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It’s basically September. Remember when I said I was sitting on a sh*t ton of content, well, guess whose releasing the bulls? Wait, is that even a thing? F*ck I need to read a book or something.

My birth was this past June and to celebrate, my BFF and I hit the road for the sweaty as dicks desert, Palm Springs. Couldn’t of picked a better hotel (HELLOOOO THE PARKER Palm Springs!) nor a better partner. The moment we got our keys to the room, no other wise decisions were made. I mean, we did all the things: 

- Eat french fries + chix strips by the pool
- Swim right AFTER we eat
- Tanned, no sunscreen
- Sat in a sauna for way too long
- Indulged in all the liquors
- Wore no bras
- Ate all the meats and the carbs
- Took tequila shots from a crafty, dandy bartender man
- Eyed the receptionist on the way out of whom did not have the voice we were anticipating
- Almost stole a rug, kidding, sort of
- Gave many winks to the valet
- Roamed the grounds like we lived there
- Danced ballet in the private banquet hall, because it was unlocked, and it begged to be danced in

I mean, see for yourself. It was basically the best way to turn TWENTY-SEVEN.