Vacation is the greatest thing. Ever.

Travel Essentials.

Booties
Hat (with feather because YES)
Daddy's by Lindsay Hunter. Mine is signed, "Happy Birthday, ya old ass bitch!" LOVE.
Sunnies

Today, I met the first gal of the summer who looked pastier than me. Her name was Sugar, and she seemed like kind of a bitch. We may well have been the same skin tone; perhaps she a bit more yellow, and I a mite more pinkish. Sugar, for the record, is an albino alligator. And I, for the record, am on the first real vacation I’ve taken in almost two years, in the loving arms of the Zydeco-soundtracked, swamp-creature-eating, opulent  mecca that is New Orleans.  And I’ve finally gotten a little color.

I could not love this place more. I just could not. 

It’s been a busy summer, and I’ve spent most of my time indoors during daylight hours. I love the sun—LOVE IT—and not being able to get out and play (even though I love my job and I work with the greatest people ever) has been a pain in the ass.  I didn’t realize how badly I needed a vacation (a break, and a new adventure) until we arrived here in New Orleans, my fiancé and I.

Even though I’ve been daydreaming about putting my feet up on the balcony railings of our second story townhouse rental (SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS, IT’S PINK ON THE OUTSIDE AND EVERYTHING INSIDE IS GILDED AND ANTIQUE. THEY’RE GONNA HAVE TO PRY ME OUT OF HERE WITH THE JAWS OF LIFE. AND THOSE JAWS WILL BE WEARING A SWEET ASS GRILL THAT HAS NOLA BURNISHED INTO ITS SURFACE. WITH DIAMONDS.), cold glass (let’s be real—bottle!) of Sauvingon Blanc in my hand and a seven month backlog of Vogue that I’ve not had a chance to get to at my disposal, I just didn’t realize how dire the need was.  

When the door to the apartment looks like this... You know there's something good inside.

Heaven, though. Just... heaven. And everything is metallic gold. Eeverywhere. 

Now that I sit here, nested in the height of an ancient ivy-clad oak, I wonder when the last time was that I really relaxed. Like, really relaxed. I can’t remember.  

Aaahhhhh.... Finally chilling the hell out. This green juice is my attempt at detoxing. Because alcohol. A lot of it.

Now, here I am. I feel feather-light, and tension is removing itself from my body in places I didn’t even realize it could dwell. It’s fucking amazing, for serious. I’m realizing I’ve barely taken any time for myself for far too long a stretch. I’ve gotten up each day, walked the pooches, tried to make myself look presentable (even though I have overslept through 5 alarms and am in a tremendous hurry, so there’s probably mascara on my cheeks and Chihuahua hair on my pants, sorry boss lady), rushed off to work, and come home exhausted to collapse in a pile of Thai take-out and online window shopping. And also Vampire TV shows that are marketed at an age group much younger than M. and I (shut up, you like them too).

This is me getting sunburned in my lazy people romper & old-ass bandana, and hanging out with the cutest damn alligator I've ever met. Not that I've met many gators, but I loves him. I wanted to take him home. But, the whole bit about eating my Chihuahuas is not really a selling point.

Side note, M. learned how to ^instagram^ things today! Yay.

Full disclosure: I’m not wearing a bra. I’m on vacation. I don’t fucking have to. My hair is in the greatest nest of a topknot and bundled with a black bandana I’ve worn Aunt-Jemima-style for fifteen years (I say "Aunt-Jemima-style," because I really wanted her to dress me when I was a little one. So, she wins.). I’m relishing the giant black Karen Walker Sunnies that are devouring most of my face (and let’s be honest with ourselves, I have a big fucking face, so these are some impressively large shades), I am wearing the romper equivalent of sweatpants, and I’m listening to the cackling of the neighborhood hens on the sidewalk. Talking about dudes, talking about love, talking about pork rinds and where to buy weed. Oh, Chickens. And I haven’t felt this happy in nine million years. I’m thrilled to recharge, to reconnect with the awesomeness that is me when cared for, and to bring it all back home to rock out my daily responsibilities with a brighter light and a rested, sharpened mind. Also, a “tan,” which really just means a sunburn that I really enjoyed getting. I have a widow's peak tan line, which is just impressive. Sorry I’m killing you, skin cells. We’ll discuss our melanoma situation when we get to it. Just kidding. Sort of.

So this is me, imploring you all to GET THE FUCK OUT AND TAKE A GODDAMN VACATION. Do something wonderful for yourself. Go SOMEWHERE. Turn off your damn phone. Drink a Bloody Mary the size of a bowling ball (which I did, last night, from which point awesomeness ensued and I went nuts on Bourbon Street like the semi-tourist I am), pick your poison, I don’t care. Then turn your phone back on again, and try to insta-capture the drunk ass you’ve made of yourself. Good job.

Said Bloody Mary... Bigger than my face.

You’re all amazing, chickadees. Seriously, monstrously fucking rad. But you’ve got to take a little time to do you, whenever you can, or you start to disappear into the monotony of making ends meet on the daily. And, so do I. Otherwise, that remarkable, soul-stirring YOU-ness starts to fade into the walls. And we can’t have that. No, we cannot.

BOOK A FUCKING FLIGHT. Do it right now.

When I'm loving life, seems to love me back <3

Love from NOLA!

-Ash