I’m sorry. I can’t. Don’t Hate Me.
if you read the title of this post and immediately recognized it as the
Post It Note break up on Sex and The City, I love you.
I’m way off my blogging-A-game this week.
I have all of my chicken scratch notes ready to transform into coffee talk,
I’m sorry and I can’t and don’t hate me.
a friend was in town last minute for work (so I HAD to go out last night for DRINKS. HAD TO.) and now I am feeling like a 45 year old that thought she could have a couple of glasses and not feel the affects the next day while I try to pack for a trip home to see my family, nephew, and meet my best friends new one month old addition (EEEEE!!!!!!) straight from work tomorrow night.
basically. I chose sweatpants and passing out tonight and wine with girlfriends last night.
to be honest, I’m shocked I chose my girlfriendsover my sweatpants last night.
the great news is there is a winter storm in the south right when I was really in dire need of some warmth and outdoor time.
the even sadder, more amazing news is that their bitter cold will still feel like springtime to me.
follow along on instagram for likely pictures of me munching babies this weekend
and me wondering when I stopped being afraid of babies and instead wanted to eat them up.
or pictures displaying my love of mcdonald’s airport food.
i’ll be counting the seconds until work ends, won’t even be annoyed by the nasty people jammed on the train en route to the airport, and don’t even mind a flight that lands at midnight………
as long as I can get my hands on some McD’s before hopping on the plane. preach.