This weekend was:

Sunshine. Scrambled eggs. My favorite girls. Tunes in my kitchen. Yoga at the gym. “Oh, we’re subleasing.” Downward facing dog. Triangle. Airplane. Walking home in the sunshine. Packing for the beach. Books, towels, blankets, pizza. Sun. In the car, tunes up, windows down, friends surrounding friends. Busy beach, moving on, quiet beach. Laughing so hard you cry. Sun. Blanket spread, friends arriving. “These are my friends from high school.” Loving getting to say that, over and over again. Explaining how we’re all friends. Running in the water. Video taping it. K, B, and I in the water. Getting tossed out of the ocean by the waves. Bruises from the sea [no, thank you, you are not admitted.] Laying out. Showers on the beach. Wedding on the beach. Reading on the beach. Sleeping on the beach. Bleachers on the beach. Nerf football. Chattering away at each other. Birthday wishes. Sun going down, lifeguards arriving. Young lifeguards. Time to leave. Packing it up, in, and out. Changing, laughing, sun dipping. Pictures. Two cars, four girls, makeup on. Smiles, oohs and ahhs, pictures. Camera on timer, on the car. Friendly passerby shooting our smiles, or glances at the sea, and the helicopter. Dinner. Fancy restaurant, by the sea. Seated, by the kitchen. A bottle of wine. New friends, old friends. Seafood, Alfredo. Mud Pie. Laughing, laughing. Smiles. Stories, long and short. Hugs, mints flavored like sugar, and hugs. Valet cars, and home. Traffic. Life stories, on the streets of LA, through the night, to home. Rent. Rent checks. Back in the car. More life stories, because the traffic in LA is never light, and the load on your heart is never lifted.

Sleep. Wake.

Bikes. Farmer’s market. Is that man dead? No, I think no. Garlic, and so large it is. Peaches, because they are too good to resist. Sunshine on my shoulders, bike grease on my hands. “Do you always get this much stuff” because the bag was so heavy. 5 ears of corn. Ride home, dead man walking, dead man gone. Sun. Home. K and M home, too. Some water, some rest. Clean the kitchen — more guests coming. avocado brie toast. Clean out the cooler. Thank you, K. Onto the Grove, for movies. Missed movie…Crate and Barrel. Wanting to own every piece of furniture. “Where do you send your samples?” and Barbara. Loving everything. Teeny spoon. Too late again, fourth row? A fourth friend. Seated two by two, laughing inappropriate loud throughout — parts funny, and not. Movie over, 6:40. Just like she said.

Home, change, borrow clothes, Corelyn you’re a saint. Pink Taco. For five. At eight. No, for three. At eight thirty. Slowly back to five…friends, stories, epic stories, family trees, timelines. Tahiti. Not going to Tahiti. Ever. It’s a volcano. So many tacos, so good. Sangria, by the pitcher, because we can. Dark atmosphere, light hearts.

Outside. Dark. 10:00. Photographs on the stairs, by the blue wall. Jumping, jumping high fives, band photos. I am the lead singer. Smiles, not smiles, advertisements for who knows what. “Remember when we had a band?” “Oh, you mean Frost?” Because I had forgotten we named it. “Just kiss her.” More photos. Tree lights, Jeff lying on the ground, photos. Mannequins, poses, smiles, laughing. “You know what would be a great shot?” Three cameras. 11:02. Let’s get out of here, Diddy Riese.

Diddy Riese. Short line. Share a sandwich, taste all three. More laughs, more smiles. 11:48. “Would you like to be in our short documentary?” Are you sleep deprived? Yes, right now. Laughs, chats. Snapped Achilles? Interesting story. Visual journalism. So, so nice to meet you, good luck. 12:00. In the car, home. 12:20. Best. Weekend. Ever.

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About sorellaaglio

I am 26. I love nature. I love trying new things, and I love children. I love cooking, baking, and sometimes even cleaning. I am an organized mess, and yet manage to eat three meals a day and get eight hours of sleep a night. If you stop by, I'll feed you and make you a mixed CD. Oh, and I am a fan of you.
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