Yes, I saw Carrie Underwood last night. No, I didn't get pictures because had my camera had the capability of shooting a picture from approximately 17,943 miles away? Well, that'd be cool.
But, alas, it does not.
Regardless, she was flawless. And pretty. And I love her with all of my being. OK, not all of my being, but a lot. Hi, Carrie!
Anyway. There was that.
I also bought new running shoes yesterday. Another pair of Brooks Adrenaline, which are magical, and tomorrow morning I will break them in, and log another 400 miles before replacing those, as well. I didn't run this morning, and instead decided it'd be even cooler to participate in a core strengthening class at the Y. Which, turns out, is totally not cool at all. In fact, I wanted to die. And was violently reminded why, it is, I have absolutely no abdominal muscles. Because I HATE ab workouts. I rest my case.
I bought two new books yesterday at Barnes and Noble, too. Thanks to a freaking membership and $20 gift card to the place, care of the Original Blog Buddy, KLHP. A membership! I have a membership to Barnes and Noble, which can only be described as Extremely Dangerous.
Anyway, I bought Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides and The Falls by Joyce Carol Oates, which came highly recommended, and so, if it's not good, it's your head, Erin. I kid, I kid. Also, perhaps if I took up reading again, instead of mercilessly watching the stacks of new books pile up haphazardly on my bookshelf, which is at capacity, I would actually read one of these books in the next 13 or 15 years.
Books are sort of like crack cocaine to me. I can't not buy them. I can't. I see them, and they're cheap, and I need them. And each time I buy a new book, I get a tingling sensation in my spine that sort of reminds me I'm an absolute dork and need to get a new hobby. And then I remember some people actually are addicted to crack cocaine, and I sort of chuckle, and decide maybe buying books is OK.