It’s F1Grand Prix weekend here in Montreal, but with the worst possible weather. I love rain, I love the romance of it. I love sitting on my balcony when it rain, cup of tea in hand. My love affair with rain goes way back, yet, this is NOT the weather I want for pretending to be a baller. This is not weather for imaginary joy riding in a Porsche. Or imaginary bottle poppin at the club. Or hobnobbing with hot european men at swanky bars. I can’t even go anywhere respectable like this because my hair has been rained on all day.
To make things more enjoyable, Montreal had this NYC thing going on last night. Apparently everyone saw the rain and went “urgh ill take a cab”. So I stood in the rain, waiting for a bus, further reinforcing the fact that I am not a baller, but a mere peasant.