"YAAAAAAY!"

...is what Stella said when she saw her Crystal's Hot Sauce and bottles of kombucha :)

3am

I could barely keep my eyes open at 11p and thought, "My body has already adjusted to the natural light cues. I'm a modern miracle." I zombied into bed excited to be so freaking tired and fantasized about getting a decent amount of sleep. 

Now I'm up. Up, up. Up like it's 6am but it's 3am. No yawns, no fog, I'm Wide Awake. Poop, I'm not a modern miracle. I promised myself I would read instead of play on my phone, but blogging isn't playing, so to catch up:

I got to Stella's sweaty and cranky. She's texting me and I'm trying to conserve texts bc the International plan I bought from Verizon is pretty shitty. I'm a huge fan of Verizon but I hate the Int'l Calling Plan and having to think about what number text this is is making me petulant. I'm ignoring my phone, though I'm dying to text back.

Once I let myself in Stella's flat and see the flights of stairs I have to scale with The Motherfucker, I have to take some deep breaths and Have a Talk with myself. It goes like this: "Calm down. This isn't a conspiracy. It's not Stella's fault you can't text mindlessly and even if you knew how many stairs you'd have to climb with that heavy Motherfucker, you still would have packed fifteen lbs of kombucha. Only you are ruining your trip right now, nothing and no one else. So chill the fuck out and let's reset, yeah?" I make an excellent pseudo mom. 

I cross the finish line of getting all my crap upstairs before I let myself even look around so I can really enjoy the moment. AND I DO BECAUSE STELLA'S FLAT IS WONDERFUL. I run around gasping and greeting my favorite parts in a bad British accent I use all the time, not just when I'm speaking to British things. 

my beautiful bedroom

"'Ehllo pretty pictchah! 'Ehllo behdrooom!! 'EHLOOOO LOVELY ROOFTOHP DECK! You awe GOHJUSS!!!"

Stella's lovely living room

I scope out the kitchen and decide to go to Whole Foods to grocery shop because it's right down the street. I can be annoyingly purist when I travel and only want to shop at the "real places", meaning places I don't associate with America, but right now I'm tired, I'm on a health kick, and it's not like I'm in a quaint little village, I'm in London. 

As I walk to Whole Foods, my head on a swivel when I cross the streets because the direction of traffic thing, I wonder HOW America and Great Britain got so opposite. When the founding fathers settled the thirteen colonies were they like, "We're gonna be so different, that we're going to do everything backwards and opposite! Screw you, Mum!"?

When I get home from the store and rip into my rotisserie chicken (weirdly HALF the price of an American Whole Foods rotisserie chicken- have I mentioned how much I love grocery shopping? This is how I geek out.), my marginal disappointment at shopping in a familiar chain completely vanishes. My chicken looks waaaay more chicken-y than any American chicken. It's little legs aren't docked at the default chicken leg place, they're much longer! And the body isn't perfect- in fact, his body looks like it lived a real life, and I can kind of see what my chicken looked like when he was living on the farm! (Shut up, this is my fantasy, and in my fantasy my chicken had a long, lovely life on a family farm before he was slaughtered and plucked so I could get my protein.) This chicken would never fly in an American supermarket. And with that thought, I happily eat my little friend. 

Keys in the door... 

"HIIIIIIIIIIII!", "HAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!", we chorus. Stella's finally home! We laugh and hug and laugh and catch up until she has to go to bed. I'm so happy to be with my friend. 

And now everything is all caught up! And its 8pm LA time so I'm due to be sleepy in about two hours when it'll be 6am here. Man, being a modern miracle would have been so cool...

"I'M HERE!!!!!!!"

...is what I texted Stella when I stepped inside her gorgeous, amazing flat. But let's catch up.

Earlier today...

