Summertime, and the living is easy...

Festive summer beverages, enjoy irresponsibly.

Citrus Strawberry Mojito:

Muddle fresh mint leaves with rum and sugar [I used agave].
Add lemonade, lime juice, a few ice cubes and sliced strawberries.

With a little help from Bacardi:

Frozen pina colada mix
1/2 tub Hagen Daz raspberry sorbet
5 oz vodka

Blend! Drink! A similar tasty result can be achieved with the mojito mix.

Sangria de la Maison

2 bottles cheap merlot [I used Oak Vineyard]
1 bottle pineapple nectar/juice [I used Looza]
3 orages, sliced
2 apples, sliced
1 sliced lemon
1 sliced lime
2 cups triple sec [supposed to be Cointreau, but any orange liquer is fine]
1/2 liter vodka [or more to taste]

Best if it marinates at least 6 hours.

Self Flagellation.

I looked at every photo in those two albums. 60 + 24 images of a life I threw away, a life I was exiled from, rejected by, dismissed from. Still all the same people, hanging out together, never anyone new; no changes, just new girlfriends and boyfriends rotated in and out as time goes by. I recognized almost every face; wondered why some were missing.

I'm glad you're happy. I miss you now and again. I'm not surprised to see the social construction thusly modified; it makes sense, it fits your status quo. No one to upset you or ask hard questions about yourself. No one to wonder who you could be, if you would try. Challenges removed, you smooth your path. I don't really blame you.

I spent the winter alone in a freezing apartment with my cat and canned soup, renting movies I watched alone every Saturday night like clockwork. I didn't even pretend to have a life; I worked like a fiend, then came home and hid from my thoughts and emotions.

I know exactly why I looked at all those photos; I wanted to know, I want to see, I want to be a part of that. I want to be an insider, not looking in from the outside at your lighted windows, your parties, your fun. Exile is educational; I don't think it has ever been fun.

I'm meeting amazing people, I'm starting anew. I working to be a better friend, a better person, to be more balanced, more socially responsible. I want to fix all the flaws that ruined our friendship, I want to be the bigger person, not to meddle, not to destroy what I've built. Running away wouldn't achieve it; I knew that all along. Instead, I wallowed, dreaming, imagining what you were doing. Who you were with. What you were like, these days.

Happier, I hope. Happier without me. Happier for always without me. I still don't trust you; still don't want to see you; don't want to remember, don't want to forget. There are no answers here, no solutions, no easy fixes, no apologies readily given and messes neatly mopp'd up.

You saw me, I saw you; farmer's market, Saturday a.m. around 11ish. We acted like strangers. My heart softened, crumbled, and reformed; I knew then what had become of us, what had become of all we were, all we could be.

I miss you, on days like these. I dream of you, on nights like these. I breathe the air you exhale and beg table scraps from your social gatherings. I wish for less ways to wish for, and more ways to work towards.

Picnic in the Park

Baguette sandwiches, dressed with Maille mustard, Colavita balsamic, this amazing Cali olive oil. Layered with cucumbers, tomatoes, smoked gouda, spicy salad greens, dotted with cream cheese, wrapped tight in aluminun foil.
Snacking on black oil-cured Moroccan olives and pistachios. Drinking Cotes du Rhones red wine from a non-descript juice bottle.
A salad of red cabbage, cilantro, sesame seeds, dressed with balsamic and soy sauce, salt and pepper.
Lounging in the sun. Feeling like I was in Aix en Provence again.
Wearing new hipster glasses. Dressed like a librarian because I need to do laundry. Hair twisted into a Medusa-esque creation.
It's good to be back to me; K-OS would say, back to the man I used to be; I'm rather back to the woman I remember being, in better days.