From Atlanta to Dallas

On our last night in Atlanta, we went to Cafe Sunflower because I have a serious thing for fancy vegan food and because the menu promised vegan spinach artichoke dip. We sat down, I clapped like Eddie Murphy in a fat suit, and then the waitress told us there would be no spinach artichoke dip because the spinach delivery didn’t arrive. I don’t want to tell you that I told her to just make it without spinach. I don’t want to tell you about the face she made. I don’t want to tell you about the face I made back. So I’ll tell you what we ordered instead: Pita Pizza with walnut pesto, grilled fennel, capers, and dates, Fried Artichoke Hearts (not pictured), Peppercorn Crusted Tempeh, and Chocolate Peanut-butter Mousse Cake. I know.

On the flight from Atlanta to Dallas, I organized and sorted nearly every file on my laptop. There are few things that pacify and delight me like dividing groups of anything into thoughtful categories or mathing out my finances. I don’t have pictures of either of those activities. I do have pictures of my new hotel room which, somehow, was also upgraded to a suite. I have a whole entryway and electronic “do not disturb” system. I have a vanity where I can stare at my pores for hours in a magnifying mirror.