So imagine I posted a cute little picture of Pinocchio here since my blog isn't cooperating with my photo posts of late. Or a picture of a Danielle Steele novel. They would be telling you the same thing. While my job feels like a 14 hour day choke collar, when I'm on leave I'm a free bird. So I booked a flight tonight to Barcelona in August. I will meet up with a wealthy Manhattan investment banker/jazz musician there who I met in OCS (he's a reservist). We will probably wear white linen clothes and ride horses barebacked on the beach. We will drink red wine.
The only thing that makes it less romantic is that I'm not in love with this man, but that makes the expectations very manageable. And since this is me, he's not exactly standard issue. He's a half Black, half Jewish son of a classical musician and a jazz musician. Grew up poor. Put himself through NYU. Works on Wall Street and is trying to deploy to Afghanistan. Used to be a Seventh Day Adventist.
My week in Spain won't like read like Danielle Steele, but I should return with awkward, disjointed, Pinocchio-type accounts of Barcelona.
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