Thursday low key. Mid afternoon beer on a platonic date, followed by cocktails with his wife, followed by a matinee. Hayden Christianson, however spelled, is stunning and it was the first time I've found a plot irrelevant. Just keep moving around and smiling, whoop, explosion! Later, dinner with friends and early to bed.
Friday ridiculous. Exploding cherry bombs off a sixth floor balcony, climbing statues, bar-to-bar-to-bar with no good dance floor prevailing. Sloppy blurs, home in my bed with a white t-shirt stained pink with wine.
Saturday burlesque. The men yelling from the corners are all gay. There are breasts and legs, and jiggles. Sexy indie girls like Bettie Page live amongst us. A couple wore thick glasses and kept them on. I considered acquiring some pasties and learning how to twirl them. A friend of a friend MC'd and it turns out she's hilarious. I sunk my inhibitions in a pink martini and later caught a cab to see the RBH. We had a glass of wine, looked at respective spring break pictures, went to bed. I missed him.
Sunday. I make breakfast, he assists, we go to the gym. I continue being wholesome by making a vegetarian stew from carrots and potatoes and random lost vegetables from around my kitchen while going through flyers and miscellany. Seasoned with red wine turned to vinegar, mustard and coriander paste.
I saw B-Rock today after nine months and we talk about swell and leaving our jobs. He calls me Penguin. Our career talk is like machine guns but slightly conspiratorial.
Everything is melting and it's going to be ok. At the Farmer's Market Saturday morning people were buzzing with spring waking. We're still waiting for non-winter vegetables, but I found yogurt and beets and organic bread and perogies so will survive.
Now it's time to do work, for two months. I'm a low key cardigan deciding on here or the coffee shop, here probably with no distractions and an hour of daylight fading. It was a good four days.
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