F is for Sunday Funday

Can we please discuss the amazing weekend I had?

I didn’t do shit. I didn’t go out, I didn’t drink an ounce of alcohol. I did my laundry and got groceries for the week. I got caught-up on How to Get Away with Murder, then made homemade guac from avocados that didn’t even have to ripen on the counter first. It was so great.

When I write a post, I’m usually thinking out loud. Or walking myself through something that has gotten under my skin. This is not that kind of post. I just want to put that out there. If you think this post is going somewhere, it’s not. Just to spare you the next two minutes of this read.

Sunday Funday

I went out every.single.night. this week—minus Monday. I ate amazing food, went to happy hour every day, and got my toes done. My face broke out like a mofo. By Thursday, I think my liver was crying. This also explains why it’s been a full week since I wrote a freaking post.

The reason I was poppin’ bottles this week was because we had visitors for work. My company is headquartered in Silicon Valley, with offices in four U.S. cities. We had three people visit during the course of the week. We worked our tails off during the day, then went out at night.

Some people can handle a four-day bender like a champ. In my ripe old age of 26, I can no longer do this. I went to happy hour on Friday looking—and feeling—like absolute hell. My friend Derrick asked me what I wanted from the bar, and all I said was, “Water.”

“A side of water.”

I drank my water and left by 8:30.

When you drink all week, do you ever wake up just feeling gross? As though you haven’t showered? That’s how I felt all week (and yes, I showered every day thankyoumuch). I woke up on Saturday and ran a 5k a full minute slower than I did two weeks ago. It was certainly not my best performance. After I came home, I made eggs and Brussels sprouts, the first meal I cooked myself all week. I napped. I watched tv. I went to Target and Trader Joes. Then my roommate and I watched Netflix and made popcorn for dinner. Twice.

Side note, I went to bed at ten so I did not stay up to watch the Hawkeyes beat Minnesota, but can we hear an amen for 10-0!?!

When I first moved to D.C., the first lesson my friends taught me was, “Don’t waste your weekends.” All I wanted this weekend was to lay in my bed, clean my apartment so it would look like an adult lived there, and eat a vegetable other than the fried pickles I had at dinner on Wednesday.

That’s how I say cheers to the weekend.

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For All the F Words
You have flaws. You f-up on a daily basis. And that should be ok.