Weekends in Paris are for lots of things, like brunches at Merci, walks along the Seine to shop the bouquanists, and catching those rare rays of sun on friend’s balconies. But above all the weekends for me have become about catching up with my friends. The people who get me out of bed after a bender on mint shrecks at Le Kitsch the night before with the promise of pastries, champagne brunches, and photo opps. More importantly the people who the more time I know them from near and far, are always there to take my hand, take me out, take me as I am; they’re my weekend warriors. Their duties begin before five o’clock Fridays though, as I’ve seen the last month when I’ve needed them seven days a week and at odd hours of the night when life didn’t go quite as planned. How beautiful they are inside and out, fighting the good fight to keep my head and hopes up. Here’s to them and our weekend together.