Regressing, relaxing, and resolutions

Good, good, good day and a happy new year, my gorgeous readers. I have three main parts to my newsletter this week, and they’re to be expected 1. Chrismukkah in Pittsburgh 2. New Years in Florida and 3. resolutions and goals.

It’s so nice to go home again and feel more human. I’m always so excited to be in Pittsburgh but often get into some weirdo sad state that I hate and cannot get rid of. I started to feel it creep in one of my first nights and cured it by staying busy enough for the rest of the week to stove it off. I make almost no plans until I’m there because my mom wants (and deserves) all of my time; I find out when she’s busy, so I can do my own thing. I’m not always good at finding a balance, but I felt good about it this go-around.

Structure and routine make me feel good, and lacking those things in Pittsburgh usually sends me into a spiral. Another night ends in front of the TV after accomplishing nothing, and I wonder why I feel empty. I don’t know how to be an adult here after quarantining during what would be prime grown-up activity discovery, so I just keep arriving back to Sheetz again?

I got structure from three great forces: Balena Bagels’ existence, my imaginary-but-rigid podcast listening schedule, and Planet Fitness. I had to work on two different days, but they were when the spot was closed, so it was just me and the fam playing music. I read more Power Broker and realized I was two episodes behind on the companion podcast, so I convinced my body to only listen to them while doing cardio.

I went to the gym five days that week — something I possibly haven’t done since living in New Hampshire — and it made every part of my week better. I didn’t crowd my schedule so I could work out as long as I wanted, always coming home feeling satisfied. As frequent gymming always does for me, it made me sleep better, eat healthier, feel more productive, and learn more.

Since my mom now goes to sleep early for her subsequent early bagel wakeups, Ben and I went to almost an actual speakeasy (Acacia, which slaps) and ended the night with ice cream. He will always be a freak, but I’ve seen such positive growth in him over the past year. It’s nice to see them start to reap what they’ve sown. He’s about to begin his last semester, and I’m excited to see where he lands (and if you or someone you know is hiring a chemical engineer…;)).

I saw an old friend of mine that I only really see now if my mom and I run into her at Anthropologie. Katie works there part-time and is also a special ed teacher. After a workout one day, I texted her asking if she was free tonight and wanted to hang (but tooooootally get if you can’t!), and we went to my new favorite spot in the burb: cocktail bar Mullett’s.

The bar opened last year, and I went there for the first time with Gabby and her sisters. It’s the kind of place you want to gossip with first and last names even though the environment is risky. Our server had previously worked with Gabby at a different restaurant, and we ran into a group of girls from the grade above me having a similar holiday gab. We went back again at the start of the week, and the same server and girl group were there as if a year hadn’t passed.

Katie and I went near the end of my week in Pittsburgh, and we had a proper catch-up. It’s nice to go glass-for-glass when you start the night thinking you’ll stick to just one. We ended up seeing all these people we knew, including the same group of girls I mentioned in the previous paragraph. We ran into friend Andje, who I ended up giving an aunt-level kiss on the cheek immediately upon seeing her, almost like a dog when the front door opens. We made eye contact with an old teacher. Katie said we were holding court at Mullett’s, a phrase I kept using when describing the night. We were running the burb from the bar.

The staff were really nice and made conversation with us, especially after hearing us talk about Veep. Before going, I heard a story about a mean gay bartender that would yell at people if they sit at a table without being ushered. A place can certainly have multiple gay bartenders, but if this were the same one, he was chatting with us and being nice. Later, we were gossiping about a girl we both hated in a way we haven’t gossipped in years, both of us feeling wronged by her at different stages of our youth. The mean gay bartender, not involved in this conversation or our lives at all, goes Wow, you guys are still not over it. This story is probably really funny to read but was shocking and rude to experience. We just laughed it off. What else is the hometown bar for but to regress for a moment?

What a test it is to not regress on Christmas Eve, an already vulnerable day. I spent it pretending it didn’t exist like my Jewish ancestors would have wanted me to do, which is pretty hard to do in a town as Catholic as Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh’s Catholicism can be seen in the Planet Fitness near me’s Christmas Eve closing time. In Brooklyn, it closed at 7 p.m.; in Manchester, NH, it closed at 5 p.m.; in Pittsburgh, it closed at the ungodly hour of 1 p.m. I still got a workout in then spent the day shopping for last minute gifts and driving Ben’s car that used to be mine.

