Last week, Nancy Drew style, I managed to solve a mystery – The Clue at Cherry and MLK. The mystery to be solved was – just how long could Ashley Smith go without having a “Forget About It” from Luigis? Mystery solved . . . far too long. If you haven’t had this man-hunk portion of turkey burger, then you are missing out my friend. This lunchtime-only treat combines my true love for convincing myself that what I am eating is healthy with my first love of eating food that is not. The fact that the patty is made from turkey and topped with a generous portion of rich, green, vitamin packed spinach allows one to overlook the more calorie-laden fact that the patty is smothered in ooey-gooey cheese and the spinach is tossed in a decadent paste of all things fattening. This illusion of health consciousness is so complete - in fact, that even when you invite the tater tots (best in town) in on the action, you still leave feeling like you have done something good for yourself. And you have! It's faux guiltless decadence at its finest.
By some divine twist of fate, I got a flat tire on Friday. Flat tires are my forte and contribute to my “Driving Miss Daisy” policy. This policy is simple. When I drive . . . bad things happen . . . so I don’t. Even aside from the three different state troopers who have told me that I should not have survived three different wrecks, there are the small infractions. I’m on a first name basis with the entire staff at Raffield Tire Master. On Friday, it became (my co-worker & all around savior) Josh’s responsibility to aid this damsel in distress. Long story short – I ended up spending the day alone at my Grandmother’s house (waiting for a repaired tire) eating bon bons, napping and watching the “stories.” Ladies and gentleman the writer’s strike is over and I am a Desperate Housewife.
O.k., ok. – I’m getting on with it! Friday night I went to see Josh Carson play at Shamrock. Josh and I carpooled when we were little and ever since that morning that my mom left without him and Josh set the alarm off and almost got run over on PioNono – well – ever since then I’ve had a soft spot for Josh. Plus he’s just so divinely adorable. Anyhoo - - the Shamrock was packed! Thanksgiving break style. Josh sounded better than I have ever heard him sound before and I saw some faces that were overwhelmingly exciting to see Grace, who is one of my angels and Angie, who is the most effervescent person I know. It was a wonderful night and I was home before my coach had time to go pumpkin on me.
Saturday I walked up to Fountain of Juice and upped the ante on the “packed house” theme. The place was slammed! Among MANY others, I ran into Carrie McElreath whom I shared Beth Tucker’s bachelorette weekend and Holly Arnold whom I share a birthday. Amidst my chatting and gushing I became too overwhelmed to make decisive menu selections and ended up leaving with a bag full of goodies that would feed me well into Sunday. Hunkered down with enough food to get me through what remains of the winter . . . I decided to do some spring cleaning. I emptied 2 closets, filled one big green trashcan and dedicated an entire secretary to beauty products. Keep an eye out next week for a list of my favorites.
I spent Sunday with Patrick McDreamy Dempsey (Can’t Buy Me Love), Lucy Spiller (Dirt), Bridget, Holly & Kendra (The Girls Next Door), and Bret Michaels (Rock of Love 2.) Reality t.v. is truly undervalued. Kisses!
aS
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Step Right Up, Get Your Tickets Before They Sell Out . . .
If you have tickets to attend the weekend activities at Atlanta Motor Speedway, I am pea-green-with-envy jealous of you. I am a girly -girl who loves high heels, frilly dresses and little bits of rubber in my margarita.
I love horsepower, and big wrecks and Kasey Khane. And I will not let the fact that I gave my tickets away (in a moment of stubbornness and passion - both of which I have in spades) make me bitter.
I will simply tell you that, if you have never been to an automotive race - you need to get your tooshie in gear.
Get your tickets . . . and a true adrenaline rush!
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