My roommates and I hosted a housewarming party this past weekend, preempted by a dinner party for the friends of ours who helped us move in. This means that once again my secret powers of sangria making were called upon.
This time I made both a red and white (well, blush, really.)
cheap box wine (I don't really know of another brand besides Franzia, do you?)
cheap box wine
Of course the beauty of sangria is that you can truly make it your own and continuously experiment with fruit variations but I gotta tell you ... the red was down right phenomenal. Though I should have remembered that we had added rum to it before consuming so much (oops.)
I'm aware that I still haven't posted my trip from a month ago yet but ... yeah, I have no excuse beyond the fact that I love having a full social calendar. And for the next two weeks while my friend Mike is visiting from China I will absolutely spend as much time with him as possible.
I suppose all I can do today is leave you with a poem (which still needs an edit or two):
It was someday in the middle of some month and I was walking home from work on the Mass Ave bridge.
The sky was the color of watered-down orange drink. Fat, purple clouds loitered over the Charles. The lampposts hunched over, asking me to stop and play hangman with them.
I realized I hadn't thought of you all day which was interesting because that past weekend was the first time I'd seen you in 5 months since you'd punched me in the face and tried to steal my best friends.
I felt as gray and bored as the concrete beneath my sneakers. The only variable which way the wind would blow my hair.
I needed change like a Diabetic needs insulin. Life just wasn't sweet enough anymore.
Still my feet carried me over Boston's aorta. And I tucked my hair behind my ear. And I pretended to be upset because you looked and smelled and felt exactly the same which was cold.