Ben spent that night with the side of the family I don’t talk to anymore, and I was already building up too many expectations for a fun night with my mom. Thankfully, I didn’t spiral and we had a chill night, cooking dinner and chatting. We split a bottle of prosecco (my mom had a glass before falling asleep) and watched When Harry Met Sally (my mom fell asleep before Harry and his wife separated). I spent the remainder of the movie live-texting my friend Allie, who claims the movie as her favorite. There’s a good argument that it’s a Christmas movie, which I’ll latch onto because I barely watched any Christmas media this year.

Christmas Day itself was probably the least Christmasy Christmas I’d ever Christmased, and thankfully I mean this in a good way. My mom kept the shop closed a few extra days so we could have a cozy holiday together, but we still had to work when the shop was closed since it’s a multi-day process. In the ultimate Christmastime for the Jews moment, we spent the day working and making one of the most Jewish foods ever. It was just a day 1 process, so just making and mixing dough. The three of us spent a few hours getting it done, but I was probably the least productive of the three of us since I’d never done this part before.

Regressing is a lot harder to do, thankfully, when your mom starts a business. I must keep bragging because it’s been open for over a month and has sold out most days. My mom is learning to trust her team more and teach them how to do everything in case she, for some reason, isn’t able to do things. She’s starting to dip into sweet bagels, now selling blueberry ones on Saturdays. They’re making cream cheese in-house and selling tubs of them. Reception remains positive aside from the occasional Karen that hate how early we sell out on weekends. We just got a review from a native New Yorker that’s bagel-starved enough in Pittsburgh to claim that our bagels transported him back to Midtown East.

Ben left the shop a few hours in to go to the Christmas Steelers game with his friend, Bateman (which I just re-learned is his first name). After my mom and I finished up at the shop, we picked up food from Silk Road, the Asian restaurant (yes I said Asian — Chinese, sushi, and hibachi) near us that’s open on Christmas. I ate sushi and Mom had her classic chicken fried rice.

I still felt the need to move and had multiple hours of Power Broker podcasts to listen to, so I decided to see how much I could bike and take my time doing it. It took me about 2 and a half hours to bike a marathon, which I did in 3 sittings throughout the day while listening to the podcast. Freak behavior on Christmas feels great.

Even better, Christmas this year was, for the first time in my life, the first night of Hanukkah. We hung out with Nonna for most of the day, and the funniest thing happened — they complimented my domesticity. I offered to fold some laundry, and these family-raisers were awed by my (especially compared to Meera’s) rudimentary folding. I asked if they were serious, and they were. They said they weren’t folding like that at my age. They were engaged and/or married at my age. I’ll never understand. The three of us are clearly not meant to be domestic. Once Ben got home from the game, my mom made latkes, and even the burnt ones were killer.

We exchanged a few gifts, and Ben and I both got mom (amongst other things) weird hats; I got her a Pop Up bagels hat with Italian on it, and Ben got her a beret, which he was nervous to give because it’s an insane gift. He was right to get it, though, because it looks chic. I got some great, special jewelry this year. My mom got matching gold hoops for herself, Ben, and I since the three of us all love wearing them. My Nonna dug through her sister’s old jewelry and found a Torah charm necklace that I have not taken off. Everyone liked the gifts I gave them. Success!

Instead of a raucous holiday, we went to sleep early so we could get up early. Ben, an almost constant driver, was going to drive to Atlanta to spend a few days with his girlfriend. He wanted to bake a batch of bagels for her, which would involve rolling, immediately baking (the bagels are supposed to cool for a day first), then driving the 10 or so hours South. My mom was okay to get up that early with him, and I decided to join so we could just do all the day 2 rolling and be done working.

We got up around 5 and started the process. We baked enough for Huley and for us to have some, too. It’s great to see Ben love someone this much. Once Ben’s batch was all ready, he set off to Atlanta, a trip he did with little sleep and ended up getting a flat tire an hour from his destination.

My mom and I stayed through the morning. We had a coffee delivery coming at 11 that we needed to be at the shop for, and my mom was considering taking a long break before then, getting the coffee, and finishing up. I was much more annoying (Let’s just go until we’re done!), which ended up paying off because the coffee arrived early. A perk of being up early is being awake enough when Ryan texts, and he stopped by the shop to giggle for a moment while we formed bagels. Early, productive, musical (the Balena employees have a great playlist), and full of love. Afterwards, I felt so energized that I worked out for 3 hours in one of my longest sessions yet. This, to me, was a perfect day.

