I Got High And Flew To Italy

When I got an email from my friend Anikka inviting me to Italy for her thirty-ninth birthday, I thought maybe it was spam or a Nigerian Prince at first. But after re-reading the evite several times, I determined it was real. “Tuscany. Wine. Castle. Italy.” She used all the right buzzwords; my ticket practically bought itself.

Airport selfie in my new jumpsuit.

I always try to leave Los Angeles in August to escape the suffocating heat. I’m not meant for hot weather; I also hate the sun. I wish it would explode already and put us all out of our misery. I decided that if I was gonna be miserable from the heat anyway, I’d rather be miserable in Italy.

I’ve always been drawn to Italy; I love the pasta, the architecture, the Super Mario Brothers, and don’t get me started on the women. I want one. But I doubt I could make it through customs with one or two stashed in my suitcase.

Map of Italy. I don’t see the boot. It looks more like an elephant nose to me.

I bought a few new outfits leading up to my trip because I needed to look incredible in my vacation photos. I can already hear the chime of a new email from my accountant, Jeffrey, asking why I spent money from my business account at Crossroads. I hate how he doesn’t let me write everything off, especially when I’m purchasing something…