Greetings from somewhere in New Jersey! I'm on my way to a conference in Philadelphia to reunite with some of my favorite colleagues from around the country. A fun fact about me is that I love traveling by Amtrak and sometimes think about just purchasing a ticket as an exciting way to spend a Saturday. It reminds me of fun times in high school, drinking gin and tonics out of Nalgene with my roommate, as we traveled from Wallingford to Philly and back.
I am in desperate need of a detox to reset my taste buds and sloth-like body. I've been craving carbs, sugar, and MSG like nobody's business. It's no wonder after the past week. I started my day off with a dirty chai latte. Not paleo at all, but a better choice than yesterday's pizza, peanut butter cup, Chinese food fest.
Long weekends are dangerous as I tend to see them as an invitation to behave badly. This, coupled with Valentine's Day and volleyball Wednesday, has really set me off my game. And I found myself wandering out of Windsor Court in the wee hours last week. As far as benchmarks of poor decisions and sadness, being lost in Windsor Court is almost up there with losing your pocketbook and pregnancy scares. For those of you who are not familiar with Windsor Court, it is an apartment building in Murray Hill, a neighborhood in Manhattan. Windsor Court and its neighbor the Rivergate, are home to recent college graduates as well as the confused residents who remember when they didn't share walls with drunken twenty-somethings returning home from theme parties. Nothing good happens there, but they are perfect places to take down targets born in the nineties. Not sure what I was doing there, and I'm pretty sure I do not want to know. I blame Harding's. It is way too close for comfort to my old apartment.
I think I clean up nicely.
I may have gone out a few too many times recently, but I have been putting on real clothes. And I fit into my jeans so not all is lost.
And by real clothes, I mean ripped jeans and cowboy boots.