Just a little love note, my sweet tiny sprinkle topped cupcakes - party Saturday night at Limerick Junction starting around 8pm. Be sure to arrive early - I’ll be the one in the tiara.

Don’t know what to expect? Here you’ll witness unflattering evidence of the pre-game with the World Famous Dejie last night. Saturday you should brace yourself in preparation of the opportunity to meet her in person, and brace your wallet for the possibility (probability) that I may even let you buy me an adult beverage. Kimbo (picture taker) even bought stripper shoes for the event, what more could you want?

Aside: Act 2, Scene 7 will always rock my world, and this jewel as introduced by my darling Harry 6 years ago is the quintessential break up / start over / hooyah / go girl / kick ass and take names album. It rolls you straight through whatever step of a relationship you’re in and reminds you that there’s light at the end of the tunnel (honking and singing badly all the way) if you want there to be. Don’t be scared of Donna, she loves you. If you’re not man enough to listen because you’re threatened by synthisizers and the late 70’s, find and read the lyrics. You’ll see I’m right. Always am.

Kissy boo!

Alright so you know the story - I was talking to a friend, blah blah blah.

Crazy women are apparently all the rage these days, at least you might think they are the way the stories are continually popping up but I’ve got news for you, I’ve interacted with men who boast more issues than Playboy.

Riddle me this, darlings - in your long, sordid histories, what were the offenses committed by your ex’s that constituted you labeling them as “psycho”?

I’ll go ahead and launch it with these three morsels, you build from there:

~ They insist on continuing to “hang out” well after the grieving period
~ They shamelessly make repeated (and shunned) advances
~ They get jealous when they aren’t invited to a small impromptu social event (again, well after the grieving period)

Don’t go thinking I’m a heartless old wench (though I kind of am), I’m really curious about this and think we have a lot we could learn from each other. You and me. Me and you. Together. Think your ex is jealous of us?

Kissy boo!

Man he hates it when I do that.

Being in training at my old stomping grounds this week has me reunited with my ol’ buddy KT who is miraculously in town long enough to break bread and generous enough drop what he’s doing to sweep me up and get me out of the building. For nostalgias sake yesterday we walked to Ruben’s in Farlie Poplar, giggling wildly, shoving each other into oncoming pedestrian traffic and pretending that no time had passed since we did it last.

I miss that kid. I’m so much more amusing with him and his endless supply of material around.

There are people you meet who have a profound impact on your life without knowing it. Who sneak into the dark places and make them bright again, unaware of how much joy they bring with them, and how deeply their absence is felt when they’re not around. People you’re comfortable with just being yourself, whether it means being vulnerable during a late night call when you’re pouring your ugly parts out on the coffee table and sorting through them while the other party listens to the shuffling, or letting them see you in {gasp} a swimsuit for the sake of comfort in the boiling bowels of a hot-tub, or having a one sided pillow fight with them on the couch while flicking channels to pass the time. These are the people who can bruise your perception of logic and invincibility with an awkwardly timed lack of contact. The same ones can repair it all with a few well chosen words and the reminder that they care and they are worthy of having been invited to that secret place.

Kenneth satisfies most of one of those, but damn it if I didn’t just get distracted by something else hanging out on the edges of my brain and go off on a tangent again. Most importantly, he’s a true, reliable and honest comrade who makes me snort-laugh.

Good friends should be celebrated in earnest every day in both mundane and spectacular ways. “Make life a grand, sweet song!”

Last winter with my cashmere on his head.

Holy crap. The weather in WV though foggy and a little damp, was an incredibly refreshing change of pace. I’d forgotten how enjoyable it is not to break a sweat walking from your car to your door by virtue of humidity alone.

This is disgusting.

So I’m home, and as planned I made it just before the dinner hour but I didn’t complete the mission to dine at a truck stop. In part because I was stoked at the time I was making and in part because I didn’t actually see one on the way back. Maybe they’re all on the north-bound side of the road? Beyond my weak excuses for failure I choose to blame it on the bossa nova, which is one notch above blaming it on the rain. I wish getting on the road hadn’t caused me to miss breakfast.

I did complete the mission to get back on the walkin’ sticks and hoofed it for over an hour with Kim and Harley (the boy dog that pees like a girl dog) around Tech. Much to our delight we stumbled into Rush - the campus was hopping on a Sunday night with Caribbean themed parties, bands on lawns and kegs waiting to be drained, the streets silly with an abundance of boys in beanies and matching t-shirts. Painfully aware of my age and reminded that I can no longer eat whatever I want without repercussion by flawless little girls in mini skirts, I went home and ran* for another 45…all before the sun went down. I’m not happy about it at all.

I’m also not stoked that all my electronic communication devices are functional again (only 64 work emails waiting to clog up the Blackberry the moment it sensed a cell tower) just as I was starting to get the hang of being disconnected - and finding comfort in being powerless about it.

Not crappy enough, you say? Very well. Someone is still mad I forgot him at home. I wonder how long the silent treatment will last.

Luckily, I have this picture of a giant ass from Gaffney, South Carolina to make me smile. Oh wait, it’s a peach. Nah, it’s a butt.

Oh and PS Stephanie - I thought of you when I was passing through the Yadkin Valley (and breezing by the wineries!) but didn’t know how to reach you…give me your URL again.

Awake but not rested, need to be on the road soon so I can settle in at home and get a run in before lights out. During the drive here I had the benefit of traveling at night and at the crack of dawn when the roads were desolate….the sane people were all home with their families, it was just me and the truckers.

On the way back to The ATL it’s my mission to pause for vittles in at least one truck stop and use the princess phone. I’ll be wearing flips (duh), so maybe I’ll even bathe there - not because I need to, just because I can.

During the return voyage, I’ll also try not to flip anyone off or use my bumper to ram them out of the way.

Ooooh me so hungry. Starbucks at the foot of the stairs, I’m hitting it and shaking it.

Kissy boo!

Like I can remember who won. Kabush? Followed by Bishop? Sounds right. I’m 99% sure Shonny Vanlandingham took the ladies.

This is what I came to see, the rest is static.

Real results eventually out here.

Bishop still in 1st with some Maxxis dude hanging off his backside.

This kids bike broke in two on the course, when I asked him what happened he said “Come here” signaling the other side of the bike and offered that he was “missing a pretty important part, don’t you think?” (click the picture - now) Um. What the fuck do I know? Not a clue what’s missing for all the freaking mud, that’s for certian. Without the mud I’d be even worse off at hazarding a guess. I grunted, took a few more pictures, shot him a look a pity and sauntered off.

When J rolled by his response to my cheer was something that involved the word “suck” but I couldn’t make it all out. Heh.