I have a post all written about what's been happening this summer, but the thought of uploading a million pictures to Typepad seems really tiring when the alternative is watching season two of "Call the Midwife."
If I had to summarize, my activities this summer have primarily focused on planning my Weight Watcher's menu around gin and tonics, freebasing Pinkberry and then falling down a shame spiral, sucking in my gut at the beach, flying into a rage over hand-carved ice cubes on Instagram, bathing in what has become Verne's toilet, trying Crest White Strips and being unable to breathe through my mouth for three days straight, trying them again just to make sure, buying cookbooks but ordering in, "gardening," driving a rented Camaro through downeast Maine while listening to Aerosmith, hiding from work on the High Line, revisiting my underage drinking haunts, watching Fauxhawk get skinny so we can "win Good Child points for being an attractive thin couple" but then letting down my end of the bargain, mixing it up with crazy people at CVS, taking candids of the back of Serena Williams's head, discovering secret gardens, standing slackjawed and mute while randomly shaking Chevy Chase's hand, stalking Clive Owen for three blocks in Chelsea, ditto Peter Dinklage, Susan Sarandon and that former Estee Lauder model what's-her-face, and buying obscenely expensive lip gloss that I don't have the balls to wear.
That's the City Mouse edition, friends. It's all glamour over here in Brooklyn Heights.
