Get Your Kicks

Bunny made it back. Just in time for a BBQ and rowdy drinks with my favorite kids from work. I headed there before even unpacking, just threw my stuff down and started walking to the park.

LA did a number on me, and I'm slowly coming back into focus.



No easy task, that. I always leave southern Cali more high maintenance than I was going there. Picturing some super bold thug hipster kid with cupcake sneakers and a Benz who just adores me.

Feeding me champagne and lots of Gucci and doing each other on swank feather beds 4 nights a week.



But that's not real life. Real life is hustling super hard and no dreamy gangster boys almost ever. Real life is happy hour and veiled flirtations that I need x-ray glasses to get the gist of.

Real life is the decidedly unromantic fact of my narcissism.



Real life is very rarely clear, even at it's clearest. But I'm glad to be back home with some sense of me intact, even if it's a little fuzzy.

Good day, I'm back in the Bay.

PS: Woke up this morning with "Route 66" stuck in my head. Clearly the DJ in my dreams is awesome. Ha.