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Friday, June 17, 2011

If I owe you an e-mail I haven't forgotten, I've just been busy with other equally important things

Like this~ I wrote a long post that I decided to not to torture you with, about my new sandals, the gist of it being, my old sandals broke, I looked high and low but could not find the perfect replacement until, ta-da, I did. Now I have some awesome sandals. Here’s a picture~


{Smokin' sandal deals found here}

Then I wrote one about how proud I was of myself for being more mature about the whole “my son, who is 20, is getting married” thing, until I started going through box after box of photos for the wedding video/slideshow and I suddenly found myself sobbing. SOBBING!! Out of the blue. It was nuts, or I am, or whatever. I can’t decide if was because my life was flashing before my eyes or because I found this picture~


There are a couple of things you can’t see very well in this picture.

1. Behind those big bangs lies a flat top. It was lovely and rebellious. Those were the days.
2. The woman standing between me and my best friend Julie is her mother. I fear, that in a long running campaign to save my soul, she may have made a contribution or six to the PTL Club. Bless her heart.

So, I spent a lot of time writing 2 posts that I later decided were a little too me me me, you don't want to read about me being neurotic or sentimental, right? Besides, today I need to talk to you about distraction, specifically, me being distracted while driving.

I think I might have to give up listening to the radio in the car, even though yesterday I heard a commercial about this woman who doesn’t want to listen to CDs or her i-pod while she’s driving because she lives in the real world and she needs to know what’s going on in the real world (I assume she means as opposed to Taylor Swift's world, because since I'm never alone in my car, that's the CD I'm most often forced to listen to), apparently listening to the radio is the only way she can do that. Which I believe, because the radio is full of real world information, I mean, I might have never known about the great plague that is Shift Worker Disorder if I hadn’t been listening to the radio.

On the other hand, since I don’t spend enough time listening to the radio, I’m a little sheltered, sometimes I hear something and I’m so intently trying to figure out if what they're talking about is a real thing that I miss my light and the people behind me start honking and gesturing. (which is SOO rude, by the way)

The other day I heard about Slenda Lean. It’s a slendalicious smoothie that helps you shed all that ugly fat. (If I’m picking up what they’re putting down, you get to keep the cute fat. Whew!) That’s right, Slenda Lean. The guy on the radio was offering $1000.00 to lucky users. So I called my brother.

Me~Hey, I just heard a commercial for Slenda Lean. At first I thought it was a joke, but I’m pretty sure it’s real, they’re offering people money to drink their monster hunger chasing smoothies.

Him~Wait..what's it called? Wasn’t there bacon called Sizzlean when we were kids?

Me~I think they still make it, but it’s not really bacon, is it?

Him~Doesn’t matter, I bet it would be a good side dish with that smoothie. You could say, I just had me some slendalean and some sizzlean for breakfast. Tasty.

Then the cars started honking. You know what? Now that I’m thinking about it, maybe the radio’s not the problem, maybe it’s my brother, because it certainly isn’t me. I’m a great driver.

*Also, there’s a giveaway over at BlogHer. You could win A Jane Austen Education AND Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition of, Jane Austen: The Complete Novels. Go here to enter.

ps~after some exhaustive research (wikipedia) it looks like Sizzlean isn't as widely available as Slenda Lean. I can't imagine why.

1 comment:

the running couple said...

OK, let me start by saying that I'm seriously considering a version of that haircut. But for men of my hair, um, situation, we call it a comb-over.
Next, I'll take your money and drink your smoothie. Where do I sign up?
SizzlingSlendaLean.com?

-Todd

 
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