a blog launched to laugh at my own expense

Palm Beach Weekend


After subjecting ourselves to one too many frost filled mornings, my Selfie Stick and I decided we needed a vacation. The weekend was previously reserved for a ski trip with my former boyfriend but since the trip was canceled on account of us no longer dating, I needed a new plan. One tear filled (somewhat hysterical) phone call later, my girl Sally at Southwest Airlines felt badly enough for me that she agreed to reallocate my flights.  

After sleeping through my alarm, (well technically forgetting to set it) I lackadaisically woke up 45 minutes before my flight left. After driving 80 mph to the airport,  I cried my way through security citing reasons that included my best friend's wedding, a scheduled heart transplant, and my dog's cancer, I made it through Security Checkpoint with 11 minutes till take off. The miracle morning continued as I thwarted an airport police officer's citation for "running through the airport with no shoes on" (obvi this "officer" had never tried to run in Tory Burch flats). I scrambled to find a seat, only to promptly vomit before we had even pushed back from the gate. Needless to say, the attractive man next to me did not ask for my phone number upon arrival. 

And with that, Mr. Wiggles and I were in Florida. (Wiggles, a stuffed animal polar bear, is the only creature paler than myself).  With Wigs still bundled in his in-flight blanket (my turkish towel), we inaugurated the trip with the first of many selfies.


First stop: The ocean. I am a firm believer that Stand Up Paddle Board Yoga makes anyone a stronger LinkedIn candidate. 


Perhaps, if I had remembered to suck in my stomach, it would have made for both better form and a better photo shoot. But it's fine. 


Next stop? Taking Wiggles home. He immediately felt an intrinsic connection to the wilds of Jamaica Lane. I did not have the heart to tell Wiggie that  polar bears are not an indigenous species to Floridian front yards.  However, feeling uninhibited, Wigs hammed it up for the camera, fearlessly climbing both the a tree and wrought iron railing. 




Feeling both inspired and petrified by the Trophy Wives who call this zip code home, I decided a fitness journey was in order. I ran a mile. And by run, I mean I moved my arms and legs simultaneously at a speed slightly above sloth-like. 


After my sweat-less run (which really could be equated to a causal stroll along the water searching for wild alligators in my best rendition of Steve Irwin), we headed to dinner. I looked identical to the women of the 55+ crowd as we were all wearing the same amount of hairspray and cashmere wrap.  


The next morning, the sunshine all too eagerly greeted me and my Merlot headache. Wiggie and I contemplated yoga on the side porch, but ultimately decided our time and effort would be better spent scrolling through our iPhone apps and double tapping 'gram pics. (Dad- "double tapping 'gram pics'"is slang for "Liking people's Instagram picture posts"!)  


Unable to find anything unhealthy in the kitchen, Wiggles and I headed out of doors in search of the closest doughnut factory. Perpetually misguided by Siri, the woman who lives in my iPhone, I ended up AT the Farmer's Market, while Wiggles ended up IN the Farmer's Market. 




 With my Merlot headache unsatisfied by greens,we biked to the Beach Club and devoured a breakfast/brunch/lunch combo meal. (Thanks J and A!). Upon the massive meal's completion, my fav one piece was perfect for hiding the post burger bulge. #dietstartstommorow



Wiggles got a little rowdy with an afternoon mojito! 


I meandered home in time to not have to help make dinner. I patiently waited with my feet up until the last possible moment to ask, "What can I do to help?" You know... the perfectly timed moment when everything meal and table setting related has been finished ... and the only thing left to do is whistle everyone to dinner. I internally awarded myself a gold star in the Dinner Prep Avoidance  Department. 


My Selfie Stick and I were poolside the next morning... basking in the glow of our Washington winter paleness. 




After a day on the beach, W and I decided it was time for Worth Avenue. I biked the Ave because the bike's lack of storage (as well as my current bank account) limited the number of parcels I could purrr-chase. While I searched the drive-way for spare change, Wiggiums auditioned for the role of Coca Cola Bear. 


The bike tour detoured at my favorite PB store.  I fell in love with this ruffle dream and decided it HAD to be added to the section of my closet reserved for the anticipated occasion that a sixteen year old boy asks me to prom. (Sidenote/Soliciation: If you know of any teenage boy needing a prom date, please inform me immedetly)    


Getting out of bed Monday morning was a tough pill(ow) to swallow. Wiggles and I both agreed; Mondays are a Bear. 



xo
B















1 comment

  1. Do you sleep in your glasses so you can see in your dreams?

    ReplyDelete