A few mornings later, we were up early again. My flight was early enough that my mom and Bean could drive me to the airport before she started her shift at the shop. We’ve done this early airport drive so many times, and it’s shorter now from her new spot. I felt so grateful and happy for this time at home. I didn’t even get weird! I felt a lot of love around and within me, finally ready to receive all of it. Allegedly this is what the holidays are all about!

I hugged my mom and pet my frantic dog (he knows what the airport means) before entering the most insane version I’ve ever seen seen of the single-terminal Pittsburgh International Airport. I gave myself (checking a bag but a TSA PreCheck princess) an hour and 15 minutes to get to the airport before boarding, and I arrived a few minutes after boarding began. It was 4 a.m., and the lines were bonkers. I watched people realize that they would miss their flights. Not me though!

This was the part of my trip I thought I’d be looking forward to — and I was — but I was sort of sad to leave Pittsburgh, especially when it would be on a Spirit flight. I was beginning a South Florida adventure, which I never take for granted as the state plummets headfirst into fascism. Meera and I were going to meet in West Palm Beach to spend a few days with our friend, Natalie, before spending a few more days in Miami with our friend, Natalia.

Despite being a car paradisehell, South Florida does have rail transit. Since its opening a few years ago, I’ve been intrigued by the clean, fast Brightline trains that traverse Miami to Orlando. I assumed I would take one from the airport but saw that tickets were $40. Natalie reminded me of the OG South Florida train: the Tri-Rail.

The Tri-Rail goes from a little bit above West Palm to the Miami Airport, which takes around two hours end to end. It’s a commuter rail service through three counties and only recently added “express trains” to a Miami outskirts metro stop (they only have one each way during weekdays for commuters living north of Miami). When I talked about the train with native Miami friends during that leg of the trip, they’d never heard of it.

This is what neglected transit looks like. It comes about once an hour, and it’s not used by a diverse range of the area’s population like how New York’s is. Our airport shuttle arrived at the station just as the train left, so I had to wait for an hour before the next train. I bought an e-ticket on their archaic app that no conductor ever checked. I stared out the window as we passed into each semi-busy station with sun-damaged signs and rusty coverings that might have been beautiful once. I love trains and was anxiously awaiting my departure of this one.

Nat met me in West Palm Beach and took me to a Mexican restaurant called El Camino in a commercial part of town. I hadn’t seen her in months, and my eyes were just readjusting to her effervescence. Natalie was my ride-or-die coworker/bestie in New Hampshire and will be a lifelong friend. You may remember my rambunctious visit with her last year soon after she moved to West Palm for a news producing job.

Meera and I were some of the first people to visit her. A year later, she has friend visits down to a science and is living a fuller life beyond our New Hampshire dreams. We fought over the check that I won paying for, and she vowed to pay the bar tab when we decided to stay for a few more drinks. Somehow, both of our checks cost the same. Fate! When we had digested and sobered up to pick Meera up, we waited a bit after the meter expired before returning to the car. The meter maid was only a few cars away from us before we got there unscathed. Fate!

Meera Ubered to a median location, a Publix off the highway, and we hugged each other in front of an elder Boy Scout trying to fundraise. Being in a car somewhere warm feels electric. We dropped our stuff off at Nat’s apartment, a different and better one from where we stayed the year prior. She’s now in a suburb-ish slightly north of WPB that’s closer to work. We got dressed for our Saturday night.

For dinner, we walked to an outdoor mall nearby for cajun food at a restaurant called Voodoo Bayou. They had inventive drinks, and I had an espresso martini with a beignet on the glass as if it’s a citrus slice. We noshed on fried chicken and alligator as a live band started playing. It wasn’t New Orleans, but it was still very good. Meera recognized our server as one of her old roommate’s friend from home but wasn’t sure if they ever met in person. Fate! Tiniest world ever. He later asked the mutual friend if Meera was single.

After, we went back to downtown West Palm. Our going out experiences last year were a bit more mainstream and insufferable albeit very fun. This time, we started at what Nat called an “alt bar,” which I didn’t know what that meant. Turns out, Respectable Street was a punk bar with performances going on stages inside and out back. We looked out of place but did not feel unwelcome.

