Well, that didn't turn out like I'd hoped...

Yesterday was my first day of work here in Atlanta, and everything went pretty well. It went well, that is, until I was time to leave. I looked everywhere, but my car and apartment keys were nowhere to be found. That's right. I haven't even been in Atlanta for a whole week, and I've already achieved a feat I never accomplished in all my time in New York. 

I retraced my steps once, twice, and three times (a lady), and every person I asked asked me if I had retraced my steps. And now I'm sitting in my friend Teresa's apartment making this post on my iPhone. 

On the bright side: I had my first chick fil a since I moved here. Yes, of course I had a chocolate milkshake. With whipped cream and cherry on top. And while we were in the car in the drive through, I told Teresa how I had, just the day before, cooked a frozen pizza and in the absence if proper cutlery, torn it in half and eaten it out of a plastic bowl. Welcome to Atlanta where the playas play...and where the spinsters lose their keys and sleep on someone else's couch.