I totally love Dasani water. Not that it tastes any different than the cheap stuff at Wal-Mart, but the size of the little drink hole at the top is significantly larger than all the the other bottles I’ve ever drank from. Does that last sentence even make sense? I guess what I’m trying to say is….well never mind. I just said what I was about to type out loud and, well, okay…Yeah I’m not saying it. Don’t be like me. Anyway, just take my word for it and the next time you have nothing better to do on a rainy day, compare the difference in hole sizes between Dasani and any other brand. I can’t believe I just typed “hole sizes.” Once again, don’t be like me. I just feel like I get more bang for my buck when I’m drinking from a Dasani bottle. And with that I’m done.
Last night while John and I were at the gym, there was a lady on the elliptical next to us and, well, let’s just put it this way, she looked like her home was probably an Airstream trailer and I didn’t doubt for a second that she had a gypsy soul. I love those kind of people, by the way. So carefree. They’re probably stoned most of the time, but whatever. At least they’re happy. Anyway. As John and I were cruising along on the treadmill, we struck up a conversation with the gypsy. We found out she lived in the valley not too far from the gym and her nervous laughter made me chuckle to myself. She was a sweet girl. So, John and I continued our workout, completely shred our arm muscles to smithereens (haha) and then decided we wanted a pizza so we made like a banana and split! (note: by the time we left the gym, there were no pizza places open so we settled for pickles and pretzels and I seriously asked John if he was pregnant because who craves pickles and pretzels? We even drank the juice. Who are we? HA) So anyway, as we were driving back to my house, I said to John, “Ya know, John, people wonder how we know so many people and have so many friends. Other than the obvious fact that we’re awesome, it’s because we put ourselves out there. We aren’t afraid to talk to strangers and we love making new friends.” For example, last weekend we were at Red Robin and I saw a man wearing an Iowa Hawkeyes hat. Of course I’ve been to five million Iowa games, led the entire Sports Column in the Iowa Fight Song, grabbed one of the marching band member’s tuba and played right along with the band. So I had to introduce myself to a fellow Iowa fan. I love putting myself out there. And so does John. That’s why we we have friends all over the U.S. of A. and even other countries. I could plan a vacation to just about anywhere in the United States and have some sort of connection. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I do love that quality about myself. And that’s why John is one of my BFFs, because we live for striking up conversations with anyone and everyone. Ask Christin, or anyone I grew up in school with, and they’ll tell ya–I didn’t belong to one clique’ or group of people. I was literally friends with everyone. My teachers had to move my loud mouth to every corner of the room because it didn’t matter who I sat by, a jock or a cheerleader, a redneck or a nerd, I was gonna talk to you. And I was gonna be your friend. One time in 9th grade, the teachers decided to just move my butt right out to the hall so I wouldn’t talk. I became really good friends with the janitor that year.
Want to know something funny? This blog has absolutely nothing to do with what I had intentions of writing about. But that whole conversation about holes in the beginning totally threw me off. So maybe tomorrow I’ll try again. Today, I’m just thankful for my 9th grade Algebra II teacher that put me in the hallway because I would’ve never made friends with the old janitor or the Cookie Lady who brought me the left overs from lunch. Sometimes it pays to be verbose.
See ya’ll on the flippity flop. ~Rach