1 hour til landing

God I love Virgin Atlantic. My great flight started about 9 hours before my flight when I reached Jeffrey, a sweetie with a Scottish accent, on their customer service line because the computer wouldn’t let me in (WHY put O or 0 in a record locator??). After gently and sensitively pointed out my mistake, he noticed I didn’t have a seat. When I asked for a window, Jeffrey, put me in a window seat in a row next to an empty. God bless Jeffrey. 

my "bits and bobs bag"

Another reason I love VA: my "bits and bobs bag" filled with travel necessities. Also their movie selection had a great variety and their TV selection included Fleabag, which is phenomenal. 

I’d planned on taking my Ambien the instant the plane went wheels up, and literally had the pill in my hand, when the attendant handed me a menu. I forgot they feed you on good flights! For free!! I was the opposite of hungry, but I’m a stray cat and I live for free food. So I watched Bridget Jones’ Baby until they came back with dinner.

(BJB: Not the train wreck BJD2EoR and obviously nothing can touch BJD. Not as bad as it could have been, likely as good as it was going to get all things considered. McDreamy just keeps getting hotter and no one has a better happy smile than Mark Darcy. And I cared about their relationship, which is basically a rave review as far as watching a movie on a plane goes.)

(Someone just farted in my vicinity. I’m so jealous of them right now.)

The choices: Pork Ragu, Chicken Pesto or Veggie Thai Curry. Thai or die, always. It was a red curry and rice and about 3 1/2 jalapeños spicy which is pretty risqué for airplane food. It came with a heckuva nice salad and the cutest little salted caramel ganache that I couldn’t help keeping. I’m off desserts again, but it was so adorable I couldn’t bear to send it back to the trash where it would probably get soiled by old ragu or be the only lonely little ganache in the dark trashy world because everyone else’s ganaches wanted them. So I’m going to find him a good home.

Almost there!

After dinner I took half my Ambien because I’ve been on a hydration kick which has me peeing hourly. At the last second I had a paranoid fantasy of falling so deep asleep that I wet my seat. You wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at me since my leggings are black and already a little shiny, but the smell would give me away and also I’d freeze if I had to sit in a wet seat for hours. SO I broke my pill in half and passed out dead. THANK GOD AND JEFFREY FOR THE EMPTY SEAT NEXT TO ME.

I woke up with about three hours to go. Time for another movie. I picked Bad Moms. Sigh. I’m really fighting the urge to defend my movie choices… 

I lose, my urge wins: On planes, I like watching the same crap you’d watch on a hungover Saturday, when you’re too lazy to change the channel and know you’ve got nothing but time so you surrender to rom coms and anything else that won’t make you think too hard. Plus I love Mila Kunis. I want her to live in my pocket and coach me through life.

(BM: Not good, all over the place, and trite, one-dimensional everything, but somehow I wasn’t mad about it. Prob the Kunis factor. And I love Kristin Bell. Now Katherine Hahn… I like KH but I HATED her in this. Wire hanger in my ear drums, secret jalapeño juice in my eyes hate. I’m personally mad at the director for casting her and at her for doing the role.)

And out of the blue we’re landing!!

90 minutes after landing

Oghhhhgoddddd. The customs line is long and slow. It makes for good people watching though. I'm in the non-UK/EU line so my line buddies are from all over. Most everyone is on their phones (me included as I type) so it makes for easy lurking. 

But boring lurking. Rare conversations, no meaningful gazes or glares. This is reminding me a lot of Wall-E :( 

There is a couple in the quardroned section and I wonder what got them there. Passport problems, status problems...? Lately, at every check point I imagine I'm a spy or criminal so that every time I get waved or stamped through I feel the thrill of satisfaction and relief. 

Gross. I'm a privileged white looking American asshole. I get to pretend so I feel a lick of anxiety. Meanwhile, millions of immigrants and refugees travel in constant fear. It's disgusting that I have it easier than most because I won the skin color/nationality lottery. 

Well, this got less fun fast, but that's our world now, isn't it? In related news, I just realized by LA time I'm overdue for my antidepressant. 

