Tis the season

A near and dear friend of mine is turning a certain recognizable age this year on her birthday – one which parties are thrown, things are said and remembered and the beloved possibly goes home tanked from whiskey shots and happiness.
Oh yes, this party is happening alright – all the way in Florida for a FREAKING WEEK. And I’m going. I’m going. I am going. I am going to Florida for a week with all girls to celebrate the birthday of one of my best friends. Did I mention I was going alone. All by myself with the ladies. No one under 23 allowed. That includes inches.
41 days to take off.
We’ll be staying at a resort like this.
I am not responsible for the amount of shopping, laying in the sun, excerising on my own time or lack there of, sight seeing or getting spa treatments that may happen. I’m also not responsible for the amount of wine and fruity drinks I’ll order from the pool bar BECAUSE I CAN.
Commence working on tan in two weeks. Visiting gym more often starts Monday. Check.

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