When I heard the learn’d marketer,
Nerd. Purveyor of Shenanigans and Bacon.
When I heard the learn’d marketer,
Aspen is a West Highland Terrier. In the Gaelic language, this apparently stands for dog “will eat anything when you’re not looking.”
God forbid anyone might have to answer the phone. Or poop. Or clutch their chest in a Fred Sanford style heart attack with a candy in one hand. My dog would step on my face as soon as my lifeless body hit the shag carpet and she’d go unapologetically for the nougat, prying my lifeless fingers open long enough for her slimy butt tongue to make a grab at the sweet.
The things low-carbers text me generally rock my socks when we’re keeping in touch across the miles. Case in point: Here are the kinds of carb-deprived keto commentaries I receive on a semi-daily basis from my college student. I’ll mention here, on the record, that he’s pretty ridiculously rad (some might say I’m biased. That’s on you, my friend. That’s on you).
Fair warning: I am in the throes of writing a paper for my college class, but there’s just something so delicious about not doing what I’m supposed to. So I’ll share this instead.
My husband’s been telling me about this event he thinks a local nonprofit needs as a fundraiser.
He calls it The Middle Earth Strider Fun Run.
Now it doesn’t matter if you’re a Tolkien fan or not because I’m going to break down the gist of the conversation for you.
I said to him, “What in the fresh hell is that?”
“It’s a 4-day fun run for 135 miles.”
First of all, in my world, the words “fun” and “run” never belong in the same sentence. Like ever. It’s a little like saying “that’s a pretty swank colonoscopy bag you’re sporting.” It’s not. Add the “4-day” bit in there along with the mileage, and it’s basically an off the charts “no.”
I know I should never ask him for clarification, but I always do. Because I’m a sucker like that.
“So you have three people,” he says. “It’s gotta be a team of 3. And there’s a man, an elf, and a dwarf.”
“The woman is the elf, the guy is the man, and the dwarf just has to be someone short. Like under 5 feet. Or five-foot-two, depending.”
I reminded him that plenty of people are under five feet, and they’re usually children.
“They can be under five-foot-two. But it can’t be children,” he says. “I thought maybe the dwarf could have a weight restriction, like they have to weigh at least 200 pounds.”
I just can’t.
“And these people run for 4 days straight?”
“No,” he counters, “because it would be like the Iditarod.”
“So you have obese, height-challenged people under 5 feet pulling sleds?”
“No. And under 5’2” or over 200 pounds. Though, I think with the over 200-pound thing, you might get giants instead of the dwarves, so forget the 200 lbs. We can just make height and age restrictions and they run legs.”
“But they’d be short legs, right?”
“That’s a good one!”
“Plus there’d be shirts!” He enthused.
Postscript: I showed my husband this post, and he told me the image at the top is all wrong because “Strider, Gimli, and Legolas never went into Mordor. That’d be a Frodo and Samwise Fun Run, and for that you’d want children. But they have to have hairy toes.” So there’s that.
How are you sexy beasts? I have admittedly been busy with a spankload of items. I know…I never write. I never call…
The takeaway: Keep your LinkedIn page updated because it’s magic.
The takeaway. My navel’s even so fat, they were worried it would absorb the staple and then ask for seconds.
That said, I’m back and I’ll write at least once a week so long as you keep reading. I’ll let you know what I’m eating and doing so you can follow along.
I love keto. In my day, we called it Atkins, because he was the only game in town. Nowawdays, it’s called keto. I think that’s cool. And people don’t accidentally hear you saying you follow the “Napkins” diet. I don’t eat napkins. Though right now I might look like I might, especially if a donut was stuck to it.
I’m back on day 2 of low-carb, and I’m feeling pretty legit, so we’ll talk more about that, too.