You've already won me over, in spite of me.

I'd love to find the time to tell you what I've been up to since December.

I mean, really. I wish I could find the time to tell you about going to Lori's pre-Christmas and hanging out with one of the most incredible families God ever created. Or all the fantastic things Lori did for me to remind my that I do in fact have the best BFF in existence. I want to be able to brag about how she met me at the airport with a sign

and spoiled me with sweet tea and good food and a manicure/pedicure. And how she threw one hell of a Christmas gathering. One that would make Paula Deen, Martha Stewart and most importantly, Diane Herndon, proud.


I want to be able to tell you all about heading to Birmingham and seeing my precious baby brother

and how well my family gets along now that we're all growed up


It sure would be grand to tell you how I celebrated the end of '08 and beginning of '09 with three of the most important people currently in my life

and just how much fun it was


I'm dying to tell you that work is going well and keeps me constantly busy, hence the reason I don't blog anymore. "Work was fun, the economy is stupid, tourists make me laugh" probably isn't what you'd like filling this space. (More importantly, it's not what I would like filling this space.)
And it's just a shame I can't figure out how to use my position for fun and perks. Like, parties at venues that end up swaddling me in a snuggy and forcing me to drink hot cider while taking in the view from the rooftop bar.


It sure would be nice if I found time to mention the ridiculous things I've been up to when not working. Like The Office Trivia Game

or that I've taken up a hobby

(That's right. Paint by number. I sure am. Keeps me occupied AND quiet.)

But more than anything, I just wish I could find a way to take a moment to assure you that I am still absolutely and completely sharp as a tack and not in the slightest bit insane.

And I just wish you knew that as always, I strive to keep it sassy.

But above all things, stay classy.



Yup. It's just too bad I couldn't find the time to bring myself to share these things with y'all. Oh well. Forgive me?

Around the world, there isn't room for every special thing

Ladies and gentlemen.
Boys and girls.
Good people of the world. But especially inventors and those who come up with cool shit for the betterment of society.
Put down your pens and your sketchpads and step away from you computers and contraptions and cease to imagine entirely. This weekend, I discovered something that says to me everything important has already been thunk up.

What you see here is a "Waddling Penguin Pooper." It's a penguin. It waddles. And then it shits small turds of chocolate for your enjoyment. Brilliant.

I'm dancing in a room as if I was in the woods with you.

The long and the short of it is, I freakin' love this window. This quote. This picture. Everything.

Obla-di-obla-da life goes on brah! lala how the life goes on.

I mean, I don't even know how I could even entertain the notion of leaving a city in which parties like this take place.




Last night was the perfect cap to an absolutely chaotic and ridiculous week. And as a result, I have done little but sit on my butt and giggle today.

It's a goooood life. A gooood life. A gooood night, to be alive.

Sometimes, my job is really super extra rough on me. I mean, it's pretty much a requirement that in my free time I need to check out restaurants and neighborhoods and attend shows and go out to clubs and have fun. Sigh. I mean, I guess if I HAVE to.

Saturday night has since been labeled as "Concierges Gone Wild." Adrian, Megan and I took it upon ourselves to head out to a club, all for the good of our job and comfort of our guests.

We are so, so very selfless. True story.

Now. I am NOT a club girl. As a rule, I refuse to lower my standards to give business to places that won't allow me to wear flip flops. I am a football game at a sports bar with cheap beer kind of girl. But whatever. I had some $10 hot pink shoes that were itching to get out onto the New York streets. And it's fun to go shake what my mama gave me (is that how the saying goes?) every now and again. But shhhh. Don't tell anyone I had a good time - it'll ruin my rep.

When you're at a posh night club, you should definitely be sure to do the following things:

Take silly pictures.


Sprinkle in some America's Next Top Model practice.



Be as ridiculously good looking as humanly possible.

(Or at least sit next to people who are so that their beauty will reflect onto you a little bit.)

Woo people with your amazing eyebrow abilities.


Oh yeah! And DANCE!

(until you're reduced to a hot and sweaty mess.)

And finally, hop in a cab. And be happy.

And exhausted.

I'm not here for your entertainment.

I find it hilarious that I spend a couple hours a day looking like this:

Just so I can spend about 30 minutes looking like this:

To find, upon returning home, that I now look like this:

Only to start it all over the next day.

We women are very silly creatures.

You know I'm bad. I'm bad. Really really bad.

I realize that my blog is appearing remarkably unloved.

Blame the vacation! I'll talk to you when I'm back in New York. (And 26, too. YIKES.)

Don't worry. I'm having plenty of fun. Promise.

Is he gay? Or European?

Quite possibly the loveliest breakfast that ever did exist. Happy Wednesday, y'all!

I've known about you for awhile now.

I love the women we're becoming. And I love the fact that we're worlds away from who we once were and completely different from who we thought we would be. I love that we can talk about religion, politics, celebrity gossip, hopes for our unborn children, retirement plans, fears, favorite foods, biggest disasters, and a bijillion other things in the time it takes to finish one bottle of wine. (I love that we now drink wine, but still appreciate Bud Light.) I love that it's not proper BFF time if silly hats aren't involved. I love that I make you proud and you make me smile. I love the memories we have yet to make. (And I love our future houses in Savannah, where those memories will eventually live.)

But mostly, I just love you.

It's the end of the world as we know it. (And I feel fine.)

Only in New York will you find a pair of Manolo Blahniks in a thrift store. (For a paltry $100.)





I thought about buying them, just to own Manolos. I settled on a $10 pair of hot pink patent leather peep toe wedge platforms and a new set of wine glasses, instead. Thank you, Upper East Side Goodwill.

I'm only happy when it's complicated.

Human nature can be a very silly thing. There's a man who lives 'round the corner that I typically ridicule for the passion and fervor with which he greets every. Single. Passerby. I tend to roll my eyes, give a response that borders on curt, and continue on my way. (Convinced, of course, that he is merely crazy and that is that.) Tonight, en route to grab some dinner, I could hear his cheerful inquiries to the state of so-and-so's Ma from a block away. I braced myself. Here comes Crazy. After greeting several others in his typical manner, our paths crossed. I received a nod and a cool "Hello."

And I found myself sad. I had already prepared to let him know that yes, I am well and certainly enjoying the abundant sunshine. Had I done something to turn him off? It's ludicrous that I let this to hurt my feelings today, while any other day I stand ready to mock his eccentricities.

On a more pleasant note, my Saturday night was far too ridiculous to even attempt to explain. You get pictures, instead.