"You're just a nice girl in the wrong place" - Gang Starr featuring Boy Big (The Ownerz)
6 miles hurts. By mid afternoon my left knee was like whoa and there was popping in joints like I was Turbo in that hospital that one time. I did it though and today I'm feeling fine. Better than fine, really. I'm on point.
7 miles this Saturday and then a trip to SD. Hopefully my legs won't give out in the middle of the drive.
By the way, Pineappalooza is now the finest drink at Jamba. I devoured it like whoa.
My sister's sweet sixteen went better than expected. We made it to Hollywood & Highland without much a hitch. My mom and I sat at a separate table and had intelligent, life-affirming conversation that mostly included clowning my father while he was away while my sister sat with her friends and did their own thing. We then dropped them off at Club OneSeven and I just had to put it out of my mind that every boy walking in the place looked like a punk and there were way more girls walking through looking hoochirific than looked like my sister and her friends. I just took it as a good sign that my sister didn't roll with the "belly-out" girls. Small favors and all.
So, if you were to see a man walk into a bar wearing gray bugle boy jeans, a yellow, short sleeve polo with an alligator on the pocket, hippie sandals and a poor haircut what would be the first thing to come into your mind? That he was a time traveller from 1985. Yeah, that's what I thought. Carrie wanted desperately to turn down his collar. It was obvious that his secret temporal displacement power was locked in the position of his neckband. She was scared, though. What if she grabbed his neck attire and he immediately jumped back to the Fast Times of Ridgemont High? "No, Spiccoli, no!" I wanted to egg her on and offer my twenty dollars to anyone who would just turn the collar down, clean the smudge off his cheek, and maybe sing a little Huey Lewis at the same time. But I really loved that twenty dollars. Do you know how much twenty dollars is worth in 2003? Well, probably the same as it was in 1985 but the point is I didn't want to part with it. So Arthur Fonzarelli was able to leave the bar with his time machine in tact. He turned to the bar and raised his arms up with the sign of the bull pointed towards us. He rocked his head forward twice as he stepped backwards and then dissapeared. It was so Rob Lowe meets Michael J. Fox and every spawn of Martin Sheen at a Bruce Springsteen/Billy Joel double bill that I wished Jennifer Gray and Patrick Swayze were there so we could reminisce about Dirty Dancing and Red Dawn. Damn.
My sister's sweet sixteen went better than expected. We made it to Hollywood & Highland without much a hitch. My mom and I sat at a separate table and had intelligent, life-affirming conversation that mostly included clowning my father while he was away while my sister sat with her friends and did their own thing. We then dropped them off at Club OneSeven and I just had to put it out of my mind that every boy walking in the place looked like a punk and there were way more girls walking through looking hoochirific than looked like my sister and her friends. I just took it as a good sign that my sister didn't roll with the "belly-out" girls. Small favors and all.
So, if you were to see a man walk into a bar wearing gray bugle boy jeans, a yellow, short sleeve polo with an alligator on the pocket, hippie sandals and a poor haircut what would be the first thing to come into your mind? That he was a time traveller from 1985. Yeah, that's what I thought. Carrie wanted desperately to turn down his collar. It was obvious that his secret temporal displacement power was locked in the position of his neckband. She was scared, though. What if she grabbed his neck attire and he immediately jumped back to the Fast Times of Ridgemont High? "No, Spiccoli, no!" I wanted to egg her on and offer my twenty dollars to anyone who would just turn the collar down, clean the smudge off his cheek, and maybe sing a little Huey Lewis at the same time. But I really loved that twenty dollars. Do you know how much twenty dollars is worth in 2003? Well, probably the same as it was in 1985 but the point is I didn't want to part with it. So Arthur Fonzarelli was able to leave the bar with his time machine in tact. He turned to the bar and raised his arms up with the sign of the bull pointed towards us. He rocked his head forward twice as he stepped backwards and then dissapeared. It was so Rob Lowe meets Michael J. Fox and every spawn of Martin Sheen at a Bruce Springsteen/Billy Joel double bill that I wished Jennifer Gray and Patrick Swayze were there so we could reminisce about Dirty Dancing and Red Dawn. Damn.
Postscript: I also said some really funny stuff about a woman who looked like a cross between Blossom and Britney Spears that ended with something about Newsies and Doogie Howser, M.D. but I don't think I can recreate it so that's just between Me and Heather. And Also: I'm not just running all these miles for my health. Donate