I kind of fell in love with the band we spent most of our time watching. It was a singer/bassist, guitarist, and drummer. Two girls, one boy (guitarist). They looked young, like they could be in college. They had the punk look but also had a clear nerdiness about them that endeared me to them. They were so sweet, talented, and looked like they were having the absolute best time together. It reminded me of my friends Max and Chaim that I grew up with and felt like what our band would look like if that was our path.

We then popped across the street to a gay bar called Lucky’s, which unluckily was not teeming with people the way it should have. They had multiple rooms, a great backyard, a dancefloor with a gogo dancer…and very few people. The three of us still had a ball, but hopefully the place will be popping in a few months. I wanted to stay out later, but Nat knew I needed to hit the hay. I’d been up for 23 hours!

Natalie graciously let us sleep in her bed while she slept in her lovely roommate’s bed while she was home for the holidays. I had an incredible sleep both nights in West Palm, which was helped this morning by the drizzle outside. No beach day for us. We slept until noon.

There are few things that other cities have that New York doesn’t, and it’s especially fascinating when those things come from cities as small as West Palm Beach, like an intense Sunday brunch culture.

You know how there’s all this dumb merch aimed at lobotomizing women about brunch? But first, brunch. Brunch is always a good idea. No one should own this stuff unless you live in West Palm Beach, the Sunday brunch capital of, at least some part of, the world. We spent our Sunday brunch at Avocado Grill (review in Current Fixations) and got to see a taste of the rambrunchtiousness. Restaurants and bars have DJs, smoke machines, and bottle service during the day, and you can bar-hop as if it’s a Friday night. Nat says people usually start in the early afternoon and go until around 8 p.m. The clientele is fascinating because they’re all ages and all slutty, somehow innovating the burgeoning daytime slutwear category of clothing. We walked by and through crowds as we eyed a Christmas tree made of sand, something built for a local newsie to fangirl over.

We ditched the drinking for some mental nourishment and crossed over to elusive Palm Beach (much richer and scarier, FYI) for a walk through the Flagler Museum. If you’ve been to a Gilded Age tycoon mansion, you’ve been to the Flagler Museum. Nat’s now taken multiple visiting friends here and basically stepped in as a tour guide since the real ones were off for the holidays. We did a self-guided audio tour, but Nat had so many other nuggets that I felt like I was on a true guided tour. We left the museum around closing time, and the security guard recognized Nat and kept calling her tour guide.

Henry Flagler basically built South Florida into a destination, and we tried going to the bar at his most famous hotel, The Breakers. You may remember us trying to sneak in through the beach last time we were in West Palm. This time, we walked around the flashy interior and watched people. The bar was too full, and we were dressed too casually. Can’t belong!

Last rain day we spent in WPB, we went to a Topgolf a bit far from Nat’s place and had the best time. This time, we went to a Topgolf knockoff much closer and still great. Beforehand, we rested at home and then got bowls at a delicious Cava dupe that brought us back to life, ready to hit balls. I love driving ranges so much, and I was way better than both of them, which actually did bring me a lot of joy.

We did 2 hours at the range but got exhausted after an hour and a half, so we stopped for provisions at CVS before cozying up at home with Bottoms. We drank wine and ate M&Ms. Great way to end the night.

We woke up around 9 the following morning and had a quick turnaround to get the coffee I was obsessed with last trip (still delicious but no longer millkshake-esque) before boarding the Tri-Rail to Miami. Traffic ended up screwing us, and we missed the train again. I didn’t care, though, because it meant a more deliberate goodbye with Natalie. We ended up parking at the station drop-off area called the Kiss & Ride, which is an incredible name for millions of reasons. We hugged and kissed before she drove off.

The Tri-Rail only goes to Miami proper once in the morning. The closest stop to a cheap Lyft for our hotel was in Hialeah. We were back in the backseat of Miami traffic and our driver spoke to us almost completely in Spanish. I forgot how to respond but tried. I need to get back into it. He just kept talking to us even if we could barely talk back. I couldn’t imagine living here and not knowing Spanish; it feels like the first language here. Miami often feels like a completely different country than the U.S. and  just feels like a standalone nation.

