I’m home! It’s definitely nice to see Fitz again, but the view out my window doesn’t include the top of Sacre Coeur, and that’s taking some getting used to. First and foremost, I want to thank my incredibly generous guest posters, Niki, Santa, Christine, and Sue, for picking up the slack for me while I was in Paris. Aren’t their homes just beautiful? You can tell each of them has a great eye for design (they each made me want to fully redecorate my entire house). Thanks again, ladies!
I have tons of pictures to share with you from the trip and lots of stories to tell (it was 63° and sunny on Saturday and 32° and snowing on Tuesday!) but first, and this may seem out of left field, I think it’s necessary to write a letter to my Number 1 Celebrity Crush to End All Crushes: Gary Oldman.
Dear Gary Oldman,
It is with a heavy heart that I feel I must tell you it’s time we moved on. Stop that, don’t cry. This isn’t easy for me. You know how much I’ve obsessed over you. Look, we had a really good thing going, and that time I met you and totally scared you with my creepiness was special for both of us. It’s something I’ll never forget. But it’s time we faced reality: you’re married, you don’t know I exist, and while I think I could be happy photoshopping you into Parisian scenes for a while, this wasn’t built to last, Gary Oldman.
There’s someone I love more. And last Friday in Paris…
You may know him as Boyfriend, but that isn’t an accurate descriptor anymore. Because last Friday, in my favorite city in the entire world, in the gardens of the Rodin Museum, just as it was starting to rain, Boyfriend asked me to marry him. I said yes, Gary Oldman. Obviously. It wasn’t the romantic, mushy scene you always see in movies, either. He got down on one knee and I totally lost my shit. I doubled over laughing, shocked and surprised, and afterwards said I had to sit down because I felt like I was going to throw up. So, basically, I handled it the way I handle everything in my life: like a complete and total spaz. But it was honest, and real. And he hasn’t changed his mind yet!
And while he may not be a big time actor, or British, or old enough to be my father, he’s got some special qualities of his own. He’s kind, he’s smart, can figure out tip at a restaurant without a calculator, knows all the different kinds of clouds, is funny, likes mini-golf, prefers vanilla to chocolate, knows my name (more than I can say for you), and if that’s not enough for you, Gary Oldman, he even puts up with my insane love for you. So there.
His name is Jeffrey, but I mostly call him by his initials, JML. Which I now realize is like, two vowels away from being “JAMAL” which just makes me crack up. I kind of want to call him JAMAL now, as a joke. I’m not sure what I’ll call him when I mention him in blog posts, but I won’t refer to him as Boyfriend anymore, because he’s not! I went to Paris and got a fiancé! And gained 3 pounds of just croissants! Score!
So, Gary Oldman, don’t look back on our time together with regret. It was special. I’m moving on now, though, and think you should, too. Don’t worry, I’ll keep the framed picture of us on my night table, but just know that if you’re ever in Philly again, JAMAL said you better watch your back.