Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out...

On my last hurrah in NYC, the city kicked my lil California ass to the curb. Although it was hot, hot, hot in L.A., it had turned to fall in New York by the time I arrived. I was under-dressed and shivering for five days and ended up catching a fierce cold. Yes, I still ate a chocolate croissant, had my hair colored and saw friends -- I can't be put down that easily -- but by the time it came to closing on my apartment, I was so sick and exhausted I could barely focus. It was sad to say goodbye to my place, but I was almost too tired to care. Fatigue and illness are a great cure for nostalgia. That afternoon, Matt's sister, Sarah, greeted me with a hug when I showed up on her doorstep weepy and sniffling and feeling sorry for myself. Thank god for her warm couch and silly TV shows. The next day I was well enough to ... call in sick and get myself on the earliest standby flight I could catch back to L.A.!