It's good to be king

I head into Starbucks as usual, to get the standard coffee/scone, and I see Dave the manager, but before I can give him even a hearty "hullo!", he spots me and beelines over.

Dave: Hey, did you see what we got in today? Look, there in the case - the sausage scone!
Me: No, I had no ide.....
Dave, burbling over with excitement: Yeah, we didn't even order them, but they just showed up in our order this morning! Isn't that great? I was amazed! And now you have your scone!

So even though I was just going to get Kona the standard petite scone, I figured after all that, the sausage scone it would indeed be. Which I was doubly glad of when I went to the end of the counter to pick up my coffee.

Girl who works there whose name I don't know: Oh, you're here, I'm so glad! I saw this morning when I came in that we got the sausage scone, and I thought, oh, I hope the girl with the dog comes in today!

Have I mentioned yet the importance of telling the Universe to fuck off? Because really, ever since I did that, life has been if not exactly a bed of roses, a hell of a lot more pleasant, with all sorts of great things falling in my lap, including the sausage scones for my baby. And that's nothing to sneeze at.

And on the triathlon goddess front, I have decided to try a new diet, the one that will hone my body into an almost surreal state of perfection, even more than it is now. The new diet is going to be this: Eat Nothing. This is simply a more refined version of the diets I've already tried, namely Eat Less, Eat Next-to-Nothing, and Drink Yourself Silly. Apparently when you're on these anti-cancer drugs, aka FatSurly, fat cells cling to you like the stink on a pair of hockey gloves. Oh sure, you're thinking this is just another iteration of my popular diet from last year, the Eat Nothing Unless It's Fruit-Based, but that was totally different since it allowed, even encouraged, lots of frothy alcoholic drinks. No more of that. Unless the drinks are pink. Or at a hockey game. And kind of pink. Orange being close enough to pink to count. Sigh. Did I mention yet that I'm doing an Ironman in 123 days?? And that it might be a weee bit difficult trying to cycle while wearing a muumuu?

At least, I will note, I finally have started following a plan. A random 18-week IM training plan that I got off the internet, but a plan nevertheless. And okay, it was actually a 19-week plan, so I had to start it in week 2, but who's counting? And granted, I refuse to actually get into a pool since I have no desire to share my lumpen deformed self with the world as of yet, so I'm going to be skipping that part of the plan for now. But other than all that, I'm following it exactly as it's written. This should be a piece of cake.