I made a boat. Or, more accurately, I decorated a boat, the good ship The Backpack [go team Dora the Explorer]) . You like those pink flags, I know you do.
Our baby looks good coming and going.
Mostly, this: I fell in love with a parking structure:
Hezog & de Meuron
Mixed use parking structure, retail, event space (genius way to get around zoning laws).
All muscle, no skin. A parking sculpture.
Dying to meet the developer Robert Wennett.
After the love affair, I had a proper Miami evening: the W pool bar (downpour, hanging with the Israeli mafia) and then the old classic Mynt with dance party seriously underway. I was up on the couches. We headed up to the DJ booth. There may have been some booties shakin'.
Windswept, waiting for Lebron.
At 4:30, I looked at my watch. Uh oh, supposed to be at the airport in 1 hour. Still at the club. Have no shoes on.
Hop in a cab, bust a move back to the Ritz, quick change, back to waiting cab, bust a move to MIA. Make flight, pass out in first class (totally don't belong). Awake surrounded by children. Feel like a crack whore, last night's makeup down my cheeks. Still smelling smoky.
Rental car in San Diego, refuse to take off sunglasses, perpetuate cracked out exterior, straight to grandmother's--you look like hell! (or, rather, politely, you look exhausted). Shower, change, lie down 5 minutes, socialize. Argh. Funeral, socialize, Mormons. Family, eat, wild turkeys (not Wild Turkey, I wish, remember, Mormons), cousins, mausoleum so white. Succulent garden for Mary and Jesus. Compound, eat, pregnant cousins!, boulders, inland views, California I think I love you. Back, crash, New Yorker fiction, Friday Night Lights (any tears left?), quiet in my grandmother's house my grandfather built. Quiet quiet quiet. Sleep. Finally.
If that's a work event, this place might just be ok...
(nope, nope, still not ok, even if there are some like-minded dancefloor maniacs)
(nope, nope, still not ok, even if there are some like-minded dancefloor maniacs)
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