I never blog anymore.

I'm not gonna start right now, because by the time I get home I'm pretty fucking sick of computers. BUT GUESS WHAT BEVIN IS COMING IN FROM CANADA AND X AND LIL'P ARE COMING TOMORROW AND I HAVE THE DAY OFF AND IT'S GONNA BE AWESOME.

I am awesome-o.

I thought I might die running the 10K on Saturday.

But yesterday, I did a dry 10K around Calhoun. Twice around Calhoun. And it's been a long time since I've gone for that long, but I owned that shit! I know it doesn't sound very exciting, but it felt good. It felt good even though my knee sort of went out and I had to go buy a knee brace for it, it felt good even though it hurt.

Take that, winter poundage! I ran 6.2 miles straight yesterday with only stopping to go to the bathroom after 3 and a half miles! I was worried about myself. There were many days in a row this past summer/fall/winter where I went days without even a little jog. I went once this summer and threw up lettuce next to a tree on Lake Nokomis. There were even a couple of weeks in the cold, cold winter where the only time I put on my running shoes was to go to Target to buy some cookies. But yesterday I felt like a runner again--finally.

Now. Let's see how things go on Saturday. Let's see if I can stay a runner. It wasn't easy, but it was awesome. I'm taking a two day break, and Saturday morning--that 40 degree Saturday coming up--I'm gonna finish in the top half. I'm not gonna walk, and I'm gonna beat my last time of 1 hr. 8 minutes. Sure, I've really only trained for two weeks, but my body is sort of like: fine. Let's do this.

*

Today I went down to Rochester for my orientation meeting. I'll be in a middle school classroom in May already, doing field experience, filling out rubrics, writing personal, detailed journals. They just throw you right in, huh? I'm one of six in this cohort group, the only English (CAL) person, and as far as I know, the only one with prior teaching experience. I've been warned to tell my loved ones that my time for the next year is going to be very occupied with this program. I'm so stoked. I'm filling out background checks on papers that have cute little public school logos, I'm registered for teaching workshops. All of this feels very right.

Just a couple of more weeks to get through and a lot of packing to do.

Today's lesson in irrational thinking, OR: Why I hate MBAs.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT.

David and I have started doing this stupid thing, where if we run out of things to say, or if we're just sitting in silence, we make fart noises back and forth at each other. It's not really a competition as to who can make the best fart noise, but almost like some odd form of communication. Like a really low far noise means I'm exhausted, and a very high-pitched, wet-sounding fart noises means I'm bored, yet playful. He farts back, and I agree with his fartnoise, so I nod and fartnoise.

Unfortunately, it has become very difficult to not do this at work, as I am often exhausted and even more often bored, and when I'm wearing my headphones and listening to Elvis on Pandora I don't hear the noises I make. I definitely know I once burped out loud. And I sigh out loud all of the time--it's just that I don't hear it so I only think I'm doing it in my head. When, in fact, all of my coworkers can hear me go uggghhh! when the phone queue rings on my end. [smile, adjust tone] Registrar's Office! This is JEEEEEEEEEAN! What can I do for you today?

*****
I feel as though I owe to the that of you to explain what's been going on in my living room for the last 15 minutes. Quite simply to put it: I'm hallucinating. I realize that hallucinating is a term most saved for schizos or meth addicts, but I swear to you right how in practicallity that I can, that I am absolutely hallucinating. First of all, my gutair is all propped up next to me, taking occasional bows (I'm NOT speaking in metaphor here! This is what I really beleive I am seeing. He seems though he wants to disagree with something I said eariler. And it's been really difficult to type on my computer scree, because it seems as though the back ground in marshallows. My comoputer screen is made of marshmallows, and when I poke it, the poof-poof makes the words swim around page while still in lines. Sometimes a line of prose twangs like a guitar chord and then vibrates for a minute and then sometimes the words seem to race each other to undisclosed destinations. Especially the words on the coffee table. They're sick of their page and they are just getting up and walking off.