3 hours after landing

Roly Poly, me & the MF

I made it to Stella's place with my luggage, Roly Poly and the Motherfucker. Roly Poly is a little black case who rolls and is sweet and easy to deal with. The Motherfucker is a motherfucker. Big. Red. HEAVY. It's my fault, obviously, but that doesn't stop me from getting pissy about it. 

In addition to my stuff, I packed fifteen lbs of kombucha. Stella asked for a single bottle, but I wanted to treat her to more. I knew the suitcase was overweight and I figured they'd make me get rid of some of it, but (Thank you, Virgin Atlantic, kinda) they didn't. I was psyched until I had to heave myself and my stuff all over the airport, on and off the tube, up flights of stairs, on and off the bus, up and down the street when I got a little lost finding Stella's place, and then? Up three flights of stairs once I got to Stella's.

But I'm here now! And starving, so off I head to one of my favorite travel past times: grocery shopping!

“Well, I’m sitting in the middle of LAX so I could easily blow up here, too…”

…is what I reminded my dad who was having London bomb anxiety. Why was my dad worried about London bombs? Because I’M FLYING TO LONDON!! And my dad is a worrier. Also the world really sucks lately.

I’m traveling, therefore I write about it. Its the only real writing discipline I have. 

So here I sit, two and a half hours til my flight. I’m so early I scored one of the cool personal couches Virgin Atlantic has at their gates. 

Leggings!

Nerd alert: I’ve been here for 45 minutes. It’s International Travel, they say three hours, I follow the rules, because I was raised by my mother. Also I’ve been looking forward to this trip for months.

Right, the trip! I’m visiting Stella. Besides being the best bestie in my whole world, she also has an awesome job that takes her awesome places sometimes (and Baltimore other times. JK, Baltimore, she loved you.) which is a great excuse to visit her! 

When London happened, she was all, “You’re coming!” and I was all, “Uh YEAH.” but really in my head I was like, “mmmmmlifemoneyTexasjobsapartmentpoor.” This went on for a while. Then, I read the latest in a years-long list of self help books (You Are a Badass by Jen Sincero, highly recommend) and there was a part about living ‘as if’. I’ve heard it before, I’ll hear it again, but in that moment, I thought, “I want to travel. If I really want to travel, I’m going to fucking travel and things will figure themselves out as far as mmmmlifemoneyTexasjobsapartmentpoor.” 

So here I sit, five months later, definitely on the backside of things figuring themselves out, not the least of which includes semi-moving to Texas, becoming my dad’s primary caregiver, moving back in with my mom, dealing with seemingly endless bank/moving /medical shit, getting an evil nurse’s aide fired, and having to admit to myself that my depression had hit a critical stage and it wasn’t something I could muscle through any longer. I’m not gonna lie, it’s been a shitty five months. 

BUT I’m happy now. Thanks so my family, my friends, my therapist, the staff at my dad’s facility and my dad’s antidepressants (I got my own prescription today! Yay!!) I’m finally here, out of The Shit. The broad strokes of my situation are the same; however, the natural progression of time has handled the situational shit and the gorgeousness of Lexapro has given me the head space to get some perspective. (I swear to God, I would do a national commercial for Lexapro for free if they’d let me.)

All of the above is just a long way of saying, I need this trip, I deserve this trip, and I intend to enjoy the hell out of it. 1 hour til take off! Yay!

Dinner! They give a chip :)

"Today was a good day..."

...said Ice Cube in 1993. 

Dawn this morning

Morning 2, Stella was shooting at a hotel less than a mile away so I decided to walk down there and beach until it was time to visit set. 

My walk went like this: walking, dress flies up, walking, dress flies up, walking, dress flies up, gather left & right sides of dress in my fists and awkward soldier walk the rest of the way. The wind whipped so hard, every beach I passed was empty of people and looked like a bad time. It was my first bummer in 2 days... then, out of nowhere, a lagoon emerged! Bummer erased!

