It’s Hump Day. I’ve been ridden hard and put away wet. Counting down to when I can sink into a tub filled with steaming water and bath salts (not of Miami drug variety) and stare blankly at the wall while pondering the state of my life.
That’s my Wednesday. Hope yours is better.
Traveled back to NOLA a couple of weeks ago. The weather was perfect. The ètouffèe and shrimp and grits were as amazing as they were last year. Drank ONE Hand Grenade per evening (lesson learned the hard way from last year when I ended up screaming about dick in Cafè Du Monde). Danced in the street to “Uptown Funk.” Copped a Morgan Greer Tarot deck from Marie Laveau’s shop (I’ve been lusting over the deck online for months). Purchased fancy Dominican cigars for a certain gentleman (G—friend* of the Year candidate, here). Took dope pics (you can see them here). Good times, yo.
While scanning the book How to be Parisian, Wherever You Are, I found the following excerpt about French women’s approach to the gym:
After twenty-three minutes, she leaves the gym proud and vowing to return soon.
That was a month ago. The dilemma has continued to haunt her every day since. She thinks of her mother’s backside and the cost of the gym membership, but that’s not enough. Come six o’clock, a wave of exhaustion overwhelms her and she feels the dangerous draw of the sidewalk cafè. And, just then, her friends call her up, as if to test her willpower. She knows she doesn’t have much resolve, and deep down, she doesn’t really give a damn.
“She knows she doesn’t have much resolve, and deep down, she doesn’t really give a damn” is the story of my life.
Speaking of books, started Lauren Groff’s Fates and Furies a few months back and forgot about it. Remind me to get back to it soon.
[SPOILER ALERT] Finally caught up on Game of Thrones Season 6. Knew about the Jon Snow resurrection and still screamed “OH BITCH, IT’S LIT” when he hopped up gasping.
Saw Captain America: Civil War last weekend. Went in a Tony Stark fan. Came out a Tony Stark fan who wants to have King T’Challa’s babies.** I’m not a day one comic book fan or anything, but I may as well add Marvel to the direct deposit list for my employer. They can have my money into perpetuity.
In the middle of writing this, I saw a Portraits of America post on Tumblr that said: “I don’t think about my story. I’m just trying to live it.” #GOALS.
Except what would I write about?
[*] Ugh. I still hate that damn word.
[**] FUCK. There goes that G—friend of the Year award.