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This story first appeared in the Jan. 11, 2013, issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine.
I just want to start off by saying that I refuse to complain about New Year’s Eve because I find that sort of cynicism super-obvious. Some people use their holiday break to spend time with family, but not me. I decided to eat every cookie possible — I did not discriminate for any religious purposes — and never even attempted a workout.
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After all that chaos, I decided not to wallow in my frosted animal crackers and planned a trip with my BFF Mindy Kaling to a Santa Barbara resort (Oprah lives there, y’all!). We decided it had to be less than two hours away from home in case we receive a last-minute Prince invite (not the singer, a real prince who invites us out on New Year’s Eve).
The planning of this happened all over text and felt very efficient. We made a pact to respect each other when we wanted to read Gone Girl and to always participate in choreographed dance routines to Taylor Swift‘s “Trouble.” We wanted to get something healthy out of going away, so we decided to plan our own cleanse retreat. We are only packing workout clothes, initialed pajama sets and our own Pressed Juicery cleanse (ringing in the new year with almond milk always has been a dream of mine).
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Mindy is responsible for bringing every magazine possible so we can be fluent in the possibility of Jen Aniston‘s pregnancy and any spring nail-art trend. We are also going to watch the first four episodes of Girls over and over again. We’re only going to social media image ourselves two to three times a day when we look good and filtered. We’re going to clear out the minibar and hope our fingers can’t call room service for French fries. I hope all our friends and family don’t get too jealous when we return like glowing supermodels.
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