The Hair In My Yolk

I watched men surf today and lost track of time. Because whose the only John better than Wick? Johnny Utah, my friends.

After the surfing, I discovered that in California, it’s easier to break your toe walking than it is to find one egg yolk in a breakfast plate.

I had to go on quite a trek to find an egg breakfast that wasn’t only egg whites. Who hates flavour as much as someone whose just about to remove their shirt for a meeting, I ask you? Not one person, and all of them, they are on the Venice Boardwalk.

Like My Lifeguard, I want to take a moment to give thanks for…the male form, as it is displayed in California.

I don’t know what these men are eating (not egg yolks!), but God did not short-change them on pecs, abs, and those handlebars at their hips. BismilLah w mashAllah, Venice. The only thing you are missing is chest hair. Please, love of all things, please let it grow. Because: hair; it’s really good form.

Today, I am grateful for:
1. The gentleman singing Tom Petty. Thank you! You made dinner more of a treat than it already was.
2. Mitch, of STEM research in Long Beach, with mixed milk chocolate skin, and aqua eyes. Thank you for stopping me on the Boardwalk. Thank you for recognizing me from the earlier cafe, and for naming it. Thank you for telling me you dug my vibe and smile. I’m sorry I lied and said I was on my way elsewhere when I was not. A girl can only engage a stranger so much in this world. I’m not even on Tinder so I engage even less than I should. You made an already fantastic day even better,  Mitch.
3. The (impromptu?) dog park at 25th and Ocean Front Walk, where one crazed owner kept yelling at his puppy to COME AWN GIT IT. I don’t know what the IT was, and neither did his puppy. Good times were had by all, but the owner.

California | Day 245 | August 2, 2019

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