No, I’m not pregnant. I have, however, been an official resident of New York for the same amount of time it takes to grow said baby. I have yet to actually get a state ID (The DMV terrifies me. Why are their employees always so miserable?), but I did manage to acquire something far more important:
Granted, I have yet to validate it, but it’s not my fault every branch of the NYPL holds weird hours. I meant to get to it this weekend while I was running errands in the city, but I was distracted by brunch and shiny Broadway lights and my hatred of tourists who stop walking right in the middle of the sidewalk, effectively preventing me from getting anywhere I need to be on time.
Also, did you know Mood (yes, that fabric store from Project Runway) is closed on Sundays? Because I found that out the hard way. Note to self: Make sure you know something’s going to be open before walking 30 blocks. Even if you need to walk off that ridiculously large brunch you devoured. Seen here:
So M and I like to have random photoshoots at brunch. Sue me.
This week’s been a little cray cray, so I’m majorly looking forward to my vacation next week. My brother’s graduating from the Marines, so the family’s all flying out to California for a few days of much deserved family time, sun, and camo. (I’m less excited about the camo and insane military standards. I don’t think I should be required to be a fully functioning human being at 7AM while on vacation.) My brother and I were admittedly relieved to discover that the improv show we’re going to see is parent-friendly. No matter how old you get, there are some things that never lose their awkwardness: Watching sex scenes in movies with your parents, and people continuously dropping the f-bomb around them.
Also, I always find it odd how productive I am the week before a vacation. Clearly this means I need to go on more trips.
I’m sorry this post had no point.
Okay, no, I’m not sorry at all.