President's Day was a much-needed day to catch up on everything I have to and would like to do in my spare time - I woke up, did laundry and cleaned the apartment, read some theory, met Emma for lunch at Lupa (which was pretty good, and where I restrained myself from insisting that they put on Shakira's "She-Wolf") and coffee by NYU, went to a meeting, got a haircut, picked up groceries to make kick-ass salads all week, quickly threw together dinner, called my grandparents, and went to Latitude with Brady, where I've somehow been absent for like two months now.
After all of this, when our favorite bartender was like, "so, how was your day?" the best I could come up with was "I got a haircut!" And then he laughed at me. But that really was one of the most important parts, because for the next week, every time I catch myself in a mirror I will jump in terror because I forget that that person is me and not an extra from a Riefenstahl film hiding in my bathroom. I think we rebounded when we told him that we had done 43 shots before coming to the bar in honor of our nation's presidents and didn't fall down until Gerald Ford.
And this is totally unrelated, but my grandparents celebrated Valentine's Day by driving into town for a cheeseburger and a sundae from the Dollar Menu at McDonald's. My grandparents are actually the best people alive.
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