Arepas w octopus & concha,
mamposteao, lunch day 2

It was a very small, not very populated beach, at the foot of the last hotel before the bridge to Old San Juan and, whereas every other square inch of the city was being pelted with gale force winds and flying sand, the water and the air here was placid and peaceful. The hotel pool soundtrack caught my attention- it was the theme song from Doctor Who! It was a sign I was in the right place. I dropped on the spot. Beach day saved!

(Turns out the Doctor Who theme - WHICH I LOVE - was in the process of being mashed with “Doctor Who” (otherwise known as "Rock 'n Roll Part 2" by Gary Glitter), which was pretty cool- for a time. When I realized it was just the beginning of a 12 minute dance mix of “Doctor” songs, it lost its charm.)

Lighting Stella's jellyfish, night 1

When I got to Stella’s set a couple hours later, I felt like I was home. A stressful, slightly uncomfortable home, but home nonetheless. I really, really miss working on set. (Dear Universe...) Its always fun to visit Stella at work because she literally has the whole crew wrapped around her little finger. She makes it a point to introduce me to everyone so they know I’m not a stalker, which is thoughtful, and they worship her, so I get treated VERY nicely. Plus since I’d spent the last two days hanging out with most everyone, it was an easy set to maneuver.

SIDEBAR: I’m a weirdo when I comes to set visits. To say set visits stress me out, whether I’m the visitor or the visited, is an understatement. Walking through set is like walking through an elaborate dance number where you don’t know who’s coming from where or what part of the dance troupe will spring into action next, and you don’t want to ruin the show or mess up anyone’s solo, but by virtue of your being in the middle of the routine, it’s likely you inadvertently will. Therefore, I'm hyper-sensitive as to when to visit and how long to say. THEREFORE, I’m extra-special appreciative when a set feels as welcoming as this one did. 

Gorgeous graffiti, Old San Juan, day 1

I heard Ice Cube before I saw him. I started to sweat a little. Nothing makes me self conscious like being around someone EVERYONE knows I love, but who doesn't know I’m alive. Stella gave me the look: There he is! 

Long story short (sort of short?), I met Cube! He’s was awesome! We chatted about my tattoos and Stella’s birthday and how he should see the cemetery, and it wasn’t awkward!!! (Except for the sweat and the odd impulse I got in anticipation to seeing him in his actual personhood, which was, to maybe cry. Happy, sad, excited, angry, I only know its a real moment when I'm on the verge of tears.) 

On the beach again after Stella's
bday dinner, night 2

I spent the rest of the afternoon on set and had another Cube moment that was totally spontaneous and unfacilitated by Stella which means now that we’re probably pretty good friends. Then this happened:

“I kinda want you to get a picture with Cube! Do you want to??”, asks Stella.

“….No...” says me.

Because she’s the perfect best friend, she only heard the ellipses.

My fav little street in
Old San Juan, day 1

And so ensued The Awkward: Stella asks him, I over-explain that I never do this, Cube is gracious, Stella can’t get her iPhone to do what she wants, Picture 1 is blurry but genuine, Picture 2 I’m sweating and the veins of embarrassment are starting to show in my neck, Picture 3 my smile is petrified frozen. Then Cube asks Stella to take a picture with him which is pretty badass, and she gets a gorgeous shot right away. And then I become a fool and try to mess with the flash and keep taking pictures and Cube is probably now OVER IT, but sweet about it.

After, Stella and I are both exhausted and relieved and giddy that we actually did it. AND curiously, envied by the crew for having the guts to ask because they all want pics with him, too! Everyone loves Cube! He’s just wonderful.

Stella, Me & Edwin in the loudest dance
club in Old San Juan, night 1

One of the best things about a location like Puerto Rico is shoot days are daylight dependent, so work ends when the sun starts going down. One of the worse things about a location like Puerto Rico is you are there to shoot exteriors which means weather can kill you. In this case, weather killed the crew’s one day off which was the whole reason I was scheming to stay. We’d planned on a fun night of crazy dancing and then venturing out of the city for a day trip of hiking and kayaking the Bioluminescent Bay the following day. Yeah, I could stay and do the whole thing by myself, but no- I couldn't. I wasn't in the mood. I wanted it the way we talked about. And so with that change in shooting schedule, I realized I had just let life tell me, its time to go home. 

