Lunch Date Adventures

I love my best friend.

There is NOTHING I would rather do than spend some quality time with her without the kiddos interrupting every five minutes. And because every time we hang out she always makes me laugh until I can't breathe, I wanted to share a glimpse into our hilarious relationship by telling you about our lunch date today.

I don't know about you, but we have an open door policy written into our friendship. You know, the kind where you don't knock, you just walk in and make yourself at home. Mi fridge es su fridge. Is there coffee in the coffee pot? Good. I am going to pour myself a cup while I raid your cupboards in search of your chocolate stash. Then I am going to stink up your bathroom. With the door open. THAT kind of friendship. Ya get me?

Another thing you need to know about my best friend, Amy, is that she is not always a "ready when you get there" kind of girl. Even when I specifically say, "I will be there at 12:00 SO BE READY TO WALK OUT THE DOOR," she is usually just getting into the shower as I walk in. And today was no exception.

I arrived at 12:15. I knocked as I was walking in, shouting "Heeeelllloooooo" like I always do. No answer. Okay. No biggie. (I told you that she is always running behind)  I could hear the shower running and her and her husband talking and it sounded like the bathroom door was open, so I slowly ventured toward that end of the house yelling "Hey! I'm here!" Still no response. I was pretty much terrified to get any closer because 1. Yer girl does NOT want to walk in on the "business" and 2. What if her husband comes busting around the corner el nude-o? So, I slowly backtracked into the kitchen, took off my boots, and waited patiently (Read: snooped through the stuff on the counter, checked out the fridge stats, read the notes on the white board)

After about 5 minutes, Amy comes busting out of the bathroom butt naked and around the corner into the kitchen, sees me and shouts to her husband, "Traci's here! Don't come out here naked!" So instead, he comes out wearing....Amy's pink robe.

Now I don't know about you, but seeing your best friend's husband in HER little tiny pink robe, set me off in a fit of giggles which were only amplified when he started sashaying across the kitchen, waggling his hips, and batting his eyelashes. I figured the ONLY thing I could do at THAT point is join in on the crazy, right? So I start giving him advice on how to be more feminine. Sway your hips. Flick your wrist a little more. Clench your butt cheeks tighter. "Oh honey! That's EXACTLY what Bruce told me earlier! But I told him NO on account of the hemorrhoids."

By this point I was ALREADY on the verge of panty tinkling. And the fun was just beginning.

After a long wait, during which I was completely entertained by her husband's pink robe antics, she was ready, and we were off to enjoy a great lunch and some much needed talk time.

Our lunch was delish. We ordered two meals and then split them, so we were basically gorging ourselves to the point where only a good poop would make us feel comfortable enough to move. And we talked about tantalizing topics like the LAST time we had come to that restaurant and Amy had asked for EXTRA blue cheese and bacon so crispy that it was bordering on burnt on her well-done burger, only to be madly disappointed upon the food coming out still moo-ing and covered in limp chewy bacon. And how I, being the great friend that I am, had completely thrown her under the bus when our poor server innocently came by to hear how wonderful our food was and I laughed and pointed at Amy and said, "My food is GREAT, but you should ask HER..." all while stuffing our faces in true hungry girl style and laughing like crazy women.

Speaking of laughing, there is nothing more soul cleansing than a good laugh with your best friend. And what came next, well, it cleansed my soul from here to next year.

When it was time to pay our cute little waitress, who was 23, and YES I do know this because Amy asked, came by with the check and a cute little story about her lack of sleep due to her Thursday night partying. While she was busy telling us ALL about what a hard learner she was, Amy could only focus on one thing.

The speck of mystery sauce glistening on the poor girls chest.

So as our poor unsuspecting waitress babbled on, Amy reached out and PICKED it off. with. her. FINGERNAIL! The look on that poor girl's face was BEYOND priceless and I seriously lost all self control and burst out in a laugh that bordered on hyena.

"Sorry! You had a little something on there..." Amy quickly explained as the waitress looked on in pure disbelief.

"It-it-it's okay!" the waitress stuttered, "I am glad you got it..."

By this point, I am practically choking on my own spit from pure insane laughter. And Amy is still chatting away at the poor girl, "Yea, I knew it wasn't one of your cute little moles because it was catching the light..."

Oh. My. Goodness. If every person in the restaurant wasn't staring at me by this point, I would have been totally surprised.

Then Amy looks at me and says, "What? It was RIGHT there! I wouldn't have wanted her to walk around with that all day long! And I was GOING to use my napkin, but then I saw how used it was and thought 'dirty!', so I just used my finger! "

By the time the waitress made her escape, my laughter had turned into a red-faced, crying, can't catch my breath debacle as I squeezed out these words, "You. Could. Have. Just. TOLD. Her! Maybe added a little finger point to the spot..."

"Oh my! I didn't even THINK of that!" she said as she joined in my laughter. "How much tip should I leave?" she asked.

"Enough to cover your physical assault of her CHEST!" I retorted.

"Yea... I better leave a little extra!"

And when we calmed down enough to actually look at the bill, we realized that our lunch entree was called the "willy wrap" which started our rollicking all over again.

I am sure they were ALL happy to see us leave. Especially our poor assaulted waitress with the cute moles. Thank goodness it wasn't just a freckle.

THAT would have been awkward.

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If you see me running....RUN!

I hate to run.

I always have.

In middle school, my dad REALLY wanted me to try out for the basketball team. I agreed, after all, who doesn't want to please their daddy? So I showed up after school, all gung-ho to show how great of a shot I was. Then the coach blew the whistle and the torture running began. I swear it was NEVER ENDING! Back and forth, round and round, run, run, run. Until I thought I was going to throw up. Needless to say, when my dad picked me up, I put my non-running foot down about THAT whole business! And my ultimate hatred for running was born.