Our hotel check-in was supposed to be 4 p.m., but we lucked out when we arrived 2 hours early. Our hotel was in Brickell, a neighborhood on the southern end of Miami full of skyscrapers, construction, and Alix Earle. It’s pretty soulless but has all sorts of amenities that should bring it life, lot outdoor urban recreation opportunities, easier access to beaches, and sick views. We had a few hours until dinner that night with Natalia, who moved back home with her parents a few months ago after being in New York with me.

After dropping our stuff in our surprisingly spacious room, we got tacos a few blocks down in a city full of sidewalks and not enough crosswalks to match. We then got BOGO coronas next door at a bar that was empty and nice during the day but probably terrible at night. The bartender wore a Pirates hat with a rose design on it that could only look nice on a Miami bartender. Turns out he’s from Pittsburgh.

We took some much-needed showers and slowly got ready for our night. Nat picked us up in her car before dinner and drove us to a bar in Wynwood (Miami Williamsburg? Bushwick?) called Gramps. It was an empty, sweeping, multicolored space that was half indoor/half outdoor the way only a warm climate could support. Nat moved at the end of summer, and I last saw her in October when she stayed with us for a few days.

Nat’s a born-and-raised Miami legend, and she’s home for a few months before starting grad school. She has a new, extended opportunity to forge a new relationship with the city and seems to be taking it in stride. Lots of exciting, new things on the horizon for her. Life without her in New York feels markedly different, but it’s nice to know that the other side for her has been bright.

After some sipping, we arrived for our omakase reservation nearby and reunited with Tashi and Jamie, other New York lezzies who live together and have experiences that frequently parallel Meera and me. They’re staying at Tashi’s grandparents and told us of their misadventures. We swapped stories over Portuguese wine and yummy fish I can’t remember.

Nat had a karaoke hankering, so we returned to a now packed Gramps. I got this incredible ice creamy Irish coffee to sip on while I awaited my song, which seemed to take quite some time to push through. Karaoke was on an elevated stage where drag queens usually perform, so it’s a bit higher stakes than somewhere like Planet Rose. Nat made me go first to see if she wanted to replicate my experience or not. Tashi is a karaoke hater and said there are three types of karaoke singers: 1. People that say they aren’t good but actually are kind of good but not good enough that it’s secondhand embarrassment-y 2. Super drunk people that flub through the song 3. Friends that keep trying to bring other people onstage.

I fit closest to category 1, but I know I can rock the stage with a few of my old standby songs. “Papa Don’t Preach” by Madonna always brings the house down no matter the generation of audience members, and there are few more fun lines to sing than What.I.Need.Right Now is some good adviiiicepleeease. Nat ended up going after me but wanting me onstage for moral support or to tag in for her if she didn’t want to continue. She sang “Black to Black” and always kills Amy Winehouse songs, so I knew I was a tee ball tee to an MLB player. We left the stage, closed out, and went home.

This was a trip of great sleeps. I woke up and immediately texted Nat, which I promised I’d do so we could figure out a beach moment. I had some time to use the hotel gym, which was pretty but minimal. I did some cardio and saw Meera pop in to an elliptical part of the way through, and we coincidentally stopped our workouts at the same time. It was a refreshing way to start the day. What I wouldn’t do for an in-building gym.

We got into beach gear, which is the true tourist exposé. Miami natives always look runway-ready at the beach. I thought I lost my sunglasses, so I had my Balena Bagels hat, sacklike beach dress, and tennis shoes because I didn’t bring beach footwear. Tourist spotted. I shaved my legs a few days prior for the first time in at least six months but possibly longer.

Nat picked us up and we circled around a bay beach that we deemed too crowded before heading to Miami Beach. We spent the drive scheming for the night ahead, Nat’s family New Year’s Eve party at her place. She made a huge playlist filled with songs we like and 80s stuff for her mom. When she left the house, her mom was listening through each song.

This would be my third trip spent on Miami Beach, and I think it is the best beach on the east coast. Every time I go, I think I’ll have matured or changed and that my rankings will differ. Every time, I am validated in my rankings. Parking was obviously terrible as people wanted to get in their last beach trip of the year. It was hot and my thighs were Chafe Central. Water.

We trudged through the sand and found our friend Vicki, a true mother of lesbian activity and another Miami native who moved back home after living in New York. She moved home a bit later than Nat, and the newness is still glowing. She’s ecstatic about photosynthesizing. We sat with her college friend group and listened to her tales of adventure. I went in the water twice, and it was perfect. I love going far out and staring back at all of the people on this idyllic beach. When we were walking on the path toward the beach, Nat asked Is this beautiful to you or just to me because this is what I grew up with? Girl, I am beyond satiated.