Lunchtime view, day 2

Morning 3 found San Juan with the best weather since I’d arrived. I visited set again before I left for the airport and I almost stayed. But in the end, I’d already had the best trip I could have imagined, no surfing notwithstanding -I’m pathetic on a surfboard anyway- so I’d made my peace with going home. 

That is, until I got to the airport an hour early and realized I could have laughed with my best friend for that hour instead of eating a sad mini Dominoes pizza by myself because I forgot to get food before I left for the airport. So I texted Stella and whined about it. But I know we’ll be back.

If there is one thing I know about letting life lead me, its that I’ll always be lead to what I love: traveling, fun, dancing, movies, and friends like Stella (and Cube!).

Picture 1, blurry but perfect.
THANK YOU STELLA! THANK YOU CUBE!

"Remember the time we broke into a cemetery?"

Cementerio Santa Maria Magdalena de Pazzis

...I said to Stella as we broke into a cemetery.

As I write this I’m on hold with American Airlines. I’ve been on hold for over two hours. Why? Because I never want to leave Puerto Rico.

Since I landed in San Juan 27 hours ago, I’ve laughed more and harder than I can remember doing in the last year. It’s a magical combination of my best friend, a wonderful city, a crew of the sweetest, most fantastic people, and general awesomeness. I love my life!

Morning 1, Stella had to work for a few hours so I took off into town to find a bakery I’d read about called Kasalta. President Obama visited there in 2011 and had a sandwich called the Media Noche, which has since been nick-named “El Presidente”. When I travel, I stay as far from chains and tourist food as I can, so I was thrilled to find this bakery was actually a cafeteria where everything was in Spanish and the long line to order was 90% locals. On the advice from this nice lady in line, I ordered a ton of food. And I did it ALL IN SPANISH! I can still speak Spanish! Yay me! (“Showoff,” texted Stella from work.)

OUTSIDE the cemetery, before the break-in

(FYI, “El Presidente” is a large ham and cheese pressed sandwich covered in powdered sugar. Stella and I both preferred the ham and cheese mallorca, which is like a cuban sandwich but on a mallorca pastry bread which is perfect in every way. Another notable favorite: quesitos which is like a Spanish cannolli.)

Stella finished work and after walking around the beach for a while, we headed back to Old San Juan to explore. The original rally cry for this trip was “SURFING!!!! WE’RE GOING SURFING!!”. This was before we realized how insane the wind was. With the waves the way they are, surfing would end in my certain death. I’m on a loving life kick lately, so no surfing for us.

last shot before The Fall

Exploring Old San Juan went like this: “STELLA!” as we ran into other crew members exploring the plaza, wandering around with them, laughing, laughing, wandering, random curio shop, random bongo music for an audience of maybe twelve people in a vacant lot, meeting more crew at the cemetery-

SIDEBAR: I love cemeteries like other people love museums. I get excited about cemeteries like other people get excited about theme parks. Every city I visit, I’ve got to see a cemetery. I was dying to see this one, Cementario Santa Maria Magdalena de Pazzis, because its located on a cliff. It’s  surrounded on three sides by the ruins of an old fortress and by the Atlantic Ocean on its remaining side. As far as cemeteries go, I knew this one would be breathtaking!

-which was closed behind a locked gate but you could still take pictures from the tops of the fort walls, so pictures, pictures, pictures until…

(You know when you’re doing something cool and in the back of your mind a small voice whispers “be careful, be careful” but the front of your mind is so excited, you’re like, “WOOOOWWWW!!!” and then…)

Oops.

I could only laugh as I watched my iPhone fall 20 yards down into the cemetery and land with a loud PAP!

