Alright, no more lattes. Or coffee drinks, in general. Just no more caffeine, period. I've felt nauseous since my Grasshopper Latte from the coffee shop this morning. I feel on the verge of drunk and/or sleep, which I believe to be the opposite effect of coffee. Am I wrong? Regardless, I feel ill.
The BF will be here for the weekend. I expect a collective applause on that one, thank you. I'm rather excited. Tonight we're finally gathering with our pals for the official "wine and cheese party," tomorrow night we have an event to attend - I say "event" as though we're regular socialites (we're not), and Sunday, well, Sunday we'll be squealing all day because, HOORAY, we leave for Myrtle Beach in mere DAYS. Phew.
In other news, I didn't go through with the hair appointment. Still have split ends and dark roots. Great. It's real pretty. But alas, I decided I'd rather have cash to throw away on vacation than cash to throw away on a potentially bad haircut. I know, I'm a thinker.
On the running front, well, it sucks. The shins are (expletive, expletive, expletive-expletive) pieces of (expletive). They hurt. And they are determined to ruin my existence. I, however, do not go down without a fight. This isn't over.
Also, I (not of my own free will) spent that last two days at Country USA. Think music festival for the country-inclined. Never before have I seen so many cowboy hats, Confederate flags and scrunchies in one place in my life. Classy. However, Gretchen Wilson was there, and I like her, so two points for Country USA. Negative 48 points for the imbeciles with Confederate flags.
So there you have it. A recap of my week. Aren't you glad you asked? Oh, wait. You didn't. Too bad.