Fast forward twenty plus years.

My best friend (since birth, so she damn well knows how I feel about running) sees a cute little picture on Facebook advertising this great little dye throwing 5k and says "We should DO THIS! It will be great! It looks like so much fun!" and I (obviously knowing how much I hate running) say "Weeeeell, I HAVE been going to the gym 3 days a week... this will be a piece of cake. I got this! SURE! Let's do it!"

I still am not exactly sure why in the world I agreed so easily. But I did. And then to make matters EVEN worse....I paid the dang fee of $40.

Who in their right mind actually PAYS to run? Apparently this --> moron <-- right here.

But it was ok, right? I had like 6 months to train, to get myself ready. And I WAS already going to the gym and elipticalling my way towards a 5k run. I could do it.

Piece. of. cake.

I may have a SLIGHT problem with my positivity...

So Christmas comes and goes (mmmmm.....fudge) and life comes and goes and my gym visits get fewer and farther between and the thoughts of running fade from my mind like the remnants of a bad dream.

After all, that WAS all that was...Wasn't it?

Next thing I know, I am getting a message from my friend. "Hey! Did you get your run email? It's getting close! Why in the world did we sign up for this again??!" And reality was like WHAM. In. My. Face. Ugh. I was NOT dreaming. I DID sign up and PAY FOR this stupid run!

Well, if we are gonna dye, we might as well look good doin' it! ( <--- Like that little play on words there? hehehe)

It seemed to me that costumes were in order.

So, that weekend, I went to the craft store and bought yards upon yards upon yards of tulle (it takes A LOT to cover these big ole booties!) and her and I spent an afternoon making beautiful tu-tu's and creative t-shirts to wear to the color run.

Here is my friend's AWESOME creation!

We were gonna go out with a (fashionable) bang!

Next thing we knew, it was the night before the run. And I, being the last minute responsible person I am, was frantically trying to find the registration e-mail and get everything in order. Because EVERYONE does this at 10:00 on the night before an 8 am run....Right?! So, reading the e-mail, I see that I was supposed to go and register THAT day, but if you were a "late" registrar, you needed to be there at 6 am to "avoid" the long registration lines. Ugh. That meant a 5 am wake up AND a run.

Seriously, people, just kill. me. now.

Next morning. I hit the snooze. SEVERAL times. Rolled outta bed, slapped my hair in a pony tail (I was just gonna be a hot mess ANYWAY!) and stumbled out the door around 6. Drove to the place, looked around and thought "WHERE'S ALL THE PEOPLE AT?" That place was a ghost town. I could have slept AT LEAST another hour. Dammit! But I did manage to avoid the "long registration lines", get registered AND have time for selfies!

That's some hot ladies, right there!

And time for LOTS and LOTS of pictures. Apparently our costumes were quite the spectacle as people kept stopping us and asking to take our pictures. 

....It's really hard to be so good lookin'!

So. Now we had a TON of time to kill. Which was good since my friend was having a love affair with the Port A Pots...musta been all that water! Except we had to take that dang tu-tu off every time she went in. Then I had to help her get back in that sucker. Beauty is pain, folks.

Beauty is a pain in the butt, that is!

FINALLY, after all kinds of crazy hubaloo, the race is going to start! We did at least get to be at the front of the mob since we were there at the ass crack of dawn...so there was at least SOMETHING good outta that debacle... Bing, bang, boom, WE'RE OFF! At the steady pace of a turtle with hemorrhoids. People were passin' us left and right. But WHATEVER, we were pacing ourselves, dammit!

"Slow people to the right, please!"

We couldn't get anymore right. Believe THAT. I swear a lady running with her 2 year old passed us. And WHO in their right flippin' mind RUNS A 5K with a 2 year old any ole way?! But we just kept trucking along anyway.

And when we passed (severa;) places where we could seriously short-cut right on through and skip a BIG chunk of the race, we didn't. (Read: She wouldn't let me. What a meanie. Seriously. I tried. But NOOOOO! We are gonna run this WHOLE thing. Blah blah blah... Jerk.)

Half way point. Check! Thought we might have to detour to a smack down at this point. This dumb lady behind us (who was running with all FOUR of her kids) kept yelling at her tired kids to pick up the pace and stop complaining and quit asking for water. She deserved a good smacking. But I bit my tongue. Hard. And kept on truckin'. At the pace of a turtle. With hemmorhoids. (In case you forgot. Or missed that earlier.)

And then....an oasis appeared before my eyes...THE FINISH LINE! And my friend says, "Let's run it on in and finish strong!" and I say "Quit talking to me devil woman! You are lucky I even made it THIS far! Yea...you BETTER run! This lady is gonna have to kill you for making me do this dumb ole thing AND for not letting me cheat!"

Oh wait...I just was THINKING all that.

I actually said, "Oh lordy, kill me now...ok..." And we joined arms and ran that last 50 feet with all our might! YES! WE DID IT! WOO HOO! These two "curvy" ladies ran a WHOLE 5K! Well, we actually walked it. But we ran across the finish line. So SUCK IT!

Bottom line: We finished. And crossed "running a 5k" off of our bucket lists. And now I can retire "running" for good. Like it was meant to be.

I SURVIVED. THE END.

P.S. If you ever run a "color" run of any kind....a little advice: That dye gets EVERYWHERE. For real. I was washing it out of my butt crack for weeks. And my boobs looked they had been through a boxing match. And that, my friends, is no joke.

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