How not to start your Monday mornings….

 ….don’t zip around your apartment thinking you’re on time for once and gloat inwardly. Why? Because then this will happen:

You’ll begin to bike down the street, hit a bump and your travel coffee mug will proceed to fly out of your hands. After it takes its first (and last) flight, it slams into the concrete sidewalk, shatters and spills your beloved liquid gold (brown?) all over said sidewalk.
While you’re still recovering from the loss of the nectar of the gods for your subway ride into hell (otherwise known as “work), you’ll bend over to pick up the remaining shards of plastic of your travel mug, only for your 5th (and thus very precious) iPhone to fall out of your pocket, falling onto the same cursed concrete and shattering the glass in a corner.
With no time to weep loudly like you want to, you’ll pick up your phone, leave the pieces of your belongings behind on the devil’s walkway, shove your battered phone back into your pocket, and then almost get hit by a big delivery truck not paying attention to the road.
So, yup. It’s Monday morning here in Chancy-land, and I couldn’t be more miserable.
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Desk decor

Working for a not-for-profit doesn’t bring you many “perks” in the way of financial bonuses, free food or pay. But when said not-for-profit holds a fundraiser and can’t give things away as prizes – because no one will take it – the employees reap the benefits.

Check out my new desk decor. It’s so classy it hurts. Literally, if you fall on top of it. My co-worker says that people are going to stop approaching me to ask me for things, because this thing is going to scare them off. If that happens, mission accomplished.

Desk decor

Question: is this an elk or an antelope or some weird amalgamation of the two?

Question #2: What should I name it?

Impromptu gluttony on a Sunday afternoon

Enraptured crowd listening to a Toronto Mexican band

In order to stave off Sunday night blues, I gave my bestie a call and invited her to join me on a walk. I’d intended to just stroll around our neighborhood and bitch about how filled with rage and sadness work makes me. Because nothing beats the Sunday night blues more than complaining about Monday morning misery, right?

In the park across the street from her home, we happened upon the Inti Raymi Festival – an Andean folk music and dance festival celebrating the Summer Solstice. There was (bad) music, (embarrassing) dancing and (fried & delicious) food at the festival.

The options for fried food had this glutton overwhelmed with the choices in front of her. Rather than choose one and later regret my decision for what I’d ordered and wish for this, that and the other thing, I decided to go for the whole enchilada. Except I didn’t have an enchilada. I’m almost embarrassed to admit this (but not enough to not go public with it), but I ate an empanada (yum!) and a steak sandwich served by someone who was quite possibly the nicest festival worker I’ve ever met, washed down with a chocolate syrup-filled churro and Diet Pepsi.

You can take the girl out of Central Pennsylvania, but you can’t take  Central Pennsylvania out of the girl, apparently. Because despite having lived in a few multi-cultural cities in my adulthood, I never had a sweet clue what a churro was until today. To say I was missing out is an understatement. If you don’t know what one is, all you really need to know is that a churro is fried dough. Having been born and bred in Central PA means I’m very familiar with fried dough of many varieties, but none quite as good as the churro.

After having sufficiently gorged ourselves on bad foods, Sarah and I slowly made our way back to our respective apartments. Sunday night blues were pushed aside only temporarily, but I have a feeling the evidence of that churro is going to be hanging out on my ever-expanding love handles for a very long time.

Fried goodness filled with chocolate goodness