The 17 Year Old Unsolved Mystery of Russell Crowe.

The turn of the millennium had a couple big milestones for me. I graduated college in 1999, and my first real adventures happened in 2000. I moved away from home over New Year’s weekend. (Yeah, I  know a lot of peeps move when they GO to college, but I LIKED my hometown and never wanted to move away. Alas, bills require jobs, and jobs for an English and History major were scarce there, so off to the city I went.) I spent that first year living at my grandparent’s house – which is relevant to this post.

For a “yay you made it through college and are officially adulting” I was lucky enough to receive help to buy a car or go on a trip. 
Fuck cars. I went to Ireland. I was all of twenty-one. 
No FB, no texting, no affordable international cell phone plans. I chuckle at the helicopter parents now who have to hear from their traveling college students regularly: I left Minnesota on a Thursday night, flew from here to Chicago and from Chicago to London. This was my first trip out of the country, and I went alone. I didn’t meet my tour group (Contiki Tours, who are still in business and run fabulous tours for 18-35 year-olds) until I got settled in my hotel in London on Friday night. 
I didn’t have an opportunity to email or call my parental units ’til Wednesday that week. On that tour, I may or may not have had a fling with the Scottish driver (who was twenty years older than me but OH MY GOD that accent) and made a couple of Australian friends. After all, I was one of three Americans on the tour: everyone else was Aussie or NZ. 
I’m still friends with one of the guys I met from Melbourne, Australia. He visited twice in those first few years, and we had pretty regular contact for a while. To this day, we trade pics of our families and news once or twice a year. 
All of this is relevant, because I STILL suspect he’s the culprit. 
2000 was also the year Gladiator came out. I saw it right after I came back from Ireland in May, and fell utterly in love with Russell Crowe. I have no regrets regarding my unrequited devotion. 
So, recall that I was living with my grandparents, and fast forward a couple of months, when a random envelope showed up in the mailbox. 
Note Return Address Area has NONE. 

 So, clearly this wasn’t SENT to me. It was left in the mailbox by some weirdo. I don’t recognize the handwriting.

WHERE THE FUCK IS THE POSTAGE?  

Return address. In case I didn’t tape it back together well enough, that say NSW (New South Wales) Australia.
NSW Australia is where RC is from.
This is a lot of effort to screw with my brainpan. 

Indeed. 

THERE IS NO APPROPRIATE CAPTION FOR THIS…
Except YUM.

So, 17 years later I’m cleaning out papers and find this envelope, still never claimed by Cameron or my parents or anyone else. 
But SOMEBODY dropped Russell Crowe in my mailbox, and it wasn’t a benevolent mail fairy carrying around an unpostaged Maximus. 
If anyone wants to claim this one, feel free…I still want to know. 
Cameron, I still think it was you colluding with some family member. And I’ll miss you terribly when I’m on an other tour in Ireland next May. 
If anyone wants to send Maximus to my house now…hey, I still hold that particular crush right along with Gerard Butler and The Rock. 

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