Love Me Some Long Weekends


Three-day weekends rock, am I right? Leaving work the Friday before a three-day weekend is like being at the Victoria’s Secret semi-annual sale on the first day; all these bras in my size that aren’t vomit colored and covered in the Pink dog? Score! Even if you don’t have any plans, there’s nothing better than three days to yourself. Sometimes not having any plans is preferable. Park on the couch with a bag of peanut butter M&M’s and a “More than Partners” SVU marathon? Don’t mind if I do. 

President’s Day is one of the best three day weekends: it’s in the middle of winter and you’re super depressed that you’ll never get to wear those cute open-toed heels you just bought; there aren’t thousands of tourists flocking to the city to crowd up the trains and bars; all the banks and post offices are closed, so you have a legit excuse when you don’t get around to your errands again. And it means there’s just a few more weeks left until St. Patty’s day, the only worthwhile thing about living in Boston in the winter. 

This weekend I feel like I struck a good balance between productivity and relaxation. On Saturday, I took some items to the tailor, then came home and promptly watched a Sex and the City marathon for rest of the afternoon. On Sunday, B and I went shopping for home goods and running shoes, then came home and had a Sunday Funday with Bud Lights and bad movies. I went for a 4 miler today with my new running sneaks, then popped some cinnamon rolls in the oven for breakfast (they’re practically a recovery food). 

In college, my roomie and I would have days when we felt we were super productive, usually if we finished up a paper that had a due date lurking, or returned all the bottles and cans she had cluttering up her car (or did laundry; even if you’ve done nothing else all day, by throwing some clothes in the washer, you’re automatically a productive member of society). When you feel like you’ve been productive, it’s so much easier to convince yourself that lounging around in your sweats for the rest of the day isn’t that big an indiscretion. You just rid the fridge of the leftovers from the Christmas party? Sounds like the rest of your weekend is filled with bad television and Chinese take-out. What’s better than that?     

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