moving

It comes and goes in waves. There are moments where I get giddy and am almost frantically excited. Then there are moments when it hits that I'm about to leave the life I've built here, for one that is so overwhelmingly different than everything that I've known so far. I'm unbelievably thrilled, and unbelievably terrified.

Which is an awkward and roundabout way of saying that I'm moving to NYC in the next 3-4 weeks. I got lucky, and a recruiter wound up with my resume in hand. What started as a conversation a few weeks ago, and resulted in me frantically pulling together a portfolio, ended up with a job offer last week. So I quit, which was easier than I thought it would be. And now I'll move, which I'm sure will be harder than I can even anticipate.

the weekend

I spent the weekend in NYC and NJ. To those who say that NJ is our nation’s armpit I say this: perhaps, if that armpit happens to belong to Brad Pitt who doesn’t sweat or have bodily functions. Newark and Jersey City don’t count friends. They’re both the part of the state we all wish would float off into the sunset. Except then we would not have fishes in the sea because I’m fairly sure Newark would kill them all. So, we keep Newark, as a favor to our great nation. So there.

On my way back, Mary Kate Olsen’s name was called over the loudspeaker to a gate that was IN MY TERMINAL. I have no justification for the thought process that followed other than the fact that I was raised on Full House:

Thought 1: I wonder if she’s still rockin’ that boho-chic look
Thought 2: We’d totally be friends
Thought 3: Maybe I should go investigate
Thought 4: I kind of want to buy her a cheese burger. With bacon.
Thought 5: A burger? I’m such an ass.
Thought 6: You are going to stay put missy. If she wants to travel through Laguardia (seriously the worst airport ever) and dress like a bag lady, that’s her business not yours.

I did not go investigate, or introduce myself to my new best friend or attempt to introduce her to the glories of red meat and calories. Instead I got back to the more important business at hand – catching up on my Harry Potter. And you can feel free to judge me as being a monumental dork based on that last statement. But so far? Loooove it.

vacation

Each day generally consisted of eat, slather on the SPF like it's going out of style, sleep, eat, frolic, sleep, eat, repeat in reverse.

It was heavenly in ways that you can't really put words too. It was also slightly ridiculous. One night the cousins, siblings, and tag-alongs decided to go mini-golfing. We've all got the weensiest bit of a competitive streak. Meaning that we all spent the entire evening swearing up a storm at each other and doing victory dances down the putting green. We were also the only ones dancing to Justin Timberlake as it came over the loud speakers, complete with golf-club microphones.

Other golfers loved us.

let this be a lesson

S & R both looking horrified...

S: "I heard once that when you get a boob job you can loose sensation in your chest... so its not like you get new boobs for how they feel, just how they look."
R: "So they're just toys for boys? Oh hell no"

S, sounding confused: "Vaginal laser rejuvenation??"
R, answering the unasked question: "What, your vagina goes crazy and needs to be rejuvenated? Can't you just get rejuvenated with a cup of coffee or something??"

I would not recommend watching Dr. 90210. Ever.

tgfff (thank god for flip flops)

I spent this last week working NeoCon. An event that generally consists of furniture girls gone wild, and designers who spend an inordinate amount of time staring longingly at the flowing locks of this guy:

Unfortunately during events like this one, the sum total of my entire vocabulary usually winds up degenerating into only 2 words. Flip Flops.

Conversations basically went like this all week long:

Coworker: "Sarah, what do you feel like doing??"
Sarah: *long stare* "Flip flops"
Coworker: "Dinner first?"
Sarah: "No, jeans. And flip flops."
Coworker: "Dancing later?"
Sarah: "Does that involve standing? No, sitting. And flip flops."
Coworker: (while out dancing) "How did you get into the club?"
Sarah: *confused stare*
Coworker: "They're not letting people in with sandals."
Sarah: "I winked at the doorman. Not a chance in hell I'm wearing anything that resembles a stiletto."
Coworker: "But seriously, flip flops?"
Sarah: "Mmmmmmhmmmmm"