Last night the girls and I ate pita until we couldn’t at one of our old watering holes, and had a half laughing/half eating evening until we couldn’t possibly finish one.more.thing.
Above: the girls and I (before I forced Ky to move to Chicago, so think of her as Caesar) in Las Vegas, aged 22. Mere babies. But babies who still love pita in their old age.
Losing all of your music is actually sort of a freeing experience, I’ve decided. I’ve been listening to a mix of my 90s favorites and a bunch of new stuff which I am downloading with reckless abandon. On repeat right now is Adele’s 21, which I am loving every single second of. Please someone, remind me again why I still identify with lady artists who haven’t even hit their mid-twenties?
The sun is shining brightly this morning, and even though it’s only a brisk 28 degrees out, I feel like I want to take a walk in the neighborhood and soak up some Vitamin D. Equally as compelling is hunkering down with a giant mug of coffee and learning some more about those lady Roosevelts. Luckily, it’s Sunday, and if I play my cards right, I can probably do both.
This afternoon, I’m going to try to make homemade pasta. I have no tools for this except a rolling pin and a knife, and my motor skills rival those of a toddler. I’ve always liked a challenge though.
Enjoy your Sunday chickadees, I’m off to get mine started properly!