In celebration of all this turkey biz-nizz, our most disturbing Alaskan frenemy—yes, I’m speaking of she-who-must-not-be-named—ran herself a race.
No, sillies! Not that kind of race. Please, never again that kind of race.
photo credit: the_vampire_hanna
Today I’m off to boxing class, and then to the Connecticut wedding of my dear friend C. and her lovely about-to-be husband S.
Punching plus nuptials. How apropro.
Ever notice how certain cities, like New York, Boston, and Washington, DC, have more nail salons per block than Starbucks? And they offer cheap, quality services—on certain nights of the week, your mani and pedi might even run you less than your fancy caffeinated bev and pumpkin bread snack. And it will sure as hell last you longer.
On the other side of the coin we have places like my parents’ neck of the woods in Florida, where strip malls feature a higher ratio of hospital equipment stores and check-cashing venues to spas or cofffeshops. It all depends on where you live, I suppose.
photo credit: Kevin Labianco
I’m in D.C. now. Yeah, YUD gets around. Why not? I have the time.
At any rate, D.C. is the town that I lived in as an undergraduate, attending the refined Jesuit institution known as Georgetown, despite the fact that I am neither Catholic nor religious. One of the best things about being taught by priests, however, besides the consistency of their dress code and lack of temper tantrums, was that they were endlessly forgiving.
Before I realized that I was really just not a morning person, I took a series of 8:15 and 8:30 classes, among them Chinese (don’t ask). And I would inevitably do the nod & bob for half the class and intermittently fall asleep. My notes from that period were a trail of scrawl.