I got some color and got the ultimate seal of approval — people adding the songs I added to the queue. We only spent a few hours there before the three of us left to get ready for the night. A new healthy sandwich and bowl restaurant opened in New York that’s from here called Pura Vida. The beach location was mobbed, so we ordered ahead at the less-packed Brickell location as Nat drove us. We ate our delicious sandwiches in almost silence before TTFN-ing.

I haven’t been in an amenity-rich hotel (grammar people, can you hyphenate after a word that ends with y or does it follow the same rules as words that end in ly? Too lazy to look it up.) in a long time, so I took a quick shower before hitting the sauna with Meera. After enough luxuriating, we cooled off in the two outdoor pools, one slightly hotter than the other by being in sunlight. We made up and played really dumb pool games, and it was one of my favorite parts of the trip. Lucky girls!

I took a much more extensive shower and slowly got ready for the night. I wore a long, backless dress I rented from Nuuly that you can see in the bottom picture that I felt extremely beautiful in. A big pro and con, though, was that it left sparkles on every surface around it, from chairs to my skin. I put makeup and perfume on and felt ready to take this party.

Family parties of a family you aren’t apart of are always nerve-wracking, even families I’ve met before like Nat’s. We kept asking her what we should bring and she was just like Ugh nothing! Unless you want mixers. We bought a bottle of wine anyway because we cant show up empty handed and were one of the first people to arrive. Thankfully, we had Tashi and Jamie arriving shortly after so we could never be truly alone in the night. Meera helped Nat make espresso martinis while I stood around useless and peering around the beautiful home.

Nat’s family was so kind and fun to spend the night with, singing 80s music with her iconic mom, getting heavy pours from her silly aunt, and hiding outside with the cousins. Nat’s cousin Rachel came and visited earlier this year, and it was awesome to reunite with her and just be the silliest. Like most families, there’s a lot of mixed knowledge levels when it comes to who’s queer around them, and Rachel comes in wearing this zaddy two-piece. She’s Ben’s age, and it feels so comfortable hanging with her. Having another family member I could anchor to was huge. We also chatted a lot with a different cousin, one who speaks fluent Japanese despite never having gone to Japan. Language is wild.

We scarf down an idyllic dinner of perfect bites…sushi, branzino, churrasco…then mostly sat outside at our makeshift kids table. Nat also introduced me to a new person in her life that spent a lot of time learning more about and laughing with. New and old people tonight all gabbing and grubbing in harmony…there’s nothing like it. It felt like a real privilege to know Nat well enough and for her to be comfortable enough with me to bring her into a gathering this intimate. I got to match so many stories to faces.

And it’s already almost midnight. Ryan Seacrest is talking, and our party moves to the balcony to witness one of Nat’s favorite sights. The countdown commences, 2025 begins, and fireworks boom for the following few minutes as far as the eye can see, piercing through the building smoke. It was the prettiest thing I’ve seen on a New Year’s Eve, and one of the coolest, rarest sights I’ve had the pleasure of having my eyes open for. Grateful, lucky, excited. We all hugged and stayed outside for a while.

After staying a little bit later, everyone got tired. Meera and I were slightly dreading this portion of the evening because we had an early flight the next day, requiring a wakeup time of 6:30 a.m. Our crew planned to go to Nat’s new favorite bar, Over Under, which I don’t think is technically gay but has a lot of gay people (or at least a lot of cool ones) in a way that doesn’t feel typical Miami.

We took an Uber with Tashi and Jamie with Nat allegedly following close behind; however, the Brickell drawbridge went up and screwed traffic for miles. We ended up in the car for much longer than expected. Thankfully, Tashi could speak Spanish with our driver and entertain him while I fell asleep in the backseat.

We arrived at Over Under, and I was exhausted. Meera and I wanted to sober up before sleeping, so we pounded waters and sat on these glorified bleachers with cushions on the back, which are my new favorite thing. I got to sit and stare out at everyone at the bar with my water. The bar ended up closing soon after we got there, and Nat didn’t make it. Although I would have liked to say goodbye in person, this was my ideal outcome because it meant I was going to get some sleep.

