Two.

That's the type of diabetes I'm working toward. Today was rough. I got 3.5 hours of sleep last night, had to drive to Herndon WAY early this morning and sat in a long ass boring meeting for most of the day. I finally got to give my brief 1.5 hours behind schedule. The only difference between the movies where you see people in front of a firing squad and my brief is that I was wearing a business suit... oh yea, and I'm not a criminal. To add to the shitty day I've got hours of work to do tonight, I'm in desperate need of an oil change, and my car's right blinker and brake lamp decided to crap out at the same time. Yay!

Since I'm facing a mountain of work I decided that rather than drink my face off I'd take advantage of the nice weather and walk the half mile round trip to Randolph bakery. That's got to burn off at least one cupcake sprinkle. This is where the diabetes comes in. At 6:20 I leave my condo with my credit card in my pocket. Halfway there I realize I no longer feel the c.c. About face. Time to retrace my steps. Luckily, as I return to the parking lot I see it laying on the ground. About face again. It's MOTHEREFFING CUPCAKE TIME!!!!!!!!!! Well, much to my dismay, when I arrived at the bakery at 6:32 I see the closed sign and hours of operation. They closed at 6:30. 6:30. 6:30!! I legitimately almost lost my shit on the curb. Good thing the fat kid in me is determined b/c she pushed me 50 more steps up hill where I stopped at Starbucks and got 4 mini whoopie pies (holy crap I might sell my future babies these are so good AMIRITE?!?!) and a grande skinny cinnamon dolce latte.

F*cking Tuesdays. Pin It Now!