Happy Birthday, Harry

Today is Harry Potter’s 39th birthday and to celebrate I’m gonna make 13 t-shirts, 11 bathing suits, ten pairs of shorts, eight pairs of underwear, seven pairs of shoes, six pairs of socks, three pairs of pants, two hoodies, two polos and one button-down disappear.

Ready?

Wingardium mimosa!

And now, off to P-Town!

P.S. This isn’t the first time I’ve done magic on this blog.

Some Gangbanging Shit

For dinner tonight I grabbed a sushi burrito from Burdeo (I always get the Sofie) and a chicken salad sandwich from Potbelly and had a picnic on the bed in my hotel room. While I ate I read from Angie Thomas' The Hate U Give which I haven't been able to put down in two days. It's heavy and hard to swallow in a lot of parts, but not the part below, which made me laugh.

Daddy claims the Hogwarts houses are really gangs. They have their own colors, their own hideouts, and they are always riding for each other, like gangs. Harry, Ron, and Hermoine never snitch on one another, like just gangbangers. Death Eaters even have matching tattoos. And look at Voldemort. They're scared to say his name. Really, that "He Who Must Not Be Named" stuff is like giving him a street name. That's some gangbanging shit right there.

One Could Do Worse Than Have Friends Who Tell Kind Lies

A near and dear friend since the late 80s when we first crossed paths in Ms. Smith's kindergarten class at Pennsylvania Elementary, Nina was doing her best to make me feel better after Friday's left cheek massacre and in doing so told me a fib that I consider to be more precious than rubies.

Día Dos in BCN

It's 3:56am in Barcelona and everybody's winding down for the night so I'm gonna toss some seemingly random pictures from this day below, go to sleep and then write about them all when I wake up tomorrow afternoon.

Update: It is mañana in Spain.

Yesterday we slept in until almost noon and then went and had breakfast at a tiny, off-the-beaten-path restaurant called Granja M. Viader that's been around for like a hundred years. We ordered café con leches, hot meat and cheese sandwiches, a cheese plate and bread with tomato sauce on it.

We did not photograph breakfast.

After brunch we headed to Park Güell to get familiar with the sublime architecture of Antoni Gaudí before we take on the Sagrada Família this afternoon. The park was originally planned as a private housing community but construction was halted in 1914 because of a reason I can't remember. The park was basically like walking into the brain of Dr. Seuss.

After we'd had our fill of Park Güell we hiked up to the top of Gaudi's Three Crosses to watch the sunset. The light at sunset in Barcelona is em effing speculator (like, Provincetown good) so we posed for one million pictures.

The six of us grabbed a meal at a Mexican restaurant on our way down from Gaudi's crosses and then popped into a jazz club for beers.

From there we took a very long walk to a tourist-centric bar at the waterfront called Espit Chupitos that features a massive, black-lit menu containing something like six hundred different alcoholic shot options.

I took my sweet time choosing.

Then, at the recommendation of Danielle via FaceTime, I decided on a Harry Potter-themed shot called Espit Potter which was served on fire.

Bryan, Jessica and Lauren all headed home after the shots while Hilary, Mary and I hunted down a trendy new establishment called Pastrami Bar.

It's basically a pastrami sandwich counter that has a false fridge in the wall that opens to a secret speakeasy that serves up incredible cocktails.

I ordered a drink called The Great Gatsby that came with cheese in it. The waitress brought it out covered in a terrarium that was filled with smoke.

Hilary's drink came served in an actual seashell delivered in a leather treasure chest accompanied by a cup of flaming rosemary needles.

I forgot what Mary ordered cuz, comparatively, the production value blew.

Adiós.

Oh How Lucky I Feel

In the Harry Potter universe there exists a magical potion called Felix Felicis that makes whoever drinks it exceptionally lucky for a short period of time and, well, that's pretty much how I felt all day long yesterday, totally shit-faced on liquid luck. I slept in until ten o'clock, was on the receiving end of more sweet and sincere phone calls and text messages than I could've possibly deserved and then, to top it all off, nine of my best queens and I got to watch Lady Gaga absolutely slay the faces off of almost 40,000 people from totally ridiculous fourth-row seats at AT&T Park.

Oh how lucky I feel.