HERE'S TO THE WEEKENDS THAT DON'T END

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Going through a funk is such an obnoxious thing. It travels from your brain to your words and all the way around to your friends and family. It's the fucking worst. The solution of moving to the Amalfi Coast was feasible. Second best solution? Get out of my apartment and see my FRANDS (That's friends.)

I met up with some of my friends this weekend for one of the best times in New York City since moving here. We got into a discussion of what I was going to do since I'll be turning 26 soon and what that meant for my goals, etc. I have been struggling hard and falling into a ridiculously ridiculous "Woe is me" stage. Like, right? Shut up. And thank god for my friends. I've never been surrounded by so much support. Honestly, one of the best moments I've had in a very long time. Every single one of my friends there were so encouraging and thoughtful and kind. They brought up attributes of myself that I had portrayed to them a long, long time ago- it sparked something. It reminded me of the person I was when I moved here: bright-eyed, open to change and excited about life. It was the best way to be jolted... by surrounding myself with the coolest of kids, to be told the truth with such uplifting words and to get drunk, stuff our faces and dance in the doorway of Sweet & Vicious like a Wedding Party dance. I'm telling you, best weekend ever.

What have we learned? Well, surround yourself with the fucking best. Because you deserve a bomb ass crew.

So, friends, thanks. And you readers, extra thanks.