While I was listening to one of the summer CD songs, the white plastic pillow thought it was a turtle. The end of the pointed out like a turtle who'd just come out of his shell, and he beckoned me with his nostril. The other poeint of the pilliow slides back and forth like a tial providing meter for a very slow Frost poem.

The lights on the lamp know what I like. When I'm not peeking back at whatever is going on in kitchen with my coats, who keep nodding at me, or beckoning that I come in to their side of the party because this side is lame--the little lamp is turning into an amazingly vivid tulip. I stare at the bulb for a second, and as the music plays that bulb shrinks in its little shell. (It is almost like a hand being held by the floor light. It's the one used for reading that hangs over.) So, the floor lamp presents it to me when I look up, and it's all open, pink-purple and inviting.The lightbulb just stuck out its tongue at me! It shrinks itself within the ceramic casing. It blinks green and white light, all the while looking bubbly and holding control of its mass. It can split into two. Also there are two little men with tiny directing arms inside each bulb. I don't know if they control the bulb or the bulb controls them, though, and I'm afraid to ask. I'm afraid if I ask I won't be invited to these parties anymore.

That lightbulb is a sock pupper. It has a mouth that opens when the songs get upbeat and it looks like the whole sock is gonna climb out of the setting. The lightbulb has turned into a marshmallow and he's eating himself, and now he's a jellyfish. A purple pink transparent jelly fish blobbing around like he's just gonna float around my room. As a jellyfish, he looks oddly squirrel like, as though he's nibbling on something to prep for winter. And when I take of my glasses, it looks just like a tulip and then it transforms into a giant knowing eye with a glass center that probably wants to predict the future or something.

****
Okay. Okay okay okay okay. I know that shit up there doesn't make any sense, and the fact that my movies are trying to climb out of their baskets doesn't either. What the hell just happened to me on this couch? It's be awesome if I could tell you I was stoned right now, or that I'd found some blue pills in the purse of a crazy women on the bus, but I haven't taken anything that hasn't been prescribed to me. Granted this is the first time I am taking a full dose of the Ambien (after a rough night's sleep last night, I deserve it) but that makes you sleep, it doesn't make you think your curtains are conspiriting to your chair slip cover about your insanity. What if my computer's even in on it! He has all of my information and right now he's making the words are swirly and seem bolden when they're not bolded at all. And now the backgrounds all shaken up and gray. Damnit.

So goes for the awesome post I was gonna write about my distaste for downtonwn/business/MBA people. This post here can confirm that I have no authority to write about the issue, however. That's what I's irrational thinking.

But I better stop typing because it makes everything tripper. And although I want this feeling to last as long as possibe because it so absolutely illogical. I don't do a lot of drugs--maybe this is exactly what hallucinating is. Maybe it's totally normal. Yeah! Normal from my track jacket to keep peeking at me from the kitchen! It's none of your business what's going on in this room! Jeesh.

I forgot what I was talking about. Sometime soon I will write the post of what this was supposed to be, which is mainly a list of things I don't like about MBAs, and most importantly, why I feel I have to make the list. As I am so dissappointed into my ability to understand MBAs and suits and what have you. It's nothing rational, and it's nothing against people who have MBAs. I just understand why in the hell you would want one and what you do with your life once you do. MBAs I just don't fucking get you. I would like to, but I imagine we are so different I might walk away from you and go get a fat fucking beer. PFFFFFFFFFT. That's right, guitar case. PFFFFT indeed.

And, I'm sick.*

(Cough-cough).

Well, happy five in the morning, everyone. My New York Times hasn't even been delivered to my inbox this morning, and I'm pretty awake. Like, I'm tired, but here I am. What the hell. I'm not even blogging to write about a bad dream and put it into pictures. I've just been rolling over like a dying dog all night, waiting for the sleep to come.

This is my fault. I've been prescribed sleeping pills, delicious, delicious sleeping pills. And last night, I forgot to take one. Stupid.

