My wild child work trip to San Francisco has finally come to a close. At this point, I am exhausted and ready to head home to the only man in my life who really matters – my dog.
Though the trip was a success (who doesn’t like getting paid to shop, drink, and mingle?), my mission to hook up with San Fran crush was not. I count this among my life’s greatest failures, right up there with riding a bike and marriage.
I put on my best touchy-feely drunk girl act last night, but he kept wanting to have deep conversations with people who actually matter in the company. Apparently he thinks the point of work conferences is to network, not to hook up. Poor, misguided man.
I may not be leaving SF with a morning-after glow, but I will be leaving with some new purchases that made me have to sit on my suitcase in order to close it. Oh, and a sprained ankle. For those of you wondering, these are the booties responsible for that golfball of a cankle:
I feel about these shoes how I feel about my dogs when they chew the carpet. The pain in my foot makes me angry, but I just can’t stay mad at them. They’re too cute. They didn’t know what they were doing. They will have to be in time-out for a few weeks because of the ankle, but I think that will give them ample time to think about what they’ve done. No need to over-punish.
A couple of new purchases are from a store I may have mentioned before – Aritzia. I know, I know, I need to stop spending my entire disposable income there. But looking at this pink blazer makes me feel just slightly less rejected.
I haven’t worn this braided belt yet, but I am really looking forward to it. I think we are going to be good friends.
That’s all the impulse purchases I have to share with you for now, but stay tuned for more drama with the male species (yes, species). Grad school boy (who planned a trip to Austin the second he found out I was single) is supposed to be in town this weekend. I distinctly remember him charming the pants off of me when I was taken, so let’s see whether he has the same effect on single me. Here’s to hoping.