Reeking of Excuses.

You know how I’ve been hinting in post after post, about all of these photos I’d be sharing with you soon? Last night I downloaded literally 200 photos from my camera – including shots all the way back from my trip to Colorado in June. See, earlier in the week I’d set up my very own, very grown-up, and legit (no more hoping for a spotty wireless signal!) internet and I was ready to whip out a post – some sort of photo montage “this is what I’ve been up to” recap – or some such thing, thinking a post like that would start Monday off right.

But then? I grew very, very sleepy, very, very quickly and called it quits before I posted a single photo. I know. Lame. I did have quite the busy weekend though so maybe you’ll cut me some slack.

Friday night I was out celebrating a (ahem, younger) friend’s 28^th birthday over dinner (and, I might also add, was home and tucked into my bed a short fifteen minutes after saying goodbye to the partying crew at 12:45am. New apartment location? You rock.) Saturday I took my handy-man working machine –aka my father – out to one of my favorite breakfast joints in the new ‘hood for one more ‘can’t thank you enough for your help’ meal before he hit the road, heading back to the NJ. Then I quickly and promptly abandoned all thoughts of more apartment unpacking, settling, and sorting through boxes and hit the highway myself; heading away from the sweltering city heat towards the beach.

Luckily, two of my favorite people live in a lovely little town near the beach, north of Boston, and they were happy to entertain and host me for the evening. Sunday, my friend Beth and I awoke far too early for a normal Sunday with the hopes of scoring some fabulous finds (an antique bird cage for me, a secretary desk for her) at a famous antique and flea market. I wish I could tell you that I’d have photos coming soon; photos that would show off our amazing finds, but sadly, the bargain shopping gods slept in that morning and we both left Todd Farm empty handed. (But, our wallets remained full, so there’s the trade off.)

After inhaling what might very well have been the best bagel of my life and um, napping at the reasonable hour of 10am, Beth and I set out for Rockport, a lovely little seaside town I had somehow, up until yesterday afternoon, missed exploring during the many years I’ve called myself a New Englander. Amazingly enough I managed to not spend cash money in the boutiques there either, which meant we were able to reward ourselves with a late lunch and um, some strudel for dessert. And that strudel? In case you were wondering? It made us walk on air, it was that delicious.

By the time I finally decided I should get back to my new place and work on this overrated unpacking thing that evening, I was craving nothing more than an ice cold beer. Which, thankfully I happened to have waiting patiently in my fridge. But do you know what I didn’t have? A bottle opener. Do you know where my bottle opener was? Me neither. In fact I still don’t. My educated guess is that it is buried in the very bottom of one of the many boxes I haven’t unpacked yet. I did find a lighter, which I know can open beer bottles, because I’ve seen friends do it, but that, gang, is a skill I never mastered. I bet you didn’t know that a wrench will work in a pinch when you are oh so desperate you’ll try anything to have that Sam Summer on a Sunday night did you? Well now you do. Don’t worry. You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing my part for humanity, one moving tip at a time.

Of course, once I finally cracked that sucker open, the beer did not disappoint. I would post a picture of it for you, but by this point you don’t really expect me to follow through with that do you?