loony tunes

Because I did not think at all about Easter plans (possibly due to the fact that I was wearing the same snowman pajamas and blowing my nose for almost 72 hours straight), I found myself without brunch reservations yesterday morning. And of course, Rocker Oysterfeller's, the one place that I really wanted to go to, had received a very nice write-up in the local paper and was listed as one of the top spots for holiday brunching. Naturally, when I called yesterday morning in a feeble attempt to make a last-minute reservation, I was told they were completely booked but I could take my chances on a first-come-first-served seat at the bar.

Having slightly obsessive, single-minded tendencies, I forced Laura to get ready earlier than she had planned and haul ass over to my house so we could be at the restaurant as Close to Opening Time as Possible.

Seriously, sometimes I don't know why my friends still like me.

Thankfully, my ridiculous behavior paid off. We scored a table after only a 10-minute wait and enjoyed some Easter eggs benny. (I loved the fact that they used Swiss chard and black-eyed peas, and you pretty much can't beat a buttermilk biscuit base -- especially if the biscuit is as fluffy as the ones Rocker Oysterfeller's makes.)

And if that story wasn't enough to make you think I am crazy: Remember the Nike vs. Portland debate I was having awhile back? As you recall, I ended up choosing Portland for my next 26.2. Well, the Nike lottery opened today, and Ulysses decided to throw his name in (guys can participate, too, though the field is 90 percent female). And because I have no willpower whatsoever and want to be there when Ulysses runs his first half (and also would really like that damn Tiffany finisher's necklace), I entered the drawing.

Which means that if my name gets chosen for an entry, I will be running a half marathon -- in San Francisco, with hills -- exactly one week after a full marathon.

Um, yeah. Certified, right? Someone get a straightjacket.