Weekend Warrior!

I write freelance from my humble Provo bedroom for a magazine in New York City.

I know said city like the back of my hand. At least how to navigate it.

I have traveled to Europe so much I'm over it. Unless I get sent there for business in the future.

I have fabulous friends- one who works for a PR agency, traveling to London, Paris and Milan Fashion Weeks, who has Ying (Marie Claire's beauty editor) on her personal Rolodex.

Then, why, I must ask, do I consider my life in "shambles" as I try to motivate myself with the Pussycat Dolls "When I Grow Up," finding myself in tears as I google my little sister's latest athletic achievements?

Goodness.

Athletics are extremely overrated. Just because I couldn't emotionally hack them, doesn't mean I'm not a disciplined hard-worker.
Sure, I'm bitter I spent so much of my teenage years obsessed with being skinny and not eating so I didn't have enough energy to improve athletically.
Yeah, I was insanely jealous of Whitney's* daily Board and Brew sandwich habit, and her ability to get into Yale despite broadcasting at practice one day she got a C in English.

Oh, wait, her Dad is the CEO of a widely known pet goods company. Ah, clarity.


And here I lie, donned in plush robe, hearing Cougar fans sing "Hey, hey baby!" (annoyingly, the most popular song they play in dull lulls of game action) outside my window as they skip off to watch some 200 creatine-charged dudes have at it, as I quietly, humbly, methodically, type away at the pleasures and conveniences of a Jet Charter Card- coming to you for a $100K minimum.

No biggie. You don't have one too? Because I'm an expert (WINK).

*name has been changed to protect identity