She can take the subway back to the ghetto tonight.

Yesterday was my church's picnic.
My group (which consists of most of the younger teens) wanted to go find a shady place to sit (out of earshot of the adults) so we found a pine tree WAY across the field to sit under. We played the chore game, argued a bit about whether or not being gay was a choice (the fact that I had a gay person on my side of the argument helped considerably) planned a trip to California in a yellow 1965 ford mustang convertible (I'm providing the car, Deborah's in charge of the Oreos and gas money), and talked about religion a little.
And then one of the girls looked at me and said "Molly, I've been looking at your pictures on facebook, and it seems like you have a perfect life."
I laughed. "Why?"
"Because you hang out with a bunch of very cool looking people at Weaver street weekly, and that's, like, my favorite place in the world."
"Yeah, we're there every Friday. It's fun. And they are really cool. Amazing, even."
"You're really lucky."
A year ago I would've rolled my eyes and said something along the lines of "you don't know my life" in my head.
Six months ago I would've laughed and told her I just don't take pictures when I'm unhappy.
Three months ago I would've shrugged and not said anything at all.
But it's not then, it's now.
"Yeah, pretty much the luckiest person in the world."

I don't know why I felt like sharing that. But I did.

Well I've got some beer and the highway's free,
and I've got you and baby you've got me.
Hey hey hey, what do you say, Sherry darlin'?
Hey hey hey, what do you say, Sherry darlin'?
Woah-oh-oh
Hey hey hey, what do you say, Sherry darlin'?

Listening: Peaceful Easy Feeling, the Eagles, With or Without You, U2.