Hello, Mr. New Balance! 244 days left!

For several years, there has been a running joke among my group of friends that I would end up marring a guy by the last name of Vanderbilt or Rockefeller.  Two reasons:  #1--so he could buy my friends and I a beach house in Destin, and #2--so I would never have to work again a day in my life.  If you know me, then you know this is just a joke because I'm really not that shallow.  If you REALLY know me, then you know I'm lying when I say it is a joke.  I would like to marry rich.  Or, as I like to say, I want to marry "up." 

Within the last year or so, I've stopped searching for Mr. Rockefeller and concentrated solely on the hunt for Mr. Vanderbilt.  The explanation is simple.  In my experience, men who are filthy rich that are from the north tend to be assholes.  Whereas, filthy rich men that are from the south tend to be assholes with charm.  If I'm really being picky, I've dreamt of falling in love with a Vanderbilt from Louisiana because then he would be a filthy rich charming asshole who knows how to boil crawfish.

Today things changed.  I'm now in love with Mr. New Balance (aka Collin).  I went to the New Balance store in Buckhead to purchase new running shoes.  And I fell in love with the sales guy.  New motivation:  continue to lose weight and stay on this path of getting healthy so I can continue to go back there and buy new shoes and fancy running gear.  He made me feel like Cinderella.  MNB (Mr. New Balance) didn't have a glass slipper, but he did have a comfortable pair of running shoes to slip on my feet.  And they feel great!  I was such a sucker for his smile...I even bought inserts!  Oh well.  It's an investment.

So...goodbye, Mr. Vanderbilt.  Your money means nothing to me.  Oh, wait.  Unless MNB's last name is Vanderbilt!?!?!  Now wouldn't that be a perfect storm...

Tit for tat.  Fit not fat.