Well, shit. I just cannot pull one over on you guys. I apparently had two faux pas (pauses?) in my last post.
First of all, I told you about Devon from Outside PR who so graciously sent me the Ryders Eyewear to review. I eloquently described Devon as being a cute guy, but this was just in my imagination. Imagine my surprise when Devon emailed me to let me know she was a she. Vagina and all. Well, she didn’t say that, but I did. Sorry, Devon. Those names that could go either way really mess me up (Pat, Morgan, Drew, Yanni). I never should have assumed. Ass out of U and Me. Right?
Secondly, Paul from PB Down Under was kind enough to leave me this comment on my last post when I spoke of "
What a giggle you have given me when you say something like "wet your pallet." ROTFL :-) Maybe you think we are all truckers and have piles of these things (pallets) lying around?? Methinks your fingers meant to type "palate!" Blame it on the finger with the cut who was probably just trying to get you back for attempting to chop her off!
Well, Paul, let me tell you something. I actually was talking about a trucker’s pallet. How did you know? I was hoping that we could all take a moment to rinse off and hose down those pallets we have laying around. Did you think I meant “palate?” (The roof of the mouth in vertebrates having a complete or partial separation of the oral and nasal cavities). As in a cleft palate? Oh no, my friend.
And if you believe that then you’ll believe I meant to say "Chopin was a concert penis" not a "concert pianist."
Seriously, though, thanks for the comment. You guys always make me laugh. I read each and everyone one of them.
Despite all of my shortcomings (and there are too many of them to ever confine to this blog), someone out there loved me yesterday.
Let me set the stage for you. I had just finished an 8.5 mile run, rinsed off, and decided to hit the Starbuck’s drive-thru before running a few mom-errands. I was not wearing mom jeans or listening to mom music (Kenny Rogers, Billy Joel) when I did this. The line at the drive thru was long, but I was in no hurry. I passed the time listening to Dr. Laura berate someone for the 201st time about the fact that they lived with their boyfriend (I think “whore” was the word she used). I finally ordered my grande mild coffee with extra cream (right to my colon), and inched my way to the pay window. I had my $2 out and ready to go. Rolling my window down as I approached the cashier I heard her say, “You’re all taken care of. The car in front of you paid for your drink.” Damn, I love this pay it forward stuff. And, damn, if I would have known I would have gotten a triple venti extra large mocha with gold shavings.
Seriously, thanks to that anonymous soul. I tried to chase him/her down flailing my money at their car so I wouldn’t feel so indebted to the universe, but he/she had disappeared into the mess of side streets and box stores.
This has been happening to me all over the place. First the guy at the Chelsea Handler show buying me drinks. Then my massage therapist gave me a free massage the other day because I lended an ear to listen to some of her personal problems. Now, the free coffee. What is this world coming to? Who do these generous people think they are? And, who of you, and I mean who of you is going to pay my mortgage this month?
Wish me luck on my 20 miler this weekend. I had it all mapped out on back dirt roads until we got major snow today. Now what’s a girl to do? Will she ice bath or won't she ice bath? Will she wear any clothes this time, or will she free ball? (What is the female equivalent of "free ball" anyway? Loose lip? Feel free to comment about that one).
Misszippy is doing a great giveaway on her blog for the new book Run Like a Mother that comes out 3/23. Also on her blog is an interview with the author.