I was interning for a major women’s magazine. I had just finished my sophomore year of college, turned 21, and got out of my first long term relationship. My days were a blur of yellow taxi cabs, business casual, jam packed subway rides, and busy work. My nights were what sold me, though. I was intoxicated, not just from one too many vodka sodas after a long day at the office, but of my surroundings. I knew I would be back in New York City. In fact, I had no doubt.

For the last year or so of my city-based job, I’ve spent countless hours commuting to and from. I’ve met handfuls of business men, watched a gazillion episodes of Mad Men with my knees leaned up on the rundown seat in front of me, and played one-too-many games of Words With Friends. For a while, I contemplated if solely working in NYC satisfied my city sweet tooth.

I was at dinner with a friend not too long ago, talking about the whole ordeal. My friend asked me what I really wanted, and I couldn’t give a straight answer. There were pros and cons to jumping ship and moving in. So my friend posed a better question to me: “What do you NOT want?”

I thought of 2008. I thought of what it would be like to get four hours of my day back. I knew I didn’t want to regret not giving myself a bite of what I deserved.

… So come March, I’ll be working on the next chapter: Making life fit in the Big Apple.

I had stopped at Starbucks in the morning to get my coffee fix and a jumpstart on work before breaking for my podiatrist appointment. After picking up my misto from the bar (which I finished off deliciously with a bit of mocha powder), I sat down at a small table next to Ann.

If I had to guess, Ann is probably in her early forties. Her short brown hair was sort of frazzled, she was without makeup, wearing sweats and a light pink sweatshirt circa 1992. I distinctly recognized her Weight Watchers name tag, which she must have forgotten to take off from an early meeting. She was sitting across from a friend, who I never got the name of. The friend, who was much slimmer than her coffee sipping compadre, was clearly another WW. Ann seemed frustrated.

“I just can’t get over this damn plateau.” I heard her say, as she sat there drinking a venti iced coffee. “Nothing effing works.”

Ooh, hostility. Man have I been there. I was intrigued. Ann’s friend went into the standard comforting shpeel that these things take time and that she’s doing so well and she can’t help it that the kids love to snack on potato chips and that they’re tempting … yadda yadda yadda.

Welp. Ann wasn’t having it. She fired back. “That’s easy for you to say. People look at you and they wonder why the hell you would ever want to lose weight. People look at me and think what the hell is wrong with this woman.”

Ouch. Her friend looked speechless. Call me intrusive. Call me Ms. Don’t Know How To Mind My Own Business. I took it upon myself to step in. Whoops.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I know this is kind of annoying, but I just wanted to tell you that it looks like you forgot to take your name tag off.”

Just so you know, I never do this. Sure, I’ll talk to anyone who wants to talk to me. But butting in? Totally outside of my comfort zone. To be honest, I dont know what came over me. It just, well … happened.

Anyway, back to Ann. She looked legitimately mortified. Also been there. She blurted something out along the lines of “Oh my GOD. I always forget to take this damned thing off.”

I told her I used to do the same thing, to which she asked me if I used to go over there, pointing at the shopping center next door.

At that point, I was in. After some small talk, I found myself spilling my story about how it’s been four years since the night I decided to change everything, and how it was never easy. I told Ann that I was like her, and wanted to quit about a bazillion times. I found myself sharing so many random details about my personal journey — and every single second of it Ann looked captivated, interested. At one point, she even asked me to show her an old picture of myself — which I avoided.

Before I knew it, a half hour had gone by, and I had an appointment to get to. Ann’s friend had to go relieve a babysitter and the two women got up and walked out of Starbucks with me. We said our goodbyes, I wished them both good luck, and went digging through my bag for my keys. I didn’t even find them before I heard Ann calling my name.

“Emily?” I turned.

“Thank you for sharing that with us.” I smiled. Ann smiled back. Then off she went in her silver Lexus.

… And that was the morning I met Ann.

It’s a more recent like, but I think it’s here to stay. It started with this one Rimmel lipstick from my local Target. Please tell me that you also have this habit of going there on a random weeknight and spending stupid amounts of money on things you don’t need? I just can’t help it.

Where was I? Ahhhhhh yes, the lips. I tried my new ‘stick, and as someone who’s never rocked anything but a sheer gloss before, I was pleasantly surprised with the added burst of color. Then, this happened:

… On everything. If I wanted to eat or drink anything, my rose-colored pout was a goner. So I started getting inventive.

First I swapped for a different brand, then I switched to lip stain, and finally I settled on a matte lip pencil — which the man at Sephora promised me was indeed meant for you whole lip area.

