Julia's Valentine Box

When I was a kid, I always wanted to get mail. My dad would come home with the mail and I'd ask if there was anything for me (there usually wasn't) and I would dejectedly remark that I never get mail. "Well, this isn't anything fun," my father would say. "This is just an electric bill." No matter. It was mail. To this day, I still enjoy going to the mailbox. There's always the promise of something fun, even if that promise isn't always fulfilled.

So, it's extra fun putting together mail for my niece. Not only do I get the fun of assembling the package, but I get to imagine her delight when a cool-looking box arrives and she discovers it's got her name on it. Oh, the joy. Here's what she got for Valentine's Day. She called me when it arrived and she was so excited and I was so happy.

 

  

Me, when I found out that Jon Stewart was leaving The Daily Show.

Things that happened when I worked 70 hours of overtime in less than two weeks in January.

Cold Popeye's chicken fingers dipped in cold Popeye's mashed potatoes was deemed a perfectly acceptable dinner. Twice.

I got dressed from the load of laundry in the dryer, like it was my bedroom bureau.

When my boss momentarily forgot about my crazy deadlines, and asked if I would be "going home to PA this weekend?," I snapped "No! I will be coming HERE this weekend! AND next weekend! AND the one after that!" Like a crazy person. 

Half a bag of chipnitzel cookies was deemed a perfectly acceptable dinner.

My hair... suffered.

I began to fondly recall that one Saturday morning when I got to sleep until 10 AM. Before going in to work for nine hours.

Barbecue potato chips and dip was deemed a perfectly acceptable dinner.

I forgot to look at the Oscar nominations until noon on the day they were announced, instead of bounding out of bed to check them.

I left my flat iron on while I went to work for 15 hours. Note: apartment did not catch fire.

I lost so very many Trivia Crack games by not playing them in time.

Half a bag of microwave popcorn and some cheese was deemed a perfectly acceptable dinner.

After working 12 hours on MLKJ Day, I muttered "This is not what they meant by 'a day of service!'"

The day I left work at 9 PM, I thought to myself "I can't believe I'm getting out of here so early!"

I once considered just staying at the office through the night, but I knew my co-worker would notice that my clothes had not changed. And sure enough, the next morning she checked my clothes.

I still managed to watch the six-hour Season 2 of The Fall, which, I guess goes to show that Netflix is like the house in Vegas: it always wins in the end.