The Daily Lys

My resolution for 2014 was to write a page a day.
I've already failed, but the story goes on.
Lazy Tuesdays with Fluff.

Lazy Tuesdays with Fluff.

Who knows how long he might have stayed in that city, cozy, dousing his guilt with wine, cauterizing it with tobacco, had the city remained static. But keep characters in propinquity long enough and a story will always develop a plot.

—Keith Miller, The Book of Flying

Sunday breakfast: Farm fresh egg, maple goat cheese, apple cider cured bacon, and sliced tomato on toasted Virgilio’s bread.

Sunday lunch: Prosciutto, pesto, and fresh mozzarella on Virgilio’s bread (and homemade painkillers).

Apparently when we say, “Fuck the diet!”, we fucking fuck that fucking diet.

Artwork courtesy of Lanes Cove.
Fireworks courtesy of my ridiculous husband.

The only things more overwhelming than an epic Wednesday night surprise birthday party?:

  1. Two 30” lobster rolls (hand shucked, obvi).
  2. Two birthday cakes AND two happy birthday songs.
  3. Having ALMOST all of my best friends in one room, including my college friends who drove an hour and a half in the rain on a week night.

I am the fucking luckiest, and Al and Jess are the fucking best. 

Birthday beauties from the husband who knows that it’s more important to send flowers than say “Happy Birthday!” on facebook.

Birthday beauties from the husband who knows that it’s more important to send flowers than say “Happy Birthday!” on facebook.

Saturday afternoon: The Fernandeses and Gigliottis get shitfaced on sangria and still manage to conquer the Saco.

Oh, hello there.

Fear not—contrary to popular belief, I am still alive. Major life developments since last we met include: 

  • Binge-watching all of Mad Men (well, we have 1 episode left until we’re completely caught up, but still). 
  • James “bought me” a sweet whip “for my birthday” (aka we got a new car the week before my birthday). It’s rocketship-esque with a backup camera, remote starter, satellite radio, etc. We’re both in love. 
  • We survived Fiesta and the ultimate Buotte reunion. I drank too much gin, my grandfather almost didn’t make it through Friday night and Carolyn legit had to check that he was still breathing in the morning, and I accidentally got caught red-handed calling my 14-year-old cousin a bitch behind her back. I’d call it a success.
  • I’ve been reading like a crazy person—I’m at 37 books out of 60 for the year (so I’m like, 6 ahead of schedule). You’re welcome, James. 
  • We’ve had many a beach day on the Rhumb Drink, and summer 2014 is a magical place to be. 

I solemnly swear that while I’m up to no good, I’ll also check in once in a while. We all know that January 2014 Alyssa is shaking her fist wildly at July 2014 Alyssa—but that’s okay. What’s meant to be will be.