I have some really cool friends. Truth be told, a great many of them are people I rarely talk to, and this makes me sad, but at the same time honored. I know that part of why these are such great friendships is that if we go for a year or more without talking, we are still friends for life. One night at the Dip in Toronto with these people is enough to reaffirm something that will make me proud when I'm 90, and something that when shared with Luther, is enough to make the boy jealous... and thrilled at the same time. Thank you, my fine friends.
But I gotta take a moment to recognize the bizarre and horrific accident that is Helen Ferreira.
Helen was already working at Mag North when I started there years ago. I believe we first met in the tape room. Me, a late-twenties white chick with dreadlocks' she, a much younger Portuguese woman with hair out of a shampoo commercial.
It was only natural we should become friends.
Helen is caustic. That is the word. And uses a lot of syllables when she writes, but not so much when she talks. She can handle quite a few chocolate martinis, but sadly not quite as many as she drinks, upon occasion. And she is a gift queen.
Now understand, gifts are like... the meaning of life in my universe. Yup. To really show someone you care, you give a gift. To show you don't care, send a Hallmark card with nothing written in it.
Hallmark really wants you to believe the purchase is the gift, but here's the thing: It really is the thought that counts.
Once, Helen gave me some free plane tickets! Okay, so it was one of those timeshare things, but she'd tested it out and it wasn't going to be too annoying. Luther, me, and Luther's two boys went to Florida for more than a week. We went to Orlando and to Cocoa Beach. And of course we drove there, but our hotel? Paid for by Helen.
Today, we got a big box. Helen is living in London, England, and is working on her fantastic career in television and doing the crazy dating scene and being very far away... but Helen "couldn't resist" (her words) and sent us....
THE UGLIEST FUCKING PENGUIN COOKIE JAR.
I mean, it is foul!
But it came accompanied by the most to-die-for gourmet cookies, that...
Let me explain it this way: I am not actually all that keen on chocolate. Okay, relax, sit down, of course I enjoy chocolate, but yeah, I'm one of those truly unusual persons, I don't actually think of it as all that special. But there are some fudge chocolate cookies in this set that Helen sent to us... and um...
HOLY CRAP these are good!
So.
Helen Ferreira, ladies and gentlemen. She has the best hair in the whole world, is apparently an up-and-coming producer-type for Discover, and from London seems to be able to identify just the right gourmet bakery in Ohio, in order to send treats to Georgia.
I'm writing her number on all bathroom walls from this day forward.
That is all.
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2 comments:
As i get older, my impression of chocolate has tempered. i used to die for it, now sometimes i actually avoid it. or at least the flavor of it in things that aren't themselves chocolate. so, for example, chocolate chip cookies no longer do it for me, though sometimes a handful of semi-sweet chocolate morsels really hits the spot. i'm the same way about peanut butter. i LOVE peanut butter (yeah, i do have a shift key, but my fingers are tired so mostly i'm ignoring it). and i love real peanut butter cookies. but after that, peanut butter in others forms doesn't work for me. butteringer? no, thanks. peanut butter ice cream? none for me.
i would probably love the ugliest fucking penguin cookie jar. objects which are fundamentally awful, especially when they don't set out to be, hold a special delight for me. i have long had, for example, a "martini in a bag" -- an item that so misunderstands the point of a martini that it shouldn't even exist. yet there it is on my shelf. the bag is some thick plastic like you might get fertilizer in, right down to the resealable zip-lock strip. i guess if you want half a martini in a bag, you can save the other half for later.
anyway, i'll be looking for that number on the bathroom wall. and i have to say, "She can handle quite a few chocolate martinis, but sadly not quite as many as she drinks..." is a great line!
I'm liking this Evans character. He seems like good people. Now Cameron reads all about the fabulousness that is ME and can only bring himself to comment on chocolate... and peanut butter... and martinis... AH HELL, he's got my respect as well. (And OH MY GOD... The world's greatest Peanut Butter Martini can be found at The Eagle, in London.) That is all. Ps... Becky... It's DiscoverY. The eeeeee is muy importante.
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