and I'm telling you, I look despicable!"
Fake Boob Removal
"I've decided that when you and your sisters get older and are rich, I want you each to give me $1,000 so I can get my boobs taken out. You know, I've never asked anyone for any money. I never asked your dad for alimony, I've never asked for anything. And I've had these things for 20 years. I'm afraid they're going to start leaking and they're getting heavy. I'm sick of them! I'd rather have little sacks of skin hanging off of my chest than these things. So, do you think you can help me with that someday?"
"Why do you have to date a guy from Chicago. Hello?! He is like totally geographically undesirable! There are a million other guys in Manhattan. Just date one of them. Wouldn't you like to be able to go out with your boyfriend on, say, a Wednesday night? I mean, wouldn't you? Just, think about it."
Follow-up on Chicago Boy
"Gigi, I was thinking about it and I'm calculating that if you go see D once a month and it costs you $200 per flight times 12 months a year, that's, umm, 12 x 200 is $240, no, no, no 12 x 200 is $24,000. No, 12 x 200 is $2,400? $2,400!! You're spending $2,400 a year going to Chicago! Can you please date someone in New York, honey??"
So, yeah - just like the outfit speaks for itself, I think that so too do these conversations. Check back later, I vow to dig up one of those Jesus envelopes for you.