Sunnyside.

Funny story: My car died in the Jimmy John's drive-thru yesterday. I had just ordered a sub sandwich, low fat potato chips and iced tea. I turned the key - and nothing happened. Frantic, I pounded on the glass drive-thru window and told the Jimmy John's guy that I couldn't move my car because I couldn't turn it on. 

"OK," said the dude. "I'll send out a couple guys to help ya."

Imagine how humiliated I was when the sandwich-making crew had to help me push my car to the side of the parking lot, out of the other patrons' ways. I sat in my car, wrinkled my nose at the bag of food (I was much too wigged out to eat) and tried to think about what I should do. Luckily, it was only 11:30 a.m. but still, I had to be back at the office before 1 p.m. to greet my new social media intern on her first day. And I had to move the car. And buy a battery, apparently.

Brian showed up with jumper cables, and, once we started my car up, I bought a battery - which I paid an arm and leg for - and griped about my rotten day while I waited for the installation to be completed.

"Today sucks so far," I groaned, not caring who heard me. "I'm so sick of worrying about money."

But, I made it back to the office well before 1 p.m. and did a stellar job of orienting my social media intern plus the new design intern. And I got to thinking how much worse the car breakdown situation could have been. I mean, I could have broken down someplace far worse than the parking lot of a sub shop with a yummy lunch already in my clutches. I could have been in a bigger hurry and missed my appointments. I could have had bigger problems than just the battery.

I have this friend who sometimes texts encouraging messages around 7 a.m. while I'm brewing coffee. (He gets up roughly two hours before that, so it's easy for him to think of stuff.) Yesterday's message said something like: "Get ready for a wondrous and magical day."

It took me a while to admit that anything about yesterday could be remotely close to that description, but I think I'm fine with it now. After all, it felt kind of like magic, having those sandwich guys nudge my silent car to a safe place so easily, it was like wings had sprouted from her blue doors.

Ninth Annual.

Once a year, I get some of my best girl pals together and head to my house in May for a long weekend. This past weekend marked the 9th trip, and every year is special in its own way. 

Our traditions include eating ourselves silly, sipping frozen cocktails on the screened-in porch, playing board games and card games, hitting up the Hot Fish Club on Saturday night, soaking up the rays all day on Litchfield's gorgeous sands and just being together. 

My mother has always said that it's not where you go, but who you are with. Thus, being in my favorite place with my favorite people is double the magic. 

What Would [insert name of editor here] Do?

There are days when I ask myself this question.

There are days when I have no idea how to handle something and days when I am NOT satisfied with things.

On those days, I tell myself that every editor in the WORLD must go through this.

I imagine that even Roberta Myers sees editions of Elle every now and then that she is not 100% pleased with. That somewhere, in that dense, 500-page-long mountain of feature and fashion beauty, there is something that is driving Roberta crazy.

I also imagine that Roberta (and Anna, and Stefano, and whomever else) get less-than-desirable responses from the public on stories and fashion spreads that they themselves thought were splendid.

This is the truth of being a magazine editor. There is no way around this truth. We cannot please ourselves, nor our readers, at all times. Nor our publishers. Nor our co-editors.

Today, I received feedback from a reader that disheartened me. I took it personally at first, wondering why this person took the time to write something so nasty about something I worked on so dearly.

Then, after a couple of whine-fests with Brian and Bill, (who each told me I was overreacting) I remembered all the times I've read nasty feedback inside reputable, national magazines on the "Letters to the Editor" pages. The editors and publishers are so nonplussed, they print them for shits and giggles.

Meanwhile, I read over the bitching, rub my freshly-glossed lips together in deep thought ...and continue turning pages. What others think has absolutely no bearing on my love for my favorite publication.

Therefore, what others think should have no bearing on my love for the publication I work with each day.

I love work-related epiphanies.