Since our hotel was near the bridge (which had a pedestrian walkway), we bid our friends adieu and walked back. There were tons of drunk young people milling about, and the line accumulating near the bridge while it’s up is a hilarious queue to join. When the bridge lowered, all of us in going out clothes crossed back over. Something about it felt comical. I loved it. We stopped at CVS and got some food to eat before sleeping. We each had a hot pocket, some dark chocolate coconut bites we still have, and a blue gatorade (me) and coconut water (Meera). I felt sober and ready to sleep.

I was too ready to sleep. I usually am awake by my first alarm, but my second alarm told me Wait girl, you have to get up. We got around 3 hours, and I felt atrocious not in a hangover way but in an early wakeup nausea way. I thanked the Sydney that packed before the party. We checked out and Ubered to the Miami airport.

My savior is, as always, my Canada Goose. It was such a burden to lug around Florida after being put to killer use in freezing Pittsburgh but proved to be an impeccable pillow/blanket. I never sleep on flights, and I slept on both flights this day. It made the journey a whole lot easier, and I’m jealous of those who can sleep on flights more often. I dozed off dreaming of the Miami sun and my incredible friend I left there.

Our layover was in Charlotte, and I felt so well rested. I was initially nervous about this 3-hour layover and how miserable we would be, but we had a nice time. I went to this airport once a few years back but returning on a sunny, calm Sunday made me love this airport. There’s clear signage, tons of natural light, comfortable seating, a plethora of restaurants…we had as fabulous of a time as you can in an airport without alcohol. Since we had so much time, we walked to the other end of the terminal to try Bojangles for the first time. I got a cajun chicken biscuit breakfast sandwich and fries. Nothing life-changing but very good.

Flight 2. More sleep. I listen to oldies on flights because that’s the playlist I have downloaded. Oldies is quite a grand term because it goes from Nina Simone to Linda Ronstadt. Ella Fitzgerald always puts me to sleep or to yearning. Allie told me I need to get into Carole King (true), and I kept listening to “It’s Too Late,” which is one of the best songs maybe ever. It’s been on my playlist for a while, and it’s despicable that the onlyother songs I know by her are “I Feel the Earth Move” and “A Natural Woman.”

Meera and I were exhausted and excited to be home. We both were in disbelief at how lucky we could get to have two amazing 4-lifers that we love deeply and love us back. It was so cold, so we cuddled up and ordered Indian food, which we ate before promptly falling asleep.

It felt weird to be back in New York after having such a nice two weeks away. I missed my family and friends and wanted to keep that great feeling going into the new year. I’ve kept it up by continuing the gym grind, so I clocked in another week of 5 gym days.

Part of why I’m late sending this newsletter to you tonight is because I wanted to go to yoga and feel even more in love with my body. I spent all of last year being conscious about my eating and workout habits but my body still not getting to where I know it can be. I’m hoping I can keep this fitness craziness going for a while because that’s what makes me do all these other life things so much better.

I love setting goals, especially for the new year. I feel like I’m in a much better place than I was the year prior. I was in a bit of a sophomore slump and depression for a while that the sun eventually knocked out of me. I wanted a lot more control of my schedule this year while still keeping my YOLO sensibilities that keep me hanging out with friends more often than hitting the gym. I think I got a bit better at this, but there’s still a lot of room for improvement.

I think my biggest achievement in 2024 was getting to a consistent media consumption routine. I read the majority of every New York Magazine that comes through my door and am around halfway through The Power Broker. I went from listening to zero podcasts to starting this year with a consistent schedule of 5 I listen to weekly and others I’ve bebopped around, and they’re all news or history. These consumption habits have made my life so much better and fuller.

Organizing my media consumption has made me more organized in general (starting from a very low place, though) and has me craving more routines. I’ve been learning to say No more, something I find hard to do when I find fun in most events. I hope to get even better at that this year. A new monthly routine that’s enriched my life is clothing rental service Nuuly, which has upgraded my wardrobe and boosted my confidence.

This felt like a great year that got better as it went on. I hope I can keep that trajectory going in 2025, current events aside. I began kissing my friends on the cheek more, which is something I think we all could benefit from and is something that Miami gets right. Meera has a great prediction for this year: more dinner parties at friends’ places. I guess that’s part of getting older, though.

If you want to see the entry with full descriptions, here it is.

So I did 2/10, and both of them were accomplished by the same thing. Lazy POS! Or maybe just efficient.