stay classy, carols




I think I legitimately squealed when I got my Carol Convention reveal package in the mail. AJL had us all fooled — every single one of us thought we were going to South Carolina. So when I pulled the California postcard and California shaped sugar cookies out of a hot pink Baggu bag, I was completely shocked.


We spent the weekend in the cutest house in La Jolla, a half a block from a beach where perfect people played with their perfect toddlers and wore thongs that showed off their perfect butts.

Five years ago, in Dallas, we decided to call ourselves Carol to solve a problem:  creepy guys talking to us in bars. This year we stood outside of a coffee shop in Coronado pulling grey hairs out of each other’s heads.

I guess we solved our little problem.




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