I kind of want to start a book club for certain kind of people. Like for snobby intellectuals who occasionally (but not regularly) visit 311 Club and refused to read the Da Vinci Code on principle alone but secretly loved Eat Pray Love and/or Mitch Albom books though they hate admitting it.
Those kind of people.
What books will we read? Good books, of course. What will we talk about? Cool things, of course. What won’t we talk about? Our feelings. Not allowed.
When will I assemble said club? Never. Because there are probably three such people in Austin and they will never admit to liking Eat Pray Love and/or Mitch Albom books and thus I will never know I’ve found them when I do encounter them at 311.
Speaking of books, I recently re-read The Bell Jar, which seemed like a good idea at the time until my friend Courtney reminded me that people who are actually in the bell jar aren’t supposed to read The Bell Jar.
Speaking of Courtney…now that I think of it…she may actually fit the required book club participant description.
And thus concludes this deeply considered, well structured post.
Currently in need of: one adventurous girlfriend who wants to spend NYE on a private island in Colombia.
Why is this so hard to find?
All that this girl wants to do is pay a harmless visit to an old Colombian friendlover in said friendlover’s home country. Yachts and private islands have been promised. What can be so bad about that? And yet somehow–inexplicably, mysteriously– I’m the ONLY ONE that seems to think it’s a good idea.
Okay, so maybe there is a
five percent infinitesimal chance that we end up held as concubines. Frankly, I’m willing to take those odds.
I need adventure in my life. I need a private island in my life. And for the record, amazing parties with a Colombian friendlover from yesteryear wouldn’t hurt either.
And so, I have proffered a compromise. Extravagant gallavanting with raucuous, well-to-do Colombians without need for passport or (major) risk of abduction. It’s called:
Bienvenido a Miami.
New Years Eve in Miami with the Colombians.
Carpe diem, ladies.
What better way to start off Monday morning than with a photo montage of some truly, completely, utterly bad b*tches?
I would like to thank all of you for being the jam.
*(thank you for the single ladies dance, I am forever indebted)
Let’s make it a bad b*tch kind of week, shall we?