Eating: Vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles. This has really cemented itself as a go-to indulgence for me, especially around my period. It’s interesting how dairy is (allegedly) inflammatory and hormone-unfriendly, yet the second PMS hits, my body craves a cold, milky something.
Just Watched: Fargo. Oh, those shots of the desolate midwestern winter. Oh, those penetrating accents. Oh, my king (Steve Buscemi). Andrew is super into the Coen brothers, so this was part of his effort to guide me through their filmography. At 98 minutes, I’d like to take this opportunity to propose that as the ideal film length. The ideal book length is somewhere around 240 pages, but you guys aren’t ready for that discussion...
Currently Watching: Maid. Did I mention I’m PMSing? This was a mistake. *stifles tears*
Listening to: “Gib Ihm” by Shirin David. I heard this sexy German rap song on a Twitter video and I’m addicted to the minimal beat. As for the lyrics? Thank god twerkability is a common language.
Feeling: Young, wild, and free. I tend to experience those feelings in isolation, but this past weekend was a true campaign for eternal adolescence.
On Saturday morning, I went to my first Barry’s Bootcamp class with two girlfriends. It’s well-documented that I’m not a huge group fitness person. This, though… this I liked.
I left my house early to walk there and mentally prepare to look weak in front of the girls and gays. Part of why I’m a solo exerciser is chronic embarrassment toward my lack of physical strength. But as soon as I turned onto Sansom St., I felt kinship among the flushed, glowing faces trickling out from my destination, all clad in Alo Yoga, smiling like they had the key to life. These are bitches with discipline who delight in some congenial masochism. I must be in the right place.
At Barry’s Bootcamp, the room is dark with fire engine red lighting to keep you alert to your own suffering, like a siren blaring through your muscles. The instructor, a pint-sized, ripped Black girl with a velvet voice, pushed us through 50 minutes of intense weights and treadmill to the beat of loud rap. Ride with the mob, Alhamdulillah. Maybe it was the running, my drug of choice; maybe it was the music; maybe it was confronting a fear and feeling accomplished; but I felt like a kid the whole time. Even afterward, when we took advantage of the locker room showers stocked with Oribe products and Dyson blow dryers, there was this playful energy, like I was wrapping up practice from the sports I never tried. Barry’s set the tone for continued play...
My friend Brie was visiting, so we started the evening with happy hour at Double Knot. We ran it up on $6 robatayaki and kimchi fried rice and tuna tataki and yuzu gin gimlets. Then we fell into a spontaneous bar crawl. It was sweating through the crowd of college kids at McGillins. Then it was lurking around Bru, planning our next move. Then it was live jazz and more gin and more friends at Time. Then it was a long walk and more live jazz and cash-only-can-I-hit-the-ATM-please at Bob & Barbara’s. We were drunk, laughing, alive.
With minimal convincing, I slept over at my girlfriends’ place. The adult sleepover does not get enough love. What’s better than washing your face with someone else’s cleanser, borrowing their misfit sweats, brushing your teeth with your finger, and passing out in a strange bed after a tarot reading and a bowl of indica? Nothing. Nothing is better.
Come morning, we rounded up the troops for the beloved brunch buffet at Harp & Crown where we feasted on sausage gravy, fruit tarts, kale caesar salad, charcuterie, tomato bisque, a build-your-own donut stand… need I say more? I don’t know, life is just good.
Loving: A fun shoelace. Laces are an underrated statement! The devil’s in the details, people. Andrew just surprise-cleaned an old pair of Hoka Cliftons for me and I’m on the hunt for new laces to make them pop.