“Typical Bianca,” said Alex who’d known me for about 16 hours. 

intact iPhone celebration dance 

intact iPhone celebration dance

So we broke in to rescue it. Breaking in wasn’t as hard as it should have been, being surrounded by a fortress and all, but Stella and my new friends Alex & Utah scaled a wall that got us beyond the locked gates. I rescued my UNBROKEN, PERFECTLY INTACT phone (insert plug for Otter Box iPhone Cases here: World, buy an Otter Box. I MEAN IT, BUY AN OTTER BOX. ) and the world rejoiced. 

Okay, my friends rejoiced, same diff.

Stella jumping!

Alex & Utah jumping!

Where are the vampires...?

Since no one was kicking us out, we played in the cemetery awhile, took more pictures, saw where some zombies probably dug their way out of their graves, discovered some totally empty vampire caskets, I found a dead cat strategically placed over a tomb that I can’t erase from my mind, and that was about enough for Stella. We broke back out and played on and around the fortress until it started to rain. 

Needles attack Stella

Playing around the fortress like a lady

The rains in Puerto Rico so far have been light and occasional. Sometimes a few drops, sometimes a handful more, every once in a while (like the night before when we danced in the street) the rain is big enough to be a gorgeous shower. This rain was not like that. Sharp needles of water hurled at us from the sky. We ran for a cab. Nature knew it was time for us to get back to the hotel to get ready for Stella’s birthday dinner... (I prefer that theory to the one where the ouch-rain came from the angered the spirits of the open graves, empty caskets, and the dead cat.)

I’ve been on hold now for three hours, 31 minutes and six seconds… I think of my mom’s words to me yesterday: Let life show you where to go. Therefore, I’ll end this call with grace, fall into bed with gratitude, and enjoy my last day tomorrow. And when I get to the airport in 36 hours, if I can’t talk my way into taking a later flight with one of the agents, I’ll still fly home happy because, how can I not?

Dead pictures outside the cemetery

"BE OPEN! LET LIFE SHOW YOU WHERE TO GO..."

...and have a wonderful adventure, my little traveler,” said Mama as she hugged me good-bye at the airport yesterday.

Travel went like this: meaningful goodbye above, reading this awesome book my dad got for me (history! Love! BLOOD!), JFK, half a sleeping pill, blessed sleep, end of Wolverine, putting on make-up like a ninja in a dark tube hurtling 600/mph, landing, texting, cabbing, hotel! Hotel bar!

Alex Camera, Stella & I prepare for the Jellyfish

I met Stella & her crew by 10p ("YONKS!!!!!!") and the bulk of us piled into a huge van to Old San Juan. Old San Juan is so beautiful and historic looking, especially because of the cobble stone streets, which, WATCH OUT!, have the occasional deeeeep hole you can step in and potentially break your ankle but then you hop out of it with the grace of a ninja/dancer because you are a ninja/dancer. At least I am. 

Playing dead

Old San Juan went like this: jellyfish shots for the whole crew (a beautiful and painstakingly constructed shot glass of tons of rum, layered in red, blue, green with a dribble of Baileys on top that Yes! Made it look like a jellyfish! You drink the whole thing from the bottom of the shot glass with a straw- I thought to get the jellyfish moving effect, which really does happen, but it’s more so to keep for burning your face off because they light the thing on fire right before you drink it. ON FIRE. I loved it. It tasted like rubbing alcohol but IT WAS SO PRETTY!), trying to find a dance club, salsa dancing in the rain on the cobble stone streets in front of a salsa club (PERFECT LIFE MOMENT ALERT! PERFECT LIFE MOMENT ALERT!), wandering, wandering, playing dead, loudest dance club on earth, dancing with a local, cab back to Condado which lead to…

Heaven.

What is heaven?

Running into the warm night surf in the balmy Puerto Rico air. 

No skinny dipping, the whole group of us just went for it like silly kids, charging into the raging waves with our clothes on, splashing each other, kicking up water and sand and laughing til we couldn’t breathe. 

