Started sorting through the drawer full of business cards I've amassed over the last seven or so years spent working in wine.
Included in that pile: Two "Top Chef" contestants (pre-fame), two writers who are no longer alive, a number of now-defunct restaurants (remember Mosaic in Forestville?) and a woman who bummed a ride off of me after a documentary shoot at my previous winery and subsequently taught me the meaning of "cougar." (She was part of the crew, so I felt like as the PR girl, I had to say yes. I ended up driving her into San Francisco and dropping her off at her boyfriend's house. When he came outside to greet her, I learned he was a college kid and a good 15 years younger. The whole situation was really, really weird. Also, she was kind of batshit crazy.)
I'm over the whole deer-so-cute-and-friendly thing.
Why? My tomato plants are missing limbs, thanks to this guy:
I've caught him in my yard three times now. Yesterday, when I came home from masters swim, we stared at each other. And then he made the most graceful, effortless leap over the fence, looked at me one more time and took a giant shit.
I see how it is, Mr. Buck. This is war.
Recent exchange with Matt about Sunday's half marathon (which I am totally not prepared for, by the way):
Me: Are you going to fart on me again while we're running?
The problem: This time around, I don't have enough kick to pass him, so I'll be stuck in a cloud of fart. Great.