People, we're on day 867 here. Okay, it just feels like that. If I've done the math correctly (which I highly doubt), we're on day 45, which is the perfect day for a Snark Attack. (Actually, every day is the perfect day for a snark attack, but today's the day for this one because I saw it over at Sarah's place. And I like Sarah.)
What I really like, however, is our intrepid blogger's ability to wander all over the place whilst telling a story and cracking me up at the same time: "I was like some tracker in the Old West, only without the chaps and the suspicious horse scent. I was the Searcher of dinner parties." And then she goes on to describe her secrets to poker (or speaking Spanish) as well as a run-in with a friend who is not Allison Janney. I wish I were Allison Janney, 'cause girl is one tall drink of water. (Does everyone want to be tall, or do tall people secretly yearn to be petite? And if you're already tall, do you yearn to be even taller? Like, 6'1" isn't enough, you just know you would be perfect at 6'4"?) Bygones. Anyone who can relate reading Shape and cooking magazines to porn is a winner in my book. Also, she needs an iPod just like I do, so we don't have to listen to ourselves wheezing through our runs like an "adenoidal pug."
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