Trying to put into words what pure joy feels like is impossible. All I can say is, when I have these moments like storming the beach and dancing in the rain... and laughing until I'm sore... and reading my dad's book and hugging my mom and every other little thing that makes me happy, I know the meaning of life.  And that's pretty badass.

"Where to next- OH! Group picture!" says Stella

"I'm drinking coffee while I'm there! Vacation B!"

...is what I assured Stella as she waited for her flight to leave for Puerto Rico and I sat in my car outside the HEB in 30 degree weather.

In another dimension I’d be on a plane over… let’s say Cuba at this point, on my way to San Juan, Puerto Rico to spend the weekend in the presence of two legends- more on them in a bit. In this dimension, I’m sitting under two coats of self tanner at my mom's house not knowing if the poo I smell is my tanning skin or Max, our new kitten.

And I’m writing about it. Why? Because when I leave the country, I write about it despite my firm belief that people, on a good day, only give about 1/16 of the fuck you want them to give when you post something. But I’m a writer - and if I didn’t write it down, by next month I’d forget I even ever went to Puerto Rico - so I write. 

Today I get to write about NOT leaving the country- 

(Quickly: I keep forgetting PR isn’t really leaving the country since its US territory, blah, blah, etc, I KNOW, OK? It’s a long enough plane ride to count, plus Spanish is one of their official languages and any place I get to speak Spanish = foreign.)

-because my flights were cancelled. I was surprised, however I shouldn’t have been. For the last two days all I heard about from the news and my dad was FREEZING RAIN, WINTER STORM, TAKE COVER EVERYONE!

Now, I have zero patience for news/weather drama breathlessness so I ignore as much as I can, plus I am biologically programmed to dismiss every worry out of my dad’s mouth, THEREFORE this morning found me smug in the mistaken belief that the winter storm BS was blown way out of proportion. It wasn’t. KVUE and my dad were right, I was wrong, and am now rescheduled to fly tomorrow morning. From Austin to JFK. AND THEN from JFK to Puerto Rico. (The reasonless demon deep in my brain needles me with a hot stick pin and reminds me that if I had moved to NYC like I’d semi-planned to for the last year that my trip would be cut in half. Shut up.)

And so I sit in my double tanner coat, full of an incredible pizza I totally wouldn’t have HOMEmade if I’d flown because, duh, I’d be in the air now, and think of the two reasons I have for scheduling this trip, last minute, using miles, in the first place: 

Sheila Waldron and O’Shea Jackson. 

You might have heard of them by their stage names: Stella & Ice Cube.

The Stella of it all: It my best friend’s birthday! (Shhh, don’t tell her I told you, she hates that.) We’ve missed lots of each other’s birthdays over the years, but this one happens to have very special circumstances- She will be working in Puerto Rico! I’ve never been! We’re going surfing! And dancing! And I’m eating mofongo and tostones and serenate de bacalao and drinking pina coladas and coquitos and coffee! (FYI, you know how to tell if I’m in vacation-mode? I drink coffee for fun.)

The Cube of it all: He’s Doughboy. He’s at the top of my list of favorites based on little more than his voice and his vibe. I haven’t seen all of his movies or collected all of his albums, I don’t even know personal details or gossip, but I did watch Boyz in the Hood many more times than I watched Young Guns II (which was seriously A LOT) in high school. Anyway, he’s in the movie Stella’s working on, and I don’t need to meet him, but man it’d sure be cool if I did. I basically plan to hide behind a light and watch him work from afar and possibly try to grab a tea from crafty if I see him headed that way. I don’t put actors on a pedestal often (except for Michelle Rodriguez. I love her too, in the same Ice Cube way, but I don’t want to meet her because I’m afraid I might actually kiss her because I like her so much and then I’m pretty sure she’d hit me which would be equal parts cool/embarrassing. Okay, 60/40.), so stay tuned for my adventures in awkward. Like, if I get the opportunity to meet Cube, I’ll probably hide in the bathroom- this is something I would do. 

The tanning lotion has stopped making me nauseous which means its time for another coat. In the meantime…