Saturday, March 20

It's morning and I'm chipper as usual. Suck it.

I'm up.  No one else is.  I've started laundry because it's Saturday and I have things to clean.  I don't care if it wakes anybody up.  By this time tomorrow,  I should be done/nearing completion of an awesome 13.1 miles.  That's taking into the severe time delay it could take to get 8,000 bodies over the start line.  

Mommy McD keeps referring to it as "gun time."  I giggle.  Who are we kidding?  We're not Ultras.  We're 2 thought process-lacking friends who thought it'd be fun for a morning to run for beer.  And now we're less than 24 hours out.  Awesome.

Last night I was berated again for not getting/being married.  This time by a guy...who kept reiterating how much money I could gain from that little piece of paper.  Okay, buddy, a.) I wouldn't see any of that because it'd be on Mr. Wookie's paycheck.  Secondly, isn't marrying for money something that is frowned upon (less, of course, it's going to set me up with a hefty sum after he croaks...because he's old after all, and Anna Nicole is my idol)?  And thirdly,...well I don't have a thirdly at the moment.  But it was odd to be reprimanded by a male for not being legally bound to someone.  I thought they had better things to do like stroke chest hairs, compare militia arsenals, and drink Scotch on the rocks.  Besides, most men avoid marriage like the plague.  But apparently this guy brought his soap box last night.

I think it was Mr. Wookie who broke a water glass last night at the bar and the liquid proceeded to run down onto my shoe.  "Leather shoe, leather shoe, LEATHER SHOE!"  Apparently my Clarks: Artisan Collection are no match for a spilled water glass.  My spilled water glass.  Because Karma's awesome like that.  And I guess it's time for a new pair of shoes.  Sold.

I'd really like to get a pedicure after this whole run tomorrow, but I just don't have the toenails to paint.  When I nervous, I'll start messing with my toenails. So now they're just short nubs.  And I'm running tomorrow, so there's no time to grow them out just for green polish.

And speaking of green polish, I walked into Claire's yesterday with the intent to purchase polish so I can have jazz nails for the race. But then as soon I saw that the bottle was Oregon Y(D)uck Green, I did an immediate about-face and high-tailed it outta there.  No way could a proud Oregon State alumni stoop to such levels.  And now I'm heavily debating not wearing green to the Shamrock Races because the color has the tendency to offend me so much.  So I may be in green.  I may be in hot watermelon.

1 comment:

  1. The Sheriff says... The Ging called the nail polish right. All orange all the time.

    Gun time. I like it. Brings back fond memories of HTC. Make us best coasters proud.