In less than a month, school starts. I will go to Crochester on weekends, spendin' all my gas monies for three weeks, and then at the beginning of June, I will go to Crochester to live and take classes all summer. Feel free to be jealous. Ha-ha! While you are at work, I'll be spending eight to four in a classroom learning about Adolescent Learning Habits!

James, the wonderful James, will be renting me a room in his house. His house on six acres of land, with a stream in the back. (Unfortunately, no horses, like the horsefarm. Maybe I'll just have a horse follow me home one day and I'll tell James we have to keep it.) I've offered to mow the lawn, but he says he also enjoys mowing the lawn. This leads to only one conclusion. Lawnmower races. Or: we hire bear lawnmower to do it, as that is only fair.
Bear lawnmower. You are so old school. And you charge too much and leave dead-grass piss circles on the lawn. You are one bear who does not poop in the woods. "Just fertilizin'," you say. "Can a bear get some privacy? Yeesh!"

I've officially registered myself for the Get in Gear 10K, which according to the ridiclous counter on top of the website (Christina: Web Site) will be happening in 10 days, 3 hours, 55 minutes, and 9 seconds. (Um, boy. I can't wait. Maybe I'll just watch that counter for 10 days straight.) Also, their logo looks oddly like something from Nicklodeon, so if SpongeBob isn't there when I cross the finish line, I'm gonna be sort of pissed.

Hm. Obviously I'm a little bitter about this 10K. Mostly because I don't think I'm ready for it, even though I've kicked up the training a bit (read: went on two runs on consecutive (!) days around Nokomis (the whole lake!) with very little walking. Lake Nokomis is probably about 3 or 4 miles (from my house plus the lake) whereas the race is 6.2. Last week there was little to no training, as it was fucking cold outside. Marathon Lance and the Good Doctor are running it with me, so I'll obviously get left in the dust to secretly walk (through the drive thru of a Burger King that's on the route).

Oh well. My running has been horrible lately, and I've gained a couple of pounds 'round the midsection, so I might as well just jump into this face first. A warning that I might die, and I love you all.

This weekend brings Green Bay! Pedicures and picnics and Guitar Hero, oh my! Authentic Mexican food and frozen strawberry margaritas! Bring on the awesome.

I think I've worked up the energy to go back to bed for a couple of hours. But, I'm up...so maybe I should go ahead and get one of these:

Shannon! Where are you?! Let's go. I--I'm buyin'. That'll do 'er.

*of going to work when it's nice outside.

Dial S for Savior.

Watch this. Watch it, watch it, watch it. It's the video we made for the 24 hour film fest last weekend. The song at the end? Lance and I wrote that shiz. And while I don't "appear" on camera, you'll hear me.

And give it up for Liz and Lance. The lead character is my friend Adam, and God is his friend Kris.

This was so fun to make. These guys rock. And there's more coming later, too. Lance and I plan to make a music video with our full song, "If you Could Talk to Jesus (Affective Piety.)"

I have two favorite outtakes. Both are with Adam and Liz on the couch. The first: "Don't fart." "Girls don't fart." "Preggos do."

And, of course, "hello my wife's a biiitch!"

If you don't watch this, I hate you.

Would YOU give this bitch a book?

Me too! Me too.

I've just been so excited for you all day, kid. I know it seems silly, but this seems like such a victory for all of us. Like a huge confirmation that the waiting game pays off, that there are a few things out there that are right, and that people who work hard--combined with being awesome!--get what they deserve.

And for being awesome, you get an embarrassing blog. It's a small price to pay.

And imagine we're sitting in the Highland backyard, it's warm, and we're around a fire. Truman is in your lap. Then you run into the kitchen and ask "who needs a beer while I'm up" and while you're inside you catch us all around the orange flame through the kitchen window and hear our voices just as clearly as you did when you were outside. And you know--we're all so damn proud of you, and it feels so good to celebrate.

Now hurry up back outside and bring me my cold beer.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.

I know nobody watches videos people put on their blogs, because they're all I'm at work or I'm not gonna push play it's too hard or the sounds isn't working on my 'puter, but seriously. This is hilarious. And inappropriate. Don't watch it where someone will see you watching it.