I’ve wanted to come here FORFREAKINGEVER, and now I’m here and it’s the best and I’m sososososososo happy about it! But I’m not actually gonna talk about that right now because I want to tell you about this awesome thing that happened in Melbourne first.
Okay, so I guess I should set the scene in case you’ve never been there.

Melbourne is Cool Kids Central. It’s infested with high-waisted pants and $40 cheeses and 62 degree lattes, not a tick hotter, don’t be tacky. It’s basically Brooklyn with an accent (or the parts of Brooklyn we whities* have taken over, anyways).

*For the record, I never lived in Brooklyn. Although I am very, very white.

Now, despite how much I superfuckinghate high-waisted pants, I do love cheese and lattes (even pretentiously-temperatured ones), and I have been told by some that I’m borderline Cool Kid material, potentially definitely-if-I-cut-some-super-short-bangs-and-stopped-wearing-quick-dry-pants.

(I’ve also been compared to Liz Lemon more times than I can count, though, so I’m not sure what to believe.)

Point is, I should have loved Melbourne. And I did by the end. But the first few days weren’t the best. First off, as you know, I was dying (I’m better now, thanks), but mostly, I was just really, overwhelmingly, lay-in-bed-all-day sad. Like, super sad. The saddest I’ve maybe ever been.

And for zero reason I could figure. I have this awesome life that anyone would want, and I was in Melbourne with my (definitely-a-cool-kid) buddy Caitlin, and I could not figure out how to not be sad.

I forced myself to take showers and talk to friends and exercise, and all that crap you’re supposed to do when you get the blues. And when none of that worked, I walked my ass around. Hours and hours, just walking around Melbourne, looking at stuff.

And don’t get me wrong, it was great. But all these things kept reminding me of how sad I was.


Except then this happened…

I was dragging my butt down Smith Street, making a mental list of all the woes I’d lament to Harry when it was finally morningtime in New York (“Wake up already and listen to me whine, it is your job, boyfriend!”), when this beautiful beacon of hope appeared in my path:


Y’all. I have never been so happy to see anything in my life. It was like that scene in all those alien movies where the guy gets sucked into the spaceship and he doesn’t fight it because the light is just so goddamn pretty.

I don’t even remember crossing the street or going inside. I was just suddenly standing in front of the Slurpee machine, crying. I’m not exaggerating. I was actually, for-real, snot-bubble-crying.


The guy at the counter was so confused. And all I could say was “You don’t understand…” over and over again. He fumbled around for a minute trying to find a tissue* for me to keep from dripping snot-tears on the floor he had just mopped, and then I laughed and he laughed and we had a good laugh together, the Slurpee guy and me.

*It’s possible he was feeling for that secret button they have to alert the police that a crazy person is in your store.


It was a beautiful moment.

Now, I’m not gonna say that a Slurpee magically fixed whatever was wrong with me – it didn’t. I was really sad again in about an hour. But it did knock something loose. I started noticing little things that I think I was definitely missing before. Little silly things like this lego mailbox:


And this brilliant new business idea:


And this little patch of sidewalk that noticed how pretty I am:


And eventually, the scales tipped and the crusty coating of “everything blows” started flaking off, and my brain started looking for awesome things – not just noticing them. And it turns out, there was awesome stuff everywhere.

The effing badass street art on all the buildings:




The t-shirt book I found for $6 at a thrift store:


The note I made for Caitlin like 5 years ago THAT SHE KEPT.


…and then the real stuff that should have been making me happy all along. Like my sweet friend who was the best host ever and who brought me, full force, into her hilarious, beautiful world, even when I was all poopy and sad.




And by the time I left, thankfully, pretty much all of whatever-that-was had faded.

I know it’s not that simple for everyone when they’ve got the blues. I would never suggest that it is, or that it should be, or that you should just go get a Slurpee* and everything will be okay.

*Because I’m not an idiot.

But I wonder if all of us might have a tiny “thing” somewhere in us, or out there, that has the power to maybe knock something loose – just enough to get us going again.

And that – here’s what I think it really was for me – maybe if something so small and silly can bring that much joy, maybe the things that bring you that much sadness might be just as small and just as silly.

Or maybe I’m full of shit, I don’t know. Either way, I’m glad my small silly thing is Slurpees cuz that shit is EVERYWHERE in Thailand.


A thousand puppies will live forever if you share this post, I totally swear.

A thousand puppies will live forever if you share this post, I totally swear.

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I don't even know why this is a question.

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