You know what? The pencil lasts. After a Patriots game with the girls filled with one-too-manu wings and beers, the red lip was in tact. Great. Success.

Of course, it’s not an every day look. Maybe just every other.

… Kidding.

More importantly though, is what I did tonight. Tonight, I may or may not have made a splurge I wanted to tell you about.

Well, I’ll use the word splurge sparingly. I hardly call $42 for a $140 pair of boots an absurd buy, do you?

They’re called Mystique. I blame my stupid fantastic foot for this purchase. While it has been getting better slowly courtesy of bi-weekly alcohol injections (don’t ask), it’s still … well … not the best.

These boots, though, they’re comfortable. Really comfortable. That amazing feeling you get when you legitimately sink into an uber cozy couch while watching a Dawson’s Creek marathon, comfortable.

… And for $100 off on sale with an extra 20 percent off promotion, they’re mine. Bargainista strikes again.

So, what’s new with you?

The second there was breaking news of a snow day when we we’re young, pancakes were essentially already on the griddle. As my brother and I slipped into our snow gear, the smell of bacon grease and Bisquick filled the house.

I loved snow days.

You know what I don’t love? This morning I woke up feeling horrible. I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure I have a sinus infection. Along with the infection comes a head that feels like a bajillion pounds, and the inability to breathe. It’s really wonderful, I swear.
Did you know that when you’re sick, it’s an unofficial rule that you can eat whatever you want? I promise. Thus, these:

Whole wheat chocolate chip pancakes

Ingredients:
- 1 cup whole wheat flour
- 1 cup skim milk
- 1 teaspoon vanilla
- 1 egg
- 1 teaspoon baking powder
- Pinch of salt
- Handful of chocolate chips

Mix all ingredients. Cook batter on griddle. Toss chocolate chips on top. Cool both sides until golden brown, and enjoy!

I will now curl up with a blanket, my third cup of tea this morning, and Matilda on ABC Family. Happy Sunday!

Yes, that’s a turkey topped with bacon. For the recipe, a la Tyler Florence, head on over here. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

I combined Jessica’s banana bread brownie cupcake recipe and her mocha frappuccino cupcake recipe into one delicious creation:

I wont make you sit in suspense any longer. I lost.

It’s okay. The cupcakes … they were delicious. Mocha cake with a brownie bottom. This was the first time I’ve made my own everything from scratch — from frosting and mix to toasting my own coconut.

Now I just need to decide what to tackle next. Suggestions?

To Dad’s credit — he offered to keep it as my own. Who am I to tell make him do that when I don’t live there any more? This had to happen. In fact, I probably needed someone to make me look at all of my memories. There was too much junk (read: vital pieces of paper and collectibles) in there, just sitting waiting to be gone through.

Not too surprisingly, I’m a bit of a pack rat. When something has even a remote bit of nostalgia tied to it, I keep it. There were concert tickets and high school papers, notes for friends folded in that special way to make them look like teensy envelopes. There were waterfalls of photos and hand written cheers from summers spent at summer camp.

There was …

The name tag I wore when my senior class AP government class traveled to Washington D.C. to compete in a national debate competition.

The sign my parents embarrassingly carried around during my first half marathon in 2008.

My Brownies vest that only has 11 patches on it. Clearly, I wasn’t hardcore.

The monkey coconut I drank too-many piña coladas out of on a cruise the year I turned 21.

Arguably, the most year jerking of them all:

… was all of my old clothes. From size 16 to 12, SJP’s Bitten to American Eagle, and ugly to uglier, so many items plagued my closet destined for Goodwill that flat out just don’t fit. There I sat on the tan carpet realizing just how much has changed, and I felt satisfied. In fact, I felt proud.

Nights like Saturday, as unexciting as they may be, are a must-have. Looking through all those keepsakes may have made me realize how much I’ve changed, but that’s all part of growing up, right? No matter what happens to that space, whether it’s infused with exercise equipment or just repainted, it will always be mine.

‘Tis the season, my friends. My week so far consists of Starbucks’ Holiday cups, Sara Bareilles train rides, and too-much Justin Bieber baby mama drama.

Sending warm thoughts across the Interwebs tonight.

Yes, the fries come in a container that is smaller than the palm of my hand. I counted, there were about 17 of them. And yes, that’s from a Mighty kid’s meal at McDonald’s.

If you were wondering (I know you are!) the meals come in Halloween-style Jack-o’-lanterns this week, so the girls at work and I thought it would be fun to put our Halloween candy inside. Thus, the discovery of McD’s 100-calorie pack.

The meal also came with apple slices. And while I have my own opinions about the updated “healthier” kid’s meal, I’m more interested in what you have to say.

Thoughts?