My week was incredible.

I stopped by Lena Dunham's book tour in Pasadena and had the best time. This is a woman whose views I admire and thoughts I cherish and I could NOT FUCKING BELIEVE I was looking at her in real life, hearing her real life voice, reading along to her real book. BONUS: We were sitting directly behind the VIP section and Jimmy Kimmel wound up on stage, playing the part of Lena's vagina in an improv Q&A. I would explain this further but I don't feel I would do it justice.

A few days later, Brad and I had what we have already counted as our best weekend ever. We went up to Carpinteria to meet with his three favorite guys from high school / college (and their significant others) to get his old band back together. We ate burgers, laid on the beach, ran in the water, ate tacos around a campfire, played guitar, drank wine, laughed for hours and hours and hours and wound up back on the beach in the pitch darkness, acting like teenagers and having the best fucking time in forever.

We packed up the next day, tired but happy, and stopped in Ventura on our way home to casually drive through our dream neighborhood. It was so bright and clear, a rare moment for beach communities out here. We found a side street that wound up a mountain to a small clearing with grass, flowers, and a huge cross, where we could see nearly 180 degree ocean views and all of downtown.

I begged for pizza when we got home, and ladies: date a man who will never argue with pizza. I went to sleep immediately after, and when he came to bed at 1 AM, he suggested we go to Disneyland the following day since we both didn't have work.

So we did.