A few weeks ago, Christie and I decided to pause our Friends on Netflix marathons, peel ourselves off our couches, and make our way to the MoMA. The MoMA is one of my favorite museums and until February 10, it is home to an exhibit of Henri Matisse’s cut-outs. It’s important to me that when you’re reading this post, you are saying the French “ahn-REE” and not the boring English “Henry” in your head. This gent deserves it.
No, I probably won’t get ever sick of what I think are incredibly amusing MoMA/Mama related jokes (please see my last post about the MoMA, here: “Yo’ MoMA is so fat”), and I probably won’t ever get sick of the MoMA itself. I lurveeee the MoMa and have already been there three times this year.
Yesterday, Emily and I decided to be really ambitious and go to the Museum of Modern Art with our NYE hangovers. While discussing the exciting events of the previous night, we wandered around looking at art for a few hours which made me feel like I was ringing in the new year the right way instead of in my snuggie on my couch groaning about my headache.
10 miles behind me 