I’m just three days away from making the trip to New York City for the Book Blogger Convention, and do you think I’ve even started to think about the journey, my clothes or — more importantly — what books I’m bringing?!

Well, OK, yes — I have thought (a little) about what I’m packing, as evidenced by my most recent short post. Because, you know, I need to look good at this thing. I can’t show up in my typical non-work apparel of University of Maryland T-shirts, scuffed flip-flops and oversized purses carrying everything and everything’s brother. I need to Make An Effort. I need to Be Professional.

You know, I have high standards for my blogging self.

So, yes, I’ve decided to definitely wear my Power Dress to Friday’s BBC in NYC (that’s fun to type!) and I’m feeling pret-ty good about it. Stuff I’m not feeling good about? Figuring what shoes to wear that will simultaneously be fashionable and not kill my feet. Because last year, in London? Your girl Meg decided to wear flip-flops around England. When I was, you know, seeing the entire city on foot. Or what felt like the entire city, anyway. And by the time I made it home to Maryland? I had pinched a nerve. Between my toes. And then I had to try and figure out why I couldn’t feel my toe on my never-ending flight back to the States.

Answer: I was a moron.

There will be no repeat performance this year. As I’ve gotten older and, hopefully, wiser, I’ve finally succumbed to the fact that beauty does occasionally equal pain — but I’m just not all right with that. Nothing kills a great day faster than wanting to chop off your own foot. This vacation? I’m planning accordingly.

Because it is, on top of everything else, a vacation. My sister’s college graduation is all finished — and we had a rip-roarin’ good time! I’m so proud of my baby sister and all her accomplishments, and it’s awesome to welcome another journalist into the family. Well, I’m an editor, technically, but I do work for a newspaper and write a biweekly column. It’s all about me, sure, but it’s writing. In a paper. So = journalism, right? (Not really, but we’ll roll with it.)

Other things on my mind for this upcoming adventure? What books to bring. This is always the trouble for me, see, because I tend to overpack and bring along a million novels. Logically I know I’m not going to have that much time to read and will most likely buy even more books to bring home with me from my travels, but I still have this irrational fear that I will — gasp! — run out of reading material. And let’s be serious: that’s terrifying.

I’m in the middle of two novels right now — Danielle Ganek’s The Summer We Read Gatsby and Chemistry For Beginners by Anthony Strong — and while I’m enjoying both, I still feel like I want a “fresh” book to accompany me on my trip to New York City. The last time I set foot in the Big Apple, I was a tender 12-year-old who spent the entire bus ride up and back staring longingly at the blonde-haired kid named Matt I had a wicked, wicked crush on. The kind of crush that makes your whole body blush when they even hazard a glance in your direction. The sort of crush that makes you feel like you’ve been Tasered if they deign to pick up a pencil you’ve dropped. (Or, you know, thrown. At them. In an adolescent attempt to get their attention. I was really smooth and flirtacious and charming, what can I say.)

So what magical, fresh and fun book will be coming with me to NYC? One I just picked up at Borders the other day: Morgan Matson’s Amy & Roger’s Epic Detour. The title alone was intriguing, but once I saw that gorgeous, gorgeous cover? Well, I was already hooked. I saw a tweet about it a few weeks back and started doing some research, and it didn’t take me long to want to get my greedy, book-lovin’ hands all over Matson’s debut novel. So hey there, Amy and Roger — you’re going on an epic detour with me!

And yes, I promise to bring my cheesy sense of humor with me on Friday. Get ready for a good time, y’all, because Meg’s out in full force. And since I’ll be in comfortable shoes, I’ll be ready to chase you down to chat. Don’t think I won’